The Green Knight (Space Lore Book 1) Read Free Page A

patron’s pocket and laughed until the wallet was inevitably found and another fight ensued. If one of the brawls got too close to their table, they all lumbered out from the booth and partook in the fun.
    As they watched, a woman in her late twenties, maybe the same age as Vere, came running through the door. She didn’t make it six feet before she bumped into a Gthothch, an ungainly alien with short legs but a long torso and arms. The Gthothch also had no hair, almost no neck, and skin the texture of stone. When she jostled him, the Gthothch jerked forward and splashed his drink all over himself. Growling, the stone alien turned to see who would pay for the rudeness. But in her rush the woman was oblivious to the accident she had caused and was already darting from table to table, looking for a specific customer.
    Instead of confronting her, the Gthothch turned around and found a pack of MaqMacs, a tiny alien race known for their mining abilities. Of course, he blamed them for the spilled drink. The Gthothch roared. With one blow of his fist, he smashed the nearest table to bits. Most of the MaqMacs offered little bleats as they scurried away. But the leader, or at least the one wanting to make a name for himself, calmly pulled out his blaster and aimed it at the Gthothch’s granite face. The unfortunate alien couldn’t read Basic and didn’t know a Treagon barrier prevented such weapons from working. Instead of a laser blast hitting the stone giant’s forehead and leaving a smoking hole, the blaster only clicked each time the MaqMac pulled the trigger.
    “Poor little guy,” Fastolf said as he and Vere and the others at their table watched.
    A’la Dure nodded and rolled her eyes. In addition to not speaking, she rarely showed emotion—other than slight contempt or disdain—one of the reasons she was a perfect fit in the group.
    Occulus, the only member of the group with gray hair, sighed and said, “Poor little guy, indeed.”
    Fastolf pushed money into the middle of table and pointed at the Gthothch.
    “It’s not even your money,” Vere said, knowing it belonged to someone who didn’t even know they were missing it.
    “Neither is yours!” was the only retort he could come up with.
    No one would take the bet because it was obvious what would happen. Everyone except the MaqMac, who kept clicking the blaster’s trigger over and over, knew how things would turn out. By now, the MaqMac’s confidence was gone and his tiny shoulders were slumped. The blaster began shaking uncontrollably in his hands.
    “No fighting!” the bartender yelled, first in Basic, then in every other alien language he knew.
    The Gthothch tore the useless blaster from the little miner’s hand, crushing it into scrap metal and tossing it behind him. Then he lurched forward, snatching the MaqMac off the ground with one hand. The MaqMac’s torso was so dainty that the Gthothch’s stone fingers wrapped around it with ease. The outcome was obvious. The only question was in its specificity. Would the Gthothch tear the miner’s head off, rip his body in two, crush his chest cavity and leave him as a puddle of goo, or perhaps throw him all the way to the other side of the bar?
    A pair of Watchneens observed the fracas with glowing red eyes. Watchneens were the only known alien race whose blood was energy rather than liquid, and red flashes pulsed under their transparent skin as they approached the Gthothch. During the disruption, the Watchneens’ drinks had been knocked over. Seeing that it was unlikely there would be an apology forthcoming, the Watchneens tackled the Gthothch. As soon as they did, the MaqMac scurried away with a series of bleeps and was gone.
    “Well, I didn’t see that happening,” Fastolf said, retrieving his money from the table too quickly for anyone to make a counter wager.
    Everyone else near the Gthothch and the pair of Watchneens moved away to give the aliens room to settle their differences.
    “No