Empire of Two Worlds

I didn’t stop to ask questions. “Let’s get to the car,” I said. We left through the back door that opened on a side alley, at the end of which our vehicle was parked.

The raiders had already put a man in the alley to nab us if we came out, but I guess he didn’t expect us so soon. As it was I practically came out firing. The bullets from his gun showered powder from the soft stone of the wall near my head, while mine sent him sprawling right up against the back of the alley.

“Let’s push out of here fast,” Hersh said as we jumped in the vehicle. I remember he was a spry little guy who never liked to take chances he couldn’t calculate.

“No,” I said.

As we came out of the alley, I saw that two bigger cars were parked on the other side of Mud Street, looking like humpbacked beetles against the massive rise of the bastion. The cars were occupied; not all the newcomers were inside the gaming rooms.

I swung round and crashed the car into the entrance, blocking it. Then I flung open the nearside door and we piled out, back into the gaming room.

There were four gunmen in there. Apparently they thought they already had the place secure. Our customers — those who were still alive — were streaming out the back way. Good, I thought, now the back way’s blocked too.

I only had a handgun, firing heavy, solid slugs. Hersh had a repeater he’d grabbed just before we left — as a matter of fact it was the only repeater in Klamer’s gang. He sprayed the club with it, shooting down raiders and clients indiscriminately.

The gunplay only lasted seconds, but it made the kind of racket that seems to last an eternity and makes everything confused. Finally I realised the only gun firing was my own. The four outsiders were dead. So was Hersh and the other guy — I forget his name now. The club was empty.

I took a quick look through the front entrance, peering through the car’s windows to the outside. The two strangers were still in position. Our vehicle was jammed solidly in the doorway and I didn’t think they’d move it in a hurry. So I upended a table and took up a position covering the way in from the back.

Just about now it began to occur to me that perhaps after all I hadn’t been so smart. I was cornered and my only hope was that Klamer would turn up with reinforcements, which knowing Klamer I wasn’t too sure of. I wondered who the raiders were. Maybe they had it in for Klamer.

Something moved the curtain at the back of the room. I fired. A body slumped down, bulging the curtain awkwardly.

Silence. A long wait that strained my nerves. I glanced behind me, at the car stuffed through the doorway. But I felt fairly safe from that quarter. I was out of the line of fire from the door and to come through they would have to clamber with difficulty through the car from door to door.

I was wrong. Even while I looked there was a sudden blast and part of the wall caved in.

I just gaped. Dust billowed into the room and obscured everything. When it cleared they were in, pointing their repeaters at me. And I felt pretty foolish.

They looked around, at the bodies on the floor, and clearly weren’t pleased. One of them turned back to me, an expression of sublime unpleasantness on his face.

“Well, well. Look what we got here.”

Slowly I stood up, the gun hanging limp in my hand. Nasty-Face came towards me, leaned forward and took it from my fingers. He put it in his pocket and then stepped back, looking at me with a gloating smile and pointing his repeater at my belly.

Just then another figure came stepping carefully over the rubble, knocking the falling dust from his shoulders. They all got out of his way respectfully while he inspected the scene.

Finally his gaze turned to me, and for the first time I came face to face with Becmath. He was a dapper figure a little below medium height, neat and careful in his movements. He wore clothes which kind of squared off his shoulders; his face, too, had a square look to it. His black hair was combed sideways and plastered down. He stared at me speculatively with his small, almost-black eyes that sometimes seemed to glitter strangely when they looked at you.

“Are you the guy who drove the car?” he said in a flat baritone voice. I nodded.

“Pretty good going.” He sauntered over to one of the bodies, turned it over with his foot. “Too bad about Heth. He was a good worker.” He glanced up at me again from beneath raised eyebrows. “You work for Klamer?”

“Yes.”

“Not any more. Klamer’s dead. From now on Mud Street is part of my territory.”

“You sure think big,” I spat out.

Strangely, he appeared not to notice the insult. “Pity we had to spoil the place,” he said. “Still, it wasn’t up to much anyway, was it?”

“Shall I finish off this klug, boss?” Nasty-Face asked eagerly?”

“What? No, I like the guy! Sitting in my car, the minute I saw him come round that corner I thought to myself, for once somebody around here’s got brains. That’s pretty rare, isn’t it?’” He jabbed a finger at me: “What’s your name?”

“Klein.”