Secretly, Shanta adored the attention her celebrity status bestowed. Being treated like royalty made her feel special and desired; all her life, she had been a nobody until her career’s trajectory shot her into stardom. Now, she enjoyed adoration, free everything, and, if she felt horny, which was quite often, groupies of every sex, gender, and type flocked to her, wanting nothing more than to make her cum. The gritty reality of mercenary life was a balancing factor, so she remained her true self, still humble but appreciative.

While Jamahorn was noteworthy throughout the entire settled sphere for its kinky, sexual culture, the planet also offered non-stop entertainment for those not looking for orgasms. Although she partook of the sensual entertainment the planet had to offer, with extreme enthusiasm and boundless energy, Shanta also enjoyed some quiet moments, as well as some carousing, in between her frenzied bouts of fucking and sucking. As the crew of Pagan Vengeance worked around the clock to repair the massive damage to the Cranes, Ships, and other hardware they’d received at the hands of the pirate flotilla, Shanta toured the brothels, sex clubs, and other attractions, finally deciding that she needed a peaceful night. 

Eschewing her pilot’s fatigues for stylish, casual wear, the olive-skinned, dark-haired beauty left her jumpsuit in her cabin, opting for a shimmering, sultry, metallic dress. It was a one-shoulder affair, lovingly draping itself over the contours of her flesh and looking enticing and sexy, almost brazenly slutty, while still retaining a modicum of class. An extremely low, scooping back and dual slits in the front hinted at sexual treasures barely concealed. Glittery green makeup decorated her features, and her hair was worn long.

Although the walk from the mercenary group’s camp to the Entertainment District was only about one kilometer long, it took her hours to make the trek. Every few paces, she was accosted by fans, autograph seekers, groupies that wanted to touch her, please her, and others. The naughty action wasn’t confined to the clubs and bars; it was everywhere, including on the streets.

Basking in the attention, Shanta had given three interviews to various members of the media, sucked several cocks, licked scores of hot, wet pussies, and she’d even bent over and allowed herself to be fucked from behind while she sucked another man’s cock, all for a photo. Merc life may mean constant peril and putting one’s life on the line for pay, but the fringe benefits were the very things that she felt made life worth living. “Work hard; live hard. Die young and stay pretty,” was her philosophy.

The Dirty Bird, a bar famous throughout the Terran Sphere for its music and drink quality, was her final destination. Although not an exclusive merc bar, a lot of Crane pilots hung out there when they weren’t sowing their wild oats. Unlike the mobile drinking establishments that instantly popped up just outside the battlegrounds’ perimeters, the D-Bird, as it was nicknamed, was sparkling clean with bright lights, uniformed staff, and the public, as well as the media, were allowed inside.

“It’s Shanta,” some of them said when she entered, the automatic saloon doors opening before her.

“Shanta, Shanta,” the media mobbed her. “Care to answer a few questions?”

“That bitch blew up my Bird! Salutes,” some of the other pilots cheered and jeered.

Doing her best to be gracious, the battle-weary soldier smiled her “celebrity grin,” kissed and fondled some, saluted and greeted the few people she knew, and found herself discussing fashion preferences with a stocky man wearing an archaic evening gown, his makeup done up with such intensity that his face appeared to be a hyperbolic cartoon. Eventually, she made her way up to the bar, lustily staring at the sexy bartender.

The woman was a towering, statuesque beauty, almost inhuman in height. Her physique, enhanced by the pellucid, filmy skirted tunic of her uniform, was sculpted into all the sexual traits of feminine desire. Large, firm, natural breasts bounced up high on her torso, without any evidence of succumbing to gravity. Her torso was lithe and muscular while still being femininely curvy, making her ample bosoms seem exaggeratedly huge. Full, round hips gave way to a shapely behind, sticking out all round and plump, and her legs were pillars of muscle and sensual curving. Her shimmering, multicolored hair was swept back, enhancing her finely chiseled features and prominent cheekbones. Azure eyes sat atop pouting lips.

