James Axler – Gemini Rising

“Shit, shit, shit,” he softly cursed. “Shit!”

Suddenly a thunderous discharge shook the room, rattling the windows and ringing the brass bell suspended above the bar.

Spinning toward the newcomer, the companions saw a group of heavily armed men walking around the smashed plywood barrier and bleeding corpses. Striding at the front was a short, crew-cut man with a dour expression, brandishing a smoking double-barrel shotgun.

“What the bloody hell is going on here?” the small man demanded, cracking the breech of his blaster to dump the spent shells onto the littered floor. They hit with a soft clatter and rolled away still smoking slightly.

Easing the safety off the Uzi just in case, J.B. noted the empty rounds as homemade reloads, and expertly done. Somebody in the ville really knew blasters.

The other men spread out across the room, taking strategic positions, their bolt-action rifles tight in their grips. Ryan listed them immediately as seasoned sec men.

“Them! They chilled my crew,” the wounded mercie said, rising weakly to his feet, a hand clutching a bleeding shoulder. “We were just eating our dinner, and those mutie-loving freaks opened fire on us!”

His pale face a mask of rage, Jak started grimly forward. Lily stayed him.

“That’s a lie,” Ryan said calmly, bolstering his blaster.

“That’s what you say.” The mercie glanced around. “How about it, Lily?” he asked bluntly.

“He’s telling the truth, Monty,” the barmaid stated. “Those damn mercies started the fight. I heard them talking about chilling the strangers to steal their blasters.”

“Yeah?” Monty asked, sliding fresh shells into his sawed-off and snapping the breech closed with a jerk of his hand.

“Yeah,” she repeated. The woman radiated a fury that was almost detectable over the heat from the fireplaces. “The outlander with the patch called them on it, and they started shooting.”

Monty looked at Ryan, “A fair fight, then,” he said slowly.

Lily snorted. “No, it wasn’t. He didn’t have a blaster in his hand till they started shooting.”

Sliding the sawed-off shotgun into a wide holster hung over his shoulder, Monty hooked his thumbs into his wide leather belt and studied the one-eyed man for a minute before speaking.

“You don’t look insane,” he ventured thoughtfully. “But I have been fooled before. What’s your version of this, Cord?”

The barkeep placed his shotgun on the shelf behind the bar. “It’s as she said, Chief.”

“Two for, one against,” the sec chief said, and he gestured at the companions. “Looks like you folks can go about your biz.”

“Planned to,” Ryan stated, crossing his arms. “And I want to talk with the survivor.”

“After I’m done with him.” Monty advanced upon the skinny man bleeding by the fireplace. The mercie was almost twice the height of the tiny sec man, but there was no question who was in charge.

“However, you are going in the hole,” Monty announced, looking up at his prisoner. “Lying to a sec man in this ville is a crime. Ten lashes.”

“Y-you can’t p-put me in chains,” the frightened man stammered. “I’m bleeding! Shot!”

“And another ten for challenging my orders,” Monty said, jerking the big man toward the door. “Harold, get this triple-stupe slackbrain out of here before I waste a round and chill him myself!”

A redhaired sec man took the prisoner by the collar and marched the trembling man outside into the cold dark night.

“Mercies,” Monty growled, running a callused hand over his flat-top hair. “Bloody pains in the arse.”

“Excuse me, sir, are you of British descent?” Doc asked curiously, sliding the LeMat back into its greased holster.

Lowering his head in the manner of a bull about to charge, Monty glowered at the oldster. “What about it, Yank?”

“Why, nothing, sir,” Doc replied, smiling politely. “I was merely curious.”

“Remember what it did to the cat,” the sec chief said brusquely.

“Zed, block the busted window with a table. Thomas, give me a report.”

The wind blowing steadily around him, a bald sec man shoved an upright table in front of the hole, and the breeze dropped to fitful gusts around the edges.

Kneeling on the bloody floorboards, a black sec man rose from examining a pile of corpses. “They’re all dead, that’s for damn sure.”