Shooting the Breeze

“You can’t run forever,” said a metallic voice, and I froze, senses alert. My eyes darted to the entry points in the crowded bar. Front door—two Etruscan warriors, side door—a Nimb and a Fetlian. I’d take the Nimb and Fetlian over the Etruscans. They’re not as fast, nor as deadly accurate with their weapons.

A clawed hand grasped my shoulder, and I fought the urge to shrug it off. Better to act as nonchalant as possible.

“Hey, Kal. Did Grondo give you the night off, or have you slipped your leash?”

The clawed hand tightened, and I refrained from showing any reaction. “You trying to attract attention?” I asked in as casual and blasé tone as I could muster, while three talons added more and more pressure, threatening to draw blood. “Sit down, you no good lizard, before someone uses you for target practice.” I sounded calm to my own ears. That was good.

The pressure continued for a few more seconds before it was released, and Kal slid his scaly body into the booth opposite.

“Nice to see you again, Kal, old buddy.” I gestured for a server and ordered two drinks on my tab.

“Grondo wants his credits,” Kal said without hesitation once the girl left our booth.

“Kal, Kal, Kal,” I shook my head in exaggerated exasperation. “That’s not how it goes. You’ve got no finesse, no sense of social etiquette. First, you ask me how I’ve been, then you make some small talk, maybe ask me about my travels, share a bit of your own story, you see. It’s called banter, shooting the breeze, a little light conversational back and forth. You’ll never be proficient in the language if you don’t practice.”

The scaly skinned Kal didn’t blink or emote in any way, except for the annoyed flick of his forked tongue.

“Grondo wants his credits,” he repeated, his metallic voice ringing without concern for the other patrons in the bar. A few eyes flickered our way and rapidly retreated. You didn’t make eye contact with one of Grondo’s henchmen. It would only be a matter of time before you became the next target of Grondo’s racket. The crime lord had fingers in every pie and dirt on everybody in the galaxy.

“Tell Grondo that I sent him the credits via interstellar mail. He should receive them in three or four cycles.” I hadn’t, of course, but Kal was not quite astute enough to determine if I was lying.

“Grondo demands that you be his guest at Capetal 1 until the credits arrive.” Yeah, that wouldn’t be happening. Guests at Capetal 1 never saw the light of day again.

It was a shame we were sitting on opposite sides of the table. Once, Kal and I had worked a run together. He was a good smuggler. His lack of expression in sticky situations had saved us on the last Pedlaron run. Lifting the precious metal from the backwater planet was risky.

The Galactic Federation had determined that the third planet from a tiny yellow star on the butt end of nowhere, was protected under galactic law. It was considered illegal to mess with the native species and disturb their delicate ecosystem, or to interfere in any way with their technological development. If the federation ever bothered to check in with that planet, they’d be horrified by the wanton destruction of the environment caused by the prevailing species. They were a violent, volatile race, and I was always careful not to be caught when we went there. I was less afraid of what they’d do to me than what they’d do to the galaxy if they got their hands on my tech and developed the ability to leave the planet they’d nearly destroyed.

Kal and I had been intercepted on the outward run, near Polaris 4. The customs officer searched the cargo deck of my Star Journeyer. Fortunately, the concealed compartments remained undetected. But the officer had been suspicious. After all, we were in butt-fuck nowhere, with absolutely no business being there.

When the officer questioned us, I intimidated that Kal and I were on our honeymoon. That we were trying to get a little alone time before facing the fury of our respective families, who were both homophobic and xenophobic, and would be horrified by our same-sex, inter-species union. Kal’s expressionless face didn’t react to the wild story, thus adding to the appearance of veracity. I don’t think he’d ever forgiven me, but we were allowed to leave with a warning to avoid that section of space in the future.

So Kal and I had history, perhaps not great history, but enough to know how the other would think. Getting involved with Grondo was quite typical for Kal. He was not the brains of any operation and needed a bigger head to guide him. So it was with great reluctance that I silently loosened my blaster from my hip holster under the cover of the plasform table covering. Without looking, my fingers activated the silencer, slowly clicking the button into place as I faked a cough.

The server interrupted our conversation with two glasses of Sherrinly on ice. It’s a potent liquor, one that I knew Kal enjoyed. He lifted his glass and downed it in greedy gulps. He’d never learned to savour the flavour and texture of the drink.

I sipped my drink slowly, allowing the ice to mingle with the spirit.

“When you see Grondo next, you can tell him from me that I didn’t wish to accept his ‘generous’ demand that I accept his hospitality.” I could see Kal struggling to make sense of my convoluted sentence. It was a kind of game I played to see if I could puzzle the lizard.

“You will tell him yourself. We will leave immediately.” Kal made a motion to stand, and I pulled the trigger. He slumped back in his chair, lifeless eyes staring at me.

I stood casually and adjusted my jacket, leaving a few credits on the table. “He just can’t handle his liquor,” I said to the server, before I quickly slipped out the back door. I wouldn’t be returning to this bar anytime soon. In fact, I decided that it was probably time I left the planet altogether.

Who said you can’t run forever? Well, you don’t need to run, you just need to stay one step ahead.