Although the Amazonian woman easily towered over Shanta, her sexual interest was piqued. She sauntered over to the mostly-empty bar, as the other patrons were talking, dancing, and playing bar games, and demurely sat on one of the glowing, glittery stools. Shanta smiled at the ”oohs” and “aahs” over her flashing her bare pussy as she sat. She knew that her cunt would make the evening news; the thought turned her on. Being lusted after by trillions of people was exciting to Shanta.

The smiling bartender turned to face her new customer, and her jaw dropped when she saw who it was.

“Shanta? The Shanta of pagan Vengeance? Here? In my bar? Wow. What’ll ya have? I love your dress. You look so edible in that.”

“Thank you,” Shanta purred. “I was thinking the same thing about you. You’re one tree I’d love to climb. I’ll take a G-Blaster.”

“I knew it! Every time I see you on television, I think to myself, ‘There’s a strong, sexy woman that lives her life on the edge. I bet she drinks G-blasters.’ What brand of Janx?”

The two women, both of them flirting with the other, looked into each other’s eyes. In unison, they said, “Pan-Galactic.”

“Straight, on the rocks, or over lava?”

“Hot rocks. Drink it properly or not at all.”

The G-Blaster, known as the most perfect, best drink in the settled sphere, is traditionally prepared over hot rocks instead of ice. The additional heat makes the frothy drink bubble and steam and adds potency.

“One Zaphod it is. A double, I assume?”

“Make it two.”

“I knew you were strong, but that’s insane.”

“The second one’s for you, sexy.”

“Ada,” the bartender replied. “Ada Hanky.”

“As in Panky? Dirty girl!”

“After a G-Blaster, you’ll know exactly how dirty I am.”

“Love it! Join me, then?”

“I’m sorry. We’re not allowed to drink on the job.”

Shanta pouted.

“Hey, Guy,” Ada yelled across the bar. “I’m taking the rest of the night off.”

The buxom, leggy woman stood defiantly, peeled off her uniform, then grabbed the two, steaming drinks and joined Shanta, sitting on a stool beside the Crane pilot. Ada sat there, completely nude and smiling.

“To fallen comrades,” she misquoted, holding up her glass.

“And comrades.”

“One and the same.”

The women clinked glasses, drank, laughed, and then began conversing. Unlike groupies, who fawn over celebrities, Ada seemed poised and relaxed. Over an hour or so, the two women were laughing like old friends. Every so often, one of them would reach out and touch the other. The sexual tension was building organically but quickly. By the time they’d gotten their second drink, both of them knew that they’d be spending the night together.

“What the living Hell do you think you’re doing, Ada?” The man’s voice was gruff, and his words were slurred, the effects of intoxicants clearly audible.

Both of the women turned, mid-laugh. Shanta felt the barest hints of recognition, but couldn’t discern from where or how she knew him. Ada’s face contorted into a displeased mask of contempt.

“What are you doing back here, King?” Ada said. Her voice dripped with ire. 

“When I heard those P-Vengeance pussies were on the ground, I had to drop in to claim what was owed.” 

King, as the bartender named him, had a rough-and-tumble look about him. He was dirty, with greasy, unkempt hair, and his clothes revealed that he was a Battle Crane pilot. His jumpsuit, however, was of lower quality, stained, and frayed more than a little bit at the cuffs. His almost handsome face was, at the very least, clean, but he had a gnarled scar that ran from just under his left eye to his chin.

King sneered, showing slightly yellowed teeth. He then pointed at Shanta. “Especially that cunt. You fucking owe me, and I’m here to collect.”

“How many times have I told you that you can’t come in here and mess with the customers? You know better.”

“Shut the fuck up and put on some clothes, you fucking whore!”

Shanta turned to Ada, lustily staring at the woman’s body. “Friend of yours?”

“Worse. He’s an ex-boyfriend.”

Shanta turned back to face the enraged, hostile man. He stood there, shuddering, with his fists clenched into balls of rage. It was at that moment that she noted his four friends, all similarly dressed. They stood a few meters behind him, glowering menacingly. Used to battle against overwhelming odds, Shanta couldn’t help but smile.

She faced the man and spoke. “Exactly why do you feel that I owe you, King? For what?”

