For Blood or Money (Excerpt) (Ignore previous post)

[benjamin reynolds]

Gee, I guess I posted this wrong. I can't seem to edit this previous post, though, so I will repost it here. Sorry, everyone...

Hullo! It’s been a while since I posted here, I guess. Anyways, I’ve been working on a short science fiction story in my spare time, and I’ve finally streamlined a section of it. Here is part 1 of the excerpt. I also posted it on a Star Wars forum, albeit in a modified format to fit within a “fan fiction” context. To me, it feels like it fits within that world best, but the piece itself can be vague enough to fit inside any general science fiction setting, and it would need to be anyways if I want to publish it in its entirety someday, which is something I hope to do eventually. Please let me know what you think of it!

FOR BLOOD OR MONEY


As one day rolled uneventfully into the next, Captain Septimus Zyke was surprised to notice that the ship’s last operational engine was still running strong. For the first time in weeks, the radiation leaking from the antigrav coolant pipes was starting to clear up enough for the navigation computer to work again. Septimus typed in their destination’s coordinates and inquired as to when they could make planetfall. He smiled as he watched the answer flash across the screen. Kafiristar was only four days away. His frosty breath escaped from his lips as he laughed out loud at the good news. Finyan Mantillas, the First Mate of the vessel, came in from the lounge and glanced over his friend’s shoulder, slapping him hard on the back. “Looks like somebody else is going to have to kill you, Sep,” he said. Septimus laughed again, but this time more nervously. It was a familiar laugh that was equal parts relief and dread.

The emergency klaxons blared from the intercom unit above Septimus’ bunk and snapped him into sudden consciousness. Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, Septimus looked up from his pillow at the rattling bulkheads around him. He powered up the lights and rolled out from the covers, the cold, hard deck feeling like ice beneath his bare feet. They’d steadily cranked the heat back up over the past four days, but the ship never felt quite as warm as he really wanted it to be. At least they didn’t have to wear those damned environmental suits anymore, Septimus thought. He pulled his black calf-length boots on and grabbed his orange vest on the way out. He didn’t have to worry about his pants, as he’d been sleeping in them for the past few weeks. “Fin? What the hell’s going on? Aren’t we there?” he shouted, stepping off the ladderwell and onto the bridge. But he already had his answer as he looked out at the main viewport. The unchanging blackness was now a brilliant blue, the tufts of clouds drifting along like lazy algae.
“Yeah, Sep. We’re there,” he answered, pausing to flip a few switches on the console in front of him. Fin was strapped in the pilot’s seat, jaws clenched tight beneath his red beard as he fought to keep the control yoke steady. “The antigrav unit’s shot, though. We’re going to have to put her down someplace quick.”
Septimus grabbed the back of the pilot’s chair for balance, transfixed by the dull, red blip on the scanner. He leaned forward and touched the screen, his eyes slowly widening as he studied the readout. “Fin, I want you to get us as close as you can to this, understand? Here,” he repeated, stabbing the screen repeatedly with his finger.
“Ain’t going to happen. See that?” Fin shouted, pointing at the image of a narrow ravine that surrounded the flashing red indicator. “We put her down in that, the rocks on either side’ll shear the engines right off!”
“Get her as close as you can!” Sep barked, heading for the gun rack. He grabbed a charge disruptor rifle and checked to see if it was loaded. The clamor of the ship struggling to stay together was getting louder, but Septimus’ breathing slowed down to a ragged calm as his eyes wandered out toward the viewport. He could see that the sun was just beginning to spill out from behind the horizon, the morning light bleeding across the desert landscape. It was out there, somewhere amongst those rocks. Encased in a container made out of the same type of metal as the Blackwater Bay, was something that was going to make all their problems go away. Whatever it was, those bastards stole it; and he didn’t mind taking it. Septimus racked the bolt on the weapon and chambered a round. And take it he would.

