Tales from the Lyon's Den: Stories from the Four Horsemen Universe (Four Horsemen Tales Book 4) by unknow

Author:unknow
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Seventh Seal Press
Published: 2018-09-24T23:00:00+00:00

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A shudder vibrated through the hull of Pugnacious as its docking clamps engaged with Profit Motive and Mazzey massaged no-rinse body wash into his skin. He did so gingerly so as not to elicit unnecessary pain from the collection of bruises he had obtained on Luclites. He would have preferred to skip the waterless bath in favor of crawling into his niche and sleeping until they transitioned into the next system, but the smell of his own body odor had persuaded him otherwise. An alert chimed in the stall and a voice spoke.

“We are receiving transmission from a Major Brusilov of the Bruiser Boys mercenary company. Shall I patch him through to you, Lieutenant?” asked the voice of the Maki communication officer.

“That won’t be necessary, thank you. I’m wrapping up here now. I’ll head directly to the CIC,” said Mazzey.

“Understood,” answered the voice.

Eager for what he was expecting, he shrugged into a clean shirt and pants, the fabric adhering to patches of cleansing gel that had yet to dissolve, and left the stall behind. He floated through the corridors and felt the absence of so many Mongrels tugging at his conscience. That certainly wouldn’t do—a drink was in order, first thing upon arriving at their destination. He resolved to give the fallen mercenaries a proper send off, Irish Wake style. He arrived at the CIC, and his pinplant miraculously cooperated to grant him access on the first try. He stepped inside, and Patches welcomed him with a salvo of sloppy tongue-kisses.

“Up on the screens, please,” requested Mazzey, and a second later, the perfectly groomed face of Brusilov populated the Tri-V.

“Greetings, Aleksei,” said Mazzey.

“Listen to me you villainous little whelp. I am your superior. I am your better. You will address me by rank with the respect I deserve,” snarled Brusilov.

“Yes, Major, my apologies,” said Mazzey with feigned contrition.

“Don’t you dare mock me, you wretch! What, in the good name of the Union, do you think you’re doing?”

“We are currently preparing to transition into hyperspace, so we can fulfill our contract and collect our reward,” said Mazzey.

“Your scoundrels hijacked my boarding craft,” said Brusilov.

“Now that’s not fair. You got the craft back intact, didn’t you?” asked Mazzey.

“Intact? Intact? You disabled the thrusters, breached the troop bay, and spaced a squad of my Bruisers,” said Brusilov.

“We spaced CASPers. Nobody died per my explicit instructions,” said Mazzey.

“You stole the data cache my men fought and bled to secure. You’re no better than the blasted Riagians!” shouted Brusilov.

“You’ve wounded my pride, sir. And to think, we left you a consolation prize in the strongbox,” responded Mazzey.

“A credit chit? What am I going to do with this paltry sum?” asked Brusilov.

“Buy yourself a decent pair of shoes, courtesy of the Iron Mongrels.”

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