The outer space outpost known as Shelton’s Landing was a real dump. Scorched earth, broken trees, dense jungles, and a thick, humid atmosphere. Locals people with dirt under their fingernails, and mud caked boots, dressed in long coats, to protect from sudden wind and rain storms. It was a feared place. One would have to be crazy to go there. And someone was.
“His name is Rex Baron,” said the black woman. She held up a dirty mug full of a dark ale. She inspected the dirty glass, and a few particles floating inside the liquid. She continued to talk, “He’s a criminal. Fancies himself as a treasure hunter, considered by authorities to be a pirate.” The woman speaking had deep, dark skin. Smooth skin, with slanted eyes and full, pink lips. She had a head full of hair. It was greased down and pulled back into two large afro puffs. The huge neatly picked puffs were separated by a nearly geometrical part cut in a zig-zag trail down the middle of her head. She lowered the glass, and took a big sip. The man sitting across the table from her in the dark, smoky tavern was a lean, muscular white man with scars on the side of his face. His hair was a sweaty mess, and his eyes vicious like those of a tiger. He smudged out a cigarette into the wooden table.
“So what do you think of him?” The woman placed the mug on the table.
“He travels in some less than desirable circles.”
“How much less than desirable? Greys, surely not the Draconian Empire?”
“No,” she said. “Not that bad. But outlaws non the less. Killers, thieves, prostitutes. He’s been known to travel with wanted men who will kill or lose their own life to protect him. Cult-like appeal he has. Every lawman wish they could bend the rules the way he does. When he’s not cashing in treasures, he’s hitting planetary spaceports, fucking every girl at the space core acadamy. Still, he has entire civilizations hating him saying he steals, priceless relics. ”
“And he says he’s coming here, to Shelton’s Landing? For what again?”
“The distress signal we’ve been sending out for ever it seems like. Well, his crew picked up on it. They say this land has a valuable plant-life they seek.” The scarred man tapped his fingers on the table as if he were trying to be patient. Then said,
“As if we didn’t already have enough problems.”
“I feel he may be more dangerous than the horde.”
“Easy for you to say,” said the man. “Everybody don’t have no planetary reputation for turning zombies into cole slaw.” The woman smiled, tilted her head and said,
“You’re no stranger to blood yourself now,” she said.
“When you’re right, you’re right,” the added, “but this time I think I’m right. We will keep Baron under close watch.” An elderly woman in tatterd clothing brought two bowls of steaming soup over to their table.
Email me when J.a. Davidson publishes or recommends stories