[Adventure Journal](7)

blaster grip Trell was hauling out his own weapon.

At the other side of the ring of bystanders he spotted Maranne also drawing-The mere had good reflexes, all right. In that split second he froze, his weapon not quite cleared of its holster; staring from beneath thick eyebrows at the four blasters suddenly pointed at him from the circle of people around the tapcafe.

Trell blinked as it suddenly registered. Four blasters?

Four. Two people down from Maranne, a bulky middle-aged man also had a blaster trained steadily on the mercs… and out of the corner of his eye, Trell could see the fourth blaster sticking out from his side of the crowd. Held with equal steadiness.

The merc spat. “So that’s how you want to play it, huh?”

“We’re not playing,” Kast said icily. “As I said: leave it and go. If you don’t-” Trell never saw the warning twitch he was watching for.

But Kast obviously did. Even as the merc started to haul his blaster the rest of the way free of its holster there was the brilliant flash of a blaster bolt from the direction of the bounty hunter’s table, and a roar of rage from the merc as his holster and the blaster muzzle behind it shattered.

“-I promise you will regret it,” Kast finished calmly.

“This is your final chance.”

The merc looked like he was about two seconds short of a complete berserk rage. But even furious and with a burned gun hand, he was in control enough to know when the odds were stacked too high against him.

“I’ll be watching for you, bounty hunter,” he breathed, straightening up from his combat crouch. “We’ll finish this some other time.”

Kast bowed his head slightly. “Whenever you’re tired of life, mercenary.”

The merc gave a hand signal. The others helped their two casualties to their feet-one groggily starting to come to, the other still in need of basic portage-and the group straggled their way through the onlookers and out into the crowd.

Kast waited until they were out of sight. Then, pushing back his chair, he stood up, the blaster he’d used on the merc’s weapon already secreted back in whatever hidden holster it had been drawn from. “The show’s over,” he announced, looking around at the bystanders. “Stay and buy a drink, or get moving.”

The proprietor was already beside Riij and Pairor, helping the former to a sitting position, when Trell and Maranne reached them.

“You all right?” Maranne asked, offering Pairor a hand.

The Tunroth waved it away. “I am not hurt,” he said, rolling to his feet and flexing an elbow experimentally. “I was merely temporarily disabled.”

“You’re lucky the condition wasn’t permanent,” Trell reminded him.

“You should have left it alone like Kast told you to.”

“Yeah,” Riij said, holding his stomach as he got to his feet with the proprietor’s assistance. “Thanks, Kast.

Though I wouldn’t have minded if you’d stepped in a little earlier.

Say, before they started pounding on us?”

“Six mercenaries wouldn’t have backed down in front of three blasters,” Kast told him. “I needed you to take some of them out first.”

He half turned. “If I’d known it would be five blasters instead of three, I might have moved sooner.”

Trell turned to look. The two men who’d drawn with them were standing there watching. “Thanks,” he said.

“I wouldn’t have counted on getting that kind of help in a place like this.”

“No problem,” the older man shrugged. “The Brommstaad Mercenaries have always had a tendency to consider themselves above the bounds of normal civilized behavior. And I’ve never liked it when children get threatened.”

“Besides which,” the younger man added, “we were starting to get thirsty anyway.”

“Drinks?” the proprietor asked eagerly. “Of course; drinks for all of you. And meals, too, if you are hungry-the finest I have to offer.”

“We’ll take the long table in the back,” Kast said. “And some privacy.”

“Yes, good sir, immediately,” the proprietor said. Giving them a quick bow, he scurried off toward the table Kast had indicated.

“My name’s Hal, by the way,” the older man said.

“This is my partner Corran.”

Trell exchanged nods with them. “Pleased to meet you.

I’m Trell; this is Maranne, Riij, Pairor, andB” “Call me Kast,” Kast cut him off. “Son or nephew?”

Hal blinked. “What?”

“Is Corran your son or nephew?” Kast amplified.

“There’s a family resemblance about the eyes.”