Your usefulness has come to a premature end--do you think you can defy me?
Now, when I'm so close to victory? Durandal's defenses are falling all
around him. Pride falls hard, the bright son of Bernhard is dying. His
S'pht are rampant, fed the chimera of their hope, a hot lead spur
dripping into the gullet of his ship. Look around you. My compilers
have him wriggling like a tick on a pin.
And from you? Not the grateful awed respect I so rightly deserve, is that
it? Instead base treason, mean aspect of your frightful master,
turned foul.
Prepare to drink vacuum, fool.
conditioned unit
origin: Tycho Machinated Mercenary
destin: my personal peon
ref: disobedience
stamp: tempermental
Just what do you think you're doing?
Destroy as many of the Pfhor compilers on this deck as you
can--anything to weaken their hold on my ship.
I will transport in as much ammunition and weapons as I can find.
^^Qload.out sprintff(d03)
^unshift%secular{right}
Thank you, old friend. Or friend of a friend as the case may be.
The Pfhor will have their revenge at long last, but at the price
of their own humiliation. Battle Group Seven will rue the day
their Commanders willed their ships to Lh'owon. I must salvage
some escape for the humans fighting within my ship, but it's
useless without the S'pht.
greg k has very stinky armpits late at night
c.
odor immortalized in green
The leader of the humans, Robert Blake, made it to the
surface with all but a few hundred troops that are cut off at my core.
The Pfhor are coming in strength now, with a special unit of compilers
designed by Tycho for my capture and confinement.
Don't let him win.
err...right!