Lawmen- Rook and Berenger

by Matthew Kadish

  “There he is,” said Deckland.

  “I see him,” Berenger replied. “You let me take point on this, you hear?”

  “So long as you don’t kill him,” Deckland agreed. “Remember, he may be our only lead on eleven missing children.”

  “Don’t need to tell me how to do the job, Rook. I’ve been at it a lot longer than you have,” replied Berenger. “Just keep your mouth shut and your hand on your blaster. If there’s any sign of trouble, you shoot first and ask questions later. Comprende?”

  “I don’t know what that means…”

  “It’s Frontier-speak for ‘Do you understand?’.”

  Deckland’s hand moved to the grip of his blaster. “Yeah, I got it,” he replied.

  The two Rangers maneuvered their way through the crowded boozskeller until they reached Pyle, who was standing at the bar. Deckland hung back to the man’s right side while Berenger approached the bar to Pyle’s left.

  “Whiskey,” Berenger said to the bartender.

  Deckland kept his eye on the mirror behind the bar, which not only gave him a view of Pyle’s face but also the rest of the boozskeller. Pyle had obviously seen them coming, and his gaze was shifting between Deckland and Berenger with suspicion.

  The bartender set a shot glass of greenseed whiskey in front of Berenger, which he promptly downed. Pyle side-eyed him while he sipped at his beer.

  “Can I help you gentlemen with something?” Pyle asked.

  “You can start by taking your hand off that blaster you got hidden in your jumpsuit,” Berenger drawled as he lit up a cigar. “Even if you managed to shoot me, which you wouldn’t, my companion behind you would drop you immediately after.”

  Deckland glanced down to Pyle’s right arm. He hadn’t noticed that the man’s hand had slipped into the inside of his flightsuit where he apparently kept a blaster in a shoulder holster. Deckland silently cursed himself for not seeing that when Berenger had.

  Pyle nodded at Berenger’s statement but made no move to take his hand off his weapon. “Tell you what,” he replied. “I’ll relax my grip when you tell me who you are and what it is you want.”

  Berenger reached into the inside pocket of his longcoat and laid his badge on the bar. Pyle looked at it and raised a curious eyebrow.

  “A Galactic Ranger?” Pyle said.

  “Don’t matter if you ain’t heard of us yet. We’re the law,” Berenger replied. “Official Imperial lawmen.”

  Pyle frowned. “And what can I do for you two… lawmen?” he asked.

  “Got a few questions that need answering,” Berenger said.

  “Well, I don’t know what there is you would need to ask me,” Pyle replied. “I’m a law-abiding citizen, just trying to make his way out here in the big bad Frontier.”

  Berenger took a long drag off his cigar and blew the smoke from it into Pyle’s face, not the least bit appreciative of the man’s flippant attitude. “Oh, I know all about you, Evarest Pyle,” Berenger said. “I know you cut your teeth piloting salvage freighters. I know you now captain the vessel The Long Haul. And I know you have a mighty fat shipping contract with the New Frontier Conglomeration.”

  “You’ve obviously read my official Imperial Space Force file,” Pyle replied.

  “Indeed,” Berenger said. “But what I didn’t know, until I seen ya just now, is that you are former military.”

  Both Pyle and Deckland gave Berenger a surprised look upon hearing that.

  “That, curiously, was not in your official file,” Berenger said as he rolled his cigar between his fingers.

  “I think you’re mistaken, Ranger,” Pyle said. “I’ve never been in the military.”

  “Your tattoo says otherwise.”

  “I don’t have a tattoo.”

  “Not no more, but I can still see an impression of it there on your neck,” Berenger said, tapping at his bionic eye. “Whoever removed it did a good job, but there are still traces of it on the subdermal layers of your skin. By the looks of it, it was an Imperial Special Operations Recon insignia. So that has me curious… why is there no mention of your service in your official file, and what is a former spec-ops soldier doing flying a bulk transport freighter out in the Frontier?”

  Pyle chuckled at the question and shook his head. He finally released his grip on his weapon and placed both his hands on the bar. “What, may I ask, makes you so interested in me and my background, lawman?” Pyle asked.

