CHAPTER ONE: BLOOD AT SUNDOWN
CHAPTER ONE: BLOOD AT SUNDOWN
The sign above the bar read, "Welcome to Cassini's Saloon - est. 2020." A sixteen year old sign wasn't enough to hold Osiris' attention for long as the saloon owner's wife, the curvaceous Mrs. Chicarro, drifted into view. The wiggle of her hips coincided with the sway of her breasts. Her long auburn hair only added to the sensual rhythm. Osiris smiled as he enjoyed the show.
He tossed back a shot of Creatures' Highland Whiskey and waited for the burning sensation to die down before taking another. Nothing got the taste of the Martian dust out of your mouth better than a stiff, strong drink. The only thing is, Creatures was a step up from that - it didn't just numb your taste buds but it thrashed them about for a bit before spitting on the remains.
"Care for another drink?" Mrs. Chicarro smiled back at Osiris. She leaned forward against the bar, fully aware of the cleavage that she was revealing. "Or do you have something else on your mind?" Her smile, and the hint of what it might promise, could melt all of the Martian ice on the distant polar caps.
"What would Mr. Chicarro say?"
"Andre? Why bring him into this?" She raised a finger to Osiris' lips to stop him from saying another word. "You know I only have," she paused as she lean further forward revealing a small rose shaped tattoo on the inside of her right breast, "eyes for you."
"I'll have some of what this old rust-eater is having." A large, hairy hand reached out and grabbed Mrs. Chicarro by the arm pulling her away from Osiris. She struggled but couldn't escape the man's vice-like grip. His hands seemed tiny when compared to the rest of him - he was an immense bear of a man with long, oily black hair and a wild beard. Fortunately, one benefit of the beard was that it hid most of the numerous scars that criss-crossed his face. His sloppy appearance was rivalled only by his aroma of machinery grease and unrefined oil.
"Let her go, Barnaby." Osiris stood up to confront Jacob Barnaby, but he stopped once he felt the muzzle of a blaster pistol sticking in his belly.
"Or you'll do what? I've been aching for an excuse to fry you." Jacob Barnaby smiled an evil, yellowish grin. "I still remember the beating you gave me last week. I plan to return the favour, and then some."
"A condemned man is usually allowed one last drink. Do you mind?"
"Nah, but do it slow. Any sudden moves and I'll fry you here and possibly hurt pretty Maria in the process. Neither of us would want that to happen. I might have some use for her afterwards." Barnaby's lecherous smile sent chills down Maria's spine. She winced as Barnaby tightened his grip on her arm pulling her closer for a better view. "I see one rose. I wonder if there is a bouquet of them anywhere else?" His eyes burned with lust as he ogled her cleavage.
Osiris saw his chance. He threw his glass of Martian whiskey into Barnaby's face with one hand, while he unsheathed his Martian warblade that hung at the back of his belt in an elaborate scabbard. It was a two-foot long, curved weapon favoured by the wild tribes of Martian Devils. With a quick fluid motion, the blade flickered. Barnaby's fist let go of Maria as it fell to the floor. Blood splattered the bar as a shocked Barnaby could do nothing but stare at his severed hand.
Osiris didn't give him time to remember that he still had a blaster in his other hand. The warblade whistled as it sliced through the air and slashed open Barnaby's fat gut. Barnaby joined his dismembered hand on the floor as Osiris watched with grim satisfaction. He then wiped the blood from his blade with Barnaby's hat and spoke, "You better get Doc Christensen, Maria. Barnaby isn't long for this world."
"Mr. Wilde! Now what have you done?" A short man with a long narrow nose that appeared to be perched precariously above a pencil-thin, black moustache entered the room from the back storeroom. This was Maria's husband and owner of the saloon, Andre Chicarro. Some say Andre won the saloon in a poker game while others say the original owner was all too happy to be rid of it and return to an easier life in Mars' greatest settlement, Lowellian City.
"No, Andre! Mr. Wilde is a hero! He saved me from that beast." Maria wrung her hands together in an attempt to stop them from shaking. Her stomach churned at the thought of what might have been if Osiris hadn't intervened.
Andre placed his arm around his wife and sighed. "Once again you have my thanks, Mr. Wilde. You better lay low for a while though. I'm sure the local Confederacy will not be as understanding as us."
Osiris just nodded and collected his belongings from the nearby bar stool. He flipped a credit chip to Andre. "Keep my room clean. I'll be back once things quiet down. You can add the required bribes to the authorities on my expense account."
Andre checked the credit amount on the chip. Once satisfied to its amount, he continued, "I wouldn't dream of renting out your room. But beware the Barnaby Brothers - they'll certainly be out for blood now."
