Nova Cassidy's Chronicles: Back in the Saddle, pt 3
28 Jul 2016Nova Cassidy
As soon as the guy in front yelled out asking who the bitch with the white Python was, the place suddenly went dead silent. People didn't seem to know how to react. Of course, people were looking at me for how I would react, which gave me away just as easily as my blue hair and lack of perpetual grime on my clothes. All around me, people were getting up out of their seats, some moving away and others leaving the bar entirely. I looked around and narrowed my eyes, keeping a calm appearance.What the hell do the locals know about these guys that I don’t?
The lead one, a diminutive man about my height made his way over to me and leaned over the bar, his tan duster hanging open and positioned in just the right way to make his gun the center of attention. He was carrying a large-caliber pistol in a brown leather belt, with exposed ammunition lining the outside. He had a shaved head with tattoos on his face and scalp. His two mates were dressed in plain slacks and shirts, but were also packing.
In front of me, the bartender turned white and shrunk away. The lead man’s hand slammed down on the bar in front of me. Turning to face him, I tried to smile like a smartass.
“Sorry, boys. You’re too late to buy me a drink. I was just leaving.”
Little Man (or so I had named him in my head) bit his lip and nodded hastily, his eyes getting more and more angry. He turned to his mates and gestured to me.
“See? I told you she could talk. She just chose not to.”
The goon on his right shook his head and grinned, revealing rotting teeth to go with the rest of his messed up face. “Well, she’ll be talking a lot more here in a just a bit, won’t she?”
All around me, even more patrons were clearing out of the bar. Not good.
I took a sip of my whiskey and tried to play it cool. “Do we know each other?”
Little Man leaned forward, hatred dominating his features. “No. But you knew my brother. The one you wasted in the asteroid belt.”
Drawing his gun, he pressed it against my forehead. I was surprised at how cold the barrel felt.
“And no one fucks with the O’Malley brothers and lives to tell about it.”
The remaining patrons of the bar were now all ducking for cover, the tension in the room almost stifling.
Shit. How do I play this? Smart-ass, or apologetic?
From the look in Little Man’s eye, apologizing wasn’t going to accomplish jack shit. And it would make me look weak. And who the hell was I to apologize for wasting a pirate anyway?
Smartassery it is.
I leaned back, away from the barrel of the gun that had been pointed at me, subtly flicking my fingers to prime my concealed wrist pistol.
I’m gonna have to play this just right…
“Well, I’d say that since that I’m enjoying a drink and your brother is frozen space gibs, fucking with y’all seems pretty consequence-free.”
Little Man’s face turned pink from the blood rushing to his face, his hand trembling in rage. In my adrenaline-fueled perception, I could just make out his finger tensing over the trigger.
I gripped my whiskey glass tighter. I was almost worried I was going to crush it in my hand. Having a gun in my face was intimidating, but it didn’t make for a very good move on Little Man’s part. In one sudden motion, I shoved the gun aside with my left arm, and swung out my right, shattering the glass in his face while. In panic, he fired his gun, but only made a hole in the counter of the bar. As it did so, I brought up my bleeding, yet seemingly-empty hand, raised my wrist, extended the pistol-
-and watched Little Man’s face as it expanded into a red mist once I fired.
The loud gunshots had been enough to startle everyone in the bar, including the two goons at Little Man’s side. Ignoring the blood, I grabbed Little Man’s convulsing, still-standing body and whirled it around, using his disgusting, still warm body as the only available cover. I leveled my wrist gun at the nearest goon and squeezed off another shot towards the man. Though a small caliber, the bullet passed through the left side of his neck and made the man stagger back. He dropped his own weapon and clutched his throat.
Even as I was firing at the goon, I felt a series of four hard impacts against Little Man’s body.
Bullets, I thought.
I swung my arm towards the second goon. He was clumsily trying to reload his weapon.
“Drop it!”
He looked up, terror and hatred in his face. He had just watched me waste two of his buddies, and though common sense dictated that he should have aimed for my head (given how the rest of my was behind his recently deceased buddy), it seemed like the habit of shooting at a target’s center mass had proven too difficult to overcome, or maybe he thought he could shoot through his buddy?.
I’m out of ammo. But he doesn’t know that.
The man froze mid-reload, unsure of what to do. One of his friends had a red, bloody hole instead of a face, and the other had fallen to his knees on the wooden bar floor, clutching his throat and already making gurgling noises. I narrowed my eyes and thrust my arm forward, doubling down on my bluff.
“I said drop it!”
Seeing his other two buddies convinced Bad Teeth (as I started to call him in my head) to comply with my orders. Trembling, he set down his gun.
“Kick it over!”
Still looking at me with hatred and fear, he did so. The shooter skidded across the floor, bumping into Little Man’s dead feet.
I gestured with my pistol towards the door. We were in an awkward position. Bad Teeth had to respect the fact that I had just killed or wounded his comrades with a hidden wrist pistol. I on the other hand had to respect the fact that it was now empty.
So, we compromised. I gestured towards his bleeding, now-pale friend and then the door to the bar.
