all personalities have been changed to protect the innocent; the names, however, are real enough.
“Kitten Vaa doesn’t have any patience for this,” said Kitten Vaa, petulantly. “She has a free world to save.”
She was suspended from the ceiling of the warehouse, hanging there by her harness, watching the guards pacing below and establishing their rhythms, their patterns, discovering who was friends with whom, and Peaches Rodriguez had just brought up the matter of the bathroom.
“Every time I try to talk to you, you make some excuse or change the subject. You can spare five minutes, Vaa, we need to resolve this, and, besides, you’re not going anywhere while I’ve got control of your winch. -kx-“
Kitten Vaa called her a rude name.
“Look, it’s not that complicated, if you finish something, you’re responsible for replacing it, if you make a mess, you have to clean it up. I’m not your damn maid, Vaa, just your roommate. -kx-“
“You are Kitten Vaa’s handler! You are responsible for the maintenance of all mission critical equipment!”
“For Christ’s sake, it’s toilet paper and hair in the sink, not bullets and microfilm. Buy your own damn Pepsodent, Vaa. And another thing, while I’ve got your attention, let’s talk about the boys you bring home, and I’m calling them boys because you’re old enough to be their mother, Vaa. Don’t you think it’s time you grew up? -kx-“
Kitten Vaa swore and swung helplessly from her wires. Seventy feet below, the guards marched up and down the rows of boxes, rifles at the ready, all steely resolve and poor peripheral vision.