Got to piss. Head is splitting. Legs wobbly. Eyelids dropping. None of that matters. Some needs always come first.

  Just need to slip myself out of… what was her name? Don’t think I got it. Gal jumped me about 0.4 seconds after the door shut. Questions for later. Need to unwrap myself from her arm. And her arm. And her leg. And her leg. Five sets of limbs seems really useful, though they do tend to get everywhere. Not that I was complaining much a few hours ago. Having six arms and four legs wrapped around me was not something I knew I wanted.

  There are many a great philosopher that have pondered why it is the vast majority of races in this galaxy are, ehem, compatible. Though before anyone starts writing a manifesto about this, they should first understand that being compatible does not mean it will always be enjoyable. In the case of this fine piece of chitin, I was about half the length and twice the girth that she was used to. And I spend most of the night trying hard not to snap her in half, till I realized that rail thin for her is not the same for a human and she could take whatever I had to give. Certainly one of my stranger encounters but far from the least pleasant. I hope between her and Joan I don’t start becoming an insectophile. Also, hi Joan. Snuck in again I see. This hotel is supposed to have the highest level of security in the entire Civilian sector. Glad she’s on my side. A Harvester assassin sounds like a nightmare.

  Just going to sneak off to the bathroom. Let the girls keep sleeping. As fancy as the rest of this place. Rather garish if I’m being honest. Silver and gold plating everywhere. The kind of tacky need to show off most humans have moved past. Most. And of course, the toilet isn’t a toilet. It’s an omni disposal. It’s meant to work for every race, which means it works for pretty much none. It’s like a small, oblong soup bowl tilted to the side and almost a meter off the ground. Sitting in one of those is like being on a high chair two sizes two small with no straps. And a standing piss has a near guaranteed splash back.

  Screw it, gonna go wizz down the shower drain. Might as well take advantage of actually having a shower. I need one anyway. Smell like sweat, mushroom whisky and something incredibly alien yet undeniably feminine. Wonder if Protectorate showers are any different. Think they’ll charge me for the tiny hotel soaps and there is a man in my shower. As in, literally in my shower. Crawling out of the wall from a hidden compartment with just his upper body poking out. Clearly wasn’t expecting me. He’s staring at me just as hard as I’m staring at them. His face is covered. Some kind of advanced crossbow in his hand. He’s going to shoot me.

  Arrow misses. My left hand moved before I thought of the order, yanking the gun to the side. My right hand punches him squarely in the face. And again. And again. I’m not doing this consciously. Body is too tired and hungover to be thinking. I’m watching myself kick his ass from a different plane of existence. A sort of cave man state. Knuckles are bloody. His blood seems to be blue so that's from me. Damn I’m hitting him hard. The face has got to be the worst possible palace to hit someone.

  Body has feeling again. Fuck.

  Shower floor meets me as I fall to the ground. I was forced back into a state of true consciousness when the wall assassin socked me in my nuts. That is the worst possible place to hit someone.

  I can feel the assassin crawling over me. Good thing I hit him so many times. Killing me is not his current concern. What a way to go for the Tamer of Sharks or whatever I was called. Face down in my own piss while clutching my aching sack. Truly a death worth singing about in the great halls of Valhalla.

  Got to get my barring before he does. Flip on my back. Press up against the shower wall for leverage. That’s it. One leg firmly planted on the ground, followed by the other. Even supported I can barely stand. The assassin is on their feet, but practically blind. Their mask soaked in two shades of blood. Not stopping them trying to line up a second shot. Need to do something to slow them down. Uhhhhh…. Tiny soap bottle GO!

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  Shampoo bottles are made of glass here? Great for me, shards and soap are all over the assassins already acing face. But Space Hell, that could slip and break all over the floor.

  This bought me a few seconds. I left my pants on the floor. Not far from the bathroom. Hopefully there isn’t a line cause I need to call in some help. Arm up, fingers twitched in that special way. My knife shoots through the door, slicing its way in as if the wood was paper. The exact moment it lands grip first in my hand, I jump. Figured I had one good leap in me and I took it.

  You ever see those really old movies, from the age before holoscreens, where a pirate would jump onto a sail and use their blade to ride down to the deck slicing the cloth open as he did? I basically just did that to this guy's chest, just with a far less epic landing. Now I REALLY need a shower.

  Here I stand, barely, covered in piss, blood and other gooey bits I can’t even begin to identify, but alive. Terrible way to kill a man. I’d feel bad for him if he wasn’t literally here to kill me. I should get out of here. Call security. Find out who is getting fired for this.

  Wait, there might be more. Between the aching sack and trying not to die, I didn’t hear anything happening outside this room. The slice my knife made in the door is perfect for this. Just need to put my ear up to it and listen. All I hear is Joan, snoring. I guess it’s safe. I’ll just go and…. Oh.

  After all the carnage spilt in the bathroom, I was not expecting that to be topped. Counting the heads, there were at least 6 guys in here. Were. I have to go by heads as there isn’t much else left. All their insides are on the outside. Several weapons similar to the one the shower assassin had were scattered across the floor. Half smashed to bits. Three more hidden holes in the walls are left open. One has an assassin still in it. Well, half of one.

  My insectoid ten-limbed friend, the only other person who is supposed to be in my room, is cowering in the corner. Rocking back and forth in shell shock. While I’m walking through the aftermath of a warzone, Joan is still snoring. I very, VERY gently shake her shoulder.

  “Waz Tom wan’t?”

  “Joan, why are there a bunch of dead people in my room?”

  “Bads men break in room. Try die Joan. Joan Die them. Go back sleeps.”

  Did it at any point accrue to you to leave one of them alive so we could ask them who sent them and why they wanted to kill me?”

  “No.”

  Joan flips away from me and quickly returns to her snoring.

  “Well, fair enough.”

  I press a little red button on the bed stand.

  “Front Desk, howe may I help you?”

  “We just killed half a dozen assassins, can we get a clean up crew and some coffees?”

  “On the way sir. We apologize for the inconvenience.”

  She is way too calm about this. Must happen a lot. I should grab some pants, at least. But first, I think it’s about time for that shower. I should also make sure the other girl is ok.

  “I’m heading to the shower to get all this gunk off me. Care to join?”

  She just stares at me in disbelief.

  “How are you thinking about that now? This is… is…”

  “I’m a soldier. I have seen worse.”

  “How do you live like this?”

  “One day at a time like everyone else. Just with more risks to my life. Now, you want to get cleaned off or not?”

  She stares at me more, probably contemplating if she’d be safer on the other side of that window. Then she gets up, straightens out her few remaining clothes, and walks over.

  “Do you know how to get blood out of stockings?”

  “I know how to get blood out of most everything.”

  I take one of her hands and help her over the dead man on the bathroom floor.

  “Look on the bright side. This will be a story you can tell for the rest of your life.