Downtime

Commander Krennel stared at the nude form of the sleeping woman in his stateroom on the Tovil-Toba. She was rather attractive, as station prostitutes go. He never really understood women, though he had an off and on relationship with Keila, the ship's weapons officer. Still, for satisfying a base need, hookers would suffice. The smoke from his cigarette swirled and formed a gray halo around his shorn head. He focused his gaze on the glowing tip and managed a grin as the blue steel of his surroundings faded and blurred at the corners of his vision. He missed the warmth of his time with Baillieu. These days, the heat of battle was the only place he found peace. His hunger for battle was insatiable. He shuddered. What was he? What kind of man got his jollies from wholesale slaughter? He was convinced it was the Haijikioten blood in his veins. Titus had learned of a relative, a daughter of his through a prostitute. Ryven swore then and there, he must kill her.