In Clint’s mind, there is a concept of repayment. If you do something for him, he will do something for you. But, because he is Clint, his idea of repayment is that he owes you much more than you gave him. Should you show him kindness, he will give it back threefold. Should you show him anger and violence, he will give it back sevenfold. Should you hurt one who showed Clint kindness, you will pay tenfold.
We were on a frontier planet, Fesan, I believe it was. We had come into the port for information on the Swrun. It was a week after Clint had gotten his new arm, and he was already chomping at the bit. I was too. Back on Beruna, after the Guild, we had decided that we were going to do as much damage to the Swrun Empire as we could. Clint and I had made it our mission to bring justice to the galaxy. That was before he lost his arm. Now, I think his new arm gave him the notion he was going to start a one man war against the Empire. Well, two man. There was no way I was going to let him hog all the fun.
The rain came down in a heavy drizzle, coating everything in sight. It had been coming down for hours and I was thoroughly soaked. My fur did not help in cases like this and I could feel the moisture gathering on my skin. When I got inside, I would be able to quickly wick the water away, but out here in the drizzle, there would be no point. Water dripped incessantly from the fur above my eyes, blinding me. I shook my head to clear my eyes of water. It stopped dripping, for a few seconds then resumed with vigor. The drizzle had turned into a downpour.
Lucky, the wall of the shipyard was just ahead. Past that and there waited Susan with warm blankets and dry air. Clint and I walked side by side into the dry tunnel leading to the shipyard. I shook myself and water flew around the tunnel. Clint sputtered as water hit him in the face. I gave him an apologetic look and kept walking. The tunnel ended abruptly several dozen feet before it should have. Set across the width of the tunnel was a long low barricade, manned by quite a few mean looking Watchmen.
“Halt!” The command came from the Watchman in the middle, his hand resting on his rifle strapped across his chest. We stopped.
“What is your business here?” demanded the Watchman.
“Our ship is in there,” Clint nodded his head down the tunnel, “and we’d rather like to get back to it.”
The Watchman shook his head. “That’s too bad. You’ll have to wait several days.”
“What?!” I shouted. “Why?”
“There was a threat to security. That is all I am authorized to say and all I am going to say. I advise that you turn around and go back the way you came.”
I was wet, I was tired, and this arrogant tentacle-haired Hyrth was telling me that I would have to go back into the rain. I almost felt the water evaporating on my skin as it heated with anger. I felt a hand on my arm, warm and hard. I looked up at Clint and he shook his head. He pulled me away from the barrier and back into the rain.
There was only one inn in this small town and it was already full. By this time, I had given up on the hope that I would ever be dry again and Clint and I sat under the awning of one of the store fronts. It did provide shelter from the rain, but not from the cold air. I was miserable. Clint seemed better off. His furless skin was already dry and he only had one hand to feel the cold. We sat there for a while, watching the rain fall.
Down the street came a figure, splashing in puddles and struggling under the weight of a large package clutched awkwardly in his hands. He slipped in the mud and fell, his package rolling several feet. Clint jumped off the porch and into the mud, helping the being to his feet. When Clint had made sure the being was on his feet, Clint picked up the package lying in the mud.
I could see that the being was an elderly Hyrth, his tentacles withered with age. His posture was stooped, but even standing tall he would have been over a foot below Clint. The Hryth seemed bowed under some great weight, but it was not the weight of age. He seemed worried.
“My thanks, stranger. My old bones aren’t like what they used to be,” the old Hryth thanked Clint. He sucked in a deep breath. He motioned to the package that Clint held in the crook of his left arm. “I’ll take that now.”
“I can carry it for you,” said Clint. The old Hryth blinked. “I thank you for the offer, but I can manage.”
That statement was weakened by a fit of coughing. He bent over at the waist, hands on knees, coughing violently. I was half afraid he would hack up his lungs into the street. When the fit had subsided, Clint put his hand on the old being’s shoulder. “I sure you can, but I will carry it for you, anyway.”
The being looked up. “I have nothing to pay you with.”
“I did not ask for payment.”
I cut in, jumping off the porch in the street. “Perhaps a roof and a warm meal would not go amiss.”
