“Enjoy your shore leave, Lieutenant.”
“I will, sir.”
“Downtime will be few and far between from now on, you know?”
“I do, sir.”
A lewd smile. “What I’m trying to tell you is, eat some pussy while you can. Or cock if that’s what floats your repulsorcraft. It’ll keep you sane throughout the tour of duty.”
Lieutenant Zevulon Veers had neither the barefacedness for a yes-sir response, nor the guts to punch that smile off his commander’s mug.
The latter elbowed him in the ribs and regaled him with some other pearl of bedroom wisdom; then a formal military salute was exchanged.
It all made Zev’s uniform feel sticky with filth, made him itch to rip it off and toss it in a garbage chute.
The lieutenant picked up his suitcase and walked out of Commander Laibach’s office, into a set of lifts and hovertrains and airlocks and more hovertrains and more lifts.
Scanners flashed over his eyes, the code cylinder in his tunic pocket blinked green, door after door slid open.
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