James Axler – Judas Strike

“Colliers,” Mitchum growled, drawing his blaster. The rest of the sec men did the same, and the cocking of hammers sounded like tree branches snapping in the sudden quiet.

“You were gone for a week! Now I’m the sec chief in this ville!” Colliers stated, stabbing his chest with a thumb. “Ain’t just going to roll over like a gaudy slut and give it back to a feeb who let cannies catch him!”

“A fight to the death,” Mitchum said, his weapon neither moving nor wavering. “Not first blood, but a chilling. No quarter, no rules.”

“Fine by me,” Colliers snarled, and pulled a blade with lightning speed.

“No rules at all?” Mitchum insisted.

“Agreed!” Colliers spit, starting for the man.

Calmly, Mitchum fired the flintlock in his hand, the .75 miniball punching a round hole in the other man’s face and blowing out the back of his head, spraying bones, brains and blood over the crowd.

Most of the people broke ranks and ran; only a few stayed to watch more.

“Only a triple stupe would agree to no rules,” Mitchum said, holstering the smoking weapon, “when you got a loaded blaster pointed at your guts.”

“Wondered how you two would settle this,” Baron Thayer said, waving away the cloud of gun smoke. “Was going to make it a formal match, in the pit with no weapons but bare hands. Don’t have to do that now.”

“No, sir,” Mitchum stated. “Private, drag the body to the cliff and toss him into the sea. But keep the boots and that blade. We’ll give those to the sec man we take on to fill his place.”

“I’ll do it,” a teenager said, stepping forward. “Want to be a sec man. Chill me some pirates.”

Baron Thayer arched an eyebrow, but Mitchum looked the boy over closely. He was barefoot and dressed in a piece of canvas, crudely stitched into shapeless clothing. His face was gaunt, but the teen stood a good head above the rest of the crowd, and his hands were gnarled weapons of grisly scars. Good food would fill in as solid muscle, and the ville would have a useful chilling machine in their fighting ranks.

“Name?” he snapped.

“Samms, Virgil Samms, sir. I live down by the docks, in the dolphin cove with the—”

“Shut up! Never waste an officer’s time with horseshit, boy. Now help dispose of the body, and remember,” the colonel added sternly, “Brad Colliers was a stupe, but also a sec man. He gets full honors and prayers before going to Davey. You’ll taste the lash if I hear about you missing a single word. Get me?”

“Aye, aye, sir,” Virgil said and saluted.

“Sailors say that dreck, not sec men,” the sergeant said, smacking the boy in the back of the head. “Now salute your baron, and get to work!”

The fledgling sec man shakily gave Thayer a salute and held it until the baron returned the gesture. Then a couple of the sec men joined the boy and helped drag the dead man away, leaving a gory trail in the dusty ground.

“Waste of a fisherman,” the baron said, tucking thumbs into his belt.

Pulling out a pouch, Mitchum reloaded his blaster. “Just green, that’s all, my lord. Started off that dumb myself.”

“Your call,” the baron said. “First time he fucks up bad, you get the lash for him.” The baron gave Ryan and his crew a long look as if somehow they were involved in the fight, then turned his back and started to walk up the street toward his palace.

“Sharp move,” J.B. said.

Mitchum closed the pouch by pulling on the drawstring with his teeth, then tucked blaster and ammo away. “Not really. Colliers always had a tough time controlling his temper. That made him a bad commander. Bastard had to die for the sake of the ville.”

Ryan filed that information away. There was a lot more to Mitchum than was readily apparent.

“But now that he’s gone, I’m in charge again.” The colonel grinned as he freed the reins of his mount and passed them to a private. “Put her in the stable and have them give her a good rub-down.”