The old being smiled. “That, I can give you. Follow me.”
We followed the old Hryth through the rain and the mud, plodding down side street after side street, deep into the center of town. The trip was silent except for the sound of the rain and the splash of the puddles and squelch of the mud. The being told us his name was Murchel and that was all that was said. We stopped before a rundown house, not much better than a hovel, but it was warm and it was dry. We went in without complaint.
It was bigger on the inside, but not by much. We stood in what was a living room, judging by the couch and pictures on the wall. A wall separated this room from the next, interrupted only by a doorframe set in the far left, which, from the smells coming from it, lead to a kitchen. My stomach growled and my skin luxuriated in the warm air. Muchel motioned for Clint to set down the heavy package near the couch.
“Merta, I’ve brought some guests. This big one is … you know, I don’t quite know your names,” said Murchel, his voice quiet and leathery.
“Clint,” said Clint, “and this is Tedix.”
“The big one is Clint and the furry one is Tedix.”
A little Hryth girl ran around the corner and into Murchel’s arms. She must have been around five or six years old. Murchel lifted her up in his arms and hugged her. “And this is Heaghe.”
It was obvious that Heaghe was not Murchel’s daughter. She was too young and he was too old. Most likely a granddaughter. She looked at Clint and I with the fearless look that the very young have, bold and curious. She noticed Clint’s metal hand and pointed at it. “Why is your hand all funny?” she asked in a high pitched voice.
Clint raised his hand. “What, this thing? I touched a space unicorn and my hand turned silver.”
She giggled. Clint always had a way with children. With his enemies he was as hard and unflinching as a mountain, but with children he seemed to melt, showing his soft inside. He held his hand out, palm up, in front of the little girl and she tapped it with her finger. It made a faint ping and she giggled again.
Mutchel looked up at Clint. “It’s been a long time since I heard her laugh. It seems I must thank you again.”
Clint shrugged, seeming bashful. A Hryth woman walked around the wall, wiping her hands on a dish towel. She was about the same age as Murchel and I assumed she was his wife. She was smiling at the sound of Heaghe’s laughter. “It’s been a very long time. What might you two be doing out here so far from the rest of things?”
“We came here for some business. Something happened at the shipyard and we’re stuck here for several days. Your husband was kind enough offer us a roof and food for the night,” I said.
“Yes, he’s always been rather soft hearted. I think that’s why I married him,” she said, her voice full of love and kindness. It made my heart ache for my wife. Well, ex-wife, and the divorce hadn’t been pretty, but I still thought about her on occasion and my heart still hurt.
“Oh, where are my manners? Come in, come in. Put your coats and boots by the door and come sit at the table. We’re having beef [translator note: not actually cow meat, but close enough for this purpose] stew and fresh baked bread.”
“We thank you for your hospitality,” said Clint, pulling off his coat. “I think we would have been out in that storm all night. We’re grateful for the warmth and shelter.”
I heard a gasp. I turned my head to see Murchel standing with his mouth open staring at Clint’s arm, which, now that he had removed his coat, was full visible in all of its metallic glory. “It -it’s made of metal. I just thought it was a glove or something, but your arm is made of metal.”
Clint grimaced and half turned to the side, trying to hide his arm from view. Murchel looked embarrassed. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said anything. It just surprised me, that’s all.”
Clint grunted. “Well, I think it’s cool,” said the little girl. Clint smiled.
“Why don’t we all go eat?” said Merta. She looked at Murchel and Clint and I. “After you wash up.”
We nodded in agreement and we shuffled to the washroom. I was the last out, as I had the most fur to clean. When I did emerge, I felt like a different jahen. Dry and clean, I felt refreshed. The smells of bread and stew filled my nose as I walked into the kitchen and sat at one of the chairs around the table. It was made for smaller beings than Clint and he sat hunched over in his chair, getting as close to the table as possible.
I sat down and we ate. The bread was the best I had ever tasted and the stew was not far off. The conversation started off slow at first, but soon it picked up pace and we found ourselves laughing at the jokes of Murchel and nodding at the observations of Merta. Heaghe entertained us with thrilling tales of the adventures of her life at school and at the playground. Clint told stories about his exploits, much edited for little ears, and I awed them with my juggling. It seems the Hryth do not have the coordination for it, and so they had never seen it before.