“Your buddy isn't doing so hot. If you grab him now, he might make it.”
Bad Teeth looked at the one on the floor. He didn't seem to be moving all that much anymore.
“Or maybe he won’t. But any more bullshit, and neither of you are walking out of here. So take your friend and tell the Gold Hand that their Harris Station privileges are gone. You got that? Or else next time, my Python’s guns’ll do the talking.”
The man wasn’t moving fast enough for my liking, and I only had so much bluff in me. So I raised my wrist menacingly at his face and adopted my most menacing scowl.
“Now get!”
Still not breaking his weary eye contact, the man helped his wounded, bleeding comrade to his feet and stumbling to the door. He shoved open the swinging doors with his shoulder and gave me one last dirty look as he pulled his buddy out.
Thank God that’s over.
I released Little Man’s body, letting it slump over and collapse. It hit the brownish-grey wooden planks of the bar with a thud, spilling even more blood. Trembling from the adrenaline, I sat down on my bar stool, hoping that no one would notice how much my hands and chest were shaking.
Son of a bitch.
Everyone in the bar was still staring at me, gingerly rising from their hiding places. I looked around, and the townsfolk were regarding me with-
Amazement?
Worry?
Fear?
Whatever it was, it was pretty damn unnerving. I needed to leave, and fast. I turned to the bartender, who was alternating between gaping at me and the body on his floor. Rising from my seat, I placed a credit chip on the counter reading an amount that could have bought everyone in the town a drink.
“Sorry about the mess.”
...What the fuck am I doing?
I was in my Python, sitting in my bed. I had changed out of my clothes and taken a shower to wash Little Man’s blood off of myself. He had made a good meat shield, but damn if he hadn’t bled all over me while doing so. Now, the day’s events were catching up to me. Sipping a drink I had mixed for myself, I looked at my jacket that I had thrown on my bed, still stained with Little Man’s blood. I had acted in self-defense, done what was necessary to keep breathing, but-
But you’re out here to avoid trouble, not stir it up.
I sighed and finished my drink. Setting the glass on the metal shelf by my bed, I got up to do final inspection of my ship. I knew the entry ramp was up, I knew the systems were powered down (besides the shields), and I knew that nothing was out there. But sometimes, a ship as big as the Snowbird just needed some double-checking. I walked from the aft cargo bay to the bridge, making sure that everything was squared away. The sun was just about set, the last remnants of purple-orange light outlining the desert mountains in the distance. In the months that I had been here, it had been a peaceful ritual to have a drink while watching it- but now, the encroaching darkness only brought with it a sense of dread.
Whoever these Gold Hand assholes are, they aren’t done with me. Not after today. Not since the bodies are starting to pile up.
My hand brushed the commander’s joystick, causing me to consider my options.
I could just leave. It’s not like a gang of two-bit goons are going to waste time to go after me. And maybe they’ll leave the town alone with me gone.
I glanced behind me in the town’s direction. Or maybe they would come down especially hard on Harris as a way to make an example of what happens to townsfolk who don’t turn over troublesome strangers. It’s not like that fatass sheriff and his deputy are going to swoop in and make things right.
Scowling, I turned around and walked back to the commander’s quarters. This wasn’t the way I had wanted my evening to go. I was here to lay low, sell ore, and figure out what the hell my next move was going to be. For a couple months, I had done exactly that, but then-
Then some lowlife pirate had to come along and force my hand. Stupid of him. And maybe stupid of me to bother with the bounty.
Shaking my head, I crawled into my bed and and pulled the covers up. There was too much on my mind to sleep well, but it wouldn’t do to face the next day feeling like a zombie. I had become a bounty hunter because of the real misery and evil that pirates and the like cause to innocent people - and now that I was trying to return to something nice and safe, the ‘verse just wasn’t having it. I sighed and closed my eyes, burying my head in the pillow. Of course, I was never going to keep safe. Hunting pirates is my calling.
This is the kind of shit that makes people believe in destiny.
The next morning was just as awkward as I expected. Despite the early chill, I decided to leave my jacket back on the Snowbird. No need to wear the thing until the blood was good and washed from it. As much as I didn’t want to, I needed to head back to the bar where the previous day’s encounter had gone down. If I was going to keep doing business here, I was going to have to set things straight with both the owners of the bar and the manager of the ore smelter, who could usually be found eating breakfast at this hour. A bit old fashioned, maybe, but I didn't have anyone's comm details.
Of course, nothing stays a secret in little towns. As I walked from my ship to the outskirts of town, people hurried to either get out of my way or avert their eyes. A few gave me approving nods, but for the most part, people avoided me like I was a plague victim. Pushing open the swinging doors of the saloon, I took a look around. As expected, conversations stopped as I walked in, with every eye on me.
Resisting the temptation to simply leave and avoid the awkwardness, I settled into my usual spot at the bar and ordered some coffee. No one spoke to me, and even the bartender refrained from his usual friendly greeting and chit-chat. The smelter manager was sitting in his booth with his subordinates. I thought that someone would have something to say, but nobody even sat close to me.
