by John Walker
“I’ll congratulate you when you’ve got it.” Gray took a deep breath. “We’ve got a long road ahead, don’t we?”
“Yes, sir.” Clea nodded. “I’m afraid we do. The enemy closes in, they’ve proven to be far more frightening than we thought and now, our one advantage has been nullified. We return home with more of a disadvantage than when we started but I will not give up hope. Our cultures will band together and fight. None of us will go gentle into that good night.”
“Poetry, Clea?” Gray raised his brows. “I’m impressed.”
“I like the work of Dylan Thomas,” Clea replied. “His words spoke to me. Especially that piece.”
“It does have a certain context in our situation, doesn’t it?”
Clea frowned, nodding her head once. “It does indeed.”
“Shall we pass the time with something less harsh?” Gray motioned to their chess board. “A game before sleep?”
“I’d like that,” Clea replied, scooting forward in her seat. “Perhaps exhaustion will give you the advantage you need to defeat me.”
“We’ll see, Clea.” Gray laughed and sipped his drink. “We’ll see.”