All the while, I was working on the steaming bowl of stew and half loaf of bread in front of me. Soon, I found myself chasing the last remnants of broth around my plate with a slice of bread. I popped that in my mouth and savored it. Travelling on Susan, it had been a great while since Clint and I had eaten a home cooked meal. The conversation continued after the meal for a long while.
Clint paid special attention to Heaghe, making her giggle and giggle with increasingly wild tales, some about a girl who fell down a rabbit hole and others about a boy who never grew up. I thought they were ridiculous tales but Heaghe seemed to love them. I have no idea where Clint had heard them before, they must have been from his childhood. Clint Stone was full of surprises. He would never speak of his past to anyone, but here he was sharing stories with a child. They always seemed to bring out the best in Clint.
We talked for several more hours. Clint and I so rarely got the chance for more than a few minutes conversation with anyone other than each other, we soaked up the talk like parched earth under a rainstorm. Muchel and Merta seemed to need conversation as much as we did and so our talks went on for a great while. Heaghe’s head started to nod and Merta took her off to bed, leaving Clint and I to talk with Murchel.
“Where are her parents?” I asked, without thinking. I should have realized that it would be a bad question to ask. Murchel, who had been talking to Clint about the merits of a high-raised deviant foil, fell silent and sad. I saw the worry that had been on him when we first met him, and that had lessened when we got here, drop back on him with the weight of a house.
“I’m sorry,” I said, “I shouldn’t have asked that. It was rude of me.”
He waved his hand. “It’s alright. I just haven’t thought about them for a long time. They … died, when Heaghe was three. She saw the whole thing. She had been such a happy child, always laughing and giggling. She stopped laughing after that. And now, you come and you make her laugh. It makes my old hearts warm. It seems I own you much more than a roof and a hot meal.”
“You owe us nothing,” Clint said. I nodded in agreement. “We owe you much more,” I said, “you gave us good food and conversation that travelers like ourselves rarely get.”
Muchel blew air through his nostrils. We sat in quiet for a moment, trying to think of something to say. Merta chose that moment to return. “I’ve set up some beds for you in the room down the hall,” she said, not noticing the silence. Or choosing to ignore it.
We set off for the room and we collapsed on the beds. My bed was lumpy and had a strange tilt to it. Clint’s bed was far too small for him. We were asleep in moments. I awoke in the middle of the night, my bladder screaming at me. I stood and made my way carefully down the hall to the washroom, not wanting to disturb anyone. I relieved myself and wandered back to my room. As I passed our host’s door, I could hear the sounds of hushed whispers. Being the curious being I am now, I stood there, straining to hear what was being said. I could only catch bits and pieces of the conversation.
“… they said tomorrow…”
“But we have nothing … can’t afford…”
“They said … sell her… slave markets.”
Someone moved close to the door and I nearly jumped, but that would have given me away. I settled for a beating heart and a hurried return to my bed.
The next morning, Clint and I awoke to the sound of water running in the washroom. We both climbed out of our beds and walked down the hall to the smell of pancakes. If you said one thing about Merta, it was that she knew how to cook. We sat down and devoured the large stack of food placed in front of us. Clint tried to start a conversation but this morning was very different from last night.
The mood was dark and worried. I could see it on the faces of Muchel and Merta. Whatever they had been discussing last night must have been grim indeed. Heaghe did not seem to notice and she and Clint continued in much the same way they had last night. He soon had her giggling and laughing. Clint chuckled along with her. The sight was enough to give me a warm, fuzzy feeling inside. Clint was a man full of pain and loss and anger, but when he was around a child, he was a different man. I had seen it when he had met Regon and I had seen the terrible things that happened after that had been ripped from him. I wasn’t sure that Clint could survive another event like that. Or the galaxy, after hollow-Clint had his vengeance.
The breakfast was over quickly and I jumped up to help Merta with the dishes. She protested but I insisted. It was the least I could do for what they had given us. I was elbows deep in soapy water when a knock came at the door. It was more of a banging, pounding than a knock. I stopped what I was doing and dried my hands on a dish rag. Muchel stood up. “Stay here,” he said to Clint and me.
