13: Foe Hammer

conditioned unit origin: Tycho Machinated Mercenary destin: my personal peon ref: disobedience stamp: tempermental Just what do you think you're doing? 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.

conditioned unit origin: Tycho Machinated Mercenary destin: my personal peon ref: disobedience stamp: tempermental 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.

^^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. 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.

greg k has very stinky armpits late at night odor immortalized in green c.