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Szalor had to chuckle a bit at how casually he was being dismissed. Any by a soft pink little alien, no less. "No, as a matter of fact I haven't." He said, half growling as he loomed over Sylvie's bunk. "Your kind seem more suited to kneeling at the feet of others. More pet than person." A...

The barracks were a menagerie alien faces, each more varied than the last, but all sharing a certain weariness. Raucous laughter and a game of Sabaac kept the worst of their emotions at bay, yet there was little denying the tension and doubt gnawing at their improvised festivities. For his part...

War had many familiar scents. The faint whiff of ozone after a blaster goes off, the acrid sting of smoke, and the unmistakable stench of rotting flesh. Yet none were so potent, or pungent, as that of fear. The dropship banked sharply, and Szalor swayed in his seat, musing over the realization...