An hour later, Wheeler groaned mentally as they stood on top of the building that contained their assigned targets. Of course, pretty boy wasn’t just on his team. It was worse. What team? Just him and mister never-met-a-pussy-he-wouldn’t-fuck. He’d better explain the facts of life to this loser before he had to half kill him.

“You wanted to know what you signed on for? In exchange for killing some Indowy wimps, we get our entire debt paid off, plus a bonus. Almost half the cost of a ticket back to Earth. This is a sweet deal, and if you fuck it up for me, I swear to God I will keep that pretty face of yours uglified for years. Get me?” David, of course, wouldn’t be going back before he could afford that plastic surgery and a nice retirement on Earth. He was tired of the stink of sliced and diced Posleen.

“Holy shit.” Karnstadt was too busy seeing dollar signs to give a fuck about the threats. “No fear, dude. You just point me at who I gotta kill for that, and we’ll get along fine.”

One plus. The twit usually did take point on recon patrols, emplacing a lot of sensors, and did, Wheeler admitted grudgingly, kill his share of feral Posleen normals in the process. As much as he was out front, if Karnstadt wasn’t pretty good he’d have been thresh for some ravenous carnosauroid moron by now. Okay. Whatever.