Extraits

So when the ship at last reached the Corbulo banner

He was thirty years old and as mad as a spanner

The medics tried hard to habilitate Hamish

His exploits aboard were disturbing but famous

They found him a job doing what he does best

Which is making the most of a terrible mess

So they put him in whites and they gave him a broom

And set him about cleaning room after room

The other cadets soon forgot Hamish's story

And Hamish got used to his missed chance at glory

He'd never a soldier or an officer be

But he never got used to the odor of pee

He'd clean it in bathrooms from floor to the sink

But I never revealed . . . what did poor Hamish drink?

So here is the moral of this dreadful tale

Check all of your gaskets before you set sail

And if in your world, you're aware that it's cleanish

Remember the ballad of poor Hamish Beamish

The Ballad of Hamish Beamish

A long time ago on a military ship

A boy signed on to a perilous trip

A would-be cadet

With a penchant for danger

He signed on for thrills

In a cryosleep manger

Corbulo's the name

Of his life's destination

A military school

With a fine reputation

An officer's life

Was the life he had chosen

As he and his chums were cryonically frozen

...

The longer the countdown went, the more the bunker smelled like fear.

The Prelate scowled at the two Jiralhanae looming beside him. One was covered with rust-red hair, and the other with dirty white. Both warriors were so tall that they had to duck their helmeted heads to keep from banging them on the bunker’s low, flat ceiling. The thickly muscled, sharp-toothed Brutes stood still and silent, like monuments to violence. But all male Jiralhanae were prone to pungent pheromones that mirrored their emotions, and now, so close to the activation of the device, these usually fearless creatures’ panicked stench permeated the cramped, dark room.