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The Galaxii Series Omnibus 1 By Christina Engela Characters: 5767

Updated: 2018-06-30 19:02

It wasn't a deflector shield and wouldn't stop anything solid from penetrating it – just light and energy. Mykl knew that, and had said as much, but Blachart knew the Terrans mindset – they wanted to know what they were shooting at. People with consciences – or at least, the pretense of consciences – wouldn't like to find out they had bombed the ack out of children, refugees or non-combatants because they couldn't see where they were chucking their slam-torpedoes.

At the end of the roadway they followed to the dome, was what appeared to be a check point, which was really little more than a gateway in the wooden stockade that ran round the circumference. A crudely-painted wooden sign above the entrance proclaimed in large red letters that this was Freetown. When they reached the gate, the solitary guard on duty just waved them through – and so, without hesitation, in they went and rode headlong through the shiny blue-silver mass. It was really quite thin and they didn't feel a thing as they passed through it. It was, Blachart thought rather whimsically, like falling through the wall of a bubble without popping it. Thus began their sight-seeing tour of Freetown.

If construction of this town had only started after the destruction of Meradinis, then Kilroy had been very busy in the past three months. A town lay ahead of them, already bigger than Geek City – it stretched out across the level plain for what must have been at least 4 square kilometers at the center of the dome. One the outskirts though, the streets had been laid out already, but town blocks and plots had just been marked with white stones and wooden stakes with nylon cord marking random claims. Only here and there were there little str

art replied.

"What do we do now?" Brenton breathed from close behind. Blachart wordlessly adjusted his sword, turned, and began walking to the tavern entrance. "Where are you going?"

"To the tavern." Blachart threw over his shoulder. "I need to think about this."

Once inside, Brenton's eyes adjusted to the dim lighting, and he scanned the inside of the Tavern. It was probably best described as 'homey'. A big fireplace built from roughly cemented rounded stones stood against the far wall, a log fire roaring within it. A circled bar counter made of crudely cut planks stood in the center of the floor, surrounded by similarly made crude wooden stools, but the crudeness of the place didn't seem to put off the locals, since those inside seemed to be cheerful enough. It seemed to be around mid-day here, and the inhabitants seemed to be flocking to the watering holes for lunch and refreshment. The place was quite full. Blachart the ex-Corsair, led Brenton to a vacant table in the corner nearest the door, where a window allowed them a view of their transportation – and the entrance of the big black ship standing across the roadway.

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