"It ain't outsiders we gotta worry about."
Mason knew it was the time to stop asking. He could feel trouble brewing that they did not need.
"Sorry to hear about that, friend."
The man nodded wearily and took a slug of his drink.
"I'm Porter Kaperon, and I own this place. Have done since it opened. Most folk round here call me Kaper."
The bar owner was in his late fifties, tall, and with a solid round stomach. He had not a hair left on his head. His cheeks were red, and he was seemingly a cheery man but with some big worries in the world. He carefully placed two tankards of beer before them. It was a surprise, for they rarely ever saw anything but acrylic beakers. Too few drinking establishments trusted their patrons with breakable containers.
"Twenty credits."
It wasn't cheap, but then the drinks looked so appetizing it was making his mouth water. He quickly handed over the change and lifted the glass to take a sip. Mitchell was surprised to see hard currency, but he didn't question it.
"Oh!"
It was well chilled and smooth, and only reminded him quite how cheap and nasty the Beaulieu's reserve was.
"Guy could get used to life in a place like this," said Mitchell.
"Mmm," the barkeep muttered hesitantly. "So you need parts? Couple of places in town, but only one has anything for a Leander."
Mason was surprised to hear he knew the classification of their ship.
"I've done more than my share of space travel you know," he added. "Alpha Factors is where you want to go. Head to the east side of town, and keep going for half a kilometre. It's a big old warehouse. Guy who runs is it is called Avery Ryant. He'll sort you out."
"Well, thanks for that, “Mason said and lifted his glass from the bar.
"You feel like a refill, let me know."
The two of them turned from the bar and sat down at a nearby table, facing each other. From Mason's seat he was looking right at the mysterious woman they’d past on the way in. She was slim and athletic. A long coat covered much of her skin, but he could see tattoos on the back of her hand that vanished beneath her sleeve and were visible on her neck. She looked young, but far from clueless. Her skin was pale and hair jet black. She didn't fit on the mining world at all, which made him all the more curious. She had the look of someone who had experienced the galaxy, but appeared so young to have done so.
She suddenly turned and looked into his eyes. Her gaze was that of daggers. It was a deadly look that seemed backed up by whatever confidence and experience lay behind her eyes. Mitchell turned to see what had gotten Mason so locked in intrigue.
He smiled. "Looks like she wants to kill you."
"Wouldn't be the first," he replied softly.
Their interest was broken as heavy footsteps passed through the open doors. The room fell silent, and Mason and Mitchell looked at the three men who had stepped inside. They were covered in dust and had clearly been on the road. Mason looked around and saw Kaper recognised them instantly. He had the same fearful look as when they had arrived, but this time he knew these men.
"Afternoon!" one yelled, as they paced up to the bar.
He strutted forward, and Mason could tell by the man's greasy-looking expression that he was not a likeable character. He stopped at the woman's table and stood over her, waiting and expecting her to look up. When he didn't get a response, he slammed his fist onto the table. She didn't even flinch, and that further fuelled Mason's curiosity towards her. Finally, she looked up with a glare, picked up her drink, and sipped it. She stared him down without a word until he finally realised he wasn't getting anywhere.
"Three beers!" he shouted.
Kaper fumbled with glasses. He appeared to be uncomfortable with their presence, fearing the newcomers. They turned to Mason and Mitchell who were both looking right back at them.
"Some new faces in town today. Always good to see money coming into the area!"
Mason nodded back in agreement. His hand wanted to reach for the grip of his pistol in readiness, as he could already feel there was something bad afoot. The three men acted as if they owned the establishment, or at least had some major power over its owner. They continued on to the bar to get the drinks. Mason was suddenly aware of how quiet the bar had gotten. Nobody spoke a word.
"Merry bunch," whispered Mitchell.
The leader of the group had heard the mutterings but not understood what had been said. He turned with an inquisitive stare.
"So, what brings you boys to town?"
"Got a few engines problems. Looking for parts to get us on our way," Mason answered.
"And her? She with you?"
Mason shrugged his shoulders, shaking his head as he looked over to the lone woman.
"A girl should never drink alone."
She didn't respond, and the man was growing tired of trying to get a response. He turned back to Kaper who was awaiting his every request.
"Well hand it over."
Kaper knelt down behind the bar and came back up with a small rigid carry case.
"Here it is, Mr Herschel, Sir."
He opened the box, and despite Mason not being able to see the contents from his seat, it was evident to them all that it was money. Kaper was being squeezed by whoever Herschel was, and it left a bad taste in the back of his mouth. Mitchell leaned in close.
"Credit chips?"
"Still popular on these worlds where e-transactions can't be guaranteed. Hard currency goes a long way. Plus it's untraceable."
"This isn't right. They're being robbed."
"It's not our fight, not our business."
Mason could see trouble brewing, and he knew they had no way to leave the planet once it began. He tried with all his will to ignore his instinct to give Herschel what was coming to him.
"Yeah," Herschel grunted triumphantly.
He turned around to look at Mason once again, having heard the two muttering.
"So that ship that came down this morning must be yours. I do hope you get her fixed up. Stay more than three days and we start charging."
