“Better.” He sighed in relief, then resoundingly belched and extended the mug. “More!”
Nervous slaves rushed forward to fill the brass mug from sealed glass bottles, and a terrified slave was forced at gunpoint to sip from the cup before the baron drank once more.
Politely most of the people in the throne room glanced away from the sight of their baron quaffing so huge a dose of jolt. As if on cue, a slave who was serving food to the visitors cast aside his plastic tray and shoved over a man from an island ville, the man’s silvery belt knife now in his bony grasp.
“Die, pig!” the slave screamed, charging the throne, the steel blade raised high for a killing stroke. With blinding speed, Brandon pulled his weapon, but Griffin was standing in the line of fire. Damn the man! As the lieutenant tried to get around the obstruction, the armed guards in the room reacted instantly, the cross fire of their longblasters chilling two slaves and hitting the running man twice before he made it to the steps that led to the throne. Bleeding profusely, the slave staggered onward, then screamed in fury as he lunged forward with the knife.
Still sipping wine, Baron Kinnison calmly drew a sleek blue revolver from within the voluminous folds of his tunic and shot the assassin directly in the face, the flame from the barrel engulfing his features.
Gore went everywhere, as human debris blew across the chamber. The shocked crowd could only stare as the mutilated body slumped toward the floor. Then Kinnison’s revolver spoke twice more, blasting away chunks of the would-be killer before the corpse hit the granite floor. A bare foot twitched once, and the corpse stopped moving.
Taking aim, Kinnison fired three more times into the body, then tossed the empty blaster aside, only to pull another into view. “Griffin!” he bellowed.
“Yes, my lord?” the man asked, rushing closer. He knew the baron wasn’t hurt, and asking would only anger the man more than he was. If that was possible.
“What ville was this man from?”
“Blackstone, on the Island of Flowers.”
As the pain began to ease, Kinnison set aside his mug and scowled. Blackstone, what a useless place, only good for slaves, some meat animals and not much else. An island covered with flowers, few crops and no ruins or minerals. Even the fishing was bad.
“Triple the amount of their tribute for black powder over the next two seasons,” he stated, tucking away the snub-nosed .44 Magnum pistol. The blaster had no range at all, but for targets under a yard away it was devastating. “If they claim to be unable to pay, fine. Tell them they’re cut off for five seasons. When the ville falls, I’m sure the new baron will be much more accommodating.”
“At once, my lord! And the body?”
“Throw it to the dogs.”
Griffin bowed. “As you order, sir. Guards!” Two sec men stepped forward, took the arms of the dead slave and hauled him away. In their wake, slaves arrived with wet rags and started to wash away the blood.
“I’m so pleased you are not hurt, Baron Kinnison,” a man said politely from the attending crowd. “And if I may take this opportunity, Tiger Shark ville is being constantly attacked by jungle muties and we are desperate for more black powder. Now we can offer you three ships of grain and fruit, instead of the usual two. But not until next year, so I was wondering—”
“Silence!” the baron roared, pounding a fist on the table full of food. “Your audience is over. Come back tomorrow.”
Begging forgiveness, the group daintily stepped over the sticky trail on the floor on their retreat. When the last of them had departed, a sergeant bolted the door shut.
“Whiny bastards,” Kinnison growled, reaching for another chicken. Then he stayed his hand, and incredibly lifted his imposing bulk from the throne.
“Come with me, Lieutenant,” he commanded, waddling across the room with tiny scraps of food falling off his stained clothing.
Marching very slowly alongside his baron, Brandon followed the sweating fat man into a smaller room. Here the walls were lined with longblasters, hand cannons and even rapidfires. Covering an entire wall was a detailed painting of the Marshall Islands, every known landmass, island and atoll clearly noted. Some sections of the wall map were raised higher than others, layers upon layers of corrections lifting the features until it was almost a contoured relief map.