After about half a cup of coffee, I felt a tap on my shoulder. It was the smelter manager, a man by the name of Mills. He was a big, barrel-chested man with a moustache, bald head, and rough look to him, but he had a reputation as a hard worker and a fair boss. I turned around and regarded him for a second. Harris didn’t have a mayor or a judge of any kind- but if it did, Mills would be it. He looked like he wanted to say something, but couldn’t find the words.
“What can I do for you, Mills?”
A look of concern crossed the man’s face, and he sat down next to me. Without needing to be asked, the barkeep poured him a cup of coffee and withdrew. The middle-aged man took a sip and looked into his mug.
“I make it a point to never inquire into the lives of the people who deliver ore to my smelter. I just take the rock and sign the checks. A person’s past is none of my concern.”
I turned back, taking a sip of my own. “But?”
He glanced at me, the bar’s light reflecting off his bald head. “But then a mysterious, blue-haired young lady in a giant white ship shows up out of the blue and starts delivering more ore than all the surface scabs put together. Suddenly, the smelter is turning a profit instead of being an embarrassment to the company. But it attracts other attention, too. The Gold Hand. You hear about them, of course- but they mainly bother the station in deep orbit and the shipments of refined metals going out-system. They never come around here. Nothing of value. Not a threat.”
He paused, and I glanced back. “Until the mysterious, blue-haired young lady wastes some of them?”
The burly man nodded. “Yeah. And then his brother shows up to exact revenge. He ends up dead, too- along with one of his men wounded and the other running shit-scared back to his speeder.”
I took a sip, trying to discern the man’s motives. “Well Mills, I’m not sure if I should apologize or say ‘you’re welcome’.”
The man let out a short chuckle. “Never you worry about that, miss. I’m just asking you to be careful, is all. You’re a target now. We all are.”
“I’ll try to be careful.”
Mills nodded and gestured to a few of his men. “Maybe we can help with that.”
His man- a lanky, dirty-faced greaser in a beat-up jumpsuit- laid down a folded bundle in front of me on the bar. It was wrapped in plain brown paper.
“What’s this?”
The smelter manager just took another sip and leaned forward. “Just something we all thought you should have.”
I opened the package, and-
What the hell?
Under it was a duster, the same one that Little Man had been wearing. On top of it was a revolver-style pistol with a thick leather holster. I set the gun aside and held up the duster. It had been thoroughly cleaned, and the man’s blood was totally gone. Mills gestured to it.
“You stand out like a sore thumb here, miss. Maybe this can help you blend in some.”
He slid the holster and gun my way. “And maybe this can help you if blending in doesn’t cut it.”
I held up the duster and looked it over. It was actually a really nice getup now that it was clean. It was tan, and heavier than anything I had ever worn. But the man hadn’t been lying- with my blue hair, inner-Bubble fashion jeans, and Pilot’s Fed tank tops, I really did stand out in a place like this.
I stood up and wrapped the holster around my hips. The weight of the revolver was new, but not unpleasant. Next, I slipped the duster over my shoulders. It, too, was heavier than I was used to- but the weight was somehow reassuring. I scooped out my hair so that it fell over the shoulders of the duster and turned to face the man.
He nodded in approval and took a sip of coffee. “Looks better on you than it did that little piss-ant, that’s for damn sure.”
I smiled sarcastically. “Thanks.”
He rose from the stool. “Don’t mention it. You just keep delivering that ore.”
As he walked back to his booth and barked at his men to get off their asses and to the smelter, I looked down at myself. Between the full-sized revolver and the duster, I really did look like one of the damn locals. From a distance. As long as you ignored the hair.
I absent-mindedly left a credit chip on the bar and finished my coffee. Stepping outside, I felt the chill against my face, even as the sun warmed my body. I looked around at the town surrounding me. There were grungy-looking men and women shuffling around, going about their business, piling into trucks on their way to split rock and scratch out a living. A few children ran by me. I had no idea if a place like this had a school, but if people were trying to raise families out here-
You heard what the man said. You’re a target now. So are all these folks, just for being here.
I looked around at the dilapidated pre-fab buildings and shacks. There was no way that these people could resist the Gold Hand if they showed up in force. They were easy prey- down on their luck, poor, and too exhausted to care. But that was about to change. I had kicked over a hornet’s nest, and me and everyone around me was in danger of getting stung. As I walked toward the outskirts of town, my pessimism deepened.
These people are helpless. They’re miners, not soldiers. They don’t have any weapons. They don’t have any lawmen. They can’t even afford to bring in bounty hunters.
I glanced at the Snowbird, sitting on a flat patch of ground outside town. My brow furrowed.
Well, maybe they have one...
As I hit the controls and lowered the entry ramp, I looked over my shoulder to the dilapidated buildings in the distance. The image of the children running by my feet flashed through my head.
And right now, that’s going to have to do.
A gust of wind blew open my duster, revealing the holster and pistol. Unconsciously, my hand drifted down and gripped the pistol handle.
Back to work, Nova.