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   Chapter 38 No.38

Black Sunrise By Christina Engela Characters: 5099

Updated: 2018-06-30 12:01


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Silvestri lunged at Marsh'k, blocking a follow-up slash with his knife. There was a tuneful and brief blade-to-blade clash as the mine's heavy-man and the former Ruminarii ship commander maneuvered round each other. Silvestri landed a kick to Marsh'k's groin, but the undeterred Ruminarii caught it, slashed his upper leg and followed that with a fist to the chest. Silvestri grunted and staggered backwards, panting, a fake grin still frozen on his face in defiance. Perhaps, he was thinking, putting the blaster down was a bad idea.

Marsh'k stood motionless, eyeing the stricken Sylvestri with intent as the man stumbled while trying to nurse his injuries. The alien's knife-hand was poised dramatically over his head, down and forward, his other balancing him from behind. His legs were apart, in a sideways stance. Very dramatic, very martial artsy stuff. He was holding the position known (loosely translated) as the pouncing elephant. (Depending upon what got lost in translation – and of course, on who you ask.) Perhaps, in a competition, he might've made a few impressive hisses and maybe hopped and twirled a little more – but oh well, this wasn't a competition – and anyway you have to grow up sometime. He contented himself with giving the knife a little flourish. Silvestri was just bracing himself to attack again, when –

"No you don't – you bitch!" His opponent cried out.

An energy bolt whined loudly passed Marsh'k's head. Shock and surprise flashed briefly across what was left of Silvestri's f

er the knife, " He quipped, flicking his tongue again. "But I'm not ssst-hupid."

"You saved our lives. I don't know what to say. Thank you."

Marsh'k skipped another shrug. He gestured towards Danielle.

"Iss that hwone– ho-o-kay?"

Danny was huddled up, lying on the couch, motionless – eyes open, holding her hands over her ears. This wasn't right, she thought, why us? She went to sit with her, gently placing her arm around her shoulders.

"She will be." Jenny replied confidently. "We will be."

It was right about then that Beck the Badfeller came casually strolling in the front door, his ten-mil drawn, and entering the lounge through the bead curtain in a rather casual way that suggested a missed opportunity for a dramatic entrance and witty comment.

"Sorry." He opened, smiling. "Guess I should've knocked. Wow – is that a real live Gimp?"

Enough was enough, Jenny thought.

"Doesn't anybody know what a closed door is for anymore?" She demanded, rising. "What the hell do you want?"

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