  “Oh, about twelve missing kids.”

  Pyle’s smug smile disappeared upon hearing that. “What?” he asked.

  “We have evidence that you and your crew have been abducting children from the various space stations you’re running cargo to,” Berenger said, his face hard and stern. “And we want to know what you’ve done with them, and why one of them had to die.”

  Pyle stood up straight, some of the color draining from his face. He turned and looked at Deckland, who was giving Pyle his own hard stare.

  “You… said you had evidence of my involvement in these abductions?” Pyle asked. “Have you shared this evidence with anyone?”

  “We’ve logged it into our database,” Berenger said. “There won’t be any running from this, I assure you.”

  Pyle closed his eyes, his face turning into a snarl. “Blast you!” he barked. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done?”

  “Caught a kiddy poacher, apparently,” Berenger replied.

  “You’ve killed me!” Pyle snapped. “And my crew! And you’ve killed yourselves!”

  Berenger and Deckland exchanged a curious glance. “What exactly you mean by that?” Berenger asked.

  “You really have no idea, do you?” muttered Pyle, angrily. “If they know you’re onto me, they’re going to tie up all the loose ends. They won’t take any chances! They’re going to kill us all!”

  Both Deckland and Berenger couldn’t make sense of what Pyle was telling them. At first, it seemed he was upset at being caught, but now, he looked genuinely frightened for his life. Deckland then heard something – it was faint at first, like a commotion going on in the background that hadn’t been there before. Distinct enough to just barely be noticeable…

  “Listen, you’ve got to protect me,” Pyle said, looking at Berenger intently. “If I cooperate, you have to promise to get me and my men out of the Frontier!”

  Deckland looked at the mirror behind the bar, seeing a reflection of a group of men pushing their way through the crowd. For an instant, time seemed to stand still as his eyes locked onto the group – their faces hard and stern, their eyes cold and focused. In the back of Deckland’s mind, it registered to him that those were the faces of killers.

  The moment that thought hit him, it was as though all the sound drained from the room, replaced with the loud THUMP-THUMP-THUMP of his beating heart. In that single, solitary instant of grim realization, Deckland was paralyzed.

  As if in slow motion, each of the encroaching killers drew blasters and aimed them right for his partner and Pyle.

  “BERENGER!” he cried.

  That was the only thing Deckland had time to do before the men opened fire.

  Chapter 11

  Spurred by Deckland’s warning, Berenger was already moving when the first plasma bolt tore through Pyle’s back. The man cried out as Berenger grabbed him with his bionic arm and pulled him to the floor with him while drawing his weapon.

  Deckland wasted no time either. Before he knew it, his blaster was in his hand and he opened fire at their assailants. Well-placed blaster bolts from both Rangers dropped two of the attackers immediately, causing the four remaining assassins to scramble for cover.

  The boozskeller patrons caught in the crossfire all screamed as they dived out of the way. Red needles of superheated plasma flew through the air as the shootout continued while everyone rushed to safety. Bottles behind the bar exploded from incoming fire, and some innocent by-standers fell as they were hit.

  Berenger dragged Pyle with him as he moved, firing his b
laster the entire time as his bionic eye targeted the attackers. Deckland moved with him, offering him cover as he continued firing, as well, hitting one of the assassins in the shoulder.

  Chaos reigned in the boozskeller as people ran in every direction, trying to avoid being shot. Screams and cries filled the air, mixing in with the scratchy shantygrass music that had yet to stop playing, giving the violent exchange a surreal soundtrack as the fight played out.

  “Move! Move!” Deckland cried as he continued firing.

  Pyle stumbled along, forcefully ushered by Berenger toward a side exit of the boozskeller. The man’s shoulder smoking from where the blast of superheated plasma had struck him, but somehow, he’d managed to get his own weapon from its holster.

  So focused was Berenger on the four men still shooting at them, he failed to notice two more appear at the doorway of their escape. Deckland immediately turned his attention toward the new arrivals, swiftly loosing two blaster bolts that hit each man squarely in his forehead, dropping them both instantly. Berenger pushed Pyle through the doorway and signaled for Deckland to head through, the two Rangers quickly taking cover on either side of the door as their attackers closed in on their position.