"For what?" Mason asked quickly.
The man's face tightened, and his tone became angry.
"For the privilege of parking your arse on the land of Mr Volkov."
"And he owns this world, does he?"
"The other two chuckled under their breath."
"Yes he does, actually," replied Herschel.
Mason leant back, resting his foot on the table before them, in a deliberate move to show he was not intimidated.
"You see, in my line of work, payment is made for a service. You provide us a service, and we'll pay the appropriate cost."
"I'm starting to think we've got a hero here," Herschel said to his friends. They laughed in response.
"Mr Volkov doesn't appreciate heroes. They have a tendency to get shot in the back."
"So he's a man of principle, as well?" asked Mason sarcastically.
Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the mysterious woman grin a little. It was the most emotion he had seen from her since they arrived. It angered Herschel further, but he could see Mason was of stronger stuff than the townsfolk. He turned back to Kaper.
"This the kind of customer you cater for these days. Rude, disrespectful, and loud mouthed. Well that's gonna cost you. Rent just doubled for this month."
"That's some cold shit," Mitchell stated.
Herschel spun around quickly.
"The black one speaks. You feel so bad for him you can always pay the bill! Well, what'll it be?"
Mitchell looked to Mason, who shook his head.
"Father, I'm going out for a..."
They all turned to see a well-dressed woman, who couldn't have been much more than sixteen years old, step out from a room behind the bar. She stopped when she realised she’d walked in on a situation she'd rather not have seen.
"Ah, the barkeep’s daughter. Kimby, isn't it? You have flowered," Herschel sneered. "What was that last
week, your seventeenth birthday?"
Mason could see sweat dripping down Kaper’s face. He was gone from uncomfortable and scared to truly fearful.
"Answer Mr Herschel," he said, his voice shaking.
"Yes, Sir," she replied, lowering her eyes. She appeared to be a well brought up and educated girl.
"Mr Volkov has been asking about you of late. Would you like a personal visit?"
She looked at her father for an answer, and Mason could tell he was terrified of saying no.
"Well?"
Finally, Kaper looked up with a little defiance in his eyes.
"No. You've had more than enough from us today. You can't have my daughter as well."
"No!" he yelled.
"He stepped up to the bar and reached in to grab Kaper by the collar of his shirt. He hauled the man off his feet and over the bar. Kaper landed hard on his back a few metres from where Mason sat.
"Who are you to deny the will of Colonel Michael Volkov?" he screamed.
"Please, you can't!" he cried.
Herschel lifted his boot and slammed it down on Kaper’s face. The impact burst his nose and smashed the back of his head against the floor. He cowered into a ball, holding his bloody nose and began to cry.
"Father!" Kimby screamed and rushed to his side.
Herschel turned and slapped her across the face. It wasn't a hard hit, but enough to make her recoil and wince in pain. It was also enough for Mason, and all he could take. He kicked the chair before him forward, causing it to slide into Herschel. The back hit him in the stomach and made him buckle slightly.
"How about you pick on someone your own size!"
Mason was on his feet like lightening and bearing down on the unscrupulous thug. He grabbed Herschel at his shoulders, drove a knee hard into his chest, and then hit him with an uppercut to the chin. It sent him crashing back against the bar where he had so recently dragged Kaper from.
The other two thugs were in utter shock and took a moment to respond. One reached for his pistol but fumbled. He'd clearly never had to draw on someone in his life. They were men practiced in the arts of intimidation and nothing more. Mitchell launched his glass at the man hitting his shoulder. The glass smashed and splintered over the thug, giving him enough time to rush forward and deliver a quick hook into his nose.
Mason quickly drew his pistol on the other man and shot the pistol he was drawing from his belt. It split in half, and the thug dropped it from the pain of the heat of the blast. Mason quickly spun the pistol around in his grip, so that he held it by the barrel, and smashed the grip across his opponent's face. The impact was enough to knock him unconscious.
He turned to see Mitchell was wrestling the other goon. The pilot had never been much of a fighter. He holstered his pistol and grabbed the nearest chair, crashing it down on the man with all his might. The metal chair buckled on impact and smashed the man down to the ground.
They turned back just in time to see Herschel coming at them and wielding a knife. Seemingly out of nowhere, the mysterious young woman appeared and got a grasp of the weapon and spun under Herschel's arm, forcing his shoulder up. He screamed in pain as his shoulder clicked out of joint. The woman spun back around and as she did, grabbed hold of the nearest glass tankard. She smashed it over his head, knocking him out cold. The despicable man tumbled to the ground like a sack of bricks. He landed hard beside Kaper who was still cupping his bleeding nose.
Mason looked down at the young woman in surprise. He had known she was far from normal when they first arrived, but it had still surprised him. She was five foot six, and of slim build, yet she had just taken a thickset thug down with ease.
She’s a trained professional, no doubt, but in what? Mason asked himself.
"Thanks," he said to her.
"No problem," she replied calmly and went back to her table to finish her drink.
Mason reached down and helped Kaper to his feet. The barkeep looked around in astonishment at the carnage around him.
"What have you done?" he asked fearfully.
