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About SteveTrevor

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  1. SteveTrevor

    Chapter 1

    Glad you like Stay tuned
  2. SteveTrevor

    Chapter 1

    It was a short trip from the wooden planks of the sidewalk to the rain-laced thoroughfare. The landing was relatively soft too, thanks to the mud. A small mercy, Nat thought, considering he had just lost the power to raise his hands in order to break his fall. In fact, he seemed to have lost power to all his faculties. As he considered just how deep a puddle needed to be for someone to drown in it, he was flipped over onto his back. A woman appeared above him with a length of rope and began to tie his hands. At least that’s what Nat assumed she was doing, he couldn’t raise his head enough to actually see. “You hit me!” he said. Or rather, what he meant to say. It came out more like, “Yoooohhhemmuhh!” The woman ignored him until her task was complete. “Relax,” she said. Her voice had a slight husk to it. “You got hit with this.” She held out a long, thin, cylindrical stick. With a press of her right thumb, two prongs at the end of the stick crackled with blue light. “Stun baton,” she explained, rather needlessly. “You’ll be back to normal soon.” Unable to move his head, Nat had little choice but to take in the woman hovering above him. She was handsome, perhaps a year of two older than Nat’s twenty nine years. Her chestnut brown hair was tied back into a messy bun and strands of loose hair framed a lean and tanned face. Her tone seemed relaxed when she spoke but dark green eyes watched him warily. “Whyyyooodoootht?” “Because you’re a dangerous man, Mister Othic.” “Awhic?” Nat did his best to sound surprised, a difficult task when it felt like his tongue was three sizes too big for his mouth. “My nmmmes Cnnredd -” “-Don’t.” She held up a hand to cut off any protests. “I don’t go around stunning random men for the hell of it, Othic. I know who you are.” She didn’t offer any more explanation as to who she was or why she had attacked him, although the list for the latter could be quite extensive. Her attention turned away from Nat to scan what he could only assume was by now, a rather healthy crowd of gawkers. Not much happened in Haverlind. This would be the talk of the town for weeks. Slowly, some sense began to return to Nat’s extremities. The woman remained crouched beside him, switching her gaze between where he lay and the crowd on the sidewalk. After a slow few minutes, the woman glanced to a large stainless steel watch on her left wrist. “Ok, you’ve had enough time.” With impressive strength, as Nat had no intention of helping her, she was able to haul him to his feet. As he took an unsteady step, a hand reached up to take him under the armpit. “Thanks,” he said as he took a test pull of the ropes binding his hands. Tight, but not impossible to work free of, if he had enough time. “Don’t get used to it. I’ve got horses stabled at-unnnnnggfh!” Nat's elbow caught the woman hard in the stomach. “Sorry!” he called out as she doubled over, unleashing a rather unladylike epithet in his direction as she sank to one knee, gasping for air. He made it three steps before his jelly legs gave out and he face planted into the muck for the second time in about five minutes. He had just enough time to pull himself up to his knees, shake the muck and water from his eyes and see the woman stride over toward him, her jaw set. “Shit.” Her boot caught him under the jaw, hard enough to rattle his teeth and send him crashing back into the mud. As Nat looked up to the sky, he scolded himself for being such a gentleman. He knew he should have cracked her in the jaw. The woman grabbed a fistful of his jacket and pulled him close. “I’ll give you that one for free.” She didn’t raise her voice but the anger was unmistakable and just about under control. “My fault for being so damn sloppy.” With her free hand she reached into her coat and produced a folded sheet of paper. “A warrant. I have legal authority to bring you in. That includes any force I deem appropriate. Don’t test me again.” A warrant. It seemed almost impossible to Nat. He had left his old life behind three years before and had not expected it to catch up anytime soon. He had never shared the notoriety or infamy of some of the men and women he had rode with and had managed to get out just before the gang violently broke apart. There was no bounty on him, yet someone the woman had a warrant. “Don’t worry, you’re not for the gallows,” she said, seeming to sense just where Nat’s line of thought was heading. My employer wants to talk to you. Just talk.” “Just talk?” Nat asked, unbelieving. The woman nodded. “Wants to talk and has the power to issue a warrant just for that purpose?” The woman nodded again. “What the fuck could I possibly have to talk about to someone like that?” “Best you let him answer that question." She grimaced as she took a breath, still feeling the effect of Nat's elbow. "Now, will you stand?” Nat exhaled slowly. “Aye.” It wasn’t like there was much of a choice. It seemed like the entire population of Haverlind was crowded into the main thoroughfare. Most seemed to be enjoying the show but Nat could pick out confusion on some of the faces as he was marched past. People who had known him as Conrad Healy, caravan guard and regular at the Three Trees Saloon, who had come to the town at the start of the year looking for work. Aside from the name and new occupation, Nat had changed little about himself. He still had the same dry humour, the same enjoyment of good whiskey and poker. He still kept himself in decent shape and while he could do little about the first signs of his short blonde hair thinning at the front of his head, his trimmed beard still didn’t hide the long scar that ran down his left jaw. The change of name had been a precaution that he was never certain he actually needed. If he had stood on top of the bar in the Three Trees and shouted to all present that he was in fact, Nat Othic, former outlaw, he doubted anyone would have reacted