By the time they’d finally made planetfall, it was already midday. Kafiristar’s unrelenting heat raged across the vast rocky desert that meandered into the distance, lingering on patches of land that were blistered and cracked. Finyan wiped his forehead and looked down at his handheld scanner. Just a few more kilometers until they reached a local settlement, and he hoped they would have supplies. There were none left onboard the ship, and they would have to be prepared for the long trek through the ravine. Finyan stowed his scanner in a belt pouch next to the revolver holstered on his right hip, shifting the long-barreled charge disruptor rifle cradled in his hands. They’d landed as close as they could to the edge of the ravine, but Finyan knew it would have to be far enough away to avoid attracting the attention of the locals. They’d already spotted a few of them lurking along the tops of the chasm, the long barrels of their primitive matchlock rifles jutting out like needles strapped across their backs. Septimus had tried calling out to them in hopes of trade, but they gave no reply except for the unfriendly stare they leveled at himself and his friend. It was just as well, because he knew that savages like that could not be reasoned with, anyway. Not that the two ex-soldiers had a lot to trade with in the first place. The two of them stuffed anything and everything they’d thought would be seen as valuable into their backpacks. They ripped out burnt wiring and flecks of metal, fashioning them into crude necklaces in standard colors of red, blue, yellow, and green. Handfuls of self-starting emergency flares were thrown into their bags, along with several palm-sized holoprojectors and spools of reinforced cable. They were hoping it would be enough, but were not above taking what they needed by force if it wasn’t
“Just another kilometer or so. Beyond that ridge,” Finyan mentioned as he glanced over at his friend. Septimus didn’t answer. His hands were gripped tight on the Heavy Squad Automatic Lancer rifle he carried tucked under a shoulder, his Northstar 36 heat-beamer pistol slung low on his right leg. Finyan noticed that his friend was still wearing those same blue pants with the gray thigh pads that he’d been wearing forever, his orange vest and load-bearing gear looking especially uncomfortable. As for himself, Finyan had decided to change into a fresh yellow t-shirt before they left the ship, replacing his own worn cargo pants for a green pair with black thigh pads running down the front. It made him feel a little better, despite the fact that he hadn’t bathed in weeks. But his friend’s lack of concern for personal hygiene troubled him. As they marched on in silence, the possibilities of what they would find in the ravine crept into his thoughts again, and he wondered what Septimus would do when they cracked open that container and found nothing inside.

Opening his eyes for the first time that morning, Septimus found himself squinting at the unfamiliar natural light tickling his face. Lying naked under the swirling covers, he raised his head up from the pillow and smiled. It was a small room dominated by a medium-sized bed, and the cracked stucco walls were painted the same sickly shade of muddy brown as the tavern downstairs. But it was the first night he’d spent off the ship in weeks, and to Septimus the place was a five-star suite. He slipped out of bed and opened the shutters, looking out at the sprawling village below. Not that he’d gotten much sleep in the last 12 hours.

It was late afternoon by the time they’d finally reached the village. A random collection of crumbling adobe buildings rose from the sun-baked ground like weather-beaten blemishes, rusting slabs of what used to be pieces of a crashed ship attached to them like ornaments. A cargo cult, most likely. Septimus remembered thinking that they were going to have an easier go at it than he originally thought. One scruffy-looking boy who was brave enough to approach them walked out into the street, rolling his eyes up at Septimus and touching his belt. He smiled and tried to tousle the boy’s hair, but he jerked his head away. Septimus thought for a moment and raised a finger in the air. He reached into a belt pouch and pulled out one of his homemade necklaces. This one was bright yellow, a ragged piece of metal coolant plating hanging at the bottom like a medallion. He looped it over the boy’s wrist and stuck his tongue out at him. The boy laughed, running back to the safety of his mother who stood in a doorway, and hid behind her dress. The little ambassador’s approval seemed to be enough for the rest of him, and the villagers started to trickle out into the street, gawking at the two strangers. The two of them found the locals to be simple but friendly, the smiles on their light green faces revealing teeth that were almost as white as the hair on their heads. They did have the annoying habit of jabbering incessantly however, and their primitive speech was barely comprehensible to the portable translators worn by the two offworlders. Somehow they got by, though. When the crowd had finally gotten big enough, the two ex-soldiers knew that it was time to put down their rifles and set up their wares. They knew right away that the holoprojectors would go fast. Always did, especially with people who’d never seen them before. But they were surprised to see the villagers snatch up the homemade necklaces and emergency flares, too.
It looked like their luck had finally begun to change. The both of them had earned more than enough to cover what they originally needed, and after securing provisions and mounts, got a pair of rooms above the tavern. The local booze was strong but adequate, and they even tried a few of the greenie girls. Fin had two, but one was good enough for Septimus.

