Free Imperial Guard by Joseph O'Day Page B

Brogan was temporarily blinded until his eyes adjusted to the darkened room. “This place is a real dive, but we won’t stay long.”
    In the semidarkness they were jostled by a plainly dressed man as they tried to make their way to the bar. Unger turned swiftly, pistol in hand quicker than the eye could follow. An almost inaudible buzz dropped the pickpocket to the floor. Unger bent to retrieve his wallet and Brogan’s pay sack. “Stuff this way down inside your tunic,” he growled.
    Most of the people in the room didn’t seem to be paying the least bit of attention to the altercation. Only those in the immediate area took notice, turning unfriendly eyes toward the representatives of the Empire. Unger’s gaze swept the immediate vicinity. “Somebody have a problem here?” His face communicated a potential threat.
    Considering the odds not worth the risk, the locals turned back to their conversations, schemes, or transactions, and Unger pushed Brogan to a relatively deserted part of the bar.
    Unger ordered two beers. “You got a lot to learn, partner. When you’re off ship on Earth, keep your money where it’s hard even for you to get at. Some of these characters can lift the shirt off your back without you knowing it. Either that or get a stash protector like I’ve got. When that pickpocket lifted my wallet, it gave my backside a mild shock. That’s the only way I knew what had happened.”
    Brogan turned to look at the inert form still lying on the floor.
    “He’ll come to in a few minutes,” Unger answered his unspoken question. He chuckled into his drink. “After the jolt I gave him, his nerves’ll be so frazzled, he won’t be able to pick pockets for days. Hey, try your beer.”
    Brogan grimaced. “I never was able to acquire a taste for the stuff.”
    “Oh. Well, let me order you something different. Barkeep! A shot of the local firewater, neat,” he yelled.
    A huge man with an even larger paunch and perspiration stains on his shirt slapped down a shot glass. “Is this kid old enough ta drink,” he sneered. “Looks ta me like he ain’t outa diapers yet!”
    “This ‘kid’ has killed five men,” retorted Unger casually. “You want to be the sixth?”
    “Hey, ya cain’t treat me like that scum ya sent to dreamland. I’m a citizen, and . . .” lowering his face nose to nose with Unger, said, “I’m protected . Know what I mean?”
    Unger backed down. “Yeah, I know what you mean.” The barkeep went back to his business.
    “What does he mean?” Brogan queried.
    “It means he’s paying off Imperial Guardsmen to give him protection. Those guys are bad news. You don’t want to tangle with them if you don’t have to. They just love an excuse to arrest and abuse anybody. They can even arrest nobility. ‘Course, if they do, they’d better be right.” As an afterthought: “Though sometimes they can fix even those mistakes.”
    The Imperial Guard again, thought Brogan. He tossed off his drink with indifference . . . and immediately gagged. His throat burned, sweat formed under his eyes, his scalp prickled, and he was afraid he would retch. “I’ve been poisoned!” he rasped.
    Unger laughed. “It’s only Tequila, the native brew. Made from some sort of cactus, I believe. One thing’s for sure . . . It’ll get your mind off the crowds.”
    Brogan felt a hand on his sleeve. As he turned a husky voice said, “Hey, honey. Buy me a drink?”
    The speaker nestled closer, and a surprised Brogan found himself inches from a profound cleavage. The girl was dressed, if you could call it that, in a sparkling, satiny, deep plunge tunic that just barely covered her ample breasts. The outfit was completed by a knee-length skirt featuring a slit that ended far up her legs. Though her exposed skin was caked with powder, her presence was strangely tempting. Brogan slowly raised his eyes to her face and noted the stark hardness of her features, the emptiness of her eyes. He wondered briefly if