Lone Gunfighter of the Wastelands

by Rachel Aukes

  “That I’m the best bounty hunter around?”

  She smirked. “I like that you’re single-minded. You focus on hunting and nothing else. I’ve never liked my hunters to be too good or crafty at things that take their focus away from hunting. Sure, I know you love that cutter of yours, but when you have a ticket, you’re all in. You don’t have another angle.” She paused. “Do you?”

  “You said it yourself. My cutter is my hobby. Otherwise, I’m busy being the best hunter in the Salt Flats.”

  She raised a finger. “And in the Midlands. Don’t forget, the Iron Guild now runs tickets for two zones.”

  A small thump emitted from the crate, and Kit covered the sound by tapping the lid impatiently. “Well, if we’re all done here, I want to get rid of this deadweight and hit the road.”

  She smiled. “See you around, Turbo.”

  Kit left her office and walked the crate as quickly as he could to the refuse center near the heart of the administrative building. He pushed the crate into the small room, then stepped back outside and waved to the nearest pair of murcs, making their rounds through the atrium.

  They stopped, and Kit walked over to them. “Either you interested in some extra salt?”

  The smaller of the pair, a woman, eyed him suspiciously. “Are you trying to sell illegal goods to us?”

  He held up his hands. “Not at all. I just happened to come across a salt deal going down in the refuse center when I was dumping some trash. Seeing me, they freaked, dropped the stash, and ran. I don’t care what you do with it: turn it in, use it, or sell it. There’s at least thirty credits’ worth of salt there.”

  Kit could tell his story had piqued the male murc’s interest. The man’s eyes had lit up at the mention of salt, which was one of the most valuable spices in the Midlands.

  The female murc continued to watch him with trepidation. “Why are you telling us about this? Why not take it for yourself?”

  “I’ve already got a full crate of crap I’m hauling, and I don’t need to throw twenty pounds on it.” He shrugged. “Plus, I like to stay on the MRC’s good side, now that we’re working together.”

  She scowled. “We’re not working together, hunter. We just have to put up with your kind for the time being because Sloan says so. If it were up to me, all of your exoshields would be shredded, and you’d be thrown into work camps.”

  Kit held up his hands. “Hey, I’m just trying to make a living like the next guy. We all do what we’ve got to do.”

  “He’s just trying to make a living,” the other murc echoed Kit. “Show us the salt.”

  Kit nodded for the pair to follow, and led them to the refuse center. As soon as they were inside, Kit spun and shot them both. He closed and locked the door, and pulled the two of them to the wall. Then he opened the crate.

  Rex shoved Reuben off him, and the smaller man tumbled to the floor. Both gasped for air.

  “I thought I was going to die in there,” Reuben said. “I never realized I was claustrophobic until now.”

  “Took you long enough.” Rex scowled at Kit. “You got blood in my mouth. I almost threw up.”

  Kit winced. “You look like you did throw up.”

  “You threw up,” Reuben said. “I felt it on my back. You almost made me throw up.” He turned around. “Tell me, do I have vomit on my back?”

  Rex and Kit both grimaced, though Kit’s expression was concealed by his helmet.

  “No,” Rex said unconvincingly, then added, “Uh, how about we keep what happened in that crate between the three of us?”

  “Trust me, I don’t want to remember,” Kit said.

  Rex sniffed the air, sniffed his armor, winced, and eyed Kit. “Did you pee on me?”

  Kit was very glad to be wearing a helmet so the larger man wouldn’t see his grin. “No,” he said, knowing he sounded just as unconvincing as Rex had earlier.

  Rex shot him a dubious look as he reached into the crate and pulled out his helmet. “I’m glad Cat didn’t decide to keep my helmet as a souvenir.”

  “I think the smell deterred her from wanting any mementoes.” Kit motioned to the murcs. “Pick your size, Reuben.”

  The younger man gingerly rolled over the unconscious murcs. Kit had used the lower stun setting on his blaster to prevent burns on the uniforms. Kit waited, and surprisingly bit back a remark when Reuben donned the woman’s uniform, which fit him pretty good.

  There was a knock on the door for the refuse center.

