The killer of ships was the projectile; in the days of wooden shop there was fire as well but fire was most often secondary to the projectile. The projectile increased in size and explosive was added to increase the damage caused. Bigger projectiles needed bigger rifles and these needed bigger vessels carrying them and this allowed more armour for protection. In pre-diapora times, small parasite ships were in use carrying small missiles and it had been found to be very effective when used as a swarm, and with direct fire weapons as well. There were more effective projectiles in service but these were still tied to the firing ship. What was needed and would eventually come would be the parasites carrying these much improved projectiles far beyond the envelope of a firing vessel and be able to release them at an enemy who would have no knowledge of the whereabouts of the mother vessels. The ship's library had been metaphorically plundered for references. The primary argument was based. I pull it on and walk on over to his kitchen. I can feel Max's eyes watching me; observing every step I take. "Where do you keep the bottles?" I ask, suddenly a little nervous. I shuffle through all the cupboards looking for a cup or glass. I find it and reach for it but just as I touch the glass, I feel Max's hands snake around my torso and his lips on my neck. "Max, you scared me." His fingers reach down to the hem of his shirt and pull it off of me. "I can't think straight when you wear my shirt like that," he says huskily. A part of me is flattered but the other part is worried that his stamina might not be enough for another round. "Well I don't have any clothes of my own with me right now," I respond matter of factly before going to his fridge and looking at the dark colored bottles. I grab one at random and look up to see Max staring at me with the same predatory look. For the first time I feel uncomfortable as I pour some into the glass and give it to him, the red liquid.
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