Another Drink

“Everyone on the ground! Now!” Two men burst into the bar, each with a blaster pistol in hand and a metal case containing units of galactic currency. The one who spoke had scaly yellow skin, large red eyes, and a collection of small horns instead of hair. He wore a light blue shirt under a dark red jacket and black pants cut at the knee, revealing scaly legs that ended in clawed, three-toed feet. His partner had tanned skin and long black hair brushed over to expose a shaved left side of his head. He wore an open leather vest exposing a muscular frame, as well as black pants and boots. His face was contorted in a snarl in part thanks to a smudgy snout of a nose and two large tusks growing upwards from his lower jaw, but his beady eyes were worried.

The few patrons of the bar froze and stared at the newcomers, unsure of what was happening. The cyber behind the bar rolled along its track to get close and rotated to look at them.

“No fighting in the bar,” came its computerized voice. “Either order something or get out–”

The yellow-scaled bandit fired a laser bolt into the cyber and the impact sent its cylindrical body toppling to the floor, smoking and sparking. At the sound of the sudden blaster shot, the patrons collectively flinched and raised their hands. Someone screamed.

“Shit, Murse!” called the tusked one. “What are you doing? The cops are right on our tail!”

“Relax, Lonsey,” the shooter responded in a raspy voice. “They didn’t hear, and they ain’t gonna hear anything cause everyone here’s gonna be nice and quiet.”

“Damnit, we was supposed to be laying low on this planet!” Lonsey was pacing back and forth, nervously looking towards the door.

“We are laying low,” Murse said, trying to calm his partner. “But we need units to do that. So we pulled a little job, now we hide here for a bit and get back to it.” His words were little comfort to Lonsey, so he added, a bit more harshly, “Hey, we’ll get through this. Now get your head straight and block the door.”

Lonsey took a few deep breaths to steady himself, then went about barricading the door with the bar stools. When he was done, he closed the blinds on all the windows and positioned himself between the door and the first window, peering outside. The entrance to the bar was on a quiet street with the surrounding buildings closely packed together. There was little vehicle or foot traffic, especially at this time of night, but Lonsey kept his eyes peeled for the slightest movement.

Meanwhile, Murse was on crowd control. He moved the eight customers into a corner on the far side of the bar, flipping over tables and delivering a sharp kick to anyone who didn’t move fast enough for him. The people, whimpering, knelt down where the bandit indicated, some with their hands still raised, others nursing new cuts and bruises. A woman with pink skin and red hair began to sob softly.

“Now this is good,” Murse said with a smirk. “As I said, we’re gonna be nice and quiet. Nobody tries anything, nobody says anything, nobody gets hurt. Way I see, we’ll wait here til the police stop searchin’. But if they find us, we’s got eight bargaining chips.”

Amidst all the commotion, nobody noticed the figure sitting in the opposite corner, obscured by shadow. Nobody noticed him because he didn’t try to be noticed—that is, until things calmed down and it was quiet enough that everyone heard the bottle he gently knocked over on the table. Everyone stopped and listened as it rolled slowly across the surface of the table and then shattered on the ground.

“I wouldn’t count on it.” The stranger spoke calmly, but his voice carried across the bar. Lonsey spun around and raised his pistol, but it was Murse who spoke.

“What was that?” he asked, a mix of curiosity and frustration on his face.

“I said,” the stranger stood and moved out of the shadows with his hands raised, “I wouldn’t count on bargaining with the police.” The man had smooth, pale skin and a youthful, slender face, but with a tired look. His hair fell loosely in front of his eyes, but he swept it back as he got up and tucked it behind pointed ears. He wore black combat boots, gray pants held up by a belt loaded with pouches, and a shirt of steel-blue armor plates over white material. Each of his forearms was protected by a dark gray gauntlet with two triangular glass panels on top. When he stepped out of the shadows, he had green eyes and dark blue hair, but as he spoke his eyes turned gold and his hair dark green.

Murse walked slowly towards him, raising his own pistol. “And why’s that? I got eight – no, nine – hostages.”

The stranger shrugged and his hair turned black, but his eyes stayed gold. “That might work most places, but not here on Galim.” He lowered his hands slightly and cocked an eyebrow. “You guys are new here, right? See, ever since the Kradians marched through, local law enforcement has been much more … aggressive when it comes to keeping the peace.”

Murse and Lonsey looked at each other. “The Kradians left! They ain’t been here in decades.” Lonsey’s gun was shaking a little at the mention of the warmongering reptilian empire. “Not since the Cease-Fire.” He was getting more and more nervous, especially faced with this mysterious man who was dressed as a warrior. At least the man did not seem to have a weapon on him.

The stranger gave a nod. “True, but some wounds just don’t heal, especially on the planets that got conquered.” He lowered his arms a little further but kept his hands visible, then added with a smirk, “I should know, I’m from one of ‘em. So around here, a few civilian deaths to stop some off-planet criminals is what the cops would call ‘acceptable casualties.’”

Lonsey now began to panic and so did some of the hostages. Murse waved his gun at them to get them to stop moving. “Shut up! Shut up, all of you! Lonsey– Lonsey! Sit down!” Lonsey took a seat on the last remaining barstool and put his gun and box of units on the counter, then rested his head in his hands, breathing rapidly. “And you!” Murse moved closer and pointed his gun right in the stranger’s face, whose hands went back up. “If that’s the case, why shouldn’t I just shoot you right now?”

