Tales from the Drift: Old Lessons, Hard Futures

Chapter 18 - The Achievement-Expenditure Equivalency

IRRIDIAN COMMERCE PLANET 6 // PORT ARTUM // DISTRICT 3

Fru'atta struggled to move, but the effects of the stun charge had left his body rigid and numb. The most he could manage was some non-distinct twitching. Like a fish out of water, he opened and closed his mouth, gulping and searching, but he wasn't going to find what he needed. He began to dissolve into fear. Soon, there'd be no talking to him.

"Here's what's going to happen," said Rone. He lifted the small pistol away from Fru'atta's forehead, making a grand gesture out of removing his finger from the trigger. "Your partner, Winoichi, was it? Is going to have a seat." He cradled the pistol between his hands.

Serena, with polite poise and patience, assisted Winoichi to his feet and led him over to a stool at the bar. He sat without argument and left his hands flat upon the bar's surface.

"My friend, Odross, is going to serve him something to drink. Help him ease his nerves a little," continued Rone.

"What about my nerves?" stammered Fru'atta, his contempt peeking through his fear.

"We're getting there. Have some patience."

Odross hefted the tri-barreled rifle onto his shoulder and ambled around to the other side of the bar. With a gentle thump, he placed the rifle on the bar and then proceeded to fix Winoichi a simple drink.

"I have no intention of killing you, Fru'atta. Or your partner. I don't want to kill folk. Point of fact, I don't like killing folk, and at no instance during this altercation was I ever once filled with the desire to do so. Killing is a profoundly serious business, and you don't seem quite prepared for that level of commitment. Now, before you take that as an insult, consider instead, that perhaps it's a compliment."

Rone reached inside his vest and pulled out a silk handkerchief. He wadded it up around the fingers of one hand and with a careful, gentle touch wiped away some of the blood from around Fru'atta's mouth.

"You and I are going to have a little chat while the effects of the stun bolt you took to the chest wears off. Understood?"

Fru'atta nodded. "Yes, sir," he said with a slight stutter, his contempt not quite masked or forgotten.

"Excellent." Rone stood up. Depositing the holdout pistol and handkerchief on the bar counter. He shook out his gun arm, flexing his wrist and fingers. He could feel a slight tremor coming on. Not yet. He balled his hand into a fist and held it clenched. That would have to wait.

He stooped once more and collected the heavy pistol out of Fru'atta's injured hand. He gave it a quick inspection before setting it on the bar top beside Serena.

"Not a bad piece of kit," remarked Rone. "Bit too hefty for my liking, though. Odross, some rags and ice for Fru'atta, if you please."

Once Odross came around the bar to tend to Fru'atta, Rone went to his flipped over card table and righted it. Grabbing his preferred chair, he carried it over to the now seated, and bandaged Fru'atta. He placed it before the boy and sat down.

"So. This bounty on my head. Real or fake?" His kept his manner casual. He was more than familiar with this sort of post-violence interaction; par for the course leading the spacer's life. Even, and perhaps especially, after one had retired.

The second cycle alone, once word spread that he'd stepped out of it for more than just a spell, saw him face down an even dozen of assorted foolish gunslingers, assassins, and hunters. All come to claim the prize of ending the great Rone Ikeda. More than a few had been attempting collect on what they believed were actual bounties, but there were scarce few brazen enough to issue a bounty for Rone, and fewer hunters still what were worth a damn that'd accept such a contract.