much. Or so he had thought, right up until the woman jabbed a stun baton into his back. “So, looks like you have the advantage,” Nat said, once they were clear of the main throng of their audience. “You know my name.” “Addison,” the woman replied, her eyes scanning each balcony and alleyway. “Addison Rayne.” “Alright, Addison,” Nat said. “I’d say it was a pleasure to meet your acquaintance but...you know.” He flexed his jaw as he held up his bound hands. The woman’s grunt was about as close to a laugh that Nat expected to get from her. As they walked to the stable at the far end of town, Nat took the time to study Addison from the corner of his eye. Her dark duster was good quality but speckled with dirt. Her hard leather boots were heavily scuffed and her pants, clinging tightly against a pair of long legs, were as dirty as the jacket. He couldn’t make out the model of the watch that peeked out from the left sleeve of her duster but it was clearly expensive. The quality of her clothing told Nat that she was reasonably well off, which meant that she was likely very good at her job. The dirt and worn-in boots told him she wasn’t afraid of roughing it and was likely more comfortable outdoors than he was. The pain in his jaw told him she was a hell bitch when crossed and that it would be advisable not to do so again. “You didn’t actually say where we going.” “You didn’t ask.” “I’m asking now.” “Rushport.” Rushport. Saviour, how Nat hated Rushport. Canton's state capital had been built on swampland a hundred years before. Haverlind was only thirty miles away but the differences were stark. Haverlind was quiet but it had character. The people were friendly but minded their own business. The town could boast two good saloons and one dive, a theatre, a smokehouse if you were inclined to puff your money away. a whorehouse if you were inclined to get the clap, and good fishing up at Hoskin’s lake. Rushport had people, pollution and nothing of worth. It was the smell that Nat always noticed. Thick smoke from the numerous industrial stacks mixed in with the fetid smell of the swamp and the wide, brown river that snaked slowly through the city. The heat was oppressive in the summer and the air dirty all year round. Much of the poorer population lived in cramped terrace housing in the inner city, close to their factories, or shacks at the edge of swampland while the elite lived behind walled mansions. But penniless fisherman, factory worker, politician or anyone in between, it didn’t matter, everyone in Rushport had the same stick up their ass. “I hate Rushport,” Nat offered. “Same.” Addison admitted. “But you go where the work is.” The stable owner had been waiting for them and he smiled as the pair approached. “You got your man then?” “I did,” Addison replied, flipping a gold coin which the man eagerly plucked out of the air. “Your horse is fed and watered. It’s a fine animal. Can’t say the same for the one you just bought, mind.” “Only needs to get us to Rushport.” “Reckon the saddle I put on her is worth more than the nag herself.” Addison nodded. Nat was quickly getting the impression she was not a stirring conversationalist. They waited for the man to lead the two horses from the stable. Addison’s was a beautiful creature, dark brown with dabbles of white on its flank and standing close to seventeen hands tall. He saw the ghost of a smile on her lips as she took the reins and leaned in to pat the animal. Nat’s horse was a more pathetic affair. Grey with a matted mane and sad, black eyes. It looked like she already had one foot in the knacker’s yard and would probably consider ending it all herself if her hoof could navigate the trigger of a pistol. Addison ignored Nat as he asked whether he was meant to make it to Rushport alive. Twilight was giving way to darkness by the time they trotted the horses out of town. The stable owner had been obliging enough to help Nat into his saddle. Addison had no intention of loosening his ropes and insisted that he lead the way. Her assertion that it was much easier to shoot him in the back if she needed to, was of little comfort. Not that Nat could have done much anyway. The first thing she had done after stunning him was to take the pistol and knife from his belt. She had left his spare ammunition but unless he somehow got her to choke on one of the bullets they would not be much use. He had been resigned to the fact he was going with Addison since his laughable escape attempt. She was clearly comfortable using force when required to and she had all the advantages. He could overpower her in a fair fight but Addison was never going to let herself get put in a situation where a fair fight could happen. Nat gave her credit for that, he himself was firmly of the opinion that a fair fight should be avoided at all costs. “Be morning or close enough to it by the time we reach Rushport,” Addison said, tapping the face of her watch. “I’d like to get there quicker but I don’t reckon your nag is up for any hard riding.” “I don’t think she’s up for much, ‘cept maybe the glue factory.” “Or scalteth food. We’ll be hitting the bayou dead on their feedin’ time.” “Thanks for that,” Nat said, suppressing a shudder. His years riding with the gang meant he was familiar with a lot of the critters who made their home on the new frontier but there was none that scared him as much as a scalteth. The creatures lived under the murky waters surrounding Rushport. Just hearing the distinctive click as the beasts called to each other was enough to give him nightmares for a week. When he had seen one up close, it did little to improve his disposition. Four rows of fangs in a gaping mouth. A jawbone that could unhinge and swallow a child whole. A creature from the deadlands thriving in what was supposed to be civilization. “Hope you’re a good shot with that,” Nat said, nodding to the rifle Addison had stored on her saddle. “Don’t worry, Othic. I’d never let them eat the horse.” “Funny.” Nat sighed, reflecting on how his night had taken such an unpleasant turn. “Alright, Addison Rayne. Let’s go meet your boss.”
  3. SteveTrevor

