Jack and Jericho

         A single light was still working. The garage seemed as serene and vast as the darkest reaches of outer space. And Jack knew it. The hare basked in the silence for a moment, raising his face to what little comfort the warmth of the small light bulb provided. Still, no smile crept across his lips. He felt no reason to smile. He almost felt to reason to be. The darkness in his heart swept across his chest, and he felt himself slowly falling back, slowly slipping away into the darkness of lost hopes. His descent hastened quickly, as he let the feeling take hold.
         “JACK!”
         Light poured into the room, a cat standing by the door. Jack looked at him, a frustrated expression having crossed his face. The cat was taken aback momentarily, but he entered the garage, letting the door shut behind him.
         “Jack, we need to talk,” he said quickly. “I realize you aren’t happy. None of us are. Still, we can’t just lie down and die!”
         “Why are you here, Jericho?” came Jack’s uninterested response. The cat reeled back as if startled by the hare’s voice. “Last time I checked, you hated Camille. You hated her with a passion. You hated her and her family. You hated her race. You hated her home world. You said you were prepared to destroy it if we received the order. I see no reason for you to be unhappy. So, why have you come to me, with a lie like that as your introduction?”
         A long silence followed, adding the already cold atmosphere. The cat was about to respond, when Jack pulled a case from underneath the table by which he was standing. Jack flipped the latches and spun the numbers under the handle. It opened with a clink. Jericho’s words froze in his throat. He caught Jack’s glare.
         “You know I wasn’t serious. I was just upset with…”
         “Get out.” Jack lifted a small object from the case. It was a black crystal about the size and shape of a pea. “Get out while you have the chance. Leave this camp. Leave this planet. Leave this galaxy.”
         Jericho took a step backwards, then turned and hurried for the door. Then a sharp pain pierced his back, and he fell to his knees. He watched blood started to leak through his coat. Then, Jack’s voice hit his ears. It was low and almost ominous. It was a short message, apologizing for the bullet that had passed through Jericho’s right lung. Another apology sounded. This time, the apology was for something that had not yet happened. But then it did. Jericho felt the barrel of the revolver press against the back of his skull. He could not draw in enough air for a gasp, and it pained him to draw in what he could. Then everything went black.