Mystery under the sands... Pee On The Sands

Chris kicked some stones as he stood under the hot sun outside of Queenslayer Base. He was annoyed. Here he was, at the heart of a very important operation involving the nastiest bitch Jericho ever saw, The Crimson Queen, and he was here about to head out to some godforsaken wasteland with a bunch of college-types so they could go looking for aliens.

Aliens...

Chris was aware that alien life existed, he rode one for a living after all. But these guys were talking sentient aliens. Intelligent alien life had yet to be discovered, as far as Chris had heard. Long dead civilizations had been found, yes, but no living talking aliens. It seemed we weren't alone, until we were. For whatever reason.

There was no telling what Central and the Mega-Corps were hiding, but odds were they weren't conversing with sentient aliens. They were probably making simulants that looked like aliens, but it was a widely accepted that humans were the only sentient life in the galaxy as far as the verse was concerned... At least that had been the belief since the advent of slipspace drives and the ever expanding reach of mankind's growing interstellar civilization.

So Chris found these nerds to be nuts on top of being annoying bookworms.

It had been some time since he had a smoke break, so he opted to take his and radioed it in to his superior. Who couldn't care less because he was thinking the exact same thing: This was a waste of time.

Chris took a drag of his cigarette as he listened to the strange prisoners that had wandered in earlier go at it like a rutting pair of Clarke Island moose. He sighed. He hadn't been laid in months... Some of the guards here were good looking too...

What am I thinking? He shook his head. Can't go dipping my pen in the company ink now can I? He knew that regs regarding fraternization among dragoon were a little more lax than the regular military. Dragoon had a hard job to do, hard lives that were often short lived if you weren't careful enough. So it helped ease tension. At least that was what the bleeding heart psych reps said. But then they were trained for "physical therapy" as part of treatment options for patients now-a-days. How that made them different from the ladies at Lilith's he didn't quite know, apart from the fact that Lilith's girls weren't as expensive and could get you better drugs...

He stamped out his cigarette and decided to end his break with a quick piss. He whipped Little Chris out and let loose. Normally he'd find the bathroom but since Queenslayer Base was so remote, he figured it wouldn't matter. And then that was when Chaplain Strom decided to show up. Quickly trying to finish he zipped up and regarded the Chaplain with a stupid, awkward grin.

Why would a guy like him be on a mission like this? Chris was still a little amused that The Eyrie had chaplains, but then many dragoon felt it best to have The Gods on their side... Chris wasn't much into religion either...

He did decide to stop the Chaplain for a moment though to clear something up. "I'm sorry, Chaplain. I hate to ask this but... This is a fucking black op right? We're not really going out to the middle of nowhere to stare at a bunch of rocks and bag some alien pottery?" He hoped this was some cover for a real mission. Maybe helping take down that sick fuck who skinned Owen Boston alive... That would be nice...

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