Chapter Text
Part One (Cont’d)
The crystal clear liquid slowly but surely filled the dirty glass right up to the rim, and then cascaded haphazardly over the top.
Only an annoyed grunt from the intended recipient of the glass caused the distracted man pouring the drink to realise the mess he was making.
The grunt was enough to get the bottle of Nimbosian spirit pulled hurriedly away from the glass, which was then apologetically slid over to the burly Nimbosian miner that had ordered it. Despite the state of the presentation, the miner had few qualms in grabbing the glass with a filthy hand and throwing the burning alcohol back in one gulp, before sliding the glass back for a refill with a slightly less annoyed grunt.
But he found that he would have to wait, because Bri’tor, the owner of the Bar of Plenty, was distracted once again.
His attention, as it often was these days, was entirely on a specific patron at his long-suffering establishment, who was sitting on the other side of the dirty saloon that served as the main watering hole in Arcadia Falls.
Like every major settlement on Nimbus III, Arcadia Falls was ironically named.
It shouldn’t have been like that. When the colony was still in the design phase, the optimism of the planning committee had been contagious, and every corner of the planet was given a name befitting the hope that Nimbus III was going to provide the rest of the galaxy.
And then the project failed. And every one of those names, from Arcadia Falls to Paradise City to the peak of Mount Aspiration, simply served as a never-ending list of cruel jokes piled on top of a planet overloaded with cruel jokes.
There was nothing stopping the remaining residents of Arcadia Falls from changing the town’s name if they wanted to. But there didn’t seem to be much point. Besides, they usually had more pressing issues to deal with. Especially once the gangs had started to roll into town.
Bri’tor had lived in Arcadia Falls for several years now. He had seen plenty of gangs arrive, take control, terrorise the locals and then move on. He thought he and his family had learned how to deal with them by now, and make the best of things.
But that had been before Toxis had arrived. After that, everything had changed around here. Especially for Bri’tor.
And so, whenever Toxis was in the Bar of Plenty. He kept quiet. And he kept a close watch.
But even this simple act didn’t go unnoticed. When you got on the wrong side of as many people as Toxis had, you developed a sixth sense for when you were being watched. Even when his back was turned, he could feel a slight prickling sensation on the back of his neck as his adversary’s eyes bore into his skin.
“Bartender,” Toxis calmly grunted, not bothering to look around, “I’ve told you before, I don’t like it when folks stare at me.”
The bar fell silent. Not expecting that response from a man with his back turned, Bri’tor nearly dropped the bottle he was holding out of shock.
“Don’t make me do to you what I did to that brother of yours…”
The atmosphere seemed to tense up even more with that knowing comment. Suitably chastened, the meek Nimbosian, whatever courage he had once had long since extinguished, turned his attention back to the miner’s refill.
Satisfied that he had dealt with that irritation for the time being, and with the flow of conversation picking up again around the room, Toxis turned his attention back to the three men standing in front of him. “Now, Breshk, let’s get back to business,” he continued, his calm demeanour tainted with a clear undertone of menace.
Toxis sat at a wooden table to one side of the Bar of Plenty, which featured a few similar tables scattered around and Bri’tor’s simple bar area which ran down the rear of the room, complete with shelves that were sparsely stacked with whatever Nimbosian liquor was available. His long thin legs were propped up on top of the table, and as Breshk looked down at him, his thin, gaunt face was partially obscured by the brim of his hat.
Standing a short distance away, keeping a watchful eye on proceedings, was Rutox. A burly Nimbosian in dark clothing who served as Toxis’s second in command. Breshk had already noted that Rutox’s right hand hung by his side, near the visible pistol at his waist.
“So,” Toxis continued, “We’re gonna keep things simple. Just where the hell is my ranch?”
Breshk licked his dry lips. Either side of him, his two cohorts watched on with clear concern, all three of them having been dreading this moment since they had been forced to beat a hasty retreat back from Goodlife Ranch.