“You don’t remember me, you fucking whore?”

“Should I?”

“This!” He growled some guttural sounds, pointing to his scar. “Your fucking C-Beam on Tannhäuser Gate sheared through my Crane’s cockpit and left me scarred for life. I owe you some payback.”

Shanta laughed wholeheartedly. “I do remember! Why the fuck did you take a fucking Crow onto the battlefield? It’s not my fault that your piloting skills are abysmal. If you want to put your fury to good use, go after the rinky-dink merc outfit that put you in a damn Crow.”

“What’s a Crow?” Ada inquired. That netted a venomous look from King and a guffaw from Shanta.

“A Crow,” Shanta began, “is one of the lightest, least-armored Battle Cranes out there. They’re mainly used for crowd control, a visual deterrent, for sporting events, political events, and things like that. They have no place on the battlefield, as they don’t pack the weaponry or protection.”

Shanta swiveled in her seat once more, facing the five men. “What’s the saying about Crows?” She held her hands before her, fanning out her fingers like wings, hooking her thumbs together to form a bird shape.

“Bang, Bang,” she shouted, parting her hands and wiggling her fingers. “Fuck! I’m dead.”

“Why, you fucking whore,” King responded. “Do you think…”

“All the time,” Shanta interrupted. “You should try it sometime. Maybe then you won’t be getting rookie-trainee Cranes.” 

“You owe me, you whore, now get your hands off my woman and prepare to be beaten to death.”

“Jenkins!” Ada screamed at him. By then, most of the patrons of the Dirty Bird were earnestly watching the pending altercation. Several pairs of eyes, belonging to the media’s camera persons, glowed that neon blue tone to alert everyone that they were being recorded for television. “Leave Shanta alone.”

“King Jenkins!” Shanta shrieked. “I DO remember you! I’m the one that pulled you out of the burning cockpit, saving your life. Remember? You asked me to save your rations, and you said, ‘At least I have chicken.’”

“Because of you, only low-life whores will look at me.”

Shanta, realizing that diplomacy was useless, turned to Ada. “Do you charge for sex?”

“Um, no, why?”

“Not a whore and definitely not low-class. I’m not the root of your problems, Mr. Fried-chicken-loving Jenkins. I’d recommend a long, hot shower and an attitude adjustment. Use soap this time, okay?”

“You fucking whore. I’ll destroy you and make you suck my cock.” King Jenkins, the disgraced Crane Pilot, launched himself at Shanta.

In a surprisingly quick, fluid movement, Shanta sprung off the bar stool, kicking it with her foot, propelling it forward. It clanged into King, interrupting his violent charge, which gave Shanta the time to not only get out of the way but to taunt him, as well.

“Now, I see why you’re just a little Birdie instead of a true warrior. You fight like imbeciles fuck, slow and sloppy.”

“You fucking whore.” King Jenkins, all grease and dirt and ire, charged toward the sexy, dark-haired woman, his fists lashing outward in an attempt to make contact.

The struggle lasted for only a few seconds. As soon as he was within range, Shanta, no stranger to hand-to-hand, lashed out with her foot, sweeping King’s leading leg as he advanced. As the grungy pilot fell forward, off-balance, her knee rose, striking the man firmly on the bridge of his nose. He lay there, bleeding, painful moans emanating from his writhing body.

“Now you have a broken nose to match your scar. Couldn’t just thank me for saving your life, could you?” Shanta, in warrior mode, despite being dressed like the A-level celebrity she was, turned to Jenkins’ friends. “You boys want some, or do you want to drag his literally stinking ass out of here? Your choice.”

Shanta, renowned for her cool head under fire, gently helped King to his feet. “There, there. You’re fine. It’s nothing the medics can’t fix. Now, go get yourself some chicken.” She pushed him toward his friends, rubbing her hands together as if she were scraping off some dirt.

She turned to Ada. “Want to go someplace a little less public?”

“I thought you’d never ask.”

Arm in arm, the two women left. The patrons applauded and shouted.

“How far to your place?” Ada asked. Her hand left the crook of Shanta’s arm, running over her shapely ass.

