Chapter One - Don't Give 'Em A Chance
#1 of Fistful Of Credits
An old sci-fi novel I had been writing many years ago.
All characters presented within are © me. Please do not repost or redistribute.
Chapter one
Don't Give 'Em A Chance
"You don't wanna do this, kid..." Kiole Enkal said coldly. His low, gravelly voice hung in the bar's smoke-filled air. His bluish gray eyes were every bit as cold as his voice, as they narrowed and locked their icy gaze on his opponent.
The bar's other patrons waited in silence with all eyes, not to mention more exotic sensory organs, turned towards the stand-off. Such occurrences were not uncommon on Chrilon 5C, especially not in this section of Morgomite City, the moon's only settlement. None the less, these events were always entertaining... Provided of course, that one was merely a spectator and not an actual participant.
Kiole casually reached for his beer mug and took a swig. He set his glass back down and scratched his beard stubble thoughtfully. The young, dark-skinned man standing across the table from him darted his greenish brown eyes about the bar, looking for some reassurance. He was met only with expectant stares.
While the other man's attention wandered, Kiole let his right hand drop beneath the table and come to rest on the butt of one of his OM-65's. He continued to sip at his beer and stare coldly over the rim of the glass at his opponent. Kiole's fingers surreptitiously unfastened the strap which held his blaster in its holster.
Gaining resolve from somewhere, perhaps not wanting to appear weak in front of so many beings, the young man straightened his posture and fixed his gaze on Kiole. "The HELL I don't wanna do this!" he shouted defiantly. "You stole my money, you cheatin' son of a bitch! Now fork it over!"
"I didn't steal your money, son. You lost it. You lost it, because you're drunk, and you're lousy at poker," Kiole replied, his voice darker and more menacing than before. "Walk away before you get yourself hurt, kid."
"You cheated! Now fork it over before I vape your ass!"
Kiole Enkal sighed reluctantly, "Have it your way, kid." He set down his mug and lay his left hand over the pile of credits, leaning in, so that he could slide them across the table.
The other man's grip on his blaster relaxed and an arrogant smirk spread across his face. "I knew you weren't nothin' but a damn coward!"
The force of the energy bolt from Kiole's over-powered blaster upended the table sending drinks, cards, and the other players' piles of credits flying. In one smooth motion, Kiole palmed his stack of credits and dove for the floor. He rolled and came up in a kneeling position, his blaster trained on the spot where his adversary had been standing. There was no need, however, as the blaster bolt had shot strait through the table and impacted squarely on the young man's chest. His corpse lay sprawled on the floor, a wisp of smoke trailing from its wound. The pungent stench of burnt flesh mingled in the air with the aromas of the various kinds of tobacco and more exotic substances being smoked.
"You... You didn't even give him a chance..." a stunned Vanaedean, who had been playing cards with them said. The canine alien stared in disbelief at the smoldering corpse.
"No... I didn't..." Kiole replied matter-of-factly. He stood and holstered his pistol, then shoved the fistful of credits into one of his trench coat pockets. "That's why he's dead... And I'm not."
Kiole strolled casually out of the bar and disappeared into the crowded tunnel ways of Morgomite City.