The .45 is an excellent caliber for dealing with unfamiliar races. Having never faced a rockadillo before, I wasn’t sure what to aim for, but the .45’s stopping power covers a multitude of sins. I aimed for the leader’s neck and fired twice. Kindness bucked in my hands, and the rockadillo leader stumbled backwards with dark, oily bodily fluid gushing from his wound. He squealed like a pig, and Grunt Number Two drew one of his blades. Unfortunately for him, Kindness was faster. I shot out his wrist, elbow, and shoulder joints in quick succession. The blade fell from his pudgy armored hand, and his arm went limp, dripping oily blood all over the floor.
With the rockadillos more or less neutralized, I risked a quick glance at Jane. She was huddled on the floor behind me, clutching my leg. I turned and stared the aliens down with Kindness pointed squarely at them, but the fight was over. Grunt Number One dragged the unmoving body of their leader away toward the door, while Grunt Number Two staggered after him.
“Ack mar alakzan!” he shouted in my direction just before leaving. My wrist console attempted to translate, but the rockadillo’s native tongue was not in the database. Still, the meaning was clear: I now had a price on my head.
Gunslinger to the Stars
Sam Kletchka here, freelance gunslinger and interstellar privateer. This, my friends, is how I went from being stranded in the armpit of the galaxy to becoming the luckiest human being in the universe.
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