    The Deadlands

    Nat Othic likes to drink, play cards and mind his own business. He had thought his past was long forgotten until Addison Rayne shoved a stun baton into his back and brought him before the Governor of the state. Nat is offered a lot of money to track down the remnants of the gang he once rode with. Together he and Addison have to ride deep into the Deadlands, the scorched earth where evil thrives in both man and beast.
  4. SteveTrevor

    Chapter 1

    Thanks Hoping I can meet expectations
  5. SteveTrevor

    Chapter 1

    More inspired by the Godless mini series (no spoilers) but I still love RDR.
  6. SteveTrevor

    Chapter 1

    Thanks Jeffrey. Glad I did enough to gain some interest
  7. SteveTrevor

    Chapter 1

  8. SteveTrevor


    Myn Othic wakes up to find himself on a remote moon in the care of a local rancher. He has revenge in his heart and redemption on his mind.
  9. SteveTrevor

    The Colonel's Liberty

    Suggestions welcome
  10. SteveTrevor

    The Colonel's Liberty

    Thanks so much Unfortunately writers block has hit me hard
  11. SteveTrevor

    2018 Commonwealth Games

    Northern Ireland waiting on the boxing before starting to haul in any medals, as is tradition xD
  12. SteveTrevor

    Chapter 2

    The Colonel led Miles to the waiting ship. He had never had much of an interest in spacecraft like some of his old school friends but he could appreciate what he saw. The Relentless was painted onto the sleek fuselage in bold white lettering and the hull gleamed in the glow of the dock lighting rigs. Mile’s attention focused from the ship back to the man in front of him, enjoying the features framed in the tight uniform pants. Haverson was well into his mid-forties but if not for the grey hair and laughter lines, he could have passed for a good deal younger. Miles had to mentally remind himself not to stare, first at the impressive bulge barely contained by the Initiative uniform and then the shapely, athletic rear as the older man walked in front of him. He sighed. Whilst he had never been above a bit of shameless flirting his attempted compliment in the elevator had been completely misjudged. He had been truthful in what he had said, the Colonel was a distractingly rugged and handsome man in person but he was also Miles’s superior. While Miles wasn’t quite bound by the Naval hierarchy he still had to show respect to the person in charge. Instead he had made a clumsy attempt that reflected badly on him. The one saving grace, he supposed, was that the Colonel had so easily brushed off any possible offence. The trio were met by a man waiting at the top of the ramp. He was dressed in an black t-shirt with the Initiative logo over the left breast while his boots and pants matched the attire worn by John and Zara "Whose the stray?" he asked nodding to Miles. His smile was friendly and his tone was warm. "Docter Wexler," said John, "Meet Myn Othic. Sharpshooter, explosives expert, armourer, judo black belt,veteran drinker...Have I missed anything?" "Think you covered the most vital bits of intel, Sir." he replied. Othic appeared to be in his late twenties. He was of a similar height to Miles but while he was slim and athletic, Othic was stout with broad shoulders and muscled arms. His dark blonde hair was showing the first signs of receding at the front. He wore a few days worth of a trimmed beard that didn't quite hide the long scar that ran parallel to his left jawline. Miles wondered if an impressive scar was a prerequisite to joining the Pathfinders. John clapped Othic on the back. "Tell Sunny we're ready for take-off. See if she can't bump us up the queue." Othic nodded and moved over to a comms unit attached to the wall at the far end of the cargo bay. Aside from a few crates stacked neatly against a wall, the only other thing of note in the bay was a six-wheeled exploration vehicle. Like the Relentless itself, the vehicle was in immaculate condition although Miles couldn’t help but notice the large machine gun turret built on to the top of the machine. “I need