“It’s not a question of winning or losing,” Mildred said in an icy tone, trying to keep her voice flat. “It’s a matter of shooting straight, that’s all. Out there, the only winner is whoever keeps alive, and that’s all.”
“That’s all?” Margia mimicked. “I’d say it’s because you don’t want competition.”
“No,” Mildred replied simply.
But walking away from the challenge wouldn’t prove that simple. Of the Gate Amazons who were clustered for the shooting, only Tammy had some idea of what Margia was doing and how she had been behaving. The others took all that was said at face value, and as Margia wasn’t the most popular member of the tribe, they felt inclined to press Mildred into accepting the challenge she was trying to avoid.
It was Jess who voiced their feelings. The raven haired woman holstered her blaster and looked Mildred in the eye. “Take her up, babe. She may keep the blasters, but believe me, she can’t shoot them that straight. You’ll take her out, no trouble.”
Krysty noticed the frosty and hostile look the blonde shot toward Jess, and figured that here was another score for Margia to settle at a later date.
For Mildred to back down now, in the face of so many, would be disastrous for her companions, as well as herself, and she knew it. She had no choice. “Okay,” she said in a measured tone. “We contest.”
Margia smiled, her strong white teeth bared in something more snarl than good humor. “Fine,” she said simply.
The contest began. Margia claimed business at the armory, and asked that she and Mildred shoot last. The others agreed to this, and the woman walked off with an arrogant stride, leaving Krysty and Tammy feeling that something devious was abroad.
“You take my place,” Tammy said quietly, ‘”cause we’ve got uneven numbers now that she’s butted in. I want to follow her, see if she’s planning anything.”
Krysty nodded her assent and turned her attention to the contest and Mildred, while Tammy followed Margia at a distance.
The blonde returned to the armory, where Jon and Petor were cleaning the machine blasters, a three day turnaround task that didn’t take them long, but insured that the sometimes delicate mechanisms hadn’t suffered in transit between camps. J.B. was also at the armory, using some of the cleaning materials and grease to work on his M-4000. He looked up as Margia approached.
“Hey, boy,” the blonde greeted him amiably, “you’re at it early.”
“Just a small task, but one I don’t want to put off,” he answered her.
“Always the best way,” she said approvingly. “Say, me and Mildred are contesting each other in shooting practice. Want to come and look?”
J.B. pushed his fedora back on his head and scratched at his forehead. “Should be interesting. Mildred’s a fine shot.”
“Exactly why I wanted to shoot against her,” Margia replied. “So why don’t you get over to the contest and check it out. I just need to get my blaster.”
“You’re not carrying it?” J.B. asked with surprise.
Margia shook her head. “Just needed to clean it earlier, so it’s still in there,” she said casually before entering the armory tent.
Tammy, following at a distance that wouldn’t seem suspicious, saw Margia enter the tent. Unlike J.B., who hadn’t seen the blonde’s back, she knew that Margia was in fact carrying her blaster, but she hadn’t heard the exchange between the two armorers.
As J.B. finished the M-4000, Tammy approached the tent, intending to see what Margia was doing. But that wasn’t to be, as the boys had stopped their appointed task when they saw her approach.
“Hey, Tam, shouldn’t you be at the contest?” Jon asked.
“She don’t need a blaster to shoot out any target she wants,” Petor added obliquely.
“Shut it, boys,” Tammy said abruptly, irritated by their poor timing. She went to pass them, but they blocked her path.
“What’s the matter?” Jon said in a mock-hurt tone. “You don’t want to talk to us all of a sudden?”
“Mebbe we’re just too lowly,” Petor mocked. “It’s not that. It’s just that I wanted to see—”
“Wanted to see what?” Petor questioned, puzzled by the suddenly flat tone in Tammy’s voice.