When the medics found him, Rollie was huddled behind an overturned table, arms wrapped around his knees, covered in someone else's blood, with his eyes squeezed shut. He was unsuccessfully trying to forget the last ten minutes of his life, but the images kept replaying over and over, no matter how much he willed them to stop.
About a dozen members of the crew, including DJ, Alex, Hicks, Bao-Jian, Jinx, himself and a few others, had decided to spend some of their impending bonuses having a good time, while the Captain arranged the sale of their salvage claim.
They had unanimously agreed that it was a good idea to maintain a low profile, so they'd decided to go to a semi private bar and gambling den in the Old Quarter. Housed in a decrepit looking building without windows on the lower level, it catered strictly to spacers, and a few locals with dubious reputations. For those who were interested, it offered dice, cards, mahjong, and a few games he'd never even heard of.
The gaming tables were right at the front as one came through the beaded curtain, with tables and booths near the back separated by the oval bar area in the middle.
The crew had taken over a corner at the back, and they were all looking forward to seeing how much Cameron would be able to wring out of their discovery. Rollie had suspected that DJ had some kind of inside information on what the Captain was going to get for the colony ship, because he was engaging in some pretty serious public displays of affection with Alex, and he was still sober.
Somewhere between the first and second round of drinks, Alex and Bao-Jian had gotten up to go get another round at the bar, when all Hell had let out for payday. There was no doubt in his mind, that the sound of automatic gunfire in an enclosed space was going to stay with him for years to come. It wasn't just deafeningly loud, it was concussive; something that could be felt, as well as heard.
What became evident later on, was that the three gunmen had split up, with one covering the front and the other two moving around the bar, allowing them to - theoretically - use their overlapping fields of fire to herd their victims into a lethal barrage.
There was no warning, the two men in dark coats had simply reached into them, pulled out their weapons and begun firing. Rollie had seen them, and had frozen in shock as they began firing.
Bao and Alex had been midway between the bar and their tables, and directly in the path of the first shots, and then Rollie's shock had turned to horror. Bao was hit with two bursts of three rounds each, one high, one low, and he was dead before his body had begun to fall.
Alex, showered with Bao-Jian's blood and brains, sprinted for their table. As DJ screamed at her to get down, he grabbed the edge of the table, ripped it off the stand to which it had been bolted, just in time to push Rollie down, as one of the killers put a burst through Alex's back. His aim was thrown off by her sudden acceleration, but three bullets struck her in the upper torso, and punched her to the floor in a writhing heap, coughing blood bubbles from a perforated lung.
The second gunman had been walking his own fire along the wall into crewmates who were sitting at tables in the open, and most of them were to shocked to do more than scream incoherently. Hicks was right next to Rollie behind the table, but he could only watch with horror as she did the unthinkable, and tried to surrender. He was sprayed with gore as she was slammed into the wall behind them by long bursts of automatic fire.
DJ saw Alex get hit, and his scream of pure, animal rage drowned out everything around him. He popped up with a speed that seemed impossible, and his hands were a blur as he pulled his jacket back, and drew his personal weapon from the cross-draw holster on his left hip, punching it out in front of himself like a striking snake. To Rollie, it seemed as though everyone else was moving in slow motion except for DJ.
He watched as his friend put two rounds through the face of the man who had just gunned down the most important person in his life, and with as little effort as possible, put two into the second man's chest, with another through his head for good measure. The third gunman had finished with the front half of the bar, and came around just in time to see DJ put down his second target, and he hesitated for just a split second.
Dirk didn't. He fired twice, striking his target in the lower abdomen, incapacitating him. Dirk slowly walked over to where the man was lying, mortally wounded, and asked him one thing.
"Who sent you? If you tell me, then I give you my word that I won't let you die gutshot." He said, in a voice cloaked in incredible serenity.
Rollie hadn't heard what answer the man had given, but Dirk had stood back a step, said "Thank you", and then shot the man in the forehead without warning.
When he turned around, his face was a mask of cold, raw, naked hatred, the like of which Rollie had never seen before, on anyone. He'd calmly walked back to where Alex lay dying, he took the Medalert tag off from around his neck, and placed it carefully around hers, then he pulled the tag off of the chain, activating it. He looked around and saw Rollie.
"Rollie. When they come, don't interfere, just tell them that she has to live, OK?" He said, in a voice aching with sadness, mingled with inconsolable rage.
Rollie could only nod his head furiously, he didn't trust himself to speak without screaming in horror at all he'd witnessed.
Dirk looked directly at him and said: "Thanks Rollie, tell Alex that I'm sorry I won't get to meet her parents." Then he stood up and walked out of the room, leaving Rollie to the horrors of his own memory. He backed himself into a corner behind the table, curled himself up, and shut his eyes.