“Too far. I can’t wait. I get so fucking horny when I fight.”

Ada’s face was alight with desire. No words of consent needed to be spoken; their hands simultaneously reached for each other’s bodies. The tall bartender’s hands went right to Shanta’s butt, and Shanta explored the nude woman’s flesh. Although she had to bend down, Ada kissed the dark woman, all the passion in her body surfacing in that single embrace.

Randomly maneuvering, the two managed to slam against the side of a nearby building as a crowd of onlookers gathered. Stopping to shed her dress, Shanta noted that the media had also followed, and they were recording her tryst for the sphere’s viewing and masturbatory pleasure. She didn’t care; knowing that others would watch made it hotter for her. 

Fingers dipped inside hot, wet pussies. Ada moaned, loudly, her wails echoing off the buildings.

“That’s it! Finger my hot cunt,” Shanta begged. “So fucking hot; I’m going to cum all over your hand, Ada. You’re so fucking good.”

“Mmm, aaah,” was all the taller woman could manage. Shanta’s digits were returning the sexual favor. “Oh, fuck. I’m fucking cumming, already.”

At that moment, Ada became a star throughout the galaxy. Her orgasmic bliss was so intense, that the plethora of onlookers was stunned. Her tall, perfectly-formed body undulated, quivering and shaking, and low, sensual moans erupted from her full-lipped mouth. Losing all of her physical strength, the woman fell to the plasticrete sidewalk, screaming at the top of her lungs with her hands squeezing and grasping her large, round breasts.

Gasping for air, her hands descended to her overflowing pussy. All the while, the onlookers cheered and watched, some of them masturbating over the sight of the two sexy women giving each other pleasure.

“Give me your love,” Ada begged. “Sit on my face and cum on me.”

With a smile and a wave to the crowd, Shanta ran her hands over her taut nipples and straddled the other woman’s mouth.

“Breaking news,” one of the reporters in the crowd said. “Shanta of the elite mercenary group, Pagan Vengeance, is getting her cunt eaten by a sexy woman, right here in public.”

“She’s making me cum,” Shanta screamed over her shoulder. “Finger my ass; fuck my cunt. Oh, fucking yes!” Unable to remain upright, Shanta fell forward, her mouth landing at Ada’s voluptuous waist. “Fuck, unngghh, ahh,” she managed before bliss possessed her.

Ada, one of her hands busy between her legs, kept licking and sucking. The sexy bartender’s fingers penetrated Shanta’s holes, invading her pouring pussy and tight asshole. 

“I need a cock! Somebody… you!” she pointed to a well-hung masturbator, “Give me your cock.”

There in the street, a huge crowd gathering, Shanta easily fell into her usual pre- and post-battle behaviors. Completely consumed by lust, the need to feel, she eagerly sucked on the hard cocks of random strangers, one after another, as her new friend, Ada, fingered herself while finger-fucking her and licking her hot cunt. For Shanta, it was second nature; living on the edge meant truly living, and she relished sexual pleasure above all other things in life.

Ada was lost at the moment. The adoration of random strangers had moved her, pushing her psyche into a sexual stupor. The G-blasters she’d consumed removed her inhibitions, and she gleefully performed in front of the crowd. Soon, another woman, young, skinny, and covered in glowing body paint, joined the perverted, public fray. She lay between Ada’s shaking legs, adding her tongue to the bartender’s flying fingers. One of the third woman’s hands reached out, stroking Shanta’s engorged tits.

Unable to speak, the Crane pilot moaned on the cock in her mouth. She’d lost count, but her upper body was coated in cum. As she sucked the full length of the shaft in, Ada’s oral talents caused a volcanic orgasm to explode through her flesh. Her gyrations and moans forced the cock in her mouth to pop, spurting out a few, meager strings of white, liquid heat.

“More cock! I need more. Line up, guys.”

“I need a hard dick, too,” the frail, sexy stranger screamed.

Soon, the entire block in front of Lady Michael’s Pleasure Dome became an impromptu orgy. With standard mob mentality, the tourists, professional sex workers, and passersby surrounded and then joined the two, lust-filled women.