to get a report out to HQ,” the Colonel said to Zara. “Think you and Myn can show Doctor Wexler the rest of the ship without losing him?” “I’m sure we can cope, Sir,” Zara replied with mock seriousness. “Thank you, Colonel. I would prefer if you just called me Miles, however. Formality has never been my strong suit.” John smiled and Miles was certain he felt his cheeks flush. “Alright then, Miles. Get yourself settled in and don’t let these two,” he pointed to Zara and a returning Othic, “Fill your head with too much nonsense.” With that the Colonel turned on his heel and left the three in the cargo bay. “Sorry to disappoint but before you ask, there’s no communal showering on the ship.” “Huh?” Miles had been watching the Colonel leave and hadn’t quite caught the mischievous undertone in Zara’s voice. “What’s this now?” Othic asked, immediately recognising the build up to what Miles knew was an inevitable ribbing. “Let’s just say our new doctor is not the subtle type.” Miles tried to laugh off the jibe knowing there was little he could do other than to accept it. “Too strong, you think?” he asked with a shrug. First impressions counted and while Miles wasn’t happy with his performance so far, the fact that Zara was willing to bust his balls about it was a good sign. “Probably could have just left it at the gushing over the Star of Terra bit. You know, build it up slowly.” Othic threw and arm around Miles’s shoulder, steering him toward a steep flight of stairs at the far end of the cargo bay. “Don’t listen to her, Doc. These former Marine types got no manners. Stick with me, I won’t laugh at a crew mate’s misfortune, even if it sounds like he absolutely deserves it.” “Thanks, Myn,” Miles replied, chuckling ruefully. The flight of stairs led to the ships common room. "We call it the Den," Myn explained as he showed Miles around. The room had most modern conveniences at hand. Two soft couches and a number of other comfortable seats for the crew to lounge on were arrayed around the room. The carpet underfoot was soft and a large entertainment and gaming system, plugged into the network, was attached to the far wall. "The Initiative does have its perks." “Yeah,” said Zara. “Probably explains why we get so many volunteers from ground and pounders like yourself.” Myn ignored her as he pointed to a staircase at the far side of the den. "Commanding Officer's quarters. Leadership has its perks too.” He turned to Miles. “The promised land,” he said with a playful smirk. “Seriously? You’re going to join in too?” “Hey,” Othic said, holding up his hands. “You need to make your own entertainment out in the void. I can’t help it if you just serve it up so willingly.” “Don’t worry, Doc,” Zara said. “You just need to wait for someone else to do something humiliating and we’ll let this go.” “Maybe,” Myn added. The galley, connected to the den through an arched doorway was a plainer affair. The table was long, with ample space to fit the small crew for sit down meals, a ritual they observed every night, according to Zara. “Colonel’s tradition,” she explained. “He’s big on having a tight team .” Othic nodded his agreement. “Give him your loyalty and he’ll back you to the hilt. Seen it myself.” The pair led Miles to a long corridor that joined the galley to the staircase up to the bridge. There were four doors on either side of the corridor. "Crew quarters," Zara said, stopping at the nearest one. "This is yours." To anyone unfamiliar with space travel, most would have labelled the cabin as cramped, but to anyone who had spent time in the Navy, the room was almost palatial. Each had space for a large bed, a desk with a personal terminal and chair and a couple of cabinets for storage. Along the back wall was a sliding door that opened up to a small bathroom, complete with sink, toilet and shower. Mile’s personal effects and luggage had arrived before him and waited on the bed. "This is where you can call home," Othic said, leaning against the door frame. "Any questions?" “When do we get started?” Miles asked, his smile wide.
  13. SteveTrevor

