Chapter 1 – Hansim and the Shaddock
Even as I rolled off the stool and hit the floor I felt the sting of the laser pulse as it seared the side of my face. I didn’t stop to question it. I was already moving. Fortunately it did not come into my mind to indignantly stand up and point out that somebody was making a big mistake; that they had got the wrong man. It had been close, too damn close.
I broke left, anticipating the next shot, my brain still buzzed with the hiss of the laser bolt coupled with that blinding flash and stinging electric burn. I couldn’t afford to let the pain and dazzle slow me down. Someone wanted to turn highly valued parts of myself into severely scorched meat. Fortunately my endocrine and autonomic nervous systems appeared to be operating in complete harmony and had hi-jacked my consciousness to take over my thought process and body functions. It is quite astounding how fast one can move and how quickly your brain can operate when someone is aiming lethal force in your direction. You moved without even thinking. Some call that reflex. It’s not really. It’s merely fast response. I am lucky in having a gene combination that seems to enable me to react spontaneously when, among other things, someone wants to fry my brain tissue. That’s because I have grown quite attached to that particular organ. In fact, on reflection, I prefer to keep all my organs at an even temperature. That’s why I was tended to move first and think later.
Instantly my heart went into racing mode. My blood system shunted extra resources to my brain and senses. Amazingly some distant, analytical part of my neuronal cortex took control and directed my cerebellum to organise the necessary muscle groups to carry out its wishes without reference to the higher thought processes. They’d only slow things down. In my experience the analytical bits always decided to question their own decisions and this was no time for an internal debate. Glucose flooded through me and I could feel the burst of energy it provided. My senses were responding by searching for cover and the subconscious controller inside my head directed my body through a staccato flow of rolls, falls and jumps that it had somehow devised to throw off any potential assassin’s aim. I was impressed.
Throughout this complex set of manoeuvres this superior part of my consciousness remained aloof, as if standing back coolly calculating, assessing, collating and deciding as it weighed up the information and worked out the percentages. It was so much better at it than me. I was eternally grateful.
Throughout it all my mind was active. The size of the flash and hiss indicated the weapon had been on full beam. That meant someone was actually aiming to kill me. That was very disconcerting. The fact that I had not noticed them at all meant that they were good – too bloody good for comfort! If it had not been for that old seventh sense of mine I would now be a frizzled smoking mess slumped across the bar and that was something I had an inbuilt wish to avoid. I was lucky. Experience had demonstrated the correct response. When my skin prickled like that I did not stop to question or check – I moved! That’s what had at least temporarily saved me. That old seventh sense had got me through to this age and I had learnt to respect it. It took some exceptional person to get that close to get a shot off like that but the tightness across my cheek told me that I had just met such a person.
I slammed through another table deliberately knocking chair and occupants flying in all directions. Survival often hung on the creation of maximum disorder. Within that chaos it was hard for an attacker to discern the pattern and latch on to a clean shot. I had a reputation for being an expert at creating chaos. Many women had told me that.
I crashed up against the wall in the darkened alcove with my pocket needle gun magically appearing in my hand. Everything went unnaturally still as the echoes of the crashing furniture died away. There had been no second shot.
I risked a glance round the wall of the alcove to survey the dimly lit room. It was a typical Astrobar, or at least it had been a few moments before. There was the classic large open section of tables surrounded with a series of peripheral alcoves, many with drawn curtains, for those who preferred privacy.
There was a trail of wreckage leading in a zigzag from the bar to where I now was. Nothing seemed to be moving. The scattered occupants were lying stunned amongst the wreckage or were frozen in a tableaux with eyes directed towards me and open mouths still formulating questions. My quick scan had not revealed anybody who might be my likely assailant.
I ducked back behind the wall. This did not make sense. The bars denizens had recovered and had obviously formed the opinion that the danger was over. There was the sound of people picking themselves up out of the overturned furniture and a murmur of voices.
Ruefully I touched the slash of burning skin on my cheek. This made no sense at all. I had not offended anyone. How could I? I had only shipped in today! I’d only just returned from mining out in the asteroids. It’d only been an hour or so since I touched down. Besides I hadn’t even talked to anyone apart from the bartender. There was no way I could have upset anyone.
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