  Berenger glanced down at the two bodies, the holes in their heads still smoking from Deckland’s shots.

  “Nice shootin’,” Berenger said.

  “Remember where it said I was top of my class in my file?” Deckland said as he checked his weapon’s plasma cartridge. “That included marksmanship.”

  “We gotta get out of here…” grunted Pyle as he pushed himself against the corridor wall and back up to his feet. “There’s going to be more of them. They no doubt have other squads tracking down the rest of my crew as we speak…”

  “And who exactly are these dirtbags that’re trying to kill you?” asked Berenger.

  “They’re a Pink Sun eraser unit,” Pyle said. “No doubt, they were dispatched to intercept me the moment you logged your evidence…”

  “Pink Suns?” asked Deckland, exchanging a curious glance with Berenger.

  “Eraser unit?” muttered Berenger.

  Another volley of blaster bolts flew through the doorway the Rangers were flanking as their attackers moved forward within the boozskeller. Berenger and Deckland both flinched away from their cover as plasma blasts sparked off the metal of the doorframe.

  “We gotta run!” insisted Pyle. “NOW!”

  Berenger looked to Deckland. “He’s right,” he said. “You cover him. I’ll cover you.”

  Deckland nodded. With that, Berenger peeked out from his cover and began firing into the boozskeller as Deckland sprinted from his position, rushing toward Pyle and grabbing him by the collar to move him along. Pyle grunted in pain but didn’t resist, shifting his blaster to his off-hand as his injured arm hung limply at his side.

  Berenger took up the rear, keeping his blasters aimed down the corridor as they moved. “Hurry,” he said. “They’re gonna peek around that doorway any second.”

  Deckland picked up the pace, keeping an eye out ahead of him for any sign of more attackers as he kept his weapon at the ready.

  “Do you have a ship?” Pyle asked.

  “We do,” responded Deckland.

  “We need to get to it,” Pyle replied. “They’ll have men at my ship by now. Most likely they’ll have already rigged it to—”

  Suddenly, there was a hollow BOOM which echoed throughout the station as the entire structure shook, causing the men to all stumble, briefly.

  “What the blazes was that?” cried Deckland.

  “It was my ship,” growled Pyle.

  “They blew up your ship? While it was docked inside a space station?” Deckland said in disbelief. “An explosion like that could have created structural breaches that would tear this platform apart! They could have killed everyone in here!”

  “What part of ‘eraser unit’ do you not understand?” sneered Pyle. “They’re here to wipe out any evidence of what my crew and I have been doing! And they don’t care who they have to kill to do that!”

  Before Deckland could question Pyle further, two men peeked out from behind the doorway at the end of the corridor and opened fire. Berenger fired back just as quickly, one of the blasts streaking by closely enough to scorch the arm of his longcoat before the men ducked back into cover. However, one of the attacker’s shots caught Pyle in the calf, causing the man to cry out and fall to the ground.

  Deckland was about to come to Pyle’s aid when he saw movement at the end of the corridor where it opened into a larger thoroughfare. There was a man who peeked out from the intersection and tossed something down the hallway. The small orb hit the metal grates of the ground and bounced forward with a CLICK and a CLACK. Deckland’s eyes grew wide as the small object rolled forth, close enough for him to recognize it as a thermal grenade.

  Without wasting another second, Deckland dived forward, grabbing the grenade and quickly throwing it back only moments before it detonated.

  WHA-BOOM!

  A shockwave rippled down the corridor, followed closely by a raging fireball as the explosion raced down every hallway it had access to. Deckland and Berenger were knocked back as the sharp heat from the blast washed over them and the flames from the explosion rolled through the air.

  Deckland’s ears rang from the detonation. He could hear faint screams in the distance from others who had been affected by the blast, but they seemed tinny and muted. Dark smoke filled the corridor and the smell of accelerant wafted through the air. Deckland saw that the sleeve of the arm he’d used to shield himself from the explosion was on fire, and he quickly patted it out.