  All three men turned to it.

  “Closed for maintenance,” Rex growled, and there wasn’t a second knock.

  Kit checked the time on his armlet, then motioned to the sink. “Get yourselves cleaned up. Joe should be here any second.”

  A tap on the composite trash door sounded with perfect timing. Kit opened it, and a duffel bag was shoved in. He grabbed the bag, then held the door open as Joe pulled himself up and through the square opening. The man landed on his feet inside the refuse center and rubbed his injured thigh.

  Rex and Reuben crowded around the single sink, but Rex stepped away as soon as he saw the bag. Rivulets of water mixed with dried blood ran down his armor. He pulled out his blasters, checked each, and holstered them. Then he pulled out the flash grenades and handed a couple each to Joe and Kit.

  Reuben continued scrubbing at his hands and face.

  Joe sniffed the air and winced. “What’s that smell?”

  “That’s the smell of a job well done,” Kit said. He glanced at his armlet, then looked at Reuben as he unlocked the door to the refuse center. “Enough already. You need to get out of here.”

  “I still stink,” the young man said.

  “Deal with it.” Rex pulled out the blaster from Reuben’s holster and changed its power setting before handing it back. “It’s set on stun, so you don’t have to worry about killing someone before you pull the trigger. Got it?”

  Reuben scratched at his cheek before taking the weapon. Then he stared at it for a couple of long seconds. “I can do this,” he said as he holstered it.

  Rex checked his armlet. “I’ll keep my comm channel open. Report in as soon as you unlock the doors. Got it?”

  Reuben gave a solemn nod. “I wish I could go with you guys.”

  Rex laughed. “No, you don’t.” He pushed Reuben through the refuse center’s door and into the atrium.

  Chapter Fifty-Three

  Reuben walked through the atrium, feeling as though everyone was looking at him. He wore the same blue uniform as every other murc soldier in the building, but felt like a poseur. Sweat trickled down his cheeks, and he hastily wiped it away. He was surprised that no one stopped him as he walked, so he hastened his pace. He became so focused on walking that he nearly walked past the security room.

  He stopped, spun around, and swiped his keycard over the panel. The door opened, and he stepped into what seemed to be an administrative wing. He walked past a couple of offices before he came to a door that read SECURITY SWITCHBOARD.

  He gulped, then swiped his keycard over the panel. Nothing happened. He tried again. Still nothing. He pocketed the keycard, held up his hand, wriggling his fingers before making a fist, and knocked.

  A man’s visage appeared on the panel. “What do you want?”

  “Uh, I’m new. Just in from Central today. They said I’m assigned to the switchboard.”

  The man rolled his eyes. “Can’t anyone correctly handle noob processing?”

  The door opened, and Reuben stepped inside.

  The man stood before Reuben. Behind him, two people sat in front of a switchboard that filled the wall. The man held out his hand. “Show me your papers.”

  Flustered, Reuben patted his pockets. Then he pulled out his blaster, but he didn’t pull the trigger. He couldn’t bring himself to kill someone.

  “What are you doing?” The man asked as though Reuben was an idiot.

  Oh wait, the blaster was on stun. Reuben squeezed the trigger and didn’t let go. Blasts
hit the man standing in front of him, and, as he looked across the room, his blaster moved with his eyes, shooting the other two people before they could even get out of their chairs.

  He released the trigger and coughed daintily as smoke wafted through the room. He stared at the three people lying unconscious on the floor. Then, in a rush, he holstered his blaster and went to the switchboard. He looked over the panels and found a section labeled Door Locks. There were at least twenty switches. He hesitated, then flipped them all off.

  He nodded to himself. Then he tapped out a notification and sent it to Rex.

  A weight suddenly lifted off his chest. Reuben left the room, closing the door behind him, and strolled out the front entrance. He smiled, then began whistling a tune as he headed toward Kit’s cutter. He’d just reached it when Cat stepped out from around it, holding a blaster. A hunter came up behind him, also holding a blaster.

  The tune died on his lips as his mood fell.

  Cat smiled. “Hello, Reuben.”

  Chapter Fifty-Four

  “We have a green light,” Rex said.