Closing the window shutters, he turned to face the bed. Septimus couldn’t believe it. These people, these green-skinned villagers actually traded in, of all things; plain old water. How ironic, he thought. There was a tank full of potable water back on the Bay, and they would’ve saved a lot of trouble if they’d just brought some of that instead. So primitive, he thought. But he had to remember that they were not human, and it was in their nature to be so simple. He turned away from the window and froze. It was faint at first, but the tapping outside his door was clearly getting louder. Septimus’ veins filled with ice, his eyes darting toward the holstered weapon buried under his pile of clothes. He glanced back at the door. His gun was at the opposite corner of the room. If he was fast, he thought maybe he could get to it in time, but Sep was already too slow. The door suddenly burst from its hinges and clattered to the floor, a pale and tattered human filling the frame where it used to be. The man’s face glistened with a mixture of fear and bloodlust, the worn black jumpsuit that hung limply off his body festooned with random pieces of mismatched armor. He was an offworlder for sure, and Septimus had the sinking feeling that he wasn’t the only one that knew that Big Nose Oro liked to talk in his sleep. “Don’t you move,” he growled, the heavy plasma pistol trembling visibly in his hand. An intoxicating sense of calm washed over Septimus as he fixed his gaze on the gun barrel pointed straight at his chest. The floorboards out in the hallway creaked ominously, and when Sep squeezed his eyes shut, he hoped that the hell he would soon be rotting in wouldn’t be so bad. The muffled blast of an explosion tore through the air a second later, and when he opened his eyes, the intruder’s head had been blown apart. Septimus dove for the pile of clothes and fished out his own gun, crouching behind the blood-spattered bed in a defensive posture.
“Don’t shoot, Sep. It’s just me,” someone shouted. It was Fin. Septimus eased his finger off the trigger, but kept the gun trained on the doorway until his friend entered his field of view. Finyan stepped over the corpse of the man he’d just killed and aimed his revolver down the hallway. “Get dressed,” he whispered. “We’ve got company.”
Septimus nodded and did what he was told, grabbing the Lancer rifle propped up against the wall on his way out. Fin took point as he had done many times before, Septimus and his rifle following closely behind as the two men inched their way down the hall. Finyan’s own room was just four doors down and he raised a closed fist when they got there, signaling for the two of them to stop. Pointing at the door to indicate that he was going in to retrieve his own rifle, Fin quickly dropped to one knee as he spotted another gunman wander into his sights. The man realized his mistake and raised his own pistol to fire on the two men, but Finyan was quicker. He fired two quick shots at the attacker, one round embedding itself into the wall and the other tunneling into the man’s torso. Septimus peppered the hall with covering fire as Fin ducked into his room, the green streaks of light spitting out of his Lancer rifle like molten rain. He ceased fire and stepped through the green-gray smoke that poured out of his weapon. There was another one, cowering just around the corner of the long hallway, the bastard’s weapon rattling in his hands. He watched as the man’s elbow wavered in and out of his field of view. Septimus knew he would make the mistake again, and triggered a well-aimed burst when he did. The energy rounds quickly found their target and severed the man’s forearm, instantly cauterizing the blackened stump that remained. A high-pitched scream rose from the bottom of his lungs as he dropped the weapon and backed up against the pockmarked wall. The man was out in the open now, and when Sep had a clear shot, he took it. His shoulders twitched as he felt Fin’s hand clamp onto his shoulder. Time to move. They continued forward past the bodies and down the stairs, reaching the tavern just as more of them started coming in. Finyan dropped two of them right away before jumping behind the bar; Sep’s Lancer rifle kicking hard against his shoulder as he sent the others diving for cover. He flipped over a table and crouched behind it, his breathing shallow, senses sharpened by fear. His eyes rolled in the general direction of the tavern’s curtains and noticed that they were starting to smolder. Septimus glanced over at Fin, his eyes wide, and nodded. Finyan nodded back, and when Sep leaned his rifle over the top of the overturned table, he slipped away from the bar. White hot bullets and energy rounds snapped past Sep’s ears, tearing chunks of wood out of the table and superheated stucco from the floor. But Septimus kept firing. Fin caught another two of them from the side and ducked back down. Sep stood up and moved closer to the pair that remained, stitching a ragged line of charred holes across the one that turned to face him. He and Fin closed in on the last man from both sides and cornered him, blasting him apart when he when he tried to run for the door. Finyan grabbed a handful of charge cartridges and shoved them into the loading gate of his rifle. Septimus glanced over his shoulder at the ruined interior of the tavern and saw that the fire from the curtains had spread to the bar. The smoke was getting thicker, and it wouldn’t be long before the whole place went up in flames. He checked the power levels on his Lancer rifle and brought the weapon back up to his shoulder, aiming at the deserted street outside. Sep took a deep breath, letting it out slowly between his teeth. “Go!” he screamed.
“Going!” Finyan screamed back, and ran across to the building on the other side. Someone peeked out from behind a doorway and fired a few potshots, but the gunman ducked back inside when Sep squeezed off a long burst in his direction. He heard Fin shout for him to go, Septimus called out that he was going, and moved away from the burning tavern to take cover behind one of the load-bearing columns out in front. Footsteps padding in the dirt approached him from behind and he swung the rifle toward the sound. Another offworlder, his braided hair swirling around his head like angry snakes, the twin pistols in his fists blazing away. Shards of the weather-beaten column kicked up around Sep’s face and the Lancer rifle’s shots went wild. Fin drew a bead on him and emptied his charge disruptor, blowing off the man’s right leg at the hip and vaporizing most of his torso. A bright blue beam flashed past Fin’s shoulders and he hugged his body closer against the wall, his trembling fingers stuffing fresh charge cartridges into his weapon. Sep leaned out from the column to give his friend some covering fire, but the energy rounds that chewed up the ground near his feet changed his mind. The bastards had him cornered from both sides. His back was pressed hard against the column, and the smoke that was billowing out from the tavern was getting thicker. Finyan was still kneeling when he saw the same gunman peer out from the side of the building for another shot at Sep. Fin waited until he could see the man’s stomach before pulling the trigger twice. The first shot missed him completely, but the second one cut the gunman in half. “Go! Go! Go!” Finyan screamed, swinging the rifle around and firing at the other side.

