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The Galaxii Series Omnibus 1 By Christina Engela Characters: 5599

Updated: 2018-06-30 19:02

"So." Said Brenton, smiling as he leaned in closer. "Have we done any thinking yet?"

"Yes." Adam replied, draining the last of his ale. "We have. Tell me, are you any good with a blaster?"

"Well, I wouldn't miss an elephant in an alleyway, if that's what you mean." He grinned.

"Oh gods, I should hope not!" Adam sighed.

"How about you?" Brenton smiled, pointing casually with a finger of his hand that held the tankard. "I know you're a crack shot – but the blade – you any good with that, or is it just for show?"

"Good enough to wear one, kid." Adam replied dismissively. He knew by now what course of action he should take. He was supposed to scout around and then head back up to Antares. As far as he was concerned, he'd already done that. However, returning to Antares would mean stealing a ship, which risked raising the alarm, which meant Martel or Kilroy might have early warning and chance to escape again before Antares and Mordrake could begin their attack. His best course of action would be to disable that field and do what damage he could on the surface before making an attempt to get off Endicor – and that meant sabotaging the black ship at the center of town.

"Okay then." He smiled, appreciating the worth of Dutch courage in the case of young Mr. Brenton. "One more of these for the road and then we'll put that to the test!"

* * *

The elite guard of the Black Palace Watch had a pretty impressive reputation as a fearsome group of warriors highly trained in martial arts, armed and unarmed combat. They were also supposedly well-versed in the cold, bloody arts of torture, interrogation and probably a few other things as well, up t

uards. These were the elite Black Palace Watch – but this wasn't the Black Palace and he wasn't the average Corsair riff-raff they were used to dealing with on a daily basis!

The barrel and suppressor of Blachart's Luger were barely warm, and he still had quite a bit of ammo left in the pouches on his belt. There were no screaming civilians in the streets, no shouts of alarm, no screeching of tires, no alarms or wailing sirens… this was the benefit of the suppressor, Blachart knew. It gave him an advantage, and more time before the alarm was raised. The entrance to the ship lay ahead, a dark maw that swallowed him as he boldly walked in and turned sideways into the main corridor. Unwisely, perhaps eager to prove his own worth as a warrior, Brenton went in first and tried to cover both directions of the corridor at once with both 440's, lost his balance, and nearly fell over. He recovered, blushing, and stood aside for Blachart to pass. There was no-one else in sight other than his dark companion, who seemed to be taking a leisurely walk down the corridor, holding his handgun casually at his side.

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