#TeamSpaceWestern - Part Seven: Finale

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"Ha, and what about health risks? The things glow green, for Spock's sake! Are they radioactive or what? Radiation's supposed to limit the damage your lungs suffer from smoking?"

William shudders exaggeratedly. Dave raises an eyebrow, but we never get to hear his answer. Outside, shouting and running footsteps announce trouble. Lin jumps up, her guns pointed towards the entrance.

A man in the uniform of station security awkwardly passes the double doors, both hands held aloft. He bites his lower lip, and beads of sweat cover his pale forehead. Understandable, as behind him and pressing a gun against his jaw walks a tall cyborg, a black hat and long dark coat only partially concealing shiny metal body parts and scarred human skin.

"No one moves, or our friend bites the dust. Drop your toys, lady, before someone gets hurt."

Lin hesitantly follows the order. Her guns clatter to the floor with a metallic sound. The cyborg nods and takes a step to the left, dragging his hostage with him. He whistles between perfectly shaped gold teeth set in steel jaws.

"Come in, boys, follow plan B."

Great, the ominous plan B of some criminal gang involves Last Frontier Saloon. I don't dare to move, like everyone else. The hostage wears the uniform of lower deck security. I can't remember the guy's name, but Lin seems to know him. Seven almost identical Jameses file into the Saloon, followed by two silver-haired cyborgettes. They're definitely not from here around, I'd remember so much shiny black plastic in voluptuous curves. The dark cyborg, obviously the man in charge, presents another artificial grin.

"Very well. If you all keep quiet, we won't have to hurt anyone. Or not very much. Me and my friends just need temporary shelter while Eleven opens a way to the docks. Go, Eleven."

With a curt nod and bouncing silver hair, one of the cyborgettes checks the outside and is gone.

The leader turns back to us. "Well, this is a saloon, serve us some drinks. And I believe there's supposed to be music in such establishments? We want to have fun while waiting for our ride. Oh, before you get your hopes up, we've sealed off this section of the deck, so no one is going to disturb us anytime soon."

I bite down on a curse, place new glasses onto the counter and turn to the shelf for another bottle. The big mirror reflects the unfolding drama.

Cyborg points at Lyddie. "Let the girl do the serving. She's too young for tri—"

Salty jumps up, his lasso unfurling with a sharp sizzle. Before he can use it, the second plastic girl releases a blue flash bolt from her left index finger. Her aim is true. Like a sparkling fireball, the bolt twirls around the lasso string. It lights up in an orange flame and Salty drops his end with a yelp. The stench of burnt skin fills the room.

Dave reacts quickly. While everybody still stares at the coils of lasso smouldering on the floor, he shoves young Lyddie in my direction. The girl is clearly in shock, eyes wide and mouth agape. I pull her behind the counter and make her hunch down beside my legs, in the shelter of the bar. I welded the thing myself from solid steel plates, the discarded hull of a freighter, it already withstood a lot of shooting.

Cyborg-girl still points her elegant finger at Salty, and her master addresses him with a crooked grin.

"Dyin' ain't much of a livin', boy, stay put. Now, do we get these drinks?"

With an almost steady hand, I pour booze. Jen takes over with her trademark swing of the hips and a perfect fake smile. She picks up the tray to serve our unwanted guests.

"Tequila anyone?"

While Jen professionally flashes her long lashes at the gang-leader, Lyddie shivers beneath the counter.

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