An idea was forming in his mind. It was only rudimentary, but in the circumstances, it could be called a plan. He loathed the alien for attacking them, without any provocation. He hated the way it was smashing up his ship – and all of them – with hardly any effort or regard for life at all. “How’s that message coming?”“Umm – they must be jamming us, sir – I can’t get through.

Damage report, sir?” Skotchdopole asked, climbing off his console into his seat.“To hell with that!” he roared, this was no accidental side-effect of arriving – it was clear they were under attack by hostile aliens. “Fire! Shoot the crap outta them!

Is there any good left in the world? And if there is, can you still find it in the places that matter? Why is it that the only places I see it now, is in the graves of the victims, and the tears of those who mourn them?

Apparently some rustlers had been swiping red-horned wildebeest from farms in the San Fedora area and transporting them off-world to other colonies where they would sell them. And these were known repeat offenders. He could make a packet if he got the whole bunch of them the same time. The pickings were kind of slim in Atro City lately and he could use the money. He didn’t like feeling like a leech around Cindy-Mei.

The best way to piss off your enemies is to out-succeed, out-laugh and outlive them.