The shrapnel holes in its limb provide access to the pink muscular system under the iron hide. The Tibbar collapses under its own weight as its leg muscle melts.
Amye spins to know her savior. The six-foot-six Osirian rests his rifle on his shoulder, slipping down his dark shades. Instead of giving a thanks, Amye draws the backward blaster strapped to Scott’s left hip. She rotates and they both fire, ending the beast.
“You should be more careful, Amye.”
“Shut up, Scott. I had him.”
The playboy Adonis offers a conjugal smile and his hand.
“I don’t want to touch you.”
“I want my blaster back.” He smiles the all-women-want-to-touch-me smile.
Amye rolls her eyes at him. “Bite me, Scott.”
“Are we feeling hostile?”
She retrieves her blaster. “You stink. From the way you smell I’d say you rode at least two Norians. Their juices contain strong pheromones.”
“Would it kill you to act feminine once in a while?”
“Maybe if you understand what it means. Some of us are more than a nice ride.” Amye recovers her bloodied dagger.
“Hey, if I had a feminine side I would be touching it all the time.”
“Gods! You’re such a smerth’n pig! How can Australia stand you? For all her knowledge of alien cultures she must not know what Norians smell like after sex.” She cuts him off before he answers. “Don’t you even bring up the size of your manhood.” She wipes the blood from her knife on rags in a Dumpster.
“The reward Queen Aurora mandated for the return of her daughter must still be in play. The Tibbar won’t be the only bounty hunters pursuing us.”
“The Tibbar hate Reynard for what he did. Smerth’n fool spared a Tibbaran Kahn’s life. No greater insult possible.” Still on edge she remembers, “I thought Tibbar always hunted in packs of three?” Amye jerks around, prepared for another attack.
“Sometimes five.”
“Then aren’t we missing two corpses?” she asks.
A low beam blaster echoes from behind them.
“Sounds like JC’s weapon.”
“It was. She was accompanying me to help save you.”
“Scott, you’re such an idiot.”
She charges toward the blaster sound. The struggle between the Tibbar and JC has stirred up a smoke screen of ash from the burnt out structure. Amye spots JC. The short-haired blonde holds a Tibbar at bay with a blue beam extending from the sapphire opal in her golden headband.
A third Tibbar sideswipes Amye. It slides on its clawed toes, loses its footing and crashes to the soot-carpeted ground. Amye recovers from the partial impact, leaping away as Scott fires his rifle. The hot plasma ignites the flammable dust particles still hanging in the air.
Amye dives back to the floor to avoid the growing fireball. JC waves her hand and the blue beam grows around her, shielding her slender frame from the inferno. The two Tibbars howl as they become adorned in second-degree burns. The fire flashes out. One Tibbar falls over. Amye sends the sharp edge of her dagger across the Nerdomic artery—the second most important artery in the Tibbar body. The Tibbar only squirms for two more heartbeats.
The blue force field dissipates from JC as she fires her small blaster. The energy-charged slug smashes through the armored skull of the remaining Tibbar, splashing into the soft brain tissue. Small, bloody red particles spray onto her cheek. She wipes the blood from her cheek and the three azure tattoo teardrops under her left eye.
“Are you alright?” Scott asks, keeping the more relevant question of how she was able to create a force shield with her mind to himself.
“I need to rest. Those mental blasts tire me.”
“The curse of being a telepath, I’m sure.” Amye wipes her knife clean again.
“Amye, we’re all blessed with certain gifts.”
“Don’t start with the mind-numbing philosophy. You’re not Joe—it doesn’t work for you,” Amye snaps.
“Let’s continue this debate on the Dragon—we don’t know how many more Tibbar are on Asym looking for us.” Scott visually sweeps the area with his rifle ready.
“Three dead,” Amye states.
“To kill us?” Scott flashes her a smile.
“The prize for collecting us must be growing,” JC adds.
“Tibbar packs aren’t usually this independent.”
“The first one was wounded in yesterday’s battle.” Amye continues, “They’re still actively hunting us.”
“Let’s just get out of here.” JC massages her temples. She leans against the wall to support herself as she slides down to one knee. Amye grabs JC’s gloved wrist and pulls her back to her feet, steadying her until she can stand on her own weight again.
“You got enough mental energy left to reach into his brain and turn off his ability to get an erection?”
“It would shut down his brain.” JC steps away from Amye under her own power.
“We can only hope. And hope you have time to shower before the Dragon arrives.”
The patrolling Mecat lumbers at the trio, weapons charging.
••••••
JOENERBRAWL CRAWLS OVER skeletal piles of concrete and twisted metal. The bomb-blasted sections of the city have turned out dozens of refugees but provided cover for Mokarran escaping the battle. He moves with all his stealth training, striving to carry on his cultural traditions. As he hunts he contemplates goals beyond his time on Summersun. He must achieve the final step in reaching enlightenment—share what he has learned.
Clan mandate would never allow the instruction of off-worlders, but with Calthos gone, Joenerbrawl must never let his people be forgotten. Worthiness will be his guide to select pupils. His own training must be tested. Armed Mecat battles may tax his reflexes, but it takes more than combat to achieve Old Maestro status.
Commander Reynard, Osirian by birth, became a sword brother when he brought honor to the clan. Amye’s tutelage has enhanced her fighting skill, but her demons keep her from progressing further. By guiding the princess, Amye might overcome the darkness clouding her mind.
These ruins offer shelter to the few persisting Mokarran soldiers who have no native word for surrender.
Joenerbrawl’s protruding four-katana harness surrounds his embroidered clan sigil. Despite his massive frame, none of his body, aside from his toes, touches the rubble. Instincts consume his brain when