The stranger’s eyes narrowed and turned red while his hair turned purple. “Cause I can get you out of this.”

“What are you talking about?” Murse took a step closer as Lonsey looked up from his hands.

“Yeah, what do you mean?” Lonsey asked eagerly.

The stranger strode back to the bar. “I’m going to have another drink. You boys want anything?” He reached behind the bar and grabbed a bottle of dark liquor, uncorked it, and took a deep swig.

“Why would you help us?” Murse moved closer, lowering his pistol but keeping it aimed.

The stranger put down the bottle. “Well, like you guys I’m looking to make a score at every opportunity. And now, a history lesson! You see, back in the days of the Kradians, those lizard freaks took everything from those they conquered, so the locals set up a system to smuggle food, medicine, weapons for the more daring, all across the city and beyond. And how they did this was through an intricate system of underground tunnels. Now this here bar is a landmark because– guess what? It has one of the few access points that’s still open. I can lead you through the tunnels and to safety for, oh say… a third of your score.”

“A third?!” Murse raised the gun higher again. “You’re outta your mind. We’ll just head through the tunnels ourselves.”

The stranger’s eyes turned black, but his hair became the color of sand. “Oh sure, assuming you can figure out the combination to open the hatch.”

Murse pressed the gun against the stranger’s temple “You’ll go ahead and open it for us.”

“Gladly! Of course, then there’s the matter of navigating down there. But hey, you’re smart, I’m sure you’ll be able to find your way in the dark and not get mixed up with all the tunnels. And you’ll definitely be able to figure out the locks on the other doors. Now, an experienced guide like myself could get you through no problem, but you’re the professional criminals. I’m sure you’ll get through without getting caught in a cave-in or getting lost and starving to death.”

Lonsey was standing up again. “Murse, let’s go with him. We need to get out of here!”

“No way! I’m not giving up anything from our take!” As he spoke, a siren could be heard in the distance. Lonsey looked at the door then back at his partner.

“C’mon, Murse, take the deal!”

“Shut up! I’m tryin’ to think!” The sirens continued to grow louder. Lonsey’s eyes were desperate.

“Murse…”

Murse looked between him and the stranger. The stranger’s hair turned maroon as he cocked an eyebrow. “Clock’s ticking, Murse,” he said softly.

Murse took one last look at the door, where flashing lights could now be seen out the window, and swallowed. He looked back at the stranger and lowered his gun.

“Alright, deal.”

The stranger’s eyes narrowed and he smirked. “Perfect.”

What happened next was so fast that those watching weren’t sure they saw it correctly. The stranger’s eyes turned icy blue and his hair a steely gray. He sucker punched Murse in the gut, then grabbed him by the shoulders as the bandit doubled over and threw him to the floor. Next the stranger grabbed the neck of the bottle he was drinking from and threw it down the bar, hitting Lonsey in the middle of the forehead. Just then Murse, still on the floor, fired a few shots directly at his attacker, but the stranger was quick to react. He held up his left arm in front of him and a rectangular shield of white plasma projected from the triangular panels on his gauntlet and absorbed the laser bolts. He simultaneously aimed his right gauntlet and shot a stun round at Murse, who collapsed on the floor convulsing as blue electricity crackled on his neck. Turning again, the stranger fired another stun round at Lonsey who was staggering up from the floor and reaching for his own gun on the counter.

As Lonsey fell back down and struggled to remain conscious, he managed to croak out, “Who– who are you?”

The stranger reached up and undid a strap at his left shoulder that unfurled a blood red cape down to his elbow.

“Volxi Rí, Galactic Marshal.”

• • •

Shortly afterwards, officials swarmed the scene. A few police officers put restraints on the still-unconscious Murse and Lonsey, while another removed the destroyed bartender cyber. Paramedics tended to the hostages as they gave their statements to yet more police officers, and Volxi recounted his own side of the story to the sergeant, his hair spring green and his eyes magenta.

“Well, that should see you properly compensated,” the sergeant said in a gruff voice as he monitored the transfer of units on his holodeck to Volxi’s account. He was a broad man with thick fingers, wide eyes on either side of his rectangular head, and a trunk for a nose that dangled just past his chin. “I was hoping we could handle an armed robbery without getting A.T.L.A.S. involved, but I suppose it’s lucky you were here anyway. We never could have gotten near the bar with those hostages at risk.”

“Don’t worry.” Volxi watched the screen of his own holodeck and, satisfied with the payment transfer, put it away. “I’m not here for A.T.L.A.S. or to take your jobs. Just came to refuel and happened to be in the bar.”

“So, it was just the right place at the right time,” chuckled the sergeant, gripping his belt and pulling his pants up higher. “Have to say, the story about the smuggler tunnels? How’d you think of that?”

“Don’t know, just kinda popped into my head.” Volxi gave a half smile. “Think I read it in a book once.”

“Well, it sure makes for a great story.” The sergeant gestured towards the bandits. “And these two’ll be wishing for some secret escape tunnel where they’re going. So, what about you? Where’ll you go now, Marshal?”

“The Alliance of Transplanetary Lifeforms and Authenticated Systems covers half the galaxy, so there’s always trouble to be found and work to be done. But for now, I won’t be going far.” Volxi crossed over to the bar, his eyes turning a deep blue and his hair a fiery orange. “Next round’s on me! I just got paid.”