 

[benjamin reynolds]

Here is part 2 of this excerpt...

FOR BLOOD OR MONEY

Septimus twisted his body away from the column and pumped his legs hard across the street. He fired a long burst toward the other end of the building as he ran, taking out another gunman hiding behind a barrel. When he finally reached Fin, Septimus crouched on one knee and laid his hand across his friend’s back. “You hurt?” Fin shook his head, running his hands over the chest pockets of his load-bearing harness.

“Looks like I’m out, though.” Finyan dropped the empty rifle and drew his pistol. He thumbed the release lever on the side of the weapon and tipped the top half forward, exposing the jointed cylinder inside and checking the number of rounds he had left. “How about you?”

But Septimus was silent, gazing out at the barren, broken landscape in front of him. He didn’t know why he hadn’t noticed before; those two lumps of flesh crumpled in the street. They looked like natives; a woman and a child, to be exact, and their charred bodies were torn and bloody. Septimus rose to his feet and wiped the sweat from underneath his chin. But there was something else. He took a step forward to get a closer look, his boots shuffling listlessly in the dust. And then there it was, the yellow wire necklace clenched in the child’s fist. His gift, to the little ambassador with the shy, easy laughter was now dangling onto the blood-soaked ground. It wasn’t him, he thought. It wasn’t him that killed that boy; shot up that woman. He repeated it over and over again to himself, but the more he said it, the less he believed it.

The high-pitched crack of a bullet breaking the sound barrier echoed across the distance, Sep’s fingers instinctively tightening around the barrel of his rifle. Fin screamed and clapped his hand over his thigh as he fell to the ground, the heavy revolver kicking hard in his fist. “The window, the window!” he shouted. Septimus joined in too, but his shots went wild as he blasted away with one hand, and dragged his friend to safety with the other. He dropped the rifle and took a look at the wound. Fin’s pant leg was stained black with blood, the tattered petals of flesh overlapping the fabric. It was a clean shot. The bullet had passed through the muscle and exited out the other side, missing the bone completely. Septimus grabbed the first aid pack from his belt. It was going to hurt like hell, but Fin would be able to walk. He grabbed Sep’s wrist, the trembling pistol still locked in his other hand. “He’s up there. Second floor. You clean them out, and I’ll cover you from here.”

