The backwater starport on Croshaw had a digital job board, but it must've been broken. The eight-foot-wide screen would normally show a bunch of infoboxes. It was blank now, and instead the job notices had been printed out and stuck to it with tape. Blaze's gaze swept over them while the howling wind flapped them fiercely and tried to tear them down.
Although they hunted rogue planets for a living — if you could call it that — Blaze still looked for work on the side, as he'd done before Kestrel Mining started up. It was nice to have some extra cash in his pocket, and keep his wits as a man of action sharp.
But the notices that interested him, like the call for mercenaries to defend Calcephor, sounded like they would take up too much time. And the ones that seemed short-term, like varmint hunting, sounded terminally boring. Totally unworthy of his skills as a daring space cowboy.
Plus, he'd had enough of varmint hunting for one lifetime.
Oh, what's this?
'Need hardy crew to collect spores from hostile location. Skill at handling infections, feral creatures, and infected feral creatures a MUST. Applicants may be required to evade quarantine cordons and dodge orbital cannon fire with 100% accuracy. No questions asked.'
Sounds interesting, but …
No way Rsh will take the job without asking a million questions first, so that's out.
He turned away from the job board. The screen was mounted on the tiny main terminal's wall, under its eaves. The starport was a sprawl of corrugated gray prefabs, connected by thick bundles of cable and metal plates acting as footpaths over the dirt. The awnings above the footpaths rustled in the wind, as did the tarps covering all the cargo containers and machinery, and the distant forest out past the edge of the concrete landing pads. The noise sounded like a fearsome beast wailing and clacking its sharp claws.
Seen from orbit, in the sunlight, Croshaw was a vivid, moody blue.
But it was night now. The dim sky and harsh floodlights on tall poles around the starport bathed everything in a shade of navy-gray. On the horizon, the planet's twin — the gas giant Morton — peeked over the world's rim. Its red light glanced off the metal edges of the buildings, fringing them with a crimson glow.
"Then what happened?"
As the voice spoke over the wind, Blaze straightened up and turned back to the job board.
Gotta look more like a badass, he thought.
"Right, so, me and my buddy Shanksey …"
Two men approached somewhere off to his left. From their grizzled, boisterous voices, he knew at once they were his kind of people. He stared at the notices, but he ignored them all in favor of straining his ears to listen to the conversation. The mercenaries hung back, a few feet away, while they chatted to each other.
Swapping tales of adventure? Hell yeah, I want to hear them!
"… so me and Shanksey, we got her backed up against the wall. He's pawin' at her, as he does. And I lean in, and I whisper to her, 'How about some head, baby?' Then she smiles, and — get this — the crafty bitch pops a flashbang!"
The other merc burst out laughing.
"Went off right in my face … or felt like it, anyway. I fell on my ass, dazed, couldn't see or hear nothing. When I came to, I see her standing over me. I'm staring up what looks like five miles of tight leather over thighs of steel. Next thing I know, she drops Shanksey's head right on my lap!"
"Just his head?"
"Crazy bitch managed to decapitate him with a combat knife. No idea how. His face still had an 'O' of surprise on it. And she says to me, 'There's your head.' That's when I knew … she was the girl for me."
"Sounds like a keeper. How long did it last?"
"Eh, about two months. We ended up on opposites sides of a planet war. Had to put her down."
"Ah, well. That's life, man."
"At least we got one last good blow in. Though … this time, it was me blowing her head! Ha haaa! Clean off her shoulders!"
"Heh."
"Ahh … I do miss her, though. But, you know, sometimes it's better to end things before they get boring."
"I hear you there."
As the two mercs chuckled, Blaze glanced their way and called out to them.
"Women, huh?"
As they laid eyes on Blaze, their laughter trailed off.
The merc who'd been telling the story was gaunt, with a face that seemed to jut sharply out of his head. A skull-like ring of bone circled his beady eyes. What little hair he had left sprouted from the crown of his head like an eggplant's leaves and limply settled on his scalp.
The other one's head was almost a perfect cylinder. His round lantern jaw lined up exactly with his forehead; his eye sockets were like two dents between them. His nose was totally vertical, coming straight down from his brow. It cut between two wet eyes lined by crow's feet. The hair covering his head was as short and fuzzy as the five o'clock shadow on his jaw.
Both wore nondescript outfits with borderline-black earthy colors that had a tactical, ruggedized feel. Worn, faded, dusted by hostile alien worlds. Typical outfits for off-duty mercs trying not to stand out.
