by S M Briscoe
“Well, I’m sure someone here will send for another freighter sooner or later,” the pilot remarked, starting to sound a bit annoyed. “They won’t want a station full of refugees for too long. It’s not good for business.”
“I already asked the dock operator about that,” Elora explained. “He said it could be weeks or months before another freighter arrives.”
“Well, there you go,” he concluded. “Problem solved. When it comes, you can get your ride with them.”
“We can’t wait that long!” she exclaimed. She didn’t care to spend another minute in this cesspool, let alone weeks or even months. They had no credits to get them by and this didn’t seem like the kind of place that dispensed good will towards those in need. “We spent all of our credits on the first freighter, anyhow. We won’t have anything to pay another pilot, even if one does show up.”
“I’m sorry,” the old pilot apologized, as he turned to walk away. “There’s nothing I can do for you. I have to go.”
Seeing her only chance for a ride slipping away, Elora stayed right alongside the man, continuing to plead with him. She refused to accept the growing probability that they were most likely going to be stranded on this rock for quite some time.
* * *
Ethan watched from a short distance away as his sister continued to follow the older looking pilot she had been pleading their case to. He knew he should follow as well, staying close to Elora, or risk yet another scolding, but his curiosity remained with the stranger who he had seen entering the tavern. The tavern that he was now standing directly in front of, while considering whether or not he should enter or follow his sister’s fairly simple request of him and return to her.
It didn’t take him long to make his decision, never having been one to let any itch go unscratched. Elora was busy bargaining with that pilot anyway. He would be back before she even noticed he was gone. He was sure of it.
With a final glance back at his sister, Ethan turned and made his way through the doorway of the tavern, remaining hidden a bit in the shadows of the establishment’s entryway. His nose immediately scrunched up as the smell of the place reached him. The tavern reeked of too many unbathed men sitting together in one confined space for too long. That, combined with the thick clouds of smoke filling the air, made his eyes water. He tried to ignore his discomfort and scanned the musty room for signs of his quarry, seeing mostly groups of men engaged in card games of varying sorts, yelling and laughing. Others sat in dark corners, speaking in hushed tones. All looked somewhat interesting, but none were what he had snuck in here to see.
His eyes then widened as he spotted the cloaked man on the far side of the tavern, sitting at a seat along the bar. He was looking over his shoulder at something. Ethan followed the man’s gaze, tracking across the tavern until he came to a table with a number of men sitting at it playing a card game. This table seemed to be what the stranger was looking at.
Ethan noted the large size, and overall unpleasant demeanor of three of the men at the table. The fourth man, who had a woman that looked to be about his sister’s age sitting on his knee, was much smaller than the rest. Ethan’s face flushed when he noticed the clothing the young woman was wearing, or lack there of.
In an attempt to hide his embarrassment, though he knew nobody was looking at him anyway, he looked back in the direction of the stranger. He was surprised to see that the cloaked man was now moving away from the bar, walking across the floor towards the table of card players. He worked himself into a better position to see the table and watched with growing interest as the stranger neared it.
His instincts told him that something exciting was about to happen.
Chapter 2
Mac Keplar adjusted the cigar protruding from one side of his mouth while looking over the cards in his other hand, the young woman on his knee apparently trying to do the same.
Jarred knew that the man had noticed his approach, though he hadn’t bothered to take his attention away from his hand, unlike the other men at the table who were now turned in their seats and watching him warily.
Mac spoke without moving his focus from his card hand. “Buy in is fifty credits, friend, if you’re looking to play.”
“I’m not,” Jarred responded, keeping his tone neutral. His eyes were locked on Mac, while keeping the rest of the players in his peripheral vision.
“Then what are you looking for?” Mac inquired, still not looking up. He chewed on his cigar, seeming only half interested in him.
“I’m here to collect a bounty,” Jarred answered, evenly.
He noticed the large men at the table grow instantly tense, as he had expected they might. The tavern itself had also become suddenly quiet as the patrons turned to look at the man who had made such a statement in a place such as this.
Though standing calmly and relaxed, Jarred was mentally and physically preparing himself for impending action, his senses all at full alert. He had been through this same scenario many times before, in many places just like this. He knew the outcome. It was just a matter of maintaining a level of control over the situation, and staying a step ahead of the trouble when it started . . . which it always did.
Mac looked up from his cards, removing the cigar from his mouth, and regarded Jarred for a moment. He then looked around the table.
“Considering present company,” Mac began, “you’re going to have to be a little more specific.” Replacing the cigar in his mouth, he continued. “Who’s might that be?”
“Yours,” Jarred answered, plainly. He noticed the other players at the table as they spared quick glances towards Mac. Mac himself seemed to think for a moment.
“Taliss, I’m guessing?” he said, not appearing completely sure.
Jarred simply nodded, Arden Taliss being the name of the man who was offering the bounty on Mac’s head. He also happened to be the ring leader for one of the system’s more prominent criminal organizations.