Glancing up at the window and back down at his friend, Septimus dropped the first aid pack onto Finyan’s lap. He looked hard into the man’s sallow eyes and squeezed his shoulder, gathering up his rifle before heading toward the building. His shoulders kept close to his body, his head tucked low. The blood that was kicking in his ears was getting louder, rising in its intensity until it was all he could hear. He ran faster, clouds of dirt erupting around his heels, almost fast enough to get that damned hammering out of his head but not quite, and when Sep reached the building and kicked the door off its hinges, it finally stopped. The Lancer rifle was pressed hard against Sep’s cheek as he raked the room with energy fire, footsteps rattling overhead. Two went down quick, but it was that third man who took him by surprise. Sep couldn’t see him standing by the shattered doorframe, and when he did, he took a step back. The man lunged at the rifle, grabbing it by the barrel and pushing Sep hard against the wall. He could see the man reaching for the pistol on his belt and grabbed him by the wrist, smashing the man’s nose with his forehead. Blood spurted from his nostrils as he loosened his grip on Septimus’ rifle and dropped to the floor. Sep looked up as the footsteps above his head grew to a rumble, yanking the pistol from his holster. The sound finally materialized in a leather-clad figure that stomped down the stairs in the corner, a lonely patch of light bouncing off his hairless head. An uneasy sense of fear and desperation permeated the man’s bloodshot eyes as he raised the stubby plasma pistol out in front of him and fired. The superheated blast carved a blackened crater into the wall as Septimus rolled to the floor, pulling the trigger of his heat-beamer as fast as he could until the gunman collapsed over the banister. He thumbed the ammo catch and snapped a fresh power cartridge onto his gun, all in one smooth motion. Septimus jammed the pistol back into his holster and scooped up his rifle, heading for the second floor. There had to be more of them. He took his time, careful to stay on the balls of his feet as he made his way up the stairs. When he reached the top, he lowered his rifle in awe.

It was all one cavernous room, multicolored frescoes embedded in the walls and finely crafted furniture resting on wide stretches of carpet. He ran his fingers over a metallic sculpture mounted on an end table, his eyes wandering over to the two beds at opposite corners of the room. Sep suddenly realized that he was in somebody’s house. Someone important, maybe the governor or the local chief, but someone was living there. Or used to live there. An uneasy feeling tumbled in his stomach as he wondered where the owners were. Septimus continued past the leather-bound sofa in the middle of the room and made his way toward the bigger of the two beds. And that’s when he found them. Three cowering figures were slumped against a blood-drenched wall, their green faces having turned a sickly shade of yellow. He leaned over for a closer look, the female facing away from Sep’s prodding gaze. Her body was curled tight around the infant she held in her arms as the third figure, a man, lay sprawled out in front of them both, a broken sword still held tight in his grip. There were no energy beam burns on their bodies; nothing so neat and clean. These three felt themselves die. The killing was messy and wet, the bullets that ripped through their brightly colored robes apparent from the shattered bone and torn organs they left behind. The jagged lacerations across their necks ran deep, and any chance that they were still alive bled out from their wounds. A moaning, gasping sound emanated from underneath the window on the far end of the room, and Sep’s Lancer rifle snapped back up against his shoulder. He moved slowly toward the noise, carefully avoiding the clay toys strewn across the floor. It was closer, the sound, more clear, and when Sep poked the rifle between the narrow space between the child’s bed and the window; he could feel the muscles on the back of his neck twitch.

It was him, drowning in the blood he coughed up in fits; two of Fin’s bullets lodged deep within his ceramic chest plate. The dying man’s legs sat motionless as he struggled to pull the bolt back on his rifle. Septimus took a step forward and brought his foot down hard on the weapon. Pirates. He should’ve known all along. And there lying in front of him, choking on spurts of blood and vomit, was Big Nose Oro himself. That meant that the pile of bodies that he and Fin left scattered across the village were Blackstar Hellions, and it was a good chance that they already knew why the two ex-soldiers were there. Sep flexed his fingers around the pistol grip of his rifle and ignored the stinging sweat in his eyes.

“You…I know you,” Big Nose Oro croaked. His eyes bulged, unable to believe who it was that stood in front of him. “Did some time at the Needle, right?” A slow grin spread across his blood-spattered lips. “I know what you’re here for, but it’s too late.”

Septimus heard footsteps making their way up the stairs, and suddenly his rifle seemed heavier in his hands.

“Sep? You get them?” Fin’s voice was faint, but distinct. “Have you cleared the room?”

“Too late,” the dying pirate mumbled cryptically.

Septimus stepped forward and triggered a three round burst into Big Nose Oro’s face. He stood there for a long time, waiting for the man to move, waiting to shoot him again, but he didn’t. The hammering had slowly returned, but this time it wasn’t combat that triggered it. This time it was worse.

