Prologue

Martin was drunk again, I could smell it on him ... seeping out of his pores. His sweat stank of the cheap vodka he drank. I kept confiscating half empty vodka bottles, and he kept getting drunk while we were underway. I had to at least marvel at how well he was able to stash alcohol around such a small ship. When I was a sergeant in the Marine Corps, I’d been in charge of a few fuck-ups, but none were as good at being a fuck-up as Martin Keene. “Keene!” I yelled, making him wince. Good. “We’ve had this discussion repeatedly, about you drinking while we’re underway. Hand over the bottle. I’m docking you two days pay, and you’re confined to the ship while we’re in port.” We were almost to Hondor 3, where the Queen North would drop off the ten cans of electronics components in her hold and pick up a dozen cans of weapons and ammunition for the Tsch’kal to use in their war against the Yishkak. It wouldn’t take long for the longshoremen to swap our cargo out, but it would take Martin even less time to go ashore and spend his pay on booze. Our next cargo load was needed urgently, so time in port would be minimal.

He held a hand up, “Don’t bother, Captain Ripley,” he said in a mocking tone, “When we dock at Hondor, I’ve got a new ship waiting for me. One where they don’t punish me for unwinding.”

That made me mad. “You’re my fucking engineer, and you get blitzed every night. How are you supposed to do your job if you’re drunk all the time?”