“Guns are loud,” David muttered, swiping through his data. “Need a way to make them less loud.” He turned, slightly, to look at his companion. “I work better on plyons. But guns are needed, so I’ll help them with guns.” He paused. “Used to?” He tried to spin the conversation in another way.
“It’s not a good business,” was all he offered up for way of explanation. “I don’t sell them anymore.” His mandibles fluttered. “Now I run packages. Way safer, less shooting.”
David nodded in thought. “Makes sense,” he admitted, still not making eye contact. “What kind of packages do you run?” He inquired. Part of him hoped he didn’t sound like he was prying, but part of him was genuinely curious about the nature of his sitting companion’s job.