“Did he say anything interesting?”

Septimus was surprised by his friend’s sudden presence. No, there was nothing interesting that was said, he thought. Just a lie that a dying man told him out of spite and that was all. But he couldn’t look away from the body lying in front of his trembling gun barrel. “Clear,” Septimus said, answering Finyan’s first question, but not his last. He felt Fin’s hand on his arm and finally lowered the rifle.

“Come on,” he heard him say. Septimus followed blankly, floating alongside his hobbling friend in a daze. By the time they stepped back outside, the tavern across from them was enveloped in flames. Black smoke tumbled out from its collapsed roof, reaching high into the cloudless sky and strangling the sun. They turned their backs on the fire that raged behind them, and gave in to the one that raged within. Now they had earned it; whatever was out there, and now they were coming for it. Their fists were wrapped tight around their weapons, eyes wild as they looked for the next man who would try to take it from them. But as the pair continued down the middle of the street toward the stables, Septimus couldn’t shake the thought that maybe Big Nose Oro already had.

He could see that the smoke in front of the buildings was starting to thin out, but Septimus’ gaze was drawn toward something that stared back at him through the haze. Sep could feel it before he saw it, but when he did, he wished like hell that he hadn’t. Standing in one of the doorways, he saw a child; pale and frayed at the edges, oblivious to the smoke that swirled around him. And as he looked away from the boy’s hollow, unblinking stare, Sep’s eyes wandered to what was in his outstretched hand. He could see that something was dangling from the little boy’s fingers, something that was an unnatural shade of yellow. Sep’s cracked lips parted and his mouth went dry. A wide smile bled across the boy’s face as he waved goodbye, but Septimus could not wave back. He instead glanced over his shoulder once more, staring at the pair of bodies that were now devoured by the fire, and then he never looked again. He focused instead on the barren road in front of him and realized for the first time that his cheeks were wet. But he knew that they were only tears, and so he let them fall.



The burning village grew dim in the distance as the two of them made their way out into the open desert. Now that they had their provisions, they were headed for the chasm; ready for what they had coming to them. The two of them passed the hours in silence. Only the occasional bleating of the reptilian pack animals shuffling beneath them would pierce the desert’s stillness; their thick, green tails swinging rhythmically from side to side like leather bound pendulums. The heat deadened somewhat when dusk finally came. But by then, they knew they were getting close.

Fin thought he could already see it. It was there, just before the desert meandered into nothingness, flanked by rocky outcroppings that erupted from the horizon and stabbed at the sky. They would be there by dark. He turned to his left and was surprised to see the Bay in the distance. He’d forgotten that they’d set the ship down so close to the chasm. Rubbing his bandaged leg, Finyan wondered if it had been worth going into the village at all. He stared at its reflective hull, shielding his eyes with a cupped palm. There was something else on that ship. He strained in his saddle to see what had clearly not been painted on the starboard cargo hatch when they made planetfall two days before. An elaborate design of some sort, the precise geometric patterns painted across the metal in strokes of blue and green were clear enough in the shimmering heat. He tugged on the reins to steer the animal closer for a better look, but changed his mind when he glanced over at Septimus’ face. The man’s eyes were like black pinpricks, his unblinking stare locked on the dying sun that was sinking slowly beneath the desert’s edge. Fin could see now that his friend wasn’t going to follow him back to the ship, or back to the village, or anywhere else for that matter. There was only going to be one destination; one end to their trek. Finyan turned away from the ship and realized that Sep’s obsession was also his, and focused his own gaze back onto the blood-red horizon.

 

[benjamin reynolds]

And last, but not least...

Part 3 of my excerpt.


FOR BLOOD OR MONEY


By the time they rode past the towering cliffs and headed into the chasm, the sun was in its final death throes. And that was when they ventured out. Like apparitions, they were; standing amongst the rocks and crevices swaddled in long robes and layers of cloth, cradling long-barreled rifles in their arms like sleeping babies. The two offworlders ran their fingers across the pistols holstered on their hips as they stared back at the savages. Even in the fleeting light of dusk they could see the multicolored tattoos that crisscrossed their green faces, their short white beards clinging to their faces in wisps and bristles. They were the same breed of savages that the pair had first encountered in the village they’d just come from, but at the same time could not be more different. The light of progress on that world was dim at best, and its taming of the savages that lived there did not extend to the wild tribes lurking beyond the desert.