Osiris tipped his hat and walked out of the door just as Dr Christensen entered. He could hear the good doctor try his best to help Jacob Barnaby but it was too late. Wilde didn't mourn Barnaby's passing one bit, but he knew there would have to be a reckoning, so he had better keep his wits about him. The Barnabys were the type to shoot you in the back for looking at them cross-eyed, let alone killing one of their kin.
Osiris quickly made his way, via the back streets, to the town's best machinist shop and stables which was run by the closest thing he had to a friend in town - Sotaro Jones - five and a half feet of mechanical genius tempered by his Welsh emotions and his Japanese diligence. The man could fix anything and was the only person he truly trusted in this god-forsaken blip of a town.
It wasn't like Osiris went out of his way to create enemies, but they always seemed to find him. For the time being, he wanted to avoid the other Barnaby Brothers, especially since news tended to travel fast in the town of Independence. He didn't want any complications with the Confederate Defence Forces either. Neither group was the sympathetic kind to an old rust-eater like Osiris - the only thing either of them cared about was lining their own pockets with as much cash as possible. That's not to say all Confederate peace officers were crooked. Let's just say that the honest ones were the exception instead of the rule.
The Martian frontier was a harsh mistress and she had broken many men who thought they could tame her. It took a rust-eater like Osiris to come to an understanding with her just to survive. Many weren't as fortunate or as determined. Osiris' train of thought was suddenly broken when he heard footsteps behind him. Instinctively, he drew his old Cardinal C30 Blaster Pistol as he spun around to confront his attackers...
To his surprise he saw two frightened people who quickly thrust their arms high into the air. Their body language and mannerisms betrayed their origins - they were terranfoots - new arrivals to Mars from Earth. "Please, there's no need for violence. We're no threat." They slowly lowered their arms as Osiris watched them with a cautious eye.
"I saw you two at Cassini's. What do two terranfoots want with me?" Osiris lowered his pistol but didn't holster it. His eyes quickly scanned the area around them in case this was a set-up. You couldn't be too careful when your life was on the line.
The older man brushed the sweat from his eyes and introduced himself. "I'm Augustin Silver and this is my pupil, Stephanie Blaine. We are archivists from Lowellian City in need of your expertise."
"Archivists! Damn, I've had enough help from your kind when I was a kid. No thanks. Go back to your Hive with your libraries and books, and leave me alone." Osiris holstered his pistol and started to walk away. "Your kind has caused me nothing but trouble."
The young, attractive redhead turned to her mentor. "I told you he wouldn't care. His breed only care for the basest of desires. We're wasting our time with him. We must..."
Archivist Silver raised his hand and his youthful apprentice became quiet. "If we can't expect help from Osiris Shiloh Wilde himself, then we might as well give up now. The artifact must be protected from those who would exploit it for their own gain."
Osiris stopped in his tracks when he heard the Archivist speak his full name. While his full name may be known to the Confederacy and a few choice enemies, he wasn't used to hearing it from complete strangers, especially while in the back streets of Independence. He walked to the elderly Archivist and looked him straight in the eye. "I don't know you and yet, you seem to know me. I think we need find a better place to talk. Come with me."
"Where are we going?" asked the curious student while her teacher remained as stoic as ever.
"To see a man about a wagon." Osiris left it at that as he led the way.
A cloud of heavy smoke hung in the air. The familiar smell of dried Martian swamp root lingered among the odours of oil and grease. The rhythmic sound of metal hitting metal echoed from the back of the shop, interrupted occasionally with bursts of profanity. The spacious shop was a motley assortment of advanced technology mixed with low-tech equipment.
"Hey 'Speedy', are you decent?" Osiris grinned as he leaned against a large sheet of molded metal. "You have company."
A short, bald man with a dark goatee came into view. His green eyes beamed with mischievousness as he puffed on his hand-rolled cigarette. "I'm never decent. At least that's what my three wives keep telling me."
Osiris sniffed at the air, and then smiled at his old friend. "Still smoking that obnoxious weed?"
"Hey, when you have three wives you need something to get rid of the headaches."
"Then why marry them in the first place if they were going to cause you that much grief?" asked the young archivist, Stephanie.
Sotaro checked out the young woman from top to bottom, making sure he paused at the appropriate places for emphasis. Her non-descript shirt and trousers only highlighted the natural beauty that her curves suggested. He winked at her as he explained, "Life is a game of balance. You have to take the good with the bad. Just when you think you're on top, life will remind you who's the boss and knock you down a notch. A wife is just the personification of the process. The way I figure it - if I stack the deck against me, I'm sure to luck out in the end."
"Put your eyes back in their sockets, Speedy." Osiris placed an arm around his friend's shoulders. "She's spoken for - she's an archivist."
"Married to her research, you mean. Heh, that's okay. She's a bit young for me anyways." Sotaro watched as Stephanie blushed under his scrutiny. "So, Osiris... What can I do you for this time?"