  Joe unlocked the door and stepped out with a forced nonchalance. The atrium was nearly empty, as the cafés and food carts had closed for the night. Kit and Rex joined him.

  Kit motioned to Joe’s right. “Sloan’s hangout is over there. I’ll take lead.” Then he looked from Joe to Rex. “Both of you, try not to limp.”

  “Easier said than done when you’ve got a blaster shot in your ankle,” Rex said.

  “I saw your wound. It was just a burn,” Kit said.

  “Still hurts,” Rex muttered.

  “Try getting stabbed with a rusty pitchfork,” Joe said.

  Kit sighed. “Really? We’re going to compare wounds now?”

  Joe decided that silence was the best response. He gritted his teeth and forced himself to walk without a limp, but Kit set a quick clip, making it harder. He glanced at Rex, but the man seemed to be having no problem keeping up the pace. As the trio walked through the long atrium, they passed the occasional service staff and pairs of murcs. No one paid them special attention, and no murcs stopped them to verify their credentials. Joe suspected that bounty hunters had become a common sight thanks to the Iron Guild’s alliance with the Sloans.

  If anyone looked closely, they’d notice that Rex and Joe bore the sigil of the Haft Agency, but fortunately, people tended to keep a distance from bounty hunters.

  “Who I wouldn’t kill for a photon cannon right now,” Rex said, breaking the quiet.

  “It’s ‘what I wouldn’t give’ for a photon cannon right now,” Joe corrected.

  Rex turned to him. “What?”

  Joe shook his head. “Never mind.”

  “Here’s our stop.” Kit veered toward a door. “We check his office first. I’m not sure what’s behind that other door.” He nodded to the door marked PRIVATE: MRC ACCESS ONLY.

  Kit waved his hand over the panel next to the door, and it opened. Once inside, they drew their blasters. Kit led them down a narrow hallway that opened to a spacious office. Kit stopped a couple of feet inside and scanned his blaster over the room.

  Joe did a three-sixty as he took in the large office. Worry filled him when he noticed no other doors. “This is too easy.”

  “Don’t taint our luck with your pessimism, Havoc,” Rex said.

  Kit looked around. “No. He’s right. Something’s off. An administrator’s office should have better security than this. Not a single alarm is set. I get there being no guards on duty when Sloan’s not here, but this is too easy.”

  “Oh, I’m here, and I’m watching you,” the voice came over the speakers in the room.

  The trio spun, searching for targets. Joe recognized the voice and practically spat out the man’s name. “Sloan.”

  “I knew you’d come, Havoc, but I’m surprised you were able to talk others into your foolishness.”

  “Why don’t you come here, and see how convincing I can be,” Joe taunted.

  “I’m too smart to be in the same room as someone with a weapon who’d like to kill me. I’ll see you later, when you pose less of a threat.”

  An alarm sounded.

  “We’ve got company,” Kit said, and Joe heard the footfalls of several people in the hallway behind them.

  Joe yelled, “Boom time!” and tossed a flash grenade at the murcs. He reached up to his helmet and closed the visual and auditory sensors; he trusted Kit and Rex to react as quickly. Even with the sensors blocked, Joe felt the boom of the grenade. He immediately turned on the sensors and checked to make sure Kit and Rex were still with him. Joe led them back into the narrow hallway. His leg protested, but his adrenaline made up for the pain.

  Four murcs were on the floor in the hallway. Three were unconscious, and the fourth was, impressively, struggling to grab his blaster. Joe shot him. The door to the atrium opened. The trio jumped through, one after the other, and froze.

  Facing them were thirty, if not forty, murcs in a tight semi-circle.

  Rex tried the door and cursed. “Locked.”

  “Drop your weapons!” ordered a murc.

  Joe rapidly assessed their options. They could go through the murcs, but though their exoshields could handle some blaster fire, a constant barrage wasn’t viable. Even if they reached another door, Joe bet it would also be locked. The three hunters could take out several opponents before being taken down, but there was no way they’d shoot themselves out of the trap. Gunfights were numbers games. Those with the most blasters always won.

