The two partners looked at each other. “Well, you heard the captain,” said Sushi. “Let’s get to work on this job before he decides to give it to somebody else and puts us back to doing real work.”
“Man, I was really hoping for the dancing girls,” said Do-Wop, pretending to sulk.
“Keep that up and you’ll have Sergeant Brandy doing the not-so-soft-shoe on your behind,” said Sushi. He punched his partner playfully in the shoulder and said, “Grab your comp-u-note and start listing stuff we can use.”
“OK, then, first thing we gotta have is the beer,” said Do-Wop. “Gimme enough of that, and I can think of almost anything.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of,” said Sushi with a very convincing shudder. The shudder might even have been real.
“Sarge, we got a bone to pick with you.”
Chocolate Harry looked up. He’d been sitting at his makeshift desk, reading Biker’s Dream magazine. There stood half a dozen legionnaires with grim expressions on their faces. Only a veteran could have spotted (as Harry did) the edge of worry behind their determined front.
“Sure, dudes, what’s up?” Harry shifted his bulk on the reinforced camp stool he occupied. Without making any particular deal out of it, he picked up a bayonet and began cleaning his fingernails with the finely honed point. Behind him was the prefabricated shed that was the company’s supply depot here on Zenobia.
“Well, it’s like this,” said Street, who seemed to be the leader of this delegation. “You told everybody we were goin’ to be fightin’ them renegade robots, off on some asteroid-“