He walked out of our line of view and I heard him open the door.
“How may I-” started Muchel, his voice quavering.
“Cut the shit, you old squid. We’re here for the money and you’re going to pay up.” This new voice was rough and hard, the type of voice that belonged to someone who was used to getting what he wanted.
“I’m sorry, I don’t have it. Times have be-”
“I don’t give a shit for your excuses, old man. If you don’t have the money, I’ll have to take something that’s worth what you owe me.”
“We have nothing here. Everything of value I already sold before-”
“There is still the girl. We can sell her on the slave markets. She’ll fetch a fine price. But not after we get our uses out of her.” A truly disgusting chuckle followed that statement. I looked at Clint and nearly shrunk back in horror. His face put the thunder to shame. He stood and started to walk to the door. I put my hand on his arm and stopped him. “Wait for a moment. If he leaves, that’s the end of it. If he stays, I’ll help you take care of him.”
Clint thought for a moment then nodded his head. But I knew that that Hard-voice wouldn’t leave. Truth be told, I was ready to sink a knife into him myself.
“No, please, I beg you, not her.” Muchel’s voice was pitiful and full of sorrow. It did not seem to affect Hard-voice.
“Get out of my way.” There was the sound of a body falling against the wall. Heavy footsteps sounded in the living room and walked to the kitchen door. Into the kitchen stepped a large being, of an indistinguishable race, clutching a large plasma pistol in his hand. Indistinguishable because his face was covered with so many modifications and tattoos that I could barely tell that the being had a face. He stopped when he saw Clint standing there, but in his tiny mind he dismissed Clint as a threat because he had a pistol and Clint was unarmed.
He saw Heaghe standing behind Clint, hiding behind him actually, grabbing his leg for support. The thug’s eyes lit up and he walked forward. Clint put up his hand.
“Not a step further.” Clint’s voice was low and menacing. Had the thug possessed any brains, he would be half way to the next planet by now. But he didn’t and he saw this as a challenge to his authority.
“Get out of the way, stranger. I’m here for the girl.”
“I don’t think so.”
The thug stared stupidly at Clint, his mouth hanging open. He couldn’t comprehend the fact that someone would stand up to him. He tried to shove roughly past Clint. Clint grabbed him by the throat and shoved him against the wall, shaking the house from the force of it.
“The only reason I don’t kill you right now is because I do not wish to cause undue trauma to the child,” Clint hissed, his eyes blazing. The being struggled to free himself. He raised the pistol, but Clint grabbed it with his hand, the metal hand, and squeezed. The thug gave a shriek of pain and dropped the gun.
“We are going to go outside and we are going to have a nice little chat. Should you try anything before we leave this house, I will twist your head so far around that you will be staring at your ass.” The thug nodded in understanding and Clint pushed him out the door. We passed Muchel, who seated on the couch, gaping at Clint manhandling the thug without a trouble. He flung him from the doorway and sent him crashing into a group of similarly modified and tattooed beings. Clint stepped down from the stoop and stood, legs apart, knees flexed, before the group. I followed him, a butcher’s knife clutched in one hand and a carving knife in the other. I had taken them from the kitchen as we walked out.
“I see you have friends,” said Clint. “Good, this just made the morning interesting.”
Now that the thug was back among his own, he had regained his smug, arrogant attitude. “You don’t scare us, you pink bastard. We’ll carve you to pieces,” he nodded at Clint’s metal arm, which he clearly thought was just some sort of glove, “and then we’ll sell the leftovers.”
“You’re not scared? You should be. Do you know who I am, what I’ve done? I am Clint Stone, slayer of dragons, killer of thiefs, liberator of slaves. I killed the Diunf Gang, I slaughtered the Thief’s Guild on Beruna. I once scared an entire race so badly that they left the galaxy, rather than face me. You should be scared, boy. You should be very scared.” Clint was angry, that terrible anger he had when innocents were threatened, and there was no one more innocent than children. I was angry, too. The knives in my hands would soon drink blood.
