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   Chapter 41 No.41

The Galaxii Series Omnibus 1 By Christina Engela Characters: 5249

Updated: 2018-06-29 12:02

"To pick up where we left off earlier, " Blachart continued, "about first impressions – you already had a first impression about me, I believe? Yes, I think it's fair to say so… Now, if I wanted to kill you, you'd be dead. Now you, on the other hand, have also made a first impression. A very bad first impression indeed."

Mykl took another sip from the glass of inky black fluid. It ought to have tasted like liquorice, he thought, but it didn't… it tasted more like disinfectant… with a hint of …candy floss? The hell did the man mean by that anyway?

"Yes, " Blachart carried on, seemingly very verbose for a knuckle-dragging pirate and scum-of the-galaxy. "A bad impression – but that's not a problem, because I happen to like bad… very much."

This time Mykl didn't experience a shiver when the man smiled – either because he was getting used to it, or because of the drink. Oh, what the heck… He had another, bigger mouthful.

"I have a question for you, " Blachart said. "And the question is how do you intend to stay alive after this?"

Mykl frowned, the grogginess he'd felt quickly fading away like clouds retreating from a bright summer sun.

"What d'you mean?"

"Men like you are a breed apart from the herd. I like men like you. The rest of your crew are soldiers, some will be tough, most are well educated, well drilled and trained in their jobs…maybe a little smart on the side. My crew are Corsairs… tough, rough, hardy people used to surviving on little… a few of them may even be clever – and a very few of them might be smart – but not like

done that either, because you've seen worse and lived through it, and you know, somewhere inside that brilliant analytical mind of yours, that to do so would be useless. It would get in the way of your hopes of survival. Oh, you'd hope to escape, perhaps back to your ship. In the meantime, here we sit, chatting like old chums, about life, the universe and everything – cracking jokes over drinks."

"Did anyone ever tell you, you talk a lot, Mr. Blachart?" Mykl returned pointedly, holding his faint smile and looking his captor in the eye.

"I should think, Commander d'Angelo that you'd appreciate me talking to you under the circumstances." He said. "After all, who knows what might happen after I stop?"

Mykl had had enough of this by now. He put his glass down on the bench top and straightened up unsteadily to his feet, aware that the Corsair's eyes were on him all the way.

"My name is Mykl d'Angelo!" He stated in a bold, clear voice. "Service rank Commander, service number 46979701 and that's all you're getting out of me."

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