As dusk turned into night, the two ex-soldiers dismounted to make camp. They pulled their bedrolls from the saddles and built a fire, hanging a kettle over the flames to boil the water.

“Those bastards sure taste better than they smell,” Fin mumbled between fistfuls of dried meat strips, gesturing toward the overloaded creature standing behind him. They were clumsy but utilitarian, their leathery green bodies hanging low to the ground on four stubby legs. He thought they were some type of lizard, but he wasn’t sure. Fin just knew they were cheap. Gave an old man in the village a spool of burnt out wire for the pair of them, and he even threw in a few bags of their slow-smoked brother for free. He pulled another meat strip from the creature’s saddlebag and waved it in front of its nostrils, but the green-skinned beast just sniffed at it and turned away. Fin laughed and ate it himself. “Of course, they’ll tell you they smell better than they taste, yeah?” he said, patting the animal’s flank. Septimus ignored him and focused on his disassembled pistol laid out in front of him, working a small cleaning brush in and out of the barrel piece. “Something on your mind?”

“I was just thinking,” he said, scraping away the carbon scoring at the tip of the beam emitter.

Finyan reached into his chest harness pouch and pulled out two pieces of a lacquered pipe, screwing the stem into the bowl. Carefully unwrapping a small piece of cloth he kept tucked in his gun belt, Fin took a pinch of its contents and packed it into the open end of the pipe bowl. He plucked a twig from the edge of the campfire and dipped the end into the flames, using it to light his pipe. He took a few slow puffs of the flavored smoke and gazed out into the darkness. “Thinking about what?”

Septimus stopped cleaning his gun and stared into the fire. He tossed the detached gun barrel onto the cloth square near his feet, letting the cleaning brush slip from his fingers. He was silent for a long time. “What if nothing’s there, Fin?”

Finyan took the pipe out of his mouth and smiled. “Oh, I think those men we ran into back in town might disagree with you!”

“Not men, Fin. Pirates.” He broke his gaze with the fire and looked over at his friend. “Animals.”

“Whatever.” Finyan paced around the campfire with his hands on his hips, stopping abruptly in front of Septimus. “For them to come all this way just for the two of us? With that kind of firepower?” He cocked his head to the side and rocked on his heels. “Oh, there’s something out there, Sep.” He took a step forward and jabbed a finger in Septimus’ face. “You know it, I know it, and you’d better believe they knew it. The only thing’s changed now is that they’re all dead and we ain’t.”

“But what if they’re wrong, Fin?”

“No, they are not wrong!” Finyan exploded. He slapped a hand wildly into his palm as he spoke. “Because if that were true, it would mean that you dragged the two of us to the ass-end of the galaxy with only one working engine and no life support. And I know you would never do that to me, on account of us being such very good friends, would you, Sep?”

“Hey – I didn’t put a gun to your head!"

Finyan’s eyes bulged incredulously. “No? No? We wouldn’t have to worry about running scams on the sector Governor again? Something like that? That is what you said, right?”

“Look, if you want to leave, I’m not stopping you!”

“I just might!” Fin replied; perhaps a little too quickly. He stepped away from the dying campfire and looked up at the stars. They suddenly seemed so far away.

Septimus picked up the pieces of his gun and began reassembling it. He held the weapon’s power pack up to the light and rubbed it between his fingers. “Too late,” he whispered, snapping it home into the back of his gun.

Finyan glanced over his shoulder, visibly annoyed. “What?”

“He said we were too late.”

“Who?”

“Big Nose Oro. He was there, hiding in that townhouse.” Septimus examined the pistol in his hand and stood up, stuffing it into his holster. “Said it right before I shot him.”

Finyan’s shoulders slumped as his friend’s words started to sink in. He took a deep breath. “You had a gun in his face. Probably knew he was going to die. What do you expect him to say?” His peripheral vision caught a lone tribesman perched up on the rocks nearby. “What are you looking at!” Finyan shouted, scooping up a stone and hurling it at the figure.

Septimus raised his eyebrows and threw his hands up into the air. “Well, that’s what he said.” Finyan hung his head low for a moment before heading over toward the sleeping pack animals. He pulled the Lancer rifle from Septimus’ saddle and checked its power levels. “Where are you going?”

“I’ll be taking the first watch,” Finyan answered. “It’ll be a long day tomorrow. I’m waking you up in four hours.”