It was black, of course, with aluminum insignia on both shoulders, signifying his rank in the SSG. Just 210 years old, he was a small man, both in stature and in his respect for the human race. He was a tough nut to crack, though, a man who'd vowed that should he ever get captured by an enemy, he would take his own life before giving up any information to them. Conversely, he was an expert at wearing down a victim, physically and psychologically, to get them to the point where they would tell him anything, even though they knew their own death would be the result. Officially, his job description was mortis inquisitorus. He'd brought his ion-silver ray gun as a side arm this day. Also, his ceremonial silver dagger, his new super quadtrol, which was the latest in know-it-all technology, his electro-shock wand, and just in case he had occasion to grow bored, a flask of gold slow-ship wine, the best of the best. CX, as he was also called, knew very little about Alpha Moon, the so-called Mad Russian, or the concept of a dizzylando.
