Sneet poured a double-measure of Torian gin for one of Kwan’s regular patrons, a cook for one of the merchant vessels that frequented Space Port 66 on a regular basis. The old-timer was long past retirement, and Sneet had never enquired as to why he hadn’t packed it all in. He guessed that it was either the case that the man didn’t wish to retire, or that he didn’t have any option but to keep on working. Most folk couldn’t afford to retire—hitting old age on the worlds of the Periphery was a far cry from entering the winter of your life in the Inner Realm. And there were those without family, devoid of loved ones, for whom work was all they had left. That was one of the reasons Sneet kept his curiosity to himself on such matters. Sometimes there are questions to which it isn’t worth knowing the answer because you can pretty much guess at what it will be.

He looked up in time to see the doors to the bar open to admit two women. At first, because of the glare from outside, he did not recognize them. But as the doors swung shut behind them, and the inside of Kwan’s was once again suspended in shadow, he knew them straight away.

He put the bottle away and moved to the other end of the bar as Cort Valez approached with her new lady friend—the one who’d been in earlier asking questions.

Aurora March.

Sneet stood with his paws braced on the counter top. “Back so soon.”

“You’ve never complained about customers hitting the bar twice in one day before.”

“This is true.”

“My friend here wants to see out the back,” Valez said.

She didn’t look or sound herself.

Sneet looked from her to March. “That’s not possible. You know that.”

Valez leaned forward. Lowered her voice. “We need to make an exception,” she said.

Sneet noticed the dried blood in her hair. “You’re hurt,” he whispered.

“I’m fine.”

“What’s going on, Valez?”

“Nothing. She just wants to see out the back and I think we should let her.”

“You know we don’t do that.” The Doubian bartender stepped back. “Something’s wrong here . . .” he said, looking from Valez to March. Sneet knew a ruse when he saw one. This whole exchange had trouble written all over it. Trouble for him, trouble for the bar . . . trouble for everyone.

“We don’t have to cause a scene,” March affirmed, taking over the conversation.

Sneet tipped his snout. “You’re the bounty hunter everybody’s after. Maybe you should do the right thing and hide yourself away.”

“Maybe you should listen to your friend.”

Valez said, “Sneet, please . . .”

The Doubian weighed up his options. Decided what to do next. He looked at both women and realized his only way around his obligations to other parties was to act quickly. So without another word, Sneet dove under the counter for the blaster rifle he kept there. “Time you left!” he declared, rising back up with the rifle held in his paws.

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Aurora March launched herself over the counter, flying into him, knocking glasses and bottles everywhere. They both fell to the floor, the rifle flying straight out of his paws and clattering along the tiles. Sneet and March struggled with one another briefly, for a matter of seconds, before March had him pinned in such a way that he couldn’t move an inch. The feeling of being constricted so much panicked him and he uncharacteristically cried out. He pleaded with her to let him go. But March tightened her hold, sending further pain lancing through his limbs.

Sneet did not need time to consider. He stopped resisting. The bounty hunter must have felt the slackening of his body beneath hers because she eased the pressure she was applying to hold him in place. March walked to where the blaster rifle had fallen. She plucked it off the floor and removed its power cell, rendering it useless.

Sneet got back to his feet and dusted himself off. He fixed her with an icy glare. “You’re gonna upset the wrong people.”

“That’s never been a concern of mine,” she told him, throwing the rifle aside. She dropped the power cell into a sink of soapy water next to her. The water instantly bubbled and roiled furiously as the cell burned out.

March walked out into the bar, whipped her blaster out and aimed it up. She pulled the trigger. The deafening blast drew everyone’s attention. A section of the ceiling came crumbling down and landed in a shower of white dust on the counter, sending the regulars scrambling off their stools. March motioned for the patrons of the bar to clear out.

“All of you, get out of here!”

Kwan’s emptied of drinkers in seconds—that is, apart from Captain Hugh Legard. He remained at his booth, sipping from a short glass of liquor. As Sneet looked on, the skipper set his glass down and slid out from behind his booth. He appeared nonplussed by the bounty hunter’s theatrics. Legard walked casually toward her, the captain’s right hand hovering over his holster. With March’s back to him, Sneet dared to reach down beneath the counter and slam his fist against the panic button.

“I don’t have an issue with you,” March told Legard.

The captain’s mouth lifted in a sneer. “You may not think you do, but I’m telling ya, an issue is what you got, young lady. I got a good thing going here. Can’t have some bird like you waltz in, upsettin’ things.”

March made a show of re-holstering her weapon. “We have no quarrel, you and I.”

“Well, like I just said. I think we do. You should listen to my Doubian friend, there. It’s time you left. You ain’t gettin’ whatever it is you’re after.”

March sighed. “Nope.”

Hugh Legard spat to one side. “That’s too bad.”

“Yes it is,” March said.

He smiled. “Tough words.”

“Captain, this is your last chance to step away. I’m not usually so gracious, believe me.”

“To hell with you!” Legard growled. He reached for his blaster.

March grabbed at hers, brought it up.

Legard pulled his weapon free from its holster just as March pulled the trigger on her own. The skipper didn’t stand a chance. The blast hit him in the shoulder, simultaneously spinning him about and throwing him back through the air. His pistol flew out of his hand, clattering away somewhere in the shadows. March closed in and fired a second shot into his left leg. Legard emitted a blood-curdling scream of agony. “Aaarrrggghhh!”

March pointed a finger at him. “Don’t move or I’ll do the same to the other leg.” She returned to the counter and set her blaster against Cort Valez’s skull. “Tell him to open the back. Now.”

“Do as she says,” Valez urged.

Resigned to his fate, Sneet did as he was told without any further argument. He activated the hidden control beneath the counter and the wall behind where the band had been playing earlier drew back to reveal a security door. Sneet walked over, held his paw to a reader on the wall next to it and the security door opened.

“See? Wasn’t that hard after all, was it?” March said, removing the blaster from Valez’s head.

“When my brother—” Sneet began to tell her.

She shot him a look that did not invite any further challenge. “Out,” she cut in. “Now.”

“Come on,” Valez said, hurrying outside.

Sneet followed suit, stepping around the prone corpse of Captain Hugh Legard in order to exit the bar. The captain’s leg was a mess of singed, jagged flesh. Outside, he on an overturned container, his short legs just dangling over the ground. The hot sun was almost unbearable. The Doubian peered up into the glare of the sky, as if the infinite blue held all the answers. “None of this went the way I thought it would.”

“You pressed the panic button, right?” Valez asked.

Sneet looked at her. “Of course.”

Valez gave his arm a gentle pat. “Then let’s clear out of here. Things are gonna get a whole lot messier than they are already . . .”