The bartender looked through the glass he was polishing , then added it to the stack on the bar back.
He was worried and scared, and he was anxious for the night to end. Nobody ws talking and the saloon was half-full.
Pontius was there,seated at a table in the corner with Staffa and Gerakken.The bartender knew them all, and not favrably. He wanted them to leave, but was far too wise a man to order them out. Pontius was drinking, and the bartender knew what that meant, though as yet he had not had much.
The bartender had just picked up another glass when the door opened. He looked that way and felt something freeze up tight within him. At first glance he thought the newcomer was Plephart, but this man was heavier. He wore his hair down to his shoulders, and there was a scar running from his ear to his throat.
He wore two-tied down anti-matter pistols and his vest was open, showing the butt of a third. He was dusty and unkempt, and paused momentarily in the door to let his eyes grow accustomed to the light. His nose had been broken in more than one fight, and there was a wild, reckless look about him that made the barkeep's heart skip a beat. He came on to the bar, spurs jingling, a powerful man with the movements of a stalking lion.
"Rye," he said, then let his eyes drift over the room. They found Pontius and rested there, then examined Gerakken and Staffa.
Staffa saw him first, and spoke in an undertone to the others.
Looking at Pontius the man spoke, "Folks over on Crassius said somebody on this planet is hunting a Mid-Westerner."
"So?" It was Pontius who spoke.
I'm Zoshan of the Mid-Western Empire and I've come a fur piece jus to he'p my kin."
Pontius had not yet had too much to drink, but what he had was working on him. What sanity remained warned him that the bounty was to kill Plephart. Furthermore, there was nothing about this big, uncurried wolf that appealed to him. The name Zoshan had rung a bell...it was a name known wherever intergalactic smugglers and criminals congregated, from the Sol system all the way to the outer belt.
The word that came over the grapevine was loud and clear: Zoshan? Leave him alone.
We're not hunting you," Pontius replied evenly.
"Mister, you are hunting a Mid-Westerner, an the one you're hunting would, man to man, make you eat that phaser gun you're packin." Howsoever, when you hunt one Mid-Westerner, you just naturally make the rest of us feel the urge.
"Now I don't know if I can find Plep before the rest of GROSS does, so I figured to trim off the edges, like. You look maverick to me, so I figured to put the Mid-Western brand on you."
There were five other GROSS bounty hunters in the room.
For the first time in his life, Pontius was prepared to talk himself out of a fight. He was a moneyfighter, and there was nothing in this but trouble with a capital T. He started to speak, but the butt of his phaser was only inches from his hand. Suddenly, he thought, The hell with it! And he grabbed the bone handle of his phaser pistol.
Pontius eye was quick and accurate, but he never saw the draw that killed him. He saw Zoshan's hand move and then he was blinded by a stabbing light.
What....? He wanted to know what was happening to him, but only the dead could have told him.
The bartender at he moment of drawing had thrown himself to the floor. The roar of weapon fire filled the room, along with multihued lights-then silence. When the bartender looked up Zoshan was standing over a young GROSS pirate who had lost his gun in the excitement. It was inches from his hand.
"Go ahead , son," Zoshan said mildly, "pick it up. No one gets to live forever."
The young GROSS gunman wanted to pick it up and kill him. His thrist for revenge and his ambition told him to do it. But his body had better sense, and his muscles refused to resond. Slowly, he sagged back away from the neutron blaster. Zoshan shook his head reprovingly. "Son, you take it from me. Don't ever tie one of those on again. Somebody will feed it to you."
He turned back to the bar and was startled to see a tall elegant young man in a tailored broadcloth suit, a black planter's hat, and Earth-made boots holding an anti-matter gun on another table of GROSS pirates.
Without averting his eyes from the men at the table the stranger said," How are you Zoshan? I am Tim, a fellow Mid-Westerner from Sol."
Zoshan smiled, "A Sol Mid-Westerner? I have heard of' em. Never did meet up with one before."
Tim grinned back. "These lads were getting restless. It seemed a good idea to restrain them. I'll buy a drink and if the GROSS boys get fractious, we'll share and share alike."
Only if you let us in," came a voice from the door. They turned to face the newcomers. Plephart and Jon50, newly arrived walked across the bar, and were greeted.
[Message Edited]
Stardock Forums
MWC climbs back into third place! 
). We passed up the Euros today and have our sights set on the Undead Canadians, only 8000 points away. And the gap between us and the mortal enemies of the people for which we stand, GROSS, continues to narrow! 
Never thought of it as character but hey why not.
