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   Chapter 61 No.61

The Galaxii Series Omnibus 1 By Christina Engela Characters: 5846

Updated: 2018-06-29 19:02

Mykl nodded politely. He didn't feel like getting personal.

"Surely there's something you can tell us about the starbase at least?" Grant asked.

"Nothing you couldn't go and see for yourself, I'm afraid, sir." Mykl said. "It's a mess. Everyone on it was killed – except for one survivor."

"Ah yes, the young man who is now convalescing at Mercy Hospital here in Port St. James." Grant smiled. "Has there been any news about the I.S.S. Holbrook?"

"In that case, I can honestly say, we've nothing to report." Mykl shrugged.

Grant chuckled, shaking his head slowly. He accepted that he wasn't going to get anything out of his guest.

"Enough talk of dreary things now, " He said. "Come gentlemen, let's rejoin the party."

The rest of the evening passed rather pleasantly, even for Mykl and Ripley. Her company made all the difference for him. The music that superseded the jazz was passable, and a good meal followed the cocktails, although it was eaten rather stiffly around a long table that ran the length of a cavernous hall, whose walls were decorated with passé hunting trophies of strange (and oft surprised-looking) indigenous wildlife, suits of armor and a variety of antique weapons that were far too shiny to be original. Finally, just before midnight, local time, the party from the Antares boarded a shuttle which took them skyward. They returned to the Antares at 2200, ships time. Mykl was too tired now to bother any further with Blachart, the mission, or anything else – and decided to let things lie till morning. Ripley was far better company anyway. Gods, at times like this, it felt good to be Captain.

* * *

The next morning around nine, Captain d'Angelo paid a visit to the entech crew on the Undertaker to i

er Dr. Payne had healed his injuries of course. He wasn't in the imperial database, so he was one of those Corsairs who had been born from their ancestral stock, from the refugees who fled Earth. His DNA profile suggested his ancestors originated from somewhere in Northern Europe, but he doubted the man had ever set foot on the planet. It also meant he'd never been caught or apprehended by Terran law enforcement before. He had no prior record on the system.

By name though, it was another story.

Mykl sat back in his chair and sighed.

It was time to have a chat with Blachart.

D'Angelo went down to the brig. Only one marine was on duty at the front desk, and she snapped to attention smartly when he arrived. He told her to carry on, and went through to the cell bay, to look for him. Blachart the Bloody was sitting on the floor of his cell, leaning against the far wall, eyes shut, seemingly asleep. All he needed was a sombrero on his head, and he'd look like a Mexican, Mykl thought. Mykl pulled a wheelie-chair closer to the doorway, activated the intercom, and sat down. The Corsair's eyes flicked open as if they had been that way all along.

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