* G A L * C O R P *

is mind sang until the words blurred. Tom, ex-Galactic Navy hero (of the Colonial Wars) still retained his synth-leather pilot issue jacket, complete with blaster scars and insignia. Tom was content in THE COMFY SEAT at the Red Star Saloon, dreaming of Earth before it was reduced to a field of asteroids. The tranquility was broken by a good solid kick to his leg. "Wha de el invadous pig!", groaned Tom.

Looking down at him was the guy he had been waiting for. Right on time, such an efficient fellow. Smart black suit and tie, it was Hans who was carrying, as always, an attache case. Embossed upon the case was the logo for Gal Corp, an organisation larger than any government. The case landed heavily on Toms lap, "Och! Chow kruat". Tom was getting angry at the attitude of the German, why did he always have to be like that? He would never even stay and have a drink, still they don't have Schnapps in a place like this. Hans, company boy, grinned hard before his face returned to stoney blankness, "Good luck British Dog". Hans turned and left Tom to his thoughts.

Tom sprung open the case revealing the expected contents. Fifty packets of small yellow pills, the Piriton had arrived so Tom smiled knowingly. An envelope was also contained as with all the other consignments. Tom started to read the note but an explosion rocked the saloon with a dazzling burst of light followed by a ripping shockwave. Tom picked himself up and gazed at the broken room, customers loudly complaining. No one seemed badly injured and so it must have been next door that took the hit, someone cursed the rebels. Life on the Colonial frontier was definitely not without that certain quality which can make you very dead. By the time the hovermedics were on the scene Tom had left for he was now a busy man.

Dark red clouds thickly layered the sky, not many astronomers live on Abyss, a name given to this hell hole of a world by Toms own unit and adopted by the colonists. Gal Corp simply called it Victory World in tribute to the massive war needed to take it intact from the Imperial Elite Spartaz. While staggering down a trash canned ally way Tom recalled his first time here, his home and family had just been wiped out with the Earth. Tom collapsed over a bin, "Well we won didn't we, we bloody well won!", he shouted, then he threw up.

The long climb up the rotting stairs was a mean trick of stubbornness and dexterity. Tom grappled for his keys, found the lock on the tenth attempt then collapsed inside. The piriton would last another third of a year until Hans called with more of his heroic reward. The booze of course would keep coming like that friendly blur, yes we had won.