Terminus, the end of a railway, or a travel route. The end of a long journey, or just a quick trip out. The end of a journey could also herald the start of a new life. But a terminus is also the start if you're going in the other direction. The terminus in Ozwin was usually the end, but mostly the start. People didn't tend to stay in Ozwin for long.

The town was no more than fifty years old, a frontier town on a frontier planet that had only been colonised for three hundred years. Only the brave, foolish, hopelessly optimistic, desperate or on the run came to Ozwin.

Nina Williams had seen them all. Every town, no matter how big or small needs a place that people can gather to eat and, most importantly, drink. The First and Last was her pride and joy. It was, after the cursory town customs check, the first thing any newcomer saw as they exited the Terminus. It was also the last thing that people leaving would see.

People often left. Life in a frontier town was hard. It sucked the life out of all but the most hardy. Mine collapses, indigenous life, disease, accidents, inadequate healthcare and their fellow humans took a toll. Only the toughest and hardiest were able to stay and live. The self-deluded tried to stay and failed. Those that realised they weren't suited to such a life ran, often as fast as they had come. Usually with the same amount of looking over their shoulders as they did when they arrived.

Some of the toughest, the survivors, were currently sat in her bar. The First and Last was famous for two things, rat burgers and home-brewed ales. No matter how tough someone was, food and booze, good food and booze were always appreciated.

Nina enjoyed the silence of people eating. There would be the odd "salt", or "pour some more beer", and maybe some muted conversation, but on the whole, the bar was filled with the silence of people enjoying the food she cooked for them. In Ozwin everyone knew everyone, conversation tended to resolve around either work or small matters. At this time of day the loud conversation caused by hard drinking didn't happen. It was the sound of contentment. Happy munching as she called it.

That sound was suddenly, abruptly destroyed by the door slamming into the wall. Everyone jumped, even Billy Crake, fastest draw in the town jumped, hand dropping to his holster.

Shadows caused by the harsh white light from the midday sun leapt into the dimly lit room, closely followed by a young girl clasping two great suitcases in either hand. Dressed in dusty clothes - When aren't they dusty in this place? - she had thick red hair, tied into pig tails. Her young face was creased, tears running tracks down her cheeks.

"Are you okay love?" Nina knew that was a stupid question, but people always asked that sort of thing when it was obvious what the answer was, it was expected, and it broke the nervous tension in the room. A good thing when such a room was filled with people like Billy Crake.

"They killed my pa. Said I was his debt payment. Said I was going to work the salon in Sunnyton." Out of breath she leant forward, resting the suitcase on the ground. "I don't want to work the salon." She sobbed, more tears creating tracks, turning the dust into mud.

Shouting from up the street drifted into the bar. It had a hard, cruel ring to it. It made Nina's stomach twist. It too added to the ruin of the contentment that had filled the bar.

"Bollocks." Nina sprang to the end of the bar, lifting the hatch, "Quick love, behind here. Leave the bloody suitcases!"

The girl ran towards her, gasping out her gratitude. "Duck down and be quiet. Rory, get the cases. Now!"

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

Rory had just finished stuffing the cases under the bench in his snug when the girl's pursuers stomped into the bar, two stepping to either side of the doorway whilst the third walked further in, boots clumping onto the metal plaiting/

"Where the fuck is our settlement?" Nina's eyes narrowed at the coarse language and the even coarser voice. This was a voice that had never visited her bar before. Off-worlders who had ignored the bright argon lights advertising the bar, filled with a purpose that didn't include a bite to eat.

Their clothes marked them as off-worlders. The colours weren't faded enough, the cloth wasn't dusty enough, their skin wasn't dry enough, they were fat with water. Everything about them cried off-worlder.

What the Hell did your father do? She thought as the girl clutched at her leg.

"I don't owe any money, least ways not to you." She rolled her tongue around her sand-dry mouth. She hadn't felt like this since the Battle of Landing during the Five Days War. It almost felt good.

She cast an eye over to Billy. His hand was still on the butt of his pistol, but he had pushed himself back from his table, the two fellers with him giving him plenty of space should he need it. Flicking her eyes about the room she saw that everyone else was as tightly coiled as her.

"Don't fuck with me you stupid scar-faced bitch. Our repayment just run down the fucking street and into this fucking bar. Where. Is. She?" The leader of the group stepped further into the bar, his hand resting on the butt of his pistol. The other two continued to move around the sides. Now that they were clear of the glare by the door she could see that they were both armed with lever-action shotguns.

The scar-faced comment hurt. Not as much as getting the scar, but still. Everyone in Ozwin knew better than to mention the scars. Most of them bore scars themselves. The Five Days War had marked an entire generation.

"You really don't want to be talking to me like that." Anger made her voice shake, made her sound scared to those that didn't know her.

The debt-collectors laughed, "Aww, is widdle scarf face upset? Boo boo?" Mocked the leader, pouting in what Nina thought was a hideous manner.

"Shut ... The ... Fuck ... Up." Silence descended upon the room, it was as if someone had just loudly broken wind in church.

Everyone turned to see who had spoken. Nina didn't. She knew straight away who had spoken. She had known that as soon as they started mocking her, Billy Crake was going to take umbrage. Old loyalties die hard.

"Duh, duh, duh, you hear the 'tard?" Nina winced. Billy hadn't been able to speak a full sentence since he took two rounds to the chest and one to the face. Not that he was brain damaged in any way, he just couldn't afford the cybernetics for a top range jaw and lung.

"Don't ... Call ... Me ... A ... 'TARD!" The last word came out as a scream of near incoherent rage. Even Nina quailed as his voice seemed to shake the very rafters.

The scene thaat Nina had wanted to avoid happened very quickly after that. The leader snapped his hand around the butt of his pistol and started to draw, the others starting to raise their shotguns.

Billy beat them all. Twitchskills, hard-wired into the very fibre of his body meant that his hand moved in a blur. His pistol was out of its holster and firing before the leader's was half-way out of its holster, the first bolt burning into his body.

Nina was a split-second behind. She thrust her left hand forward, opening her fingers wide as an arc of bright-green electricity sketched its way across the room before enveloping the man nearest to her, boiling the flesh from his bones and setting light to his clothing.

The third died just as his shotgun finally came to bear, Billy's second shot punching through the septum and straight into his brain, destroying it in such a way that he couldn't get a reflex shot off.

All three bodies hit the ground with near perfect synchronicity, the smell of burnt ozone competing with that of burnt flesh.

"Thank you sergeant. Much appreciated." Nina shook her hand closed as she reached for a bottle of her finest ale. "Drinks are on me."

Sergeant Crake, formerly of the Fifth Wired Foot nodded his thanks as his former commanding officer poured a pint.

"Pleasure ... Ma'am."

Old loyalties did indeed die hard. Nina slipped her hand into her pocket and placed the Marshall's Pentagram onto her chest. "Clean shooting. Get my deputies over here. Let them know the father's killers are dead."

She looked down at the girl sobbing at her feet. Pinching the bridge of her nose, she took a deep breath. "Looks like you're in my debt now girl. But for now, let's get you cleaned up and somewhere safe. Give me your ID chip." She glanced at the name, Beth Tarm.

For some, the terminus was the start, for others it was the end. For Beth Tarm, it was both.