A Union Against All Odds

By David Westover

The Formex Bosh is a gin-joint at the ass-end of the universe. Not much of a place to write home about, but the drinks are strong, the gambling lively, and people from all walks of life are welcome (as long as their credits are good). But, when two young lovers come in, a Diter-atelur and a Thysanrinae—races at war with each other for decades—will their displays of affection enrage the drunken bigotry of the hunter class Diter-nicolet, celebrating their latest kill, or water the seeds of tolerance and acceptance.

Included with this short story is an excerpt from David Westover's upcoming new series CHASING THE STEDE BONNET

• Language: English
• Publisher: Dark Road Publishing
• Release date: Mar 5, 2012
• ISBN: 9781465759382

Book preview

A UNION AGAINST

ALL ODDS

A Short Story

DAVID WESTOVER

COPYRIGHT

A Union Against All Odds, Copyright © 2006 by David DeLee

Excerpt Chasing the Stede Bonnet, Copyright © 2012 David Westover

Cover Art copyright © 2022 by Sdecoret | Depositphotos.com

Book and cover design copyright © 2018 by Dark Road Publishing

A Union Against All Odds is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any similarities or resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is wholly coincidental.

Acknowledgment

A Union Against All Odds was first published under the name David DeLee in the DAW/Tekno anthology, Cosmic Cocktails, 2006

A UNION AGAINST ALL ODDS

THE ENTRYWAY SENSED their presence and dissolved in a shimmer of green light allowing them entry into the bar, along with a cloying gaseous swirl of the outside Altarian atmosphere. Once they crossed the threshold the force shield winked back into place.

I watched 'em come in with a wary eye, and I knew from the start they was doomed. He was Humanoid. She was not.

With my left arms I wiped the bar down and swiped the paper credits and coins left behind by a hairy Tarantilyte into my tip trough under the bar. I selected two tumblers and set them on the bar with my right arms, filled them with ice, water, vodka and a splash of vermouth. Being quadra-limbed comes in handle when you're a barkeep at the Formex Bosh, a bustling gin-joint at the ass-end of the universe.

I slid the ancient Earth drinks across the teak bar to my Human customers: a male and a female. We didn't get many of them out here. They told me they were on their honeymoon. I didn't ask what that was.

My attention was back on my two newest arrivals as they made their way passed the crowded bar. He put a furry, protective arm around her shelled carapace and she leaned into him, her compound eyes nervously reflecting everything around her.

All conversation in the joint