Mac half grinned to himself, the young woman on his lap cringing slightly at the mention of the name. Removing the cigar from his mouth again, he took a drink from a small glass on the table, gritting his teeth in a manner that denoted a less that desirable flavor.
“Guess he’s a little more upset than I thought,” he half joked. “Maybe stealing his money and lovely daughter weren’t the smartest things to do.” Mac gave the girl on his knee a squeeze, and sitting up, let her off of it. “Sorry, sweetheart. Fun’s over.”
Looking back to Jarred, Mac continued. “Afraid I can’t give the money back though. It’s already tied up in a number of personal investments. But, you can give Taliss my word, I’ll pay him back as soon as I get the chance.” Mac looked back to his cards, the conversation seemingly over for him.
Jarred didn’t move from his position in front of the table. “The contract is for you,” he began, “and you alone. Not the credits . . . or the girl.” He watched as Mac looked back up at him, looking a bit more serious now.
“Looks like I really fragged the old man off this time,” he said.
“No doubt.” Jarred tossed a set of hand restraints onto the table, allowing Mac and the rest of the men to take them in. “Come quietly,” he suggested. He was already aware of the side arms the other players had drawn beneath the table, so he wasn’t surprised, and showed no reaction, when they brought them up to bare on him.
Mac replaced the cigar in his mouth once again, grinning smugly. “Are you a gambling man?” he asked.
Jarred motioned to the gun toting players with one hand. “This needn’t concern any of you,” he warned. “Walk away now . . . while you can.” As always, he knew his words would find no purchase among men such as these, but never the less, he felt the need to voice them anyway.
For a moment there was utter silence, no one in the tavern moving an inch. It was a moment that Jarred knew wouldn’t last and he was already moving when the first shot was fired.
The man to Jarred’s right discharged the shot that would have bur
ned a hole through the side of his head, had it still been there.
Jarred leaned just out of the path of the energy bolt and simultaneously two small Mark-5 plasma gauntlets slid out from within each of his sleeves, their ignition triggers coming to rest in the palms of his hands. Quickly, he fired a blast into the man’s shoulder to his right with one, knocking him over in his seat, and raising his other hand, he fired a second round, shooting through the player’s hand to his left, causing him to drop his own weapon.
Fisk’s daughter let out a scream at the sudden fire fight, diving behind Mac for cover. At the same time the third remaining player to Jarred’s far left was already rising to his feet, his weapon pointed squarely at him for a point blank shot. With a swift kick, Jarred launched the table up into the man’s face, his shot firing into the ceiling. As he collapsed backwards on to the floor, his weapon was jolted from his hand. He reached out for it only to recoil as the weapon was blown apart by another of Jarred’s plasma blasts. Raising his open hands, the man looked up at Jarred, the expression on his face suggesting he fully expected his life to end then and there.
Jarred doubted he’d be doing a disservice by fulfilling the man’s expectations, but killing in cold blood just wasn’t his style. In fact, he usually tried to avoid taking life, if it was at all possible, which wasn’t always the easiest of tasks when one was a bounty hunter.
He glanced back at the other two wounded men who were groaning in pain on the floor, the acrid smell that accompanied a laser discharge fresh in the air. Looking back down at the man before him, he motioned him to leave with a wave of his hand. Wasting no time arguing, the man quickly scrambled to his feet and made for the exit, the other two doing the same, though obviously pained and a bit slower.
Jarred spared them a final glance as they went before allowing his vision to track back around the tavern. Seeing that the patrons had thought better than to get involved, most turning back to their own business, he finally allowed his attention to return to the one man remaining at the overturned table. Mac was sitting calmly and still in his chair, though the look of arrogance was now gone from his face. The young girl was still crouched behind him, hardly peaking over his shoulder, while whimpering in fear.
“You,” Jarred called out to the girl.
She stood up slowly and fearfully, looking like a child about to be punished.
“Get out of here.” Jarred motioned her away with a simple movement of his head. When she looked as though she intended to speak, he cut her off with a sharp look.
Quickly and silently, the girl rushed from behind Mac, and without a glance back, made her way straight out of the tavern. The situation now under control, Jarred retracted his plasma gauntlets back up into his sleeves and knelt down, retrieving the set of restraining binders that had fallen to the floor.
“Nice work there with those thugs.” Mac nodded off in the direction the men had exited. “A real bunch of low lives. Got what was coming to them, if you ask me. Sorry, I missed your name.”
“I didn’t give it to you,” Jarred answered, knowing full well the man would being doing his best to talk his way out of this.
“Right.” Mac lowered his voice a bit and began to stand up as Jarred did. “Is there any chance I could interest you in a bribe?”
Jarred put a hand on Mac’s shoulder, pushing him back down into his seat, and in answer to his question, slapped the binders around his wrists, locking them firmly together to affectively end any further negotiations. He then removed a small injection pen from his belt, which was loaded with a microscopic tracing node, and jabbed it into the side of Mac’s neck, receiving a pained yelp in return.
“Hey, that hurt,” Mac whined, as Jarred pulled him to his feet by the collar of his jacket.