The lead thug shouted back. “We don’t give a shit about what you say you’ve done. All I can see is you’re unarmed and we outnumber you eight to one. You could have lived through this, pinky, but now I’m going to have to kill you on principle. Can’t have people going around thinking they can do whatever they like. Bad for business.”
“You going to talk all day or are we going to fight?” I asked them calmly. Clint looked at me, grinning with approval. Several of the thugs shouted and ran at us, knives in their hands. Two of them, big and mean looking, the pair of them. A few months ago, I would have run in the opposite direction. Now, I stepped forward to meet them, knives held at the ready.
One of the thugs went for Clint and the other for me. Clint strode forward to meet his in the middle. He pulled back his left hand, the metal one, and swung it at the thug’s chest. It punched straight through. I could see his fist sticking out the back, covered in gore. The thug’s eyes bulged and he collapsed, sliding off Clint’s arm. The thug in front of me glanced in shock at Clint and I took advantage of his distraction. I swept the carving knife across the thug’s neck, severing his windpipe. He looked at me in shock as a thin red line opened up on his neck. He fell to his knees then on his face. I stepped over him and stood beside Clint.
“Anyone else?” I called.
The rest of the thugs leapt forward with a roar. Clint and I stepped into the middle of them and danced, he with his fists of steel and Stone and I with my knives. The nearest thug made a wild swing at me and I ducked under it, plunging my knife into his chest. I ripped it out and swung at the next thug. This one was smarter and stayed back, testing my defenses. A body flew over my head, arm missing, and crashed into him, knocking him the ground. I made short work of him.
The rest of the thugs were no better. I was almost disappointed. I killed them with my knives and Clint destroyed them with his fists. They lasted no longer than several minutes until all that remained was the first thug, the ringleader. The rest of them lay in the street, each in a different state of death. Several had their head caved in, one so far that all that was left was a bit of brain and spine. Others had died of crushed ribs and shattered necks. Here and there, bodies lay with gaping wounds and stab holes. My work.
Clint walked toward the last thug. He stumbled backwards in horror, eyes wide. His foot twisted in an arm of one of his thugs and he fell. Clint stood over him. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to kill you. I have a very special job for you.” Clint paused to make sure that the thug was listening to him. He was.
“I want you to tell everyone what happened here today. I want you to get a ship and fly to the core worlds of the Swrun. You will shout it from the rooftops. You will tell them the tale of Clint Stone. Tell them that I am coming for them.”
The thug nodded, his face still full of fear. He shakily stood. Clint looked at him. “But just to make sure that you never bother this family again.”
Clint’s metal hand flashed out, a single blue blade erupting from his finger. The thug screamed as his arm fell to the dirt, smoke curling from the severed edge. “Now go, before I am tempted to take the rest.”
The thug took off as fast as his legs would carry him, clutching his stump and crying. I turned to Clint. “That was nicely done.”
“Violence is never nicely done. It is necessary sometimes, but it is not a thing to revel in.” He sighed. “We must be out of here before the Watch shows up.”
I agreed and we turned to walk away. “Wait!” came Muchel’s voice behind us.
“Wait. I must thank you. I can never repay you for what you have done, but I would like to give you my thanks.”
Clint grunted. “You do not need to thank me. I did not do it for you.” Clint jerked his head at the house behind Muchel. “I did it for her. Here, I have something for you.” Clint dug into his coat pocket and pushed something into Muchel’s hand. He opened it, curious as to what Clint had given him. His jaw dropped.
“This is enough gold for us to live wealthy for the rest of our lives!” he said, incredulous. “This is too much, I cannot take it.” He held his hand out to Clint. “Take it back.”
Clint reached out and closed the Hryth’s hand around the gold. “Take it. Take it and use it for a better life for Heaghe. She deserves it.”
Muchel nodded. “I will. Thank you, thank you. This is beyond anything I deserve.”
“You don’t deserve it,” Clint said. Muchel looked at him, confusion in his eyes. “But she does. I will be back here someday. I hope to find Heaghe happy.”
With that, he turned and strode away. I followed.
The shipyard wall was not difficult to scale and we quietly stole into the yard and got into Susan. We flew off before anyone knew we were there. We flew off into the galaxy, seeking the first target in our two man war against the Swrun Empire.