James Axler - Sky Raider

Baron Jeffers sighed at the memory. But the Trader was long gone, vanished into the glowing mists of the western desert, and now there were only men like this Digger, usually on foot, occasionally on horseback, and sometimes riding in wooden carts pulled by chained slaves. Their deals were rarely fair, and they always stole whenever possible. Still, the ville needed whatever it could find in the way of tools. Life was hard.

“Okay, show me what ya got,” Jeffers growled, sitting back in his chair, making it creak slightly. As he adjusted his position, the dark green canvas coat swept back to expose the brace of pistols jutting from his lizardskin belt.

The sec men standing on either side of the baron scowled menacingly, but their blasters packed only air. However, the razor-sharp bayonets attached to the end of each rifle barrel were real enough, and sharp enough to end the life of anything that made a move toward the baron. The real danger came from the sec men standing on the ville, wall-armed with crude crossbows, the powerful hand-built weps more than capable of putting a barbed arrow completely through the chest of an invader standing near the wizened tree. The plant thrived on the blood spilled there.

“What, right here?” Digger asked, squinting his eyes at the guards along the wall. He licked dry lips. “I was kinda hoping we could talk biz inside. Out of the sun, ya know.” He gestured vaguely. “A little shine, a couple of sluts…

“Not going to happen,” Jeffers said, scratching at his belly, his hand closer to the checkered grip of his pistols. Unlike the rifles, his deadly blasters weren’t just there for display. The brass was old, but the black powder was fresh and the split-lead bullets could blow a man in two. Weps were at a premium in the ville. Always had been. The armory had less than a hundred rounds of live bullets, and those were being saved for a dire emergency.

Digger smiled innocently. “Hey, there, I was only—”

“Nobody goes in but ville folk and sec men,” the baron stated gruffly, placing both of his dusty boots on the ground as if about to stand. “And you ain’t either of those, outlander.”

“Okay, okay,” Digger said hastily, raising both hands, the fingers splayed to show he held no weapon. “No corpse, no crime, right? Let’s talk.”

Grudgingly, the baron took his seat once more, and Digger exhaled in relief. Outlander, damn. Well, at least the baron hadn’t called him a coldheart thief. That was something, at least.

Digger headed to his mule. On the ville walls, crossbows followed the trader as he flipped back the top of the lizardskin pouch and pulled out a wide rusty can. Returning to the barter table, Digger placed it in front of the baron and carefully removed the clear plastic top. The baron tried to hide his excitement, but his eyes shone. He could read just enough to know that military label on the predark can said coffee. Had the outlander found a food store buried under the mud somewhere and recovered a stash? Coffee was more valuable than predark liquor. Shine could be made these days, but no matter how carefully they were planted, coffee beans never grew.

Reaching inside the can, Digger pulled out a wad of greasy cloth and laid it on the table. The contents of the bundle gave a metallic click as he folded aside the cloth to reveal a dozen shining rounds of ammunition.

His gut surged with adrenaline at the sight, but Baron Jeffers locked his face into neutral, trying not to show his amazement. Black dust. Each of the brass was spotless, and the lead bullet was jacketed with copper in the old way that no wep-man could duplicate these days. Even more, they were long cartridges, designed for rifles, not pistols. Rifle cartridges! The sec men standing behind the baron shuffled their patched boots in the dusty soil at the incredible sight.

Reaching out, Jeffers lifted one of the rifle cartridges and weighed it in his hand. The brass felt as good as a woman’s breast, delicious and heavy in his palm.

“So, mebbe we can go inside now, Baron?” Digger said in soft tones, lifting one of the perfect cartridges and turning it to catch the harsh sunlight.

In spite of his intense longing for live ammo, Jeffers felt suddenly suspicious at the remark. Now why did the fellow want inside so bad? The sun wasn’t that hot, there was no chance of acid rain this late in the year, and a clay jug of water sat on the table. So why so keen about getting inside the ville? Only usual reasons were to jack supplies or recon the defenses. That kind of info would bring a big price from the enemies of Indera.

“Of course,” Jeffers said with a smile, feeling his shoulders tense. “But your mule has to stay out here.”

Digger turned to glance at the old animal tugging at a tuft of dried weeds sticking out of the ground. “Sure thing.” He laughed, turning back. “No prob—” The trader stopped smiling at the sight of the baron holding both of his pistols level and pointing forward.

“H-hey n-now,” Digger started as the baron thumbed back both hammers on the big wheelguns.

“Shut up, feeb,” the baron snarled. “Cory, Abraham, get his blaster, and watch for tricks! There’s something wrong here.”

As the two sec men started around the baron, Digger hawked and spit on the table.

“So you’re going to jack me, eh?” Digger snarled hatefully. “This ain’t the rep of your ville!”

“You’ll be paid in full,” Jeffers said, holstering his handblasters, then sliding the rifle off his back. “If these are any good.”

“Whatcha mean?” Digger shouted as one of the sec men grabbed his arm. He tried to shake the guard off but failed. “Just look at ’em! That brass be perfect!”

“If he moves again,” Jeffers said, opening the breech of his empty rifle, “chill him.”

“Yes, sir,” one of the sec man answered, shoving the point of his bayonet against the trader’s neck.

Digger went pale at the touch of steel, and made no further comment as a single drop of ruby-red blood welled with the point of contact. Slowly, the blood began to trickle down the man’s neck, going into his tattered shirt.

“Ya gonna waste a brass just to make sure it’s okay?” Digger said hoarsely. “That’s crazy!”

“Better here than with a howler charging at you,” Jeffers replied, sliding the round into his rifle. “We’ll pay for this brass, too, trader,” he added gruffly, working the bolt, closing the breech. “If it’s any damn good, that is.”

“Hey!” Digger cried, reaching for the ammo.

The two sec men nudged him hard and Digger went still, lowering his head as if braced for a blow.

Clicking off the safety, Jeffers leveled the rifle at Digger. The outlander opened his mouth to speak but nothing came out. Jeffers held the aim for a moment, then shifted the barrel toward the tree and pulled the trigger. There sounded a hard click and nothing else.

“Son of a bitch!” a sec man snarled, and slammed the wooden stock of his rifle into Digger’s side. Ribs audibly cracked from the impact, and Digger slid to the ground, shaking all over.

“Nuking hell…” Digger gasped, starting to tremble. “Why’d ya do th-that? There’s nothing wrong…with the brass…something busted…your rifle…”

“Oh, yeah? Let’s see.” Placing the rifle on the table, the baron worked the bolt to eject the cartridge, then yanked an eating knife from his belt. Carefully running the edge of the blade around the bullet, the baron separated lead from brass and emptied the cartridge onto the table. The wind blew the contents around as dry white sand poured from the brass.

“Dums!” Jeffers snarled, slapping the garbage aside. “Trying to buy his way past the gate with dums!” The baron strode around the table, pulling out one of his handblasters.