"Nothing more than they deserved," replied Mason.
"Do you know what Volkov will do to us for this? You should leave now. I'll tell them you were passing through. We have no idea who you are anyway."
"You can't let anyone shove you around like that, and anyway, we aren't going anywhere. Ship’s broken, remember?"
Kaper shook his head.
"He'll kill you for this. He might even kill us for being a part of it."
Mason shook his head in disbelief. He didn't want to get involved, but he seemingly had no choice anymore.
"Who is this Volkov?"
Colonel Volkov. He's the sheriff of the mining towns of this world.
"A military man in a policing role?"
"He is neither. He awarded his rank himself and wasn’t elected to his position either. He was one of the first merchants to get working here and has now taken charge of everything."
"So you just keep paying him whatever he asks?"
"All the businesses do. I run a twenty-man mining operation. Volkov takes a fifty percent share in all profits."
"Must be a fortune with the resources here."
"Yes. We are not a poor town, only half as rich as we should be."
"And nobody will do anything about it?"
"Who?" Volkov has hundreds of soldiers at his disposal. He even has the support of the local Alliance forces. We have tried to hire mercenaries to help us, but nobody will do it, not at any price."
Kaper reached over the bar, grabbed a bottle of spirits and some tumblers, and joined them at their table. He poured out the first glass and knocked it back before handing the bottle to Mason.
"How often do they rob you?" he asked.
"End of every month, just after the transports make their pickup and make payment."
"Assholes," added Mitchell.
"You've kicked the hornets' nest here. I suggest you get the parts you need and leave while you still can."
"I was just thinking the same."
"What about those three?" asked Mitchell.
They were beginning to stir. Herschel was the first up. He got to his knees and immediately recognised Mason, remembering what had happened. His hand reached down his pistol, but he found an empty holster. He looked over and could see the line of pistols on the table where Mason was sitting.
"You know what you've done? You've fucked with the wrong people," he snarled.
Mason shook his head.
"You just don't know when to quit, do you? You're going to go back to this Volkov, and tell him to stop robbing the people of this town. Or, I'll make sure my friends in the IPA hear about this, you hear?"
"Go to hell, you..."
Mason drew his pistol quickly from his holster while still sitting and fired before Herschel could finish his sentence. The laser hit him square in the chest and killed him instantly. Mason was on his feet as the body was hitting the ground. Kaper was too stunned to speak. Max stepped up to the other two that were with Herschel.
"You'll tell your boss to leave these people alone and pass on the message?"
They nodded quickly.
"Now get the hell out of here!"
They staggered to their feet and rushed out of the bar, looking back in shock at Herschel’s body sprawled out across the floor.
"What have you done?" pleaded Kaper.
"The damage was already done. Now they've got something real to worry about. With any luck, they'll think twice about extorting you further. Worst case, they’ll think we were a couple of crazy travellers who have come and gone, and nothing changes."
He stood up and knocked back his drink. He wasn't sure what kind of spirit it was, but it tasted good.
"Let's go," he said to Mitchell.
Kaper and his daughter were still in shock, and the other patrons sat with their mouths wide open at the violent scene that had unfolded before them.
"Wait!" called Kaper.
They stoppe
d. He grabbed a box of beer from beside the bar and handed it to Mason.
"We pay our debts."
He nodded in thanks and then carried on. As they reached the tattooed woman's table, she looked up and finally addressed them.
"I like your style."
"You look like you can handle yourself pretty good. We're down a few crew, and it doesn't look like this is your kinda place. Want a job?" Mason asked.
"Best offer I've heard all day."
She got up and followed them out.
"Name’s Mason. This is Mitchell."
"Hella Torres, you can call me Hell."
"Wow, you really are a cheery one," replied Mason.
Chapter 4
'Alpha Factors'. The shop was just where Kaper said it would be. It was a large warehouse. The lower three metres of the perimeter of the structure couldn't be seen for the mounds of ship parts stacked in the open air around it.
"You remember what we need?" asked Mason.
Felix lifted up his datapad with the list he had made. Hella leaned in to see it for herself.
"That's quite a list."
"We got into a little trouble on our last job. It can be dangerous work what we do."
"Yeah, and what sort of work is that?"
"Don't worry, you'll love it."
Mitchell smiled at Mason's vague response. Hella seemed curious enough to go along with it, and they both got a sense she had little holding her to anything in the universe, not work, family, or money.
They stepped inside and found a man of Kaper's age. He was lying back in a chair and watching the news. A space battle was being reported far from where they were.
"That the kind of work you're in?" Hella asked.
"Sort of, but we get paid better, and owe allegiance to nobody but ourselves."
"Sounds perfect."
Mason nodded in agreement, as the man heard their voices and turned to greet them. He was wiry, with deep blue eyes and wore an old dirty and faded boiler suit.
"Welcome! I'm Avery Ryant."
"Kaper from the Digger sent us."
"Ah, yes, what can I do for you?"
Mason gestured for Mitchell to continue.
"We've got a Leander class transport in a bit of a bad way, hoping you can provide us with some parts.”
Maniacs: 01 - The Krittika Conflict Page 5