“That’s her! She’s the one that did this to me,” a gruff, intoxicated, and somewhat familiar voice challenged. The tone was so spiteful, filled with malice, that the torrid, passionate action stopped, and all heads turned toward the source.

King Jenkins, sporting a crisp, clean, white bandage over his nose, stood there, pointing at Shanta. Beside him, wearing similar but neatly pressed uniforms, stood an officer of some mercenary group and six, stalwart foot soldiers. While the Battle Crane pilots get a lot of the glory, most merc outfits employ a vast array of people, including ground troops.

“Is this true?” the officer inquired. His voice was firm and steady; self-confidence and authority were evident in his tone. “Did you assault one of my men?”

The man was tall, with broad shoulders and a tiny waist. Muscles rippled beneath his immaculate uniform. His expression, softened by his light, gray eyes and perfectly coiffed hair, showed no anger or malice. All action stopped, except for the media. The television crews stopped videoing the dirty sex in the street and focused their eye-installed cameras on the mercenaries that interrupted the orgy.

“Neither,” Shanta responded. She disengaged from her bevy of lovers and stood, tall and proud, saluting, despite being nude. Regardless of which company one is with, others should always defer to their rank. “He came in looking for a fight and wouldn’t relent. The reporters here have it all on camera. Check the sphere’s news feeds if you don’t believe me.”

“LeRoi! Front and center,” the officer snapped. He turned to Shanta. “It’s an archaic word that means ‘The King.’”

King, slouching and looking guilty, did as he was ordered. He glowered at Shanta and Ada but remained silent.

“I’m Nestorius, by the way. Major Nestorius of Hopper’s Fury.”

“Captain Shanta, sir. I’ve heard of you.”

“And I of you, ma’am. Your exploits are legendary, as are your recreational penchants. Wait,” he paused. “Didn’t you save LeRoi’s life?”

“Yes, sir, I did, sir. We ran a defense mission on Tannhäuser Gate some years back. Mr. Jenkins was out there in a Crow, of all things, and my Bird nearly disintegrated his. I pulled him out of the Crane, but he got that scar as a memento. It seems that he had a bone to pick with me.”

“Are you willing to give sworn testimony to attest to this, Captain?”

“No,” she responded. Her refusal took Nestorius aback.

“No? Please explain.”

“I will follow the local laws and testify if that is required. However, the mercenary code of honor dictates that we settle our disputes with honor. Although King’s intentions were dishonorable, we’ve settled our dispute as far as I’m concerned.”

The mercenary officer chuckled and smiled, then, he turned to his men. “See that, boys? How one conducts themselves, both on and off the battlefield, shows the true mettle of one’s character. Honor is the way, in all things.”

“This is the way,” the others chorused. 

Nestorius turned to King Jenkins. “You lost both your rank and seniority that day, if I recall—not for being wounded, but for disobeying orders. Then, you seek out the woman who saved your life to target her for vengeance. This is not the conduct of an honorable man.”

“It’s nothing, really,” Shanta soothed. “I’m used to being challenged.”

“Academic, ma’am. His actions have brought dishonor to himself and Hopper’s Fury. I’m in a position where I must apologize for my man’s actions, which means our reputation will be destroyed. We’ll be lucky to get a sanitation contract after this unless we can find a way to save face.”

“Umm…” Shanta began, but her words were cut off. The handsome officer turned to King, raising his voice in anger.

“You shall face court-martial, be stripped of all rank, disciplined, and possibly jailed for your behavior.”

“I object, sir,” Shanta smiled. “The punishment does not fit the misdeed.”

“It is our way.”

The others, again, said, “This is the way.”

“I refuse to allow the ruination of another man’s life, no matter how pathetically he’s acted. I suggest, instead, that you make him sober up and give him some responsibility, so he can learn what it feels like to be somebody others rely upon, to do good in this galaxy.”

“As you know the codes, countering a superior officer is akin to a challenge. Are you challenging my authority?”

Nestorious smiled as he spoke. A highly intelligent man, he realized that Shanta’s objections were intentional. He even nodded at her, acknowledging her diplomacy.

“If that’s how you perceive it, sir, then, yes, I challenge you. Terms?”

