Chapter Six
The search began fourty-five minutes after the incident in the pub. Howard Benson, the colony administrator, had been informed of the incident after everyone had gathered they're senses. He had called in law enforcement and infromed them of the situation. They would be taking weapons.
Trevor was sitting in the living room of his apartment when Donald had arrived. He looked shaken pretty badly. This was putting strain on everybody. Donald was trembling and he looked scared.
"Can you believe this shit?" he said, taking a seat on the couch.
Trevor sat in the chair across from Donald. He stared blankly at his friend. He shook his head.
"And to think, I was drunk an hour ago," Donald muttered. "This kind of shit sobers you up. REAL quick."
Trevor said nothing.
"Trev, are you okay?" Donald asked. He looked concerned.
"No," Trevor said, leaning back in his chair. "I'm not okay."
"What's eating you?" Donald said, leaning forward.
"Cancer," Trevor said plainly.
"That ain't funny, Trev." Donald stared at him. "Not at all."
"I know," Trevor said, standing up. "That's what I told the doctor."
Trevor walked over to the kitchen and poured himself a glass of warm scotch. Donald just stared off into space, a look of sadness on his face.
"How long do you have?" he said quietly.
Trevor drained his glass and poured another. "I don't know. Could be a year, could be fifteen. Hell, I may have a month." He finished his glass and then filled it again.
Donald turned and looked at his friend. "When did you get the news?"
"Four days ago." He quit pouring and began drinking straight from the bottle.
"No wonder you've been...distant," Donald muttered.
"Yeah," Trevor said, setting down the bottle. He walked back into the living room and sat in his chair. "And all this is helping either."
"Trevor," Donald said. "Do you want to talk about it?"
"No," Trevor said. "Do you?"
"Not in the least."
Trevor smiled. There was no humor in it. "Okay, then. You want a drink?"
"Oh, yes," Donald said, standing. "I think I'll take two."