Toxis looked up at the three men, gently lifting the brim of his hat up to take in their silence. Aside from the hushed conversations elsewhere in the room, the only sound was a slight squelching noise as he idly chewed on a mouthful of his favourite blend of Nimbosian tobacco.
With no answer forthcoming from the nervous men, Toxis shrugged and continued. “Ok, Breshk, let me tell you the way I see it: I sent you and your two friends here to head out and make sure I got what I wanted. Nice and simple. Nice and easy. But, instead, you all came riding right back here, and as far as I can tell, Zesh is still living on my ranch.”
His deep voice rose with a hint of irritation at the end. He turned his head to one side and casually spat a chunk of tobacco down onto the dusty ground, causing the trio in front of him to wince involuntarily.
“Which means that you’ve let me down. And I don’t like men that do that. How many times have you let me down now, Breshk?”
Breshk opened his mouth instinctively to answer the question, before pausing and changing his line of defence. “See,” he managed, “It wasn’t our fault, Toxis. There was a…complication.”
“Is that right?” Toxis drawled back at them, “And what complication might that have been?”
“O—Off-worlders!”
At this, Toxis’s cheek twitched, just a fraction. Behind him, Rutox took half a step forward, no longer trying to hide where his attention was.
“Zesh has got off-worlders,” Breshk continued, with a fraction more confidence, “At the ranch!”
Toxis dropped his feet off the table and leaned forwards, glaring intently at each of the men in turn for any sign that they were spinning him a tall tale. “Off-worlders?” he muttered slowly and thoughtfully, “That so?”
The two men standing either side of Breshk nodded quickly, beads of sweat visible on their foreheads, only partly down to the humid atmosphere inside the bar.
Toxis considered this information in silence for a moment, chewing the remains of his tobacco thoughtfully as he mulled this information over. Just as Breshk felt a bead of sweat roll down his quivering forehead, Toxis’s face twitched again, the beginnings of a rare smile creeping onto his face across his features.
“Well now,” he said, “Why didn’t you say so?”
The smile grew and grew, accompanied by a slightly chuckle. Breshk and his cohorts relaxed slightly, offering slightly cautious smiles of their own.
“Hear that, Rutox?” Toxis called back to his right hand man, “You know what they say. Where there’s off-worlders, there’s weapons. There’s supplies. Hell, there might even be a whole goddamn starship.”
“That’s what they say,” Rutox grunted in his deep baritone voice.
Toxis nodded and leaned back in his seat once again, slamming the dusty boots on his feet back up onto the table top.
“Well then,” he continued to chuckle at the increasingly relieved men in front of him, “Thank you for bringing me that very interesting information. Seems like we might be in line for a bit more than a ranch. Might be in line to take the whole miserable planet.”
His smile spread wider. A relieved Breshk allowed himself a smile of his own.
The sound of the gunshot stopped every conversation in the bar in its tracks all over again. The bang of the pellet leaving the barrel of the pistol in Rutox’s hand was accompanied by the familiar whooshing sound of the compressed air that powered the weapon being discharged.
At the bar, a horrified Bri’tor looked back over in time to see the shocked look on Breshk’s face as he slumped lifelessly to the floor.
The two men either side of where Breshk had been standing watched on in silent horror. Rutox calmly reloaded his weapon and placed it back in his holster. Toxis, equally calmly, stood up from the table and looked down at the dead man on the floor. All of his previous good humour having disappeared.
“Twice,” he spat out, “That was twice you’d let me down.”
Leaving the other two men, and several other patrons in the Bar of Plenty, quaking in their wake, Toxis and Rutox made for the exit. As he reached the door, Toxis felt a familiar irritating tingle on the back of his neck.
“I told you, bartender,” he added, without looking back, “Don’t stare at me.”
As Toxis disappeared outside, Bri’tor quickly returned his attention to the dead man on the floor of his saloon. Sadly lamenting the latest bloodshed that Arcadia Falls had seen.
And fearing that it wouldn’t be the last.