    Chapter 1

    Anything can happen Thanks so much for the comment
  14. SteveTrevor

    The Pathfinders

    Colonel John Haverson is a Pathfinder. Part explorer and part soldier, Haverson is one of the Coalition Navy's elite. Commanding the Frigate, Relentless, the Colonel and his crew travels the new frontier in the name of humanity. While on Fulcrum, the Pathfinder base, the Relentless is assigned a new medic, Doctor Miles Wexler. A civilian outside the Navy chain of command, Wexler has volunteered himself to the Pathfinders. Bored as a surgeon on Osiris, the young man is keen to see the galaxy while contributing something in return.
  15. SteveTrevor

    Chapter 1

    Colonel John Haverson stopped to let two female technicians pass him in the corridor. The pair nodded their thanks which John returned. The Colonel also couldn't help but notice the appraising looks the two young women gave him. It was something he was long used to. Tall, tanned and flint jawed, John was effortlessly handsome. At forty six he was in better shape than most men half his age.His dark hair had greyed at the temples and laughter lines furrowed his brow and tugged at the corner of each eye but neither feature could be considered a blemish, rather they added to the Colonel's distinguished good looks. Today, he was dressed in his preferred attire of Pathfinder Initiative fatigues. The short-sleeved midnight blue shirt was worn tight to his muscular frame, clinging to a broad chest and bulging biceps. His camo pants framed a strong and toned pair of legs while the black combat boots were polished to perfection. A large, gold chronograph watch clasped onto John's left wrist completed the look of one of the Initiative’s most experienced officer's. From behind he heard the approach of hurried footsteps slowing as their owner fell into step beside him. "How we doing, L.T?" John asked without looking to his side. "The Relentless is green across the board," Lieutenant Zara Porter replied cheerily. Porter had transferred to the Pathfinders from the Marines almost five years previous and had been operating as the Relentless's XO for the last three. She was a near constant at John's side and had saved his ass on more than one occasion, something which she always took time to remind him off. Standing five feet eleven with golden blonde hair and dark blue eyes, Porter was able to turn the head of almost every man on Fulcrum station. If her good looks didn't catch their attention, the long scar that snaked its way down from her brow, across the bridge of her nose, under her right eye and around her cheek before ending above the corner of her mouth certainly did. Her cheery nature belied the fact she was a positively deadly force with almost any weapon or explosive. John was glad to have her on his crew. "Glad to hear," said John. "Want it looking good for the rook." "You heading to get him?" she asked, deftly dodging a fully loaded mech cart heading in the opposite direction. John nodded. "Commander's already briefed him." "What's his story?" Porter asked. The Colonel shrugged his broad shoulders. "I don't know a damn thing other than what's on his file and that's not much. Some sort of medical prodigy back in the day and gave it all up to sign up to the Initiative. He's a board certified Xeno-Biologist too, whatever that's worth." Porter gave a non-committal grunt. Certifications and degrees were nice but they didn't mean a damn thing out in the void. The rook might be the most gifted surgeon in the Cluster but could fall apart the minute his foot hit groundside on a new world. John had seen it happen before, more times than he cared to remember. Pathfinders existed outside the usual comfort zone for most people. It took a certain sort to cope with what was expected. Ideally, John would have wanted to get a newbie bedded in with the way he worked and how he ran his ship. He glanced down at his watch. Instead, he had less than an hour before they were due for departure with someone he knew nothing about. “So they put him through basic and dump on us.” John smirked. “That’s right. Luckily I have my hardass, ex-Marine XO to keep any civilian sensibilities in line." Zara scoffed before stopping."Is that him?" She pointed to a young man idling at the end of the admin corridor. "Looks like. Let's go introduce ourselves." The man noticed their approach and pulled himself straighter, offering a smart, if somewhat uncertain, salute. John waved away the gesture with a friendly smile. "No need for that, Doctor Wexler," he said he extended a hand The Colonel's grip was firm and the skin rough and callused, courtesy of a life of real work rather than a career spent behind a desk. "Colonel John Haverson." He nodded to his companion, "This is my