Free Hardcore - 03 by Andy Remic Page A

har!"
    "Bitch."
    "Bastard."
    "Fatty."
    "Frankenstein."
    "Frankenstein was the creator, not the monster, you bolshy rubber-ring idiot."
    "Ha! You combine ze worst of both!"
    "Kids, kids," said Pippa, holding up both hands. "Shut it, now, or I'll have you on a charge. I'll confine you to the ship. I'll hold back your lolly pop rations - whatever it takes to make you behave like adults."
    "S'not me," sulked Betezh, face a frown, scars forming strange patterns against his broad flat skull. "She started it."
    "Ze did not!"
    "Did."
    Pippa cocked an MPK and held the barrel under Betezh's nose. "Need any more persuasion, motherfucker?"
    "OK, boss."
    Pippa watched the ramps of the other ships descend, and she strode across sand, meeting Keenan, Franco and Cam at the centre of the LZ. They nodded to each other, and Franco patted Keenan on the back.
    "Well done up there, compadre."
    "I won't rest until I find out who dicked with our ships."
    "I'm sure they'll make their presence known, soon enough." Franco hoisted his Kekra quad-barrel machine pistol. "And when they do - fooie!"
    "Keep taking your pills, mate."
    "I am, mate."
    Franco threw a long glance to where Mel hovered, just inside the DropShip. Their eyes met. Mel turned, and disappeared. Franco sighed, then he sighed again, he lifted his shoulders, then slumped, and sighed for a third time.
    Keenan grinned. "I thought you said it was an amicable divorce?"
    "It was. It is. I mean, we're splitting everything fifty-fifty."
    "But you haven't got anything," pointed out Pippa.
    "Yeah," said Franco, showing the black hole of his missing tooth. "But she's got plenty."
    "So you're going to clean the poor lass out?"
    "Hey, she's divorcing me! I figure the least I'm owed, after, after... after sleeping with her, with it, with a bloody zombie, is a bit of, y'know," he twitched, and rubbed at his reddening neck, "compensation."
    Keenan eyed Franco warily. "I'd forgotten what a money-grabbing little bastard you could be, Franco."
    "Hey, can I help it if I was born poor? Can I help it if I try to make my honest way through the world and people step on my financial toes? No. No. I can't bloody well buggering hell help it, can I?"
    "But your mother left you a small fortune," said Keenan.
    "Gambled it."
    "And your uncle left you a fucking star base."
    "Sold it. Drank it. Y'know how it is."
    "No, I don't think I do."
    Keenan took a deep breath, and looked to Pippa instead. "However." He took another deep breath, not quite believing Franco was in charge of a squad. "All the DropShip scanners are giving readouts which confirm the original data. No intelligent sentient life on the planet, ergo, no threat. This, hopefully, should be a pretty straightforward foray into our designated regions. And we meet back at this LZ in five days. Are we all clear what we have to do?"
    Franco pulled free a thick pack from inside his WarSuit. Papers fluttered free, and were snatched by a cool breeze rolling off the sea and carried high, like fluttering white doves, before disappearing off over the jungle.
    "Sorry," he said, snatching at fluttering sheaves, "what was our mission again?"
    "You've not read the docs?" said Pippa, aghast.
    "Hey, I was going to check them out on the final jag here." He pulled a face. "Not all of us are swots, you know."
    "Swots?" snapped Pippa. "I'm a swot now, am I, you total dickhead? I bet you don't even know what damn continent you're travelling to. Do you?"
    Franco grinned, and held out a hand, palm up. "Chill pill, sister." He gazed around. "Looking at this fine continent, you'll be happy to understand I've packed plenty of combat shorts, plenty of UV50, and a massive stash of sausage. And if that doesn't see me right through this frankly comedy mission, I don't know what will."
    Pippa leant close to Franco. When she spoke, her words were a low growl. "Maybe snow shoes should have been on your list, idiot."
    "Wah?"
    "You're going to Yax," said Keenan, slipping on a pair of square-cut