Let it not be said Clint Stone was heartless. Violent, yes, and cruel at times, but never heartless. I have seen him do things that I would never have done in a million years in order to give aid to those who needed it, and all for no reward, no benefit. The one that sticks in my mind the most is when he walked into a Flow Den, outnumbered, without weapons, to save a little Bonas girl. We had been traveling the galaxy for almost a year and a half after the Nwas slave markets and Clint had become rather well known in the underworld of this part of the galaxy, his exploits told in hushed whispers. We were on Bona Prime, in the capital of Frean Mo Ran. We had stopped here because we were running low on supplies and we both need to stretch our legs.
I walked down the road, pack heavy on my shoulder. Clint and I had landed here a day ago, looking to refill on supplies. But, for some reason, the shops are all closed after nightfall and so we had to wait for the morning to buy. Nightfall is a dumb time to close a shop. Everyone has gotten off work at the time, well, not the poor shmucks who work the late shift, but everyone else has and they can go buy things. At night. When the shops should be open. But they weren’t and here we are. The hot noon sun beat down on my furred head as I walked back from the merchant’s lane.
We got a large amount of food and various supplies, but I’m sure you won’t want to hear about that. Or my quite lengthy and decisive barter with the merchant. No, you’re here for tales of King Clint Stone, Conqueror of … wait, I’m not that far into the story. Forget I said that.
I was heading back to the ship when I spotted Clint ducking into a seedy little building. More of a lean-to, really. Curious, I followed him. Inside, the lean-to was not much better than the outside. Clint stood in the corner, deep in discussion with a figure dressed in black. I wandered over, still carrying that blastedly heavy pack.
“You don’t find them, they find-,” the black hooded figure, speaking in a low pitched voice, stopped abruptly