He knew a monster when he saw one, and it had just walked out.
About a dozen members of the crew, including DJ, Alex, Hicks, Bao-Jian, Jinx, himself and a few others, had decided to spend some of their impending bonuses having a good time, while the Captain arranged the sale of their salvage claim.
They had unanimously agreed that it was a good idea to maintain a low profile, so they'd decided to go to a semi private bar and gambling den in the Old Quarter. Housed in a decrepit looking building without windows on the lower level, it catered strictly to spacers, and a few locals with dubious reputations. For those who were interested, it offered dice, cards, mahjong, and a few games he'd never even heard of.
The gaming tables were right at the front as one came through the beaded curtain, with tables and booths near the back separated by the oval bar area in the middle.
The crew had taken over a corner at the back, and they were all looking forward to seeing how much Cameron would be able to wring out of their discovery. Rollie had suspected that DJ had some kind of inside information on what the Captain was going to get for the colony ship, because he was engaging in some pretty serious public displays of affection with Alex, and he was still sober.
Somewhere between the first and second round of drinks, Alex and Bao-Jian had gotten up to go get another round at the bar, when all Hell had let out for payday. There was no doubt in his mind, that the sound of automatic gunfire in an enclosed space was going to stay with him for years to come. It wasn't just deafeningly loud, it was concussive; something that could be felt, as well as heard.
What became evident later on, was that the three gunmen had split up, with one covering the front and the other two moving around the bar, allowing them to - theoretically - use their overlapping fields of fire to herd their victims into a lethal barrage.
There was no warning, the two men in dark coats had simply reached into them, pulled out their weapons and begun firing. Rollie had seen them, and had frozen in shock as they began firing.
Bao and Alex had been midway between the bar and their tables, and directly in the path of the first shots, and then Rollie's shock had turned to horror. Bao was hit with two bursts of three rounds each, one high, one low, and he was dead before his body had begun to fall.
Alex, showered with Bao-Jian's blood and brains, sprinted for their table. As DJ screamed at her to get down, he grabbed the edge of the table, ripped it off the stand to which it had been bolted, just in time to push Rollie down, as one of the killers put a burst through Alex's back. His aim was thrown off by her sudden acceleration, but three bullets struck her in the upper torso, and punched her to the floor in a writhing heap, coughing blood bubbles from a perforated lung.
The second gunman had been walking his own fire along the wall into crewmates who were sitting at tables in the open, and most of them were to shocked to do more than scream incoherently. Hicks was right next to Rollie behind the table, but he could only watch with horror as she did the unthinkable, and tried to surrender. He was sprayed with gore as she was slammed into the wall behind them by long bursts of automatic fire.
DJ saw Alex get hit, and his scream of pure, animal rage drowned out everything around him. He popped up with a speed that seemed impossible, and his hands were a blur as he pulled his jacket back, and drew his personal weapon from the cross-draw holster on his left hip, punching it out in front of himself like a striking snake. To Rollie, it seemed as though everyone else was moving in slow motion except for DJ.
He watched as his friend put two rounds through the face of the man who had just gunned down the most important person in his life, and with as little effort as possible, put two into the second man's chest, with another through his head for good measure. The third gunman had finished with the front half of the bar, and came around just in time to see DJ put down his second target, and he hesitated for just a split second.
Dirk didn't. He fired twice, striking his target in the lower abdomen, incapacitating him. Dirk slowly walked over to where the man was lying, mortally wounded, and asked him one thing.
"Who sent you? If you tell me, then I give you my word that I won't let you die gutshot." He said, in a voice cloaked in incredible serenity.
Rollie hadn't heard what answer the man had given, but Dirk had stood back a step, said "Thank you", and then shot the man in the forehead without warning.
When he turned around, his face was a mask of cold, raw, naked hatred, the like of which Rollie had never seen before, on anyone. He'd calmly walked back to where Alex lay dying, he took the Medalert tag off from around his neck, and placed it carefully around hers, then he pulled the tag off of the chain, activating it. He looked around and saw Rollie.
"Rollie. When they come, don't interfere, just tell them that she has to live, OK?" He said, in a voice aching with sadness, mingled with inconsolable rage.
Rollie could only nod his head furiously, he didn't trust himself to speak without screaming in horror at all he'd witnessed.
Dirk looked directly at him and said: "Thanks Rollie, tell Alex that I'm sorry I won't get to meet her parents." Then he stood up and walked out of the room, leaving Rollie to the horrors of his own memory. He backed himself into a corner behind the table, curled himself up, and shut his eyes.
He knew a monster when he saw one, and it had just walked out.
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