Hurrikane
Slayer
- Joined
- Jan 28, 2006
- Posts
- 8,358
- Location
- Bristol
- Society
- GloryHound Irregulars
- Avatar Name
- Oscar Hurrikane SkyQuake
300 Paces
Gruff looked down at the old gun in his hands. Condensation formed on the blued steel in the cold morning air as he felt its weight once more. He raised his eyes to face his opponent, by chance at the same time the other man did the same. The meeting of the stares was brief, but each took away from it the knowledge that their adversary was ready.
They turned as one, and with a sigh from both, they started out. They did not stop at ten paces. Gruff had chosen the weapons. They would not stop until one hundred and fifty metres lay between them.
The argument had happened the previous day. Gruff had been mining in the southern wilds of Amethera when he was suddenly attacked by two drones. He came close to death but defeated them; Gruff was a miner, not a fighter, but in his youth he had swum, knife in hand, to the furthest reaches of each continent, an undertaking that rewarded him the loot of a battered Marber Bravo.
Years later and it was still the only gun he owned. Except for his knife, it was his only weapon, a souvenir from his wilder years that he mostly forgot he had. His life on Calypso was a peaceful one; he avoided trouble and steered clear of anything on his radar, red or green. So when the rogue robots threatened his life with no chance of escape, Gruff pulled out his keepsake and opened up five times, the last shot thudding into the second one he killed even after he’d heard it die.
He’d collected himself and started to ask questions of no-one. He couldn’t fathom how he might have strayed so far from his safe mining grounds to have come across the outskirts of a patrol. As he was chewing on this his eyes leapt to his radar. A Green Dot, and coming in quick. He looked all around him, rotating on the spot, scanning the area for cover he could get behind. He knew that anyone who ran towards you showed the confidence of arms, and if line-of-sight was achieved between them Gruff would soon be on a very painful trip to the revive terminal. While turning he saw it. A grey metal construction, reminding him of robot technology. He didn’t have time to think. The green dot was getting closer. He ran in the direction of the ridge the thing sat on, hoping to clear the lip and hide in the canyon below, his rifle at the ready.
Hearing footsteps running up the hill behind him, he barely noticed the large red button on the front of the strange device before jumping head-first over the ridge and into the shadows.
He landed in a heap, partly wedged between rocks; all the time it took to right himself and shoulder his rifle, he worried it was taking too long, then he knew it had. Unless the pursuer had given up, he should have crested the ridge by now.
Was it possible? Had the Green Dot been benign, unaware of what over-familiarity caused in the minds of those trying to stay live in the wilds?
After a few long seconds, Gruff had dared to stand, and hearing nothing, slowly crept up the dark side of the ridge towards the unusual object.
He took his time to focus in the warm noon light and then gasped audibly as he saw his pursuer, stood right in front of him, his armour shining as his weight shifted from one foot to the other. He was looking at the object.
Although until this point he was seemingly oblivious to an audience, the stranger turned and faced Gruff directly, the smoked glass of his visor giving nothing away.
“You know what this is?” asked the stranger with a metallic rasp.
Gruff was taken aback. Conversation was not what he’d expected from someone so well-attired.
“No. It appeared while I was mining. Two robots were here as well.”
“And you killed them?”
“Yes”, answered Gruff.
The stranger chuckled, then appeared to catch himself.
“Then you won’t mind if I do this”, said the stranger, reaching toward the device and pressing the red button. Immediately came a fanfare of sirens and a hatch opened in the front of the device, inside which Gruff could see something, something with handles. The stranger reached inside and pulled out the bounty; a Beacon. These were highly prized among elite sportsmen who had come to find sport in the summoning and ransacking of stray Robot factory ships which ended up in our atmosphere. This was a rich prize to uncover.
"Everyone gets lucky once in a while," said the stranger with a note of pleasure.
As soon as the Beacon was removed, the strange structure quickly came apart, piece by piece, accelerating through a cycle of self-destruction that ended with little more than fragments littering the grass. Gruff was astounded. The money from that Beacon would keep him going for a half-year, he imagined. He congratulated the stranger on his lucrative discovery and watched him leave with a spring in his step, and decided then to stop mining for the day. It had been a long shift so far before all of this drama, and packing up his stuff and heading into a town didn’t seem a bad plan.
Several hours later saw Gruff propping up a stool in Fort Fury Bar. He was talking to a drinking partner about his day, and was just about to describe the stranger when the man in question appeared in the doorway, entering with a rowdy entourage. As he called out for champagne for his friends, Gruff pointed him out to his.
“That’s the guy,” said Gruff. His friend had put his hand on Gruff’s shoulder.
“If what you tell me happened how it did,” said the friend, conspiratorially.
“Yes my good sir?” said Gruff with a grin and raised eyebrow, playing along with the apparent air of espionage.
“Then that’s the guy all right. That’s the guy who owes you enough PED to quit work for the summer” said the friend, his eyes not leaving the new arrival as he toasted his finely-dressed hangers-on.
The friend then went on to explain to Gruff that Robot Ships, for that is what he had found, were attracted to, and then subsequently discovered by mining equipment. They were one of the rare gifts bestowed on miners with enough pluck to defeat the minimal guard that attends them, and in some cases held beacons worth thousands.
“Like that one”, said Gruff grimly.
