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   Chapter 47 No.47

Dead Beckoning By Christina Engela Characters: 5243

Updated: 2018-06-30 12:01


Kilroy straightened up from his self-appointed task of dragging sacks up the ramp, to have a breather. He was getting too old for this sort of thing, he mused. In the movies, this would have been the perfect moment for Blachart to say something poignant or witty, just to let Kilroy know he was there and had a weapon trained on him. Of course, everyone knows what happens after that – Kilroy makes a few snide comebacks, and then starts shooting at Blachart, in which case Blachart loses the advantage. Blachart wasn't that stupid. He didn't want to make any fancy speeches to give away his presence and position. No, instead he just opened fire.

Blachart wasn't prone to bad aim, not even with a blaster. Not by a – um, long shot. Even so, Kilroy's keen sixth sense enabled him to evade the withering fire he threw his way. After the third shot, Kilroy whirled behind one of the shuttle's support struts for cover, drew a pistol and fired back at him. Adam took cover behind some sacks close by, crouching low. Bullets smacked into the sack nearest him. He returned fire over the top, energy bolts striking sparks off the shuttle's metallic skin. Before too long, Kilroy noticed his pistol was out of ammo, and cursed silently. From behind his cover, he tossed it out in the open, where it landed noisily on the gravel.

"Blachart, my old friend." He said by way of greeting. "Is that you?"

"Not anymore." Adam returned, embracing the newfound freedom he felt in his new name. "After today, it's going to be Adam."

"Adam, eh?" Kilroy paused. "Tell me, Adam… ho

well that if Kilroy escaped, it would mean he could still expect many more unwelcome visitors, and they wouldn't stop coming until one day, one of them succeeded. There were no witnesses here, just Blachart and Kilroy and these blank rock walls. There wasn't a court in the Terran Empire that would convict him of murder if Sona Kilroy, the Hammer – a man responsible for the deaths of thousands of colonists over the years – never saw the inside of a nice comfy colonial prison somewhere. Trouble was, his conscience objected. Yes, he had killed quite a few people in the last few hours too – but that had been…well, unavoidable. It had been them or him and he was just better at this than they were. He kept the blaster pointed squarely at the Corsair's broad chest, prepared to fire at the slightest provocation. While he mulled over whether breathing could be considered provocative, he understood that Mykl and his landing party would likely be coming along quite soon – and Mykl was bound to be a little sore at him for the handcuff lark.

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