Blaze said, "Can't live with 'em, can't …"
Think, Blaze! Say something that makes you sound like a tough-talking, seen it all badass. Something that says, 'I chew nails for breakfast. What about it?'
"… can't have sex with their dead bodies! Haha, am I right?"
Yeah, that's it!
The two mercs looked at each other, blinked a few times, then gave Blaze indulgent smiles. Like they were talking to a child.
"You must be new here," the storyteller said, grinning and raising his eyebrows.
"Ehh …"
His eyes flicked between the smiling mercs. He didn't know what troubled him more, the looks they gave him or the confidence the merc had in his voice.
Ah, he's just talking tough. That's what we do.
Turning to the horizon, Blaze tried to tighten his facial muscles to control the fidget running through them.
Act like this place is too small for you, he thought.
The starship idled on a landing pad a few hundred feet away. The floodlights lit its gray hull from above, so it stood out from the dark, swaying treeline. Rsh had finished fueling it up already. He'd found some kind of local bargain on the starnet and left to look into it, but he was supposed to be back soon …
Not that I'm scared or anything!
"I've been around the star system a few times," Blaze said.
"Oh, is that so?" the storyteller asked.
Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit.
"Yup. Mhmm."
The mercs exchanged another glance. Then, with an unspoken agreement, they began to walk toward him like sharks moving underwater. The grins on their faces were just as sharklike. They sauntered up to him, and did not slow down as they approached. Despite his attempt to stand tall, the strength radiating from their bodies seemed to repel him like a magnet. As they closed the gap, his body, acting with a mind of its own, edged backward until his shoulders slammed into the job board. The wind made the notices flap loudly in his ear; each time he flinched at one of those papery snaps, he felt another piece of his self-confidence get chipped off.
"So," the storyteller said.
He casually planted his palm on the job board next to Blaze's left ear and leaned close enough to hem Blaze in with his body. Like he was cornering a girl. The other merc folded his arms and leaned against the wall to Blaze's right.
"What kind of action did you see?" the storyteller asked.
With the job board at his back, Blaze at least had something to support him in his effort to stand up tall.
"I had to dust some guys at the, uh … Ramirex outpost. Ever hear of it?"
"Can't say I have. You ever hear of the 'Ramirex outpost'?"
The other man shook his head. "I haven't either, Digger. Sounds like an Asilo thing."
"You're a long way from Asilo, ain't you?" Digger asked.
Blaze shrugged. "Outposts are usually a long way away from … wherever."
"Oh, of course. Silly me! Still, just the one shoot-out? Not much of a rep, is it?"
"Yeah, well …"
The wind pressed cold sweat against Blaze's cheeks and forehead.
"I try and keep a low profile," he said. "I have a few bounties here and there. You know how it is."
"Oh, bounties! You hear that, Schoop? This guy's got bounties!"
"Pretty impressive," Schoop said.
Blaze racked his brains. He followed a lot of mercenaries on social media, and he tried to come up with something that sounded like it could be a killer status update.
"Yeah," Blaze said loudly. "That's the mark of a true badass, isn't it? How many people are out for your blood."
"Ab-so-LUTE-ly!" Digger said. "So tell me, what did a tough guy like you do to get yourself some bounties, huh?"
Blaze rocked his head from side to side, as if he was doing some mental math. "A little of this, a little of that. Can't say too much. Wouldn't want word to get out, or everybody would be after me."
No, that makes you sound weak! Go in for the kill!
"And … then … I'd have to slaughter the lot of them! Ha haa. And then, uh, there wouldn't be any mercs left for the corporations, you know?"
Blaze looked at the horizon through the gap between their leering faces. He was not terrified of meeting their vicious gazes. He just wanted to show them he was so un-threatened, he could casually stare off into the distance, no problem.
"He's awful considerate, don't you think, Schoop?" Digger asked.
"Real considerate."
"You think we should, uh, thank him? For looking out for us?"
Blaze's fingers inched toward his blaster pistol. But before he could draw it, a growl tore through the howling wind.
"What is talk?!"
Behind the mercs, a hulking — yet familiar and reassuring — shape stomped through the darkness between the floodlights and the lights under the terminal's eaves.
Rsh, you got here just in the nick of …
Wait.
It was a trick of the light. He thought the Zantauran's coat was being tinted silver, but no — it really was silver.
Aw, crap!
"Hrhak," Digger said. "J-Just about to check the job board, heh …"
"Job found," the Zantauran bellowed. "No waste time."