It was a precaution he took with all of his prisoners. In the case they found themselves somehow separated, the tracer node made it easy enough to relocate them. Mac had already slipped through his fingers more times than he cared to admit, so he didn’t feel the need to take any chances.
Jarred stopped suddenly, having the distinct feeling that someone was watching him. He looked back over his shoulder towards the tavern’s entryway but saw that no one was there. At least not anymore.
He half grinned to himself as he turned his attention back to his prisoner, having a fairly good idea as to who his observer had been.
* * *
Ethan had almost jumped out of his skin when the first shots were fired, nearly causing him to fall over backwards from his crouched position in the shadows of the tavern’s entryway.
Now he felt as though his heart might burst out of his chest as he pressed himself back up against a small section of wall by the doorway, affectively hiding himself from anyone inside the tavern.
Somehow, the stranger had known he was watching him. He’d turned to look right at him, or at least to where he had been. He thought about poking his head out around the corner to see if the man was still looking his way, but couldn’t bring himself to do so. Shaking his head at himself, he took a deep breath, trying to calm his nerves. He would just take a quick peek. Just to make sure.
As Ethan slowly inched his head towards the edge of the doorway, he had to remind himself to keep breathing. What was he so worried about anyway? What was the worst that could happen? He mentally kicked himself for even thinking the question and began to turn around the corner.
“Ethan!”
Ethan jumped about a foot straight up at hearing his sister’s shout just behind him.
“What are you doing?” she demanded. “You were supposed to stay close to me!”
“I was just . . .” He began to stutter an explanation, while at the same time trying to catch his breath.
“You know what,” she cut him off. “Never mind. Let’s just get out of here.”
“But, you’ll never believe what happened!” Ethan was about to continue his explanation, as he poked his head around the corner, finding . . . nothing. The spot where the stranger had just been was now empty. His face contorted in confusion as his sister pulled him away.
“Come on, let’s go.” Elora yanked him out onto the street, all the while lecturing him. “I’m trying to find us a way out of this sewer and you go disappearing on me. What were you doing in there?”
“I was just . . .”
“I don’t care what you were doing,” she interrupted. “The point is, you shouldn’t have been doing whatever it was you were doing. You should have been doing what I told you to do, which was to be sticking close to me.”
“I’m sorry,” he apologized.
Elora stared into his face as they walked, a scolding look he’d seen countless times before, and he prepared himself for another of her annoying lectures on acting responsibly. The lecture never came though, as he saw his sister’s expression soften.
“Look,” she began, her tone a great deal less scornful. “Just try to . . .” Her sentence was cut off when she bumped directly into a large, brutish looking man who had placed himself directly in her path.
Taking a step back, they both looked up at him, cautiously and cringed in unison. As repulsive as his filthy appearance was, the smell was even worse.
A semi-toothed grin was spread across his grimy face as he spoke. “Are you lost, little girl?”
“No,” Elora began, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “Are you?”
Laughs came from two other similar looking men that were with the first. Glancing over his shoulder at them, he began laughing as well.
Elora put on a grin and began to maneuver around the group of thugs, the first sidestepping to keep himself in front of her.
“Need help finding somethin’?” he inquired.
“No thanks. We were just leaving.” Elora tried to move around again, but he immediately cut her off.
“Yeah, lookin’ for a ride, right?” he continued. “Well, I just happen to have an extra seat on my own ship that a little woman like yourself would fit into just fine. One for your
little friend here, too.”
Ethan turned his nose up at the remark, a bit offended. After all, he wasn’t that small.
“Sorry,” Elora answered. “I don’t have any money.”
Ethan could tell that his sister was trying to come off as grateful, though she had never been all that good at lying.
“That’s all right,” the thug assured her. “I’m sure you got somethin’ you could give in return.” He laughed with his other two companions.
Elora half smiled, obviously trying to hide her disgust. “That’s nice of you, really, but no thank you. We’ll be fine.”
Trying once again to get around the group, the way was again blocked.
“You know,” the thug began, “it’s not very safe for a young, pretty thing like you to be walkin’ around here by yourself. If one were so inclined, he might try to take advantage.”
“She’s not alone,” Ethan piped in, taking a step forward to stand in front of his sister.
Elora pulled him back next to her, her look of contempt for the man now obvious. “We can take care of ourselves,” she declared, as much a challenge as it was a statement.
Trying one last time to sidestep the thug, and once again having him block her path, this time reaching out to grab her, Elora drove her knee up between his legs.
Ethan couldn’t help but cringe as he watched the thug’s face instantly distort into one of surprise mixed with agony. The man curled forward, holding himself, and his sister didn’t waste the opportunity, kicking his legs out from under him and pushing out with her arms, knocking him backwards to the ground.
“Thanks for the tip, though,” she mocked with a grin, as he curled up into a ball before her, moaning in pain.
Ethan’s own grin quickly faded as he looked up to see the two other thugs that were with the first staring down at their fallen comrade, then back up at his sister, unhappily.
