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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
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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.
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"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."
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"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
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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."
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"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."
"I got eyes, man. How about the blasters?"
"Quite a selection here." Thomas lifted a handful of sticky weapons. "Autos,
wheelguns and a grenade."
"A what?" Monty strode toward the man in his curious gait, reminding Ryan of a
sailor on a ship at sea. "A gren. Well, I'll be damned. And the pin hasn't
been pulled. Wonder why."
The small chief stared directly at Ryan. "They hid behind a table, and you
flushed them out with a dud," he announced. "Pretty clever. Any chance you
folks planning on staying in town for a while? I could use some more sec men.
Winter is coming, and that means coldhearts will be hitting us for supplies
soon."
"Just passing through," Krysty replied, her hair flowing as though still being
stirred by mountain winds.
If Monty noticed anything, he made no comment. "Yeah, expected as much.
North or south?"
"We haven't decided yet," Ryan answered quickly.
Monty scowled. "Right."
"Chief, about my place& " Cord started.
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The leader of the sec man raised a hand. "Way ahead of you. The ville gets the
usual half, and I'm sure these fine folks who don't shoot first in a fight
will be happy to give you the rest to pay for the damage to your home. Fair
enough?"
"Fair enough," Ryan agreed.
Wearily rubbing the back of his neck, Cord beamed a smile. "Thanks. That will
help."
"And don't wait so long calling for help. That's why I'm here."
"Understood, sir."
"Ah, any chance you might consider using one of the blasters on that so-called
cook of yours?" Monty asked.
"Tried it," Cord said deadpan. "Shooting only makes her mad and cook worse."
Monty cracked a smile. "Well, it was worth asking." [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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