He crossed the floor before his friend had stood to try and stop him rising. The challenge was issued less than an inch from the stranger’s face, and Gruff didn’t check his spittle. He only faltered when the seemingly unflappable stranger asked Gruff for the choice of weapons. Not a knife, he thought. He was no brawler. It would have to be it, then. The only gun he had.
“Marber” said Gruff.
The stranger blinked and then his mouth dropped into a grin so condescending it seemed to be falling down a flight of stairs. He allowed himself a guffaw, which Gruff noted actually sounded like it was spelt.
“Marber you say.” The stranger turned to his throng.
“The man wants a duel, and Marbers are his choice. Shall I accept?” The party-going troupe broke into smiles and head-turning as they took in the information. There was evidently a joke that Gruff didn’t get as laughing soon followed, coupled with various cries of encouragement for the stranger to acknowledge the duel.
“I shall give you one more chance to show some intelligence” sneered the stranger. Gruff nodded, not sure what was coming.
“You are asking me to duel to the death, and for the weapon you have declared only Marbers?” asked the Stranger, voicing his words carefully and deliberately.
“Now you’re repeating yourself,” said Gruff, to camp cries from the stranger’s crowd.
“That is what you agree to?” the stranger continued.
“That is what I said,” answered Gruff.
“Then, my friend, I accept. Tomorrow at dawn.”
“Thank you.” Said Gruff, wondering what the hell he’d got himself into.
“Can I ask before you leave… is that a Bravo model you have strapped to your back? One of the early ones?” asked the stranger to titters from behind him.
“Yes,” answered Gruff, not in the mood for whatever game this man played.
“Then I, and my recently acquired Tango, will be more than happy to test it’s performance in the field. No doubt you have it heavily amplified?”
Gruff paused a second before saying anything. He’d messed up. The top model Marber was so prohibitively expensive he hadn’t even contemplated that this partying clown might possess one. Over twice as powerful as his own gun.
“I have no amplifiers.”
The stranger’s cronies bent in excited whispers. Gruff clearly heard the phrase “dead meat”. That night was a long one.
Now it was dawn and the last few steps of his walk were in front of him. He kept the same steady, slow pace he had begun with. They would turn, face and fire, all at once, but only when they had declared themselves to be far enough away.
Together, the two combatants cried “Ready”.
Gruff whirled on one foot, sighting along the un-adorned barrel, the stock jammed into his shoulder, Without time to think of anything other than “line it up, fire!” he pulled the trigger the instant the shape of his opponent blurred around the chipped gunsight. As he did so he heard a mightier sound than his; the roar of the Tango. He saw a blinding flash sear past his head, scorching his cheek. He squinted at his enemy, to see how badly he was hit, but saw no damage at all. The stranger held his weapon still trained on Gruff. It took a couple of seconds for Gruff to realise what was happening. He was waiting for the reload. Gruff shouldered his weapon again, his rifle ready to fire once more, and let off another shot marked by it’s urgency rather than accuracy. Another miss. Thinking he might not have the time, he gleefully managed another shot from the Bravo before the larger gun reloaded, but his joy soon faded when he saw he had missed again. Three times in a row. He was starting to curse his luck when the blast from the Tango hit him. The pain was indescribable. His vision was taken by intense light, and he fell broken to his knees. Through a closing eye he peered at his wrist-held display. 112 damage. His whole health, gone. Not a critical hit or even a maxed one, let alone with amplification of the sort the stranger could evidently afford. That sort of damage, from a weapon that powerful, had to indicate shortcomings in its operator. Gruff tried to breathe, but it seemed all was lost. The waves of pain crashed in on him, losing his own perception of his form. He found his arm again, and did all he could to focus on the display, to see his life end. It had taken some of the brunt of the hit, and was lagging the readouts slowly up the screen. He saw the hit still, followed by two green messages; he had increased his agility and his alertness. He felt a low chuckle inside himself. He’d never felt less agile or alert. The pink message made his pained eyes widen, and blink into focus.
You have gained additional Health!
He looked up, to see what was now a familiar sight; the stranger, weapon still raised, waiting for his lengthy reload.
Gruff stood. He had no time to heal himself. His health hung by a fraction. He raised his rifle once more, noting that his ammo count was thirty-one. Not enough for more than one shot.
“Make this count!” he said through dry lips as he squeezed the trigger. Almost instantly after the round went off a loud tone emitted from the gun itself, causing Gruff to look dartingly down to his wrist display. “Critical,” he whispered.
He braced himself for the shot that never came. Looking through the plasma-smoke, he saw he had won. The stranger lay prone, his gun a short distance away. Gruff strolled back 300 paces. He checked the stranger’s display, pulling back a richly embroidered sleeve to do so.
“198. Highest possible damage from an un-amped Bravo. How about that,” said Gruff, letting the arm drop to the ground. He looked at the body a little longer, almost believing he heard the ghostly howls of the recently departed, before gazing at his gun once more.
“Never under-estimate your enemy, my friend,” said Gruff, pausing only to remove what was left of the cash from the stranger’s coat pocket, which in total was more than he knew the Beacon to be worth. Gruff weighed up the situation and decided to proceed with the same amount of respect as given. He hung his gun across his shoulder and headed back into town. He smiled to himself, patting the stock of his gun with his dangling hand.
“Everyone gets lucky once.”
Hurrikane
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as usual my freind, very nice.