XO, Lieutenant Zara Porter. It's going to be her responsibility to bring you up to scratch. Twisted humour aside, she's a hell of a solider and the first person you'd want watching your back." Porter seemed to turn suddenly bashful after receiving the compliment."You can call me Zara," she replied, glancing between Wexler and her commanding officer. "The Initiative is still military but things are a good deal less formal around here." Wexler smiled. "Colonel. Zara. I look forward to working with you both. John took a moment to look the young man over and was impressed with what he saw. The Doctor was a handsome man, with perhaps two days worth of stubble and a mop of dark brown hair. John placed him somewhere in his late twenties. It wasn't the mans looks that impressed the Colonel however, rather the way he carried himself. He was not close to the Colonel's large, muscular frame but he clearly kept himself in good shape. Being a Civilian contractor, Wexler didn’t wear a standard uniform; instead, he wore a black jumpsuit, with steel grey trim decorated with the Pathfinder insignia. His combat boots were clean, and his utility belt was tight around a slim waist. Rounding out the ensemble was a medical sensory gauntlet worn on his left arm, and a standard issue sidearm, secured in its holster John tapped the face of his watch with a sigh. "I'm all in favour of breaking the ice, doctor but we have a schedule to keep. We're due to be shipping out in forty five minutes." "How was the trip up?" Zara asked as John led them along the maze of corridors toward the elevator that would take them down to the docks. Fulcrum was a busy station with a heavy traffic flow. Civilian ships were allowed to dock there despite it being a Navy controlled installation. It was also the place most Pathfinders called home when they weren't on assignment. “It was mostly smooth, some atmosphere turbulence, before we reached orbit,” Wexler replied. “Interesting enough trip for my first time in space. Zara whistled. "You don't do things by halves, do you? First time in space and it's to ship out with the Initiative. Most people call a short system jump an adventure." Wexler laughed politely. "Guess I've always been an ambitious sort." "I'll give you the quick rundown," John said as they reached an elevator. Apart from myself and Zara, we have Myn Othic. He came from the Rangers but don't hold that against him. Didn't think a ground and pounder would fit in with a Marine but him and Zara make a good team." Zara gave a wry smile. "Not to say we don't butt heads now and again," she added quietly. "It's a small crew," John continued, stepping onto a waiting elevator. "Garrett Lafferty keeps the engine and the explorer rover running and Sunny Collard keeps us in the air." Wexler nodded. "Looking forward to getting started. His dark eyes met John’s. "Especially with you, Colonel. "It’s not everyday you get to work with a Star of Terra recipient.” John couldn’t hide his surprise. “You’ve read my file?” “Some light reading when I found out who my commanding officer was going to be. There's a few articles up on the cortex about it." John cleared his throat. “Ancient history,” he said not wanting to dwell on the subject. Beside him, Zara scoffed. “He’s just trying to be modest. Believe me, you don’t need to stroke his ego.” "If I wanted to do that, I'd tell him the pictures really don't do him justice to how hands...." Wexler trailed off as he suddenly caught himself. "Apologies, Colonel, he said, looking to the floor. John looked from the young man to his XO, who was furiously biting on her lip. "Don't worry about it," John said, laughing the near compliment away. "The thought is appreciated, if nothing else." The Colonel considered it a small mercy when the elevator doors opened with a chime a few seconds later. The docks were a hive of activity; crew men making last minute preparations, techs and engineers darting and dodging around the machinery as mech carts ferried cargo and parts to an array of waiting ships. The Colonel led Wexler over to the berth where the Relentless waited. Even in a rush, John slowed his pace to take in the view. She wasn't a large craft. Sleek and optimised for speed, she only had a crew of six. Thin and long in body, a pair of forked wings either side of the fuselage each held a primary and secondary thruster. Beneath each wing, missiles sat primed and ready should any pirate or slaver try their luck. A Corstein FTL drive, used to propel the ship across the vast distances between the gates and the Relentless's eventual destination nestled at the rear of the hull. "She's a beauty," Wexler said with clear appreciation. "That she is," John agreed. "Welcome aboard, Doctor."

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