James Axler – Judas Strike

Murmuring among themselves, the crowd shuffled its feet, anxiously waiting for the matter to be settled. Breathing heavily, the prisoner stared at the blaster, then at Kinnison, the internal battle clearly visible on his haggard features. Finally, he released the trigger and lowered the blaster.

“A high seat on the council,” he growled in correction.

“Done,” Kinnison said, releasing the revolver in his pocket to pass out the other flintlocks. Damn feeb took so long the baron almost believed that he would rather live forever as a prisoner, if only he could ace the baron who put him there. He was a fool and would have to be executed immediately once Kinnison was back in power.

Leading his pack of rats up the stairs, Kinnison unlocked the door at the landing and eased it open only a crack, then started mumbling about a woman’s breasts.

As expected, a sec man came to the door and peeked there. “What you got there?” he asked eagerly. “A new prisoner for us to ride?”

Kinnison stabbed the stiletto into the man’s left eye, the blade penetrating deep into his brain. Already dead, the body fell to the floor and the prisoners swarmed over the warm corpse, taking his clothes and weapons. Then a woman noticed some food on the table and the starved people tore the bread apart, swallowing the chunks intact, almost gagging on the first wholesome meal any of them had eaten in months.

While they licked the crumbs off the floor, Kinnison went to a blaster rack and unlocked the chain, passing out pistols and longblasters, along with heavy pouches of ammo.

“Everybody know where the armory is?” he asked.

They nodded eagerly, fondling the weapons.

“I’ll distract the guards,” Kinnison lied, making a mark on a burning candle with his thumbnail. “When the wax burns down to here, you come charging out with blasters firing. Chill anybody you see. I’ll meet you at the armory, and we’ll make our stand. By noon tomorrow, the mansion will be ours, then the ville and finally the entire island. Nothing can stop us now. Victory or death!”

“Vict’ry,” a man cackled, and the rest took up the cry, their hoarse whispers raised in a determined chant, broken by ragged coughing.

Kinnison hid his repulsion. It was pitiful. Then the baron saw that several of them were giggling like children. The wild, feverish looks on some of their faces made Kinnison think many thought this was merely a wonderful dream and wasn’t actually happening. How could it? But that was fine. Their madness would make them dangerous and draw lots of attention from the sec men, giving him the few minutes necessary to reclaim his ville.

Exiting the dungeon, Kinnison hesitated to listen for the sounds of marching guards coming this way, but this wing of the mansion was quiet. His heart pounding, the baron walked barefoot along the cold stones, pausing only to snatch a pillow from a chair set close to a window. There was some kiwi fruit in a bowl, and he gobbled it down without peeling it first, the tangy juices running down his swaddled chin. It tasted better than sex, and the baron wondered how he could have ever thought the fruits were too tart to eat. Simply wonderful.

Soft singing could be heard from outside, the words drifting through the windows as he proceeded along a hallway. Celebrating his demise, were they? Somebody would pay for that.

Reaching the main corridor, Kinnison slipped behind some tapestries and bypassed a group of visiting barons chatting with the ville quartermaster. Selling them Firebirds, eh? More fools to chill when he got the chance.

Darting around a corner, he surprised a maid and he stabbed her in the heart, leaving the blade in place to hold down the bleeding until he dragged her into a closet.

Exiting the closet, Kinnison saw that the corridor was clear, a lone armed guard standing before the closed doors of the throne room. That shotgun was real trouble, but he had no choice. Summoning his courage, Kinnison sheathed the blade, then with blaster and pillow ready, he made his run toward the sec man, moving as fast and as quietly as he could. When the baron was only a yard away, the sec man spun, reaching for his alley-sweeper, then balked in surprise.