Digger replied, "We're just having a little chat here, that's all."
"Chat waste time."
"Hrhak," Schoop said with a smile, "it's just a bit of fun …"
The Zantauran shoved Digger out of the way with one hand. He didn't even seem to notice how much force he used, nor did he bother looking down when Digger tripped and fell to the floor.
Now, instead of a human mercenary bearing down on him, Blaze had a seven-foot-tall Zantauran in front of him. It was like staring down the nose of a damned battleship right before it smeared you into a fine paste.
"Fun … over!"
The Zantauran lunged forward and raised his fist, his enormous body casting Blaze into shadow.
Blaze tried to draw his pistol, but his shivering fingers slipped off the handle. No matter how much he groped, he couldn't find it again, and even if he did, he doubted he could get his fingers to work properly.
I'm dead, I'm so dead …!
The Zantauran's fist shot forward like a torpedo. Blaze knew it was strong enough to splatter his head against the wall like a ripe melon.
I'm dead, dead, dead!
He threw himself back against the wall, but there was nowhere to go, nowhere at all, nowhere except the eternal void after death, he was going to die horribly—!
Blaze heard himself whimper. There was nothing else he could do.
The Zantauran's torso twisted and drove his fist right at Blaze's face, and it filled his vision, and that would be the last thing he'd ever see, and this was the end …
The fist eclipsed everything.
And then …
Right before the darkness, time slowed to a crawl. Like time dilation had warped his view of the world.
Is this … is my life going to flash before my eyes …?
The fist hovered a fraction of an inch from his face, concealing everything else. Its muscles strained mightily, but did not move.
And then …
Blaze noticed another hand locked around the silver Zantauran's forearm. Although it looked gray because of the floodlights, this arm really did have a golden coat. It held the silver fist in place. Prevented the brutal killing blow from caving Blaze's skull in.
Standing next to Hrhak was …
Rsh flexed his arm, ripping the silver Zantauran away from Blaze and casually tossing the clenched fist aside like garbage. The rude motion forced Hrhak to pivot badly, and he stumbled as he turned.
Growling, Hrhak shot up to his full height right in Rsh's face. Their enormous barrel chests nearly crushed together. Their muzzles lifted to reveal their sharp teeth. Both straightened their backs and tried to stand taller than the other. They growled from deep in the backs of their throats, like explosions down inside a mine shaft roaring up to the surface.
This is bad, Blaze thought.
The Brightstone clan and the Silvermane clan despised each other.
They had a long, bloody history, and Blaze had personally watched the latest episode in that long-running series not too long ago. Even though Rsh had no love for his own clan, the hatred burning from the Silvermane was hotter than a sun. It was impossible not to feel the heat.
Even the two mercs, flustered by this turn of events, shied away from it. A Zantauran could rip through a human body like it was made of tissue paper. On their faces, Blaze could plainly see they were weighing their options. Deciding if Rsh could tear his foe to pieces, and if they could take him before he tore them to pieces.
The hate between the two Zantaurans flared like a reactor core about to melt down and blow everything up, and Blaze braced himself for the brutal violence about to erupt.
But then …
Thankfully, the Silvermane's back curved slightly and shaved half an inch off his height. The fire in his scowl dimmed, turning to an impassioned, smoldering spite. He took a step back, half-turning away from Rsh.
"Job found," he yelled at the mercs. "No waste might on … puny Brightstone."
The mercs scrambled to their feet. Schoop was already near Hrhak, and he shoved himself away from the wall in a hurry. Digger, who was behind Rsh, orbited around him with at least six feet of space. Just out of Rsh's reach. Rsh turned his head ever-so-slightly and he followed the merc's progress with a glare of violent encouragement. Once the two mercs joined Hrhak's side, he stomped away without looking back once, and the shaken humans trotted along with him.
Rsh kept up his aggressive posture, his large golden eyes narrowed under his heavy brow, until they turned the corner and disappeared behind the terminal. Then, like he was shrugging off a great weight, Rsh dropped the act and turned to Blaze.
Stepping away from the terminal wall, Blaze sucked air in through his nose and filled his lungs, then exhaled it. He felt the adrenaline ebb from his body, and the shakes slowly died down.
He curled his fingers around the flaps of his black leather jacket and straightened them out with a sharp tug.
Coolly, he said, "I had everything under control."
A sudden, savage scowl took over Rsh's face. He lunged forward, grabbed Blaze by the shoulder, and pulled him so hard both of his feet left the ground for a moment.
"Hey, whoa, watch it—!"