  Funny how everything became clear when you were staring down the barrel of a blaster.

  Joe swallowed and looked to his friends. Their body language told him they had made the same deductions. Joe held out his blasters and set them slowly on the ground. Kit and Rex did the same, though Rex muttered a string of curses.

  “Get down on your knees!” came the next command.

  Joe scowled and knelt, and shot a quick glance at Kit and Rex kneeling alongside him. Murcs stepped forward, picked up their blasters, and tied each of the hunter’s hands behind their backs, being none too gentle. As they knelt there, the line of murcs before them parted, and Joe watched Gabriel Sloan step forward, a sneer plastered on his face.

  “Well, well, well. What am I to do with this little band of miscreants? What do you think I should do with them, dear?” Sloan asked as he motioned to someone behind him.

  Joe sucked in a breath as Sara Swinton was pulled forward by two soldiers.

  Her features tightened when she saw him. “Joe.”

  He forced himself to not say anything that could put her in further jeopardy. That she looked healthy and unharmed brought him some comfort, but seeing her also stirred up the boiling hatred he held for Gabriel Sloan.

  Sloan turned a haughty expression on Sara. “Well, dear? What should be done to those who attempt to assassinate a government official?”

  “Let them live,” she answered softly.

  Sloan belted out a laugh. “‘Let them live,’ she says.” Several murcs laughed. “What kind of example would I be setting? No, my dear. I think you are a rather bad judge of character, falling in with the likes of these.”

  Sloan turned toward someone else weaving through the lines of uniforms, and Joe saw Cat stroll through. Behind her was a bound Reuben, escorted by one of her hunters. Two additional hunters accompanied them.

  “What do you think I should do with these troublemakers?” Sloan asked her.

  Cat looked across their faces, lingering on Kit’s. “A public execution would show that no one is above the MRC.”

  Sloan grinned. “I like the way you think.”

  “I ask that you return my hunter to me,” Cat continued. “He brings shame to the Iron Guild, and I wish to see to his punishment personally.”

  Sloan nodded. “Of course, of course.”

  Cat walked over to Kit, and pulled his sword from its sheath. Then, she motioned to two hunters with her. They stepped forward, grabbed Ki
t by the arms, and yanked him to his feet. Kit remained quiet.

  “You know, Cat, I should’ve killed you back in Westown,” Rex gritted out.

  She smiled at him. “And I should’ve made sure you were dead when you came through earlier today.”

  Cat shoved Reuben, and he fell down in front of Joe and Rex. “Have a nice execution, boys,” she said and left. Kit was dragged after her by her hunters.

  “Damn it, Reuben,” Rex said. “Why’d you go and get yourself caught?”

  “I’m sorry,” Reuben blurted. “Cat was waiting for me at Kit’s cutter.”

  “It’s not your fault, Reuben,” Joe sighed.

  Sloan watched them with an evil glint in his eyes before he turned to face the murcs around them. “Good work tonight. Tomorrow will be an exciting day for everyone. I’ll host a feast tomorrow following the public execution. You’re all invited. Fresh lemons for all!”

  Chapter Fifty-Five

  Lobo punched Kit in the stomach, and he fell to his knees, the air gone from his lungs. They’d stripped him down to his clothing. He’d worn his exoshield so long, he’d forgotten how badly a punch hurt.

  He pushed himself to his feet again, only to be sucker punched again before he was fully erect. Pain erupted in his jaw, and he felt a tooth crack. Kit landed hard on his hands and knees, and blinked away the stars in his vision. When he could somewhat see straight, he spat blood, leaned back onto his heels, and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He made no attempt to get to his feet again, and knew better than to fight back. They’d unbound his wrists to remove his armor. Lobo’s overconfidence in his own exoshield left Kit’s hands free. He needed to conserve his energy for the right moment. He shot Lobo a hard look.

  Lobo swung back to hit him again.

  “That’s enough for now,” Cat ordered. Lobo looked at her before lowering his fist, but didn’t move away.

  Kit didn’t look, but he knew Lobo always wore two blasters in thigh holsters and a long knife in a sheath on his right thigh…which was less than twenty-four inches from Kit’s hand.