“Vibro blades. If I am victorious, then I’ll follow LeRoi’s testimony and make you suck my cock. Agreed?”

“If I win, then, you’ll eat my ass…”

“Mine, too,” a smiling Ada added.

“Our asses. She’s with me, tonight.”

“Duel, duel, duel,” the soldiers and crowd chanted.

“That’s twice, now, that Miss Shanta has saved your life.” The officer’s tone was dismissive, making the already shrinking King Jenkins visibly wither. “You should thank her, not attempt assassination.”

“Lance Boyle here for Confederate network, live from Jamahorn.” The television crews were already hyping up the situation. “A drunken bar fight has turned into an honor duel between two rival factions—Pagan Vengeance and Hopper’s Fury. Catch it live, now!”

The local constables, government-employed police, closed off the avenue, setting up roadblocks, so the two mercenaries could duel. Word spread like wildfire, and, soon, the block was mobbed with people wanting to see two celebrity mercenaries duke it out in the streets. Vibro blades, while non-lethal, did hurt, and they shot sparks when they made contact, which made for a dramatic show.

As runners were sent to retrieve the required weaponry, Nestorious offered Shanta a pre-bout drink, and the two warriors sat to converse, Ada hovering near her dark-haired, sexy companion.

“I must add,” Nestorious mentioned, “that I’m a fan of yours. I’ve heard that you have a cum fetish, so it was quite delightful to confront you while you’re covered in it. When I win, I won’t be able to hold out too long, as, and this is embarrassing, ma’am, I find you extremely sexually arousing.”

“You’re far too kind, Major. Your gambit on Kessel is famous. I’ve studied the footage, time and time, again, and your victory in Alpha Trios Crimp, against impossible odds, is required education in our outfit. When I win, after you eat our asses, I just might let you cum on me, or in me.”

“To fallen comrades,” Nestorious raised his glass, which contained another G-Blaster.

“And fallen foes.”

“One and the same!”

“I like you, Nestorious. I’d hate to kill you.”

“I like you too. I’d hate to die! Shall we?”

Side by side, laughing with each other, the two mercenaries entered the impromptu arena.

“As I am the challenger, the choice of weapon goes to you, Major.”

The handsome, honorable Major chose one of the weapons, merely a metal handle in a box, and handed it to his opponent for inspection. Shanta flicked the switch, tested it, nodded, and handed it back. They repeated the actions, and both of them were satisfied that the weapons were allowable and wouldn’t cause any permanent harm.

“LeRoi Jenkins, King! Since your chicken-loving future is on the line, here, you must stand on the edge and observe. Please note—all of you—that Shanta is defending one of our against court-martial through trial by arms. Win or lose, the woman deserves every respect.”

Musicians, pouring out from the doorways, began playing a frenetic tune; the crowd cheered, their sexual lust turning to bloodlust.

Nestorious held his blade aloft in salute. In a swift, perfectly accurate gesture, he swung the tip of the blade down and around with a dramatic flourish. “I offer you quarter, my lady Captain.”

Shanta returned the salute, casually, turning around, bending over, and spreading her jizz-soaked butt cheeks apart. “And I have an entire ass you can kiss. Shall we dance, you and I?”

The two mercs approached one another, circling the cordoned-off arena.

“Is your cock huge or pathetic like your Battle Cranes?”

“Funny. Is your mouth big enough to take it all?”

“Academic.” Shanta closed the distance, “as you’ll be cleaning my sphincter, shortly.”

The combatants activated their weapons, and a glowing, green, rod of pulsing energy sprung from the handles. The weapons gave off a slight hum, barely audible. Shanta sprung into action, stomping her foot in a false advance, then turning to one side, her blade lashing out in a horizontal strike. The Major flicked his wrist, smiling, and Shanta’s weapon skidded off the Major’s. However, he hadn’t been prepared for her riposte; her clumsy attack had been a probing feint.

“Kick his ass,” Ada shouted. She’d donned Shanta’s dress and looked amazing in it.

“Get her,” the other soldier in Hopper’s Fury encouraged.