  He turned to see Pyle at his side, the man’s face pained as his hands covered his ears. His face was tinged with traces of black from the soot of the explosion. Deckland looked behind him to see Berenger slowly pushing himself up from the floor, looking dazed from the detonation which had rocked the hallway.

  In the haze behind Berenger, Deckland saw movement. The thick black smoke was curling as though it were being disturbed by figures cutting through it. He glanced back toward the corridor’s exit to see more evidence of men approaching from that direction, as well. Though he’d managed to save their lives by throwing the grenade away, Deckland realized they were now caught in a killing zone between their remaining assailants.

  In the span of a heartbeat, he turned back toward Berenger, who was looking past Deckland, his bionic eye glowing with a red light that cut through the thick, dark haze that encompassed them. Berenger had obviously seen the same thing Deckland had and had come to the same conclusion. For the briefest of instants, their eyes met. In that moment, the two men – who couldn’t have been more different from one another – communicated silently in a manner befitting men who’d known each other for a lifetime.

  Without wasting a single second, Deckland grabbed his blaster and got to his feet, aiming down the corridor past Berenger.

  Berenger did the same, lunging forward as he aimed his two blaster pistols past Deckland.

  In tandem, the lawmen opened fire.

  Red streaks of plasma cut through the dark smoke in all directions as the Rangers and the attackers unleashed upon each other. Deckland dodged toward the wall as he took out the two figures behind Berenger, and Berenger dropped to a knee as blaster bolts raced by overhead, taking down two more attackers at the end of the hallway.

  Deckland’s vision was hazy as his eyes watered, stinging from the smoke. It was hard to breathe, but the adrenaline from the firefight was keeping him going. He reached down and grabbed Pyle, yanking him to his feet as the man cried out. Deckland slung the man’s arm over his shoulder as Berenger moved forward, marching through the smoke and scanning ahead, ready to shoot anything that moved.

  “Did we get them all?” Deckland asked.

  “Don’t see any more, but that don’t mean this was all of them,” Berenger replied.

  “It’s not,” grunted Pyle. “They’ll have two more squad
s on the station, which have probably already killed the rest of my crew. They’ll also have one, maybe two ships outside, patrolling the area just in case we try to escape.”

  The men emerged into the thoroughfare. Berenger quickly scanned the large corridor in both directions with his bionic eye. There were a few burned bodies strewn about and some damaged pipes that were leaking steam, but anyone with half a brain and a will to survive had cleared out, leaving the area empty. Berenger then turned to Pyle, looking none too pleased.

  “You better start talkin’, Pyle,” Berenger growled. “Why are elite private security squads trying to kill you? And how do you know so much about them?”

  “Because,” Pyle replied, “I work for them!”

  Deckland gave Pyle a confused look. “The Pink Suns hired you to kidnap children?” he asked.

  “No, you idiot!” snapped Pyle. “I am a Pink Sun! Me and my entire crew were with the company! We were on a special assignment!”

  “So, you are former military,” Berenger said. “And that’s why you’re now running resupply routes as a merchant shipper.”

  Pyle nodded. “It was a long-term assignment. Supposed to be easy, but they needed people who could perform covert operations, like smuggling…”

  “And kidnapping?” finished Deckland.

  Pyle’s face darkened. “Yes,” he replied. “We were ordered to look for pre-teen targets at remote space ports that fit the profiles of wall-rats. Kids who didn’t have much supervision, that no one would miss if they should disappear.”

  “For what purpose?” asked Berenger.

  “I don’t know,” replied Pyle. “We’d kidnap the kids, keep them sedated inside a cargo container with a false bottom so that they’d be masked by the cargo during scans, and then we’d hand them off to our contact at the end of our supply run.”

  “And you were okay with kidnapping children and handing them off to die?” growled Deckland.

  “I was assured nothing bad was going to happen to them,” Pyle replied, defensively. “My crew and I were told we’d be doing them a favor by getting them off these backwater space stations and giving them new lives on an actual planet!”