Incredible. They are supposed to be as beautiful and attractive to any man or woman that looks on them. I wonder if that is true.
Almost as soon as they had arrived, the group of criminals were making their way slowly to the door with their prize of imprisoned automatons. Glaucon turned to Xenophon and Roxana, a look of pleading and anger about his face.
“Wait for it…” whispered Xenophon, for he knew something explosive was about to happen. It was pointless jumping forward into the sights of a group of desperate criminals. He spotted a flick of movement from the blue-haired girl as she pulled an object from the holster. Without even checking around her, she slid back and tumbled out into the open. The criminal thugs watched open-mouthed as she raised a snub barrelled pistol and pointed it at the Mulac’s forehead. With a single flash, the back of the creature’s head exploded in a cloud of blood. He staggered back and dropped to the floor, killed instantly by the explosive power of the low velocity slug. The other three surged towards her with their weapons at the ready.
“Now!” cried Xenophon.
Both he and Glaucon were out from behind their table and lurched across the open space to tackle the Median thug. He was much stronger than he looked, but the impact caught him by surprise and threw him roughly to the ground. His firearm clattered away uselessly. For a second Xenophon thought they had him under control, but no sooner had they hit the ground, and he was rolling away. With a flick of his leg, he caught Glaucon hard in the stomach. He jumped ahead to Xenophon, but another blast from a different weapon struck him in the torso. The impact knocked him back to the floor, and a gaping wound on the front, the obvious sign of a violent blast wound. He rolled to the right and spotted Roxana on one knee, aiming the firearm that she must have taken from the fallen enemy. She took careful aim and loosed off another shot. Xenophon spun around and spotted a third of the gang drop down clutching at his leg. The girl with the blue hair slid along the floor and struck her weapon at the man’s head, knocking him out cold before he could respond. The bar was now completely silent as the fourth and final man stood and waited. He carried a larger weapon in his hands. It was multi-barrelled and looked like a heavily modified carbine. Roxana and the blue-haired woman aimed their weapon at him, but Xenophon and Glaucon were still unarmed. They stood and waited like the rest.
“Put down the weapon, Tamor!” shouted the girl.
The man laughed, evidently refusing to comply.
“We should have killed you when you first came to us,” he said bitterly.
It was a standoff, each waiting for the other to move first. The man wore crude looking armour, the kind a lot of mercs and freelancers used to get the rougher types of work. But no one needed to make a move as the reinforcements had arrived. The main doors burst open, and in walked a great hulk of a man. He was taller than any of those stood in the bar and almost as broad across the chest. He pointed his right hand at the man and spoke slowly but firmly.
“This is a public place, and I have Laconian troops on site. Drop your weapon, or face the consequences!”
The man gazed at the new arrival, trying to gauge whether he could shoot him down in the time it would take for him to draw his weapon. The wait seemed to last forever as the small group stared at each other, looking for the sign that would signal their intention. Either the stress or the fear finally took hold, but the man threw his weapon to the floor. The Laconian man stood and watched, still unmoving as he watched his target.
“Okay, you win,” he said nervously.
The tense standoff continued until a shake of the guard’s left hand brought in a group of six security men. Each wore body armour and carried electrified stun rods and riot pulse pistols. It was the kind of gear used by riot police for non-fatal confrontations. They rushed past him and grabbed the man, placing cuffs on him and then dragging him out. Two more grabbed the injured criminal and forced him to his feet so he could be removed, albeit in great pain. Only the leader of their unit remained, the tough looking Laconian.
“My apologies for the intrusion,” he said in a monotone voice and turned to leave.
“Wait!” called out Xenophon. He moved up to the man and stopped to speak with him. Next to each other they almost looked like a teenager and a middle-aged man. They were that apart in bulk and general build.
“Yes?” he asked.
“What about the bodies? Don’t you want to know why they were here?”
The Laconian looked throughout the room, glancing at the dozens of individuals as well as the casualties on the ground.
“They are dead, the suspects are in custody and the escapees are safe,” he said and left the room. Xenophon stood there, speechless and confused. He knew the Laconians were famed for their use of subtle language, but this seemed to be taking the idea to absurd levels. Glaucon and Roxana moved up to him, both as surprised at the events.
“You have to love the Laconians, they don’t waste their words do they?” said Roxana.
The group of automatons approached them and each bowed in turn. They were lithe and stunningly beautiful, nothing like Xenophon or Glaucon had expected. One, in a long black dress spoke with a smooth, gentle voice.
“Thank you, your assistance was not necessary. We are here only to serve.”
Xenophon reached out and touched her arm.
“Are you all unhurt? What did they want?” he asked.
The second automaton smiled at him, her skin barely moving as she spoke.
“We are exiles from the Cilician Gates, and they were bounty hunters.”
“Cilician Gates?” asked Glaucon.
“They’re the group of worlds clustered along the outer border of the Median Empire, not far from where Fort Plymouth was. It is the gateway to the Empire.”
“You’re Imperial slaves? I thought you were completely loyal, and that you had no free will?” Glaucon asked.
“Why would you think that? We are manufactured, but our lack of freewill comes from indoctrination and history, not mechanics or genetics.”
The first woman bowed again.
“We thank you, but we must leave. Our ship awaits us, and we wish to avoid further trouble.”
She turned and the others followed. The rest of the clientele in the bar watched them go with the same level of surprise and interest as Xenophon, Glaucon and Roxana. A medical team came through the door along with a station official, who headed directly for the injured, but still breathing, bar tender. Xenophon indicated back to the table.
“We need to talk,” he said quietly.
They moved to their table and leaned in closely.
“We don’t want any unnecessary attention from these people. Do you have somewhere we could crash for tonight?”
Roxana nodded. She turned her head slightly, spotting movement in the shadows near to their table. A man moved and sat down next to her. She lifted her left hand as though expecting trouble, but the stranger raised his hands in a peaceful, almost conciliatory gesture.
“I’m not looking for trouble. You’re not from around here are you?” he asked.
“Who is?” answered Roxana.
Xenophon glanced at the man; he was definitely not from Attica or any of the nearby worlds. His build and overall physique was that of a strong man, quite probably a warrior or perhaps a labourer of some kind. It was more likely to be the latter. Most of the physical work in the Laconian territories was undertaken by the slaves, or as they liked to call them, indentured workers. There was a chance he could be a worker from one of the Alliance worlds, somewhere where the use of slaves was still banned. His clothes were covered by a cloak-like robe and masking much of his torso. The man pulled his robe slightly to one side to reveal a metallic looking breastplate underneath.