The female pilot’s weapon spun over Nestorius’, swinging across his chest, the point so close that it ripped his jumpsuit top. He dodged out of the way in the nick of time, narrowly escaping.

“Well done,” he said, springing into action.

In a furious blur, the green Vibro Blade humming and changing hue, the Major’s attack was a whirlwind of blows. Overhead, horizontal, low cuts, high thrusts, and doubled-triple attacks pressed Shanta to the perimeter. When the in-fighting subsided, the two sparred with each other, moving back and forth, chiding each other as they fenced.

“Sexy chest, Major, sir. When I win, you’ll disrobe before you pleasure my posterior.”

“And yours looks delightful, covered in cum. I look forward to shooting my love all over those amazing tits.”

“So sweet. En garde!”

Though Nestorious outranked Shanta, their swordsmanship skills were quite evenly matched. They sparred, neither one gaining the advantage for more than a fleeting moment, for close to half an hour. Acrobatics, quips, and awe-inspiring attacks and parries were not only entertaining, but the two fighters’ respect for each other increased.

A constable airship flew over the area, sirens blaring and lights flashing. This caused the two to stop for a moment and look skyward. They draped their arms over each other’s shoulders, panting from their exertion. For the most part, mercenaries are an honorable lot. 

“Now hear this. Now hear this,” the officer on the ship announced over loudspeakers. “The Pirate King, B’Ross, has just launched an all-out attack on Sylvan Five. The MRB has ordered all mercenary groups to their ships. This is a full-scale war, kiddies. Over and out… oh, by the way, Shanta. Nice tits; I’m a huge fan.”

“So,” Nestorious began, “what do we do now?”

“Call it a draw?”

“Good for me, but what about that one’s punishment?”

“I humbly suggest, sir, that you sober him up, make him shower for fuck’s sake, and give him a Crane. Let him redeem himself.”

“Agreed, ma’am. However, you owe me oral sex.”

“And you need to eat my ass.”

“How about the next time we meet, honor providing, we settle it.”

“Either way, I want your fucking cock.”

“To arms, men. Let’s get ready to ruuumble!”

Shanta embraced the Major, turned to Ada, and said, “Let’s go. There’s a war to win.”

“Me?” Ada was flabbergasted. “I’m just a humble bartender on this shit show of a pleasure planet.”

“You’re now Pagan Vengeance’s official bartender. That is if you want the job. Fly with us; see the sphere. Get your cunt serviced every night.”

“Does it pay well? Fuck it! Who cares? I’m in.”

The Major, Nestorious, grabbed King by the scruff of his neck. “You’re a thrice-luck man, LeRoi. Not only did that sexy bitch just save your life and career, but she also had the decency to save Hopper’s Fury by publicly challenging my authority. Her little stunt made the media forget all about what a pathetic fuck-face you are. Let’s clean you up and give you another shot, just as the lady requested. You fucking owe her. She’s not only an honorable opponent and warrior, but she knows the game.”

Back at the temporary camp, Charlie X, her purple hair flailing about as she addressed everyone, was in rare form. She seemed elated and jovial.

“Did you see it yet? B’Ross has a ten-million price on my head! Talk about no such thing as bad press. Who’s that?”

“Commander. This is Ada Hanky, our new bartender.”

“As in Panky?”

“Pleased to meet you, Miss X. I’m a huge fan.”

Charlie nodded to Shanta, then turned to Ada, “Now, you’re one of us. No starstruck shit, got it?”

Charlie turned on her communicator. “Everyone, this is Charlie speaking. If you haven’t heard, B’Ross is still alive and not only has a price on my head, but his pirate outfit has just attacked the Sylvan system. If you want to kill me, bring it on, but we all know I pay better. Until that moment, let’s go save an entire system. Can I get a yea or nay, please?”

A wailing cacophony, all agreeing “yea” echoed throughout the entire encampment.

“And those of you that say nay?” Charlie added.

Total silence was her only response.

“Since we’re all on board, let’s not go gently into that good night and knock his peg legs off! Jets up in twenty minutes, we have a war to win, pay to make, and groupies to fuck.”

To Be Continued…