"I need to borrow a Conestoga Hoverskid for a bit."
"You going to pay the bill this time?"
Osiris smiled. "I believe Archivist Silver will cover any of your costs. You better add a couple horses as well since we'll probably need them."
Silver cleared his throat before he spoke, "We are only poor archivists who value knowledge above monetary funds..."
"Quit your belly-aching. This is vital equipment if you want to make it to Lowellian City in one piece. The horses are a backup should we run foul of a magnetic storm. You don't want to be stuck out in the middle of nowhere on the Martian Highlands without any mode of transportation. You would be sitting ducks for any nearby Martian Devil." Osiris watched as the older archivist paid Sotaro for the necessary equipment. "Now, tell me what is so important that you need to get to Lowellian City so badly."
Archivist Silver opened his satchel. He pulled a small stone sculpture that resembled a distorted head with a predominant forehead and a pointed jaw. Silver positively beamed with pride as he held the Martian artifact in his hands. "I believe this is a relic from a True Martian settlement that I've located. This will help convince the Archivist Hive that the True Martians were real and not just a myth."
Osiris gazed at the stone mockery of a face as his memory drifted back twelve years prior. He would never forget the first time he stared a True Martian face to face as it were. He was on the run from a Confederate Slave Gang, convicted of a crime that he didn't commit, when he found himself lost on the Martian Highlands.
The Highlands were dangerous at the best of times, but he had been as green as a terranfoot, which meant he had no chance of survival. He had stumbled across a pack of wild lizard-like pack animals known as 'Drajka'. They would have eagerly torn him apart if a tall, thin figure hadn't stepped into view. Its stone-like features showed no emotion as it looked directly at Osiris. He could feel its multi-faceted crimson eyes peering right through him. The vicious nature of the 'Drajka' changed immediately as they scattered away in fright. Osiris wanted to do the same but he was too scared to run. He snapped out of his flashback when Sotaro called his name.
"The Hoverskid is ready. You better get going. I heard the Barnaby Brothers calling for your hide on the CommNet. They're out for blood this time."
Osiris didn't say a word. He just nodded and climbed aboard the Conestoga. The Archivists quickly joined him.
Sotaro watched his best friend drive into the night. He knew Osiris had had many dangerous adventures but this time, something told him that this was different. Anything to do with True Martians just brought bad luck. He lit another cigarette and went back to work.
The dull green neon sign read, "Doc Christensen's Frontier Surgery."
The surgery was a long, narrow two story building with a plate-like exterior to better protect it against the Martian dust storms. The interior shared the same dull green ambience as the outside sign. A rotund man in his late forties, with short black hair and a receding hairline sat at his desk drinking shot after shot of GlenVenusan Whiskey. Doc Christensen slammed down a few more drinks, his hand trembled with each one.
The outer door buzzer startled the Doc and made him spill his liquid courage. He cursed his bad luck as he got up to answer the door. He had a good idea of who it was at this hour at night, and his gut was telling him not to answer. But the responsibilities of being the only doctor in the region boosted his courage. He walked to the front door and tapped the access code into the side panel. The door quickly opened
A dirty hand reached inwards and grabbed the Doctor by his collar. He was thrown back into the dimly illuminated hallway. Alphonso Barnaby cursed his name as he picked up the Doctor and threw him again, but this time against the far wall. Alphonso's whiskey bottle shattered into a million shards of glass as it barely missed the good doctor's head. Alphonso continued to shout his frustrations in full fury, "What do you mean you couldn't save him?! I'll cut you up good for that, you useless drunk."
"That's enough of that, Al. We don't want to kill the Doc..." A portly man dressed in black put his hand on his thin brother's shoulder. The rage in Alphonso's face didn't subside, but his actions did. Even Alphonso knew not to disagree with his older brother, Oliver. "...not yet. He might prove to be some use to us."
Doc Christensen stammered to get his words out, "O-O-Osiris W-W-Wilde killed your brother. I-I-I did what I c-c-c-could do but I w-w-w-was too late." The Doc's hands were shaking. He ignored the broken glass that still rested in his hair.
"Come on, Al. We've wasted enough time with this drunken excuse for a doctor. Load Jacob's body on the wagon. The Barnabys take care of their own, dead or alive." He glared down at the terrified Christensen. "Just remember, Doc. Next time a Barnaby needs medical attention you better do a darn sight better job."
Outside, Alphonso laid Jacob's body in the back of their vehicle and pulled a cover over him. Turning back to his older brother he inquired, "So why'd we leave Doc alive?"
"I don't care about him, he's not important. There's only one person we're after." Oliver hissed Osiris Wilde's name as though it were a curse. "That son-of-a-bitch is as good as dead."
TO BE CONTINUED...
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