Shop talk 2 The Big Race

   

 

 Another snippet from the sequel to Shop Talk "The Big Race". Enjoy. You can read the first two chapters of Shop Talk using the blog search engine. If you want an actual copy to hold in your grubby hands, please email me and I will put you on the list for the next printing.

 

         A foul mood follows me as I walk home and is interrupted by a noisy crowd surrounding two figures facing off in the middle of the street. One is a Rogue and the other is -oh shit- Fet, our former co-worker who was supposed to be Imbler's bodyguard but failed when his charge nearly got killed in the invasion. 

   ". . . All your fault for meddling in a private contract . . " I catch a bit of angry gibberish from the furry gray hulk. The Rogues are not known to forgive and forget easily any slights to business.

         "On our territory, it is quite acceptable to intercept illegal activity," Fet replies with typical Pohl formality in a reedy tenor.

         The Rogue grunts in derision, turns as if to leave but quickly spins back and makes a run at the slimmer figure. Fet steps aside with lightening speed. The Rogue is further enrages as Fet easily evades his wild swings in a blur of movement.

         Dumbass I scoff, stuffing my cold hands into pockets, I watch the encounter with a mixture of curiosity and annoyance. Where is a cop when you need one?

         The crowd chuckles at the poor mismatch and the Rogue realizes his tactics aren't working. Rogues are keen to fight but lack finesse as this guy demonstrates. The laughing stops and everyone backs away when he crouches like a coiled spring and extends claws from his massive wolfish hands. The Rogue looks fiercesome as he twitches but Fet remains still. Having trained in martial arts, I know such calmness is deadly.

         Jesus, this looks like a duel at high noon except it's a bland side street on an distant moon with two aliens in shabby overalls.

         The Rogue springs with a well timed swipe that lands across the Pohl's face with a hiss, Fet turns slightly and delivers a lightening fast blow to the Rogues neck. There is an audible crack as the Rogue falls limply to the ground.

         Fet is theatrically illuminated by an overhead light; a dark stream seeps from the gash on his cheek, steaming in the cold air. He presses his hand to stop the bleeding as a drop falls on the massive body at his feet. Nothing like the smell of acid on fur to disperse a crowd, that and three security guards finally appear.

              You sure know how to get in trouble, I think as our gaze meets. Fet tilts his head to the side, in silent apology.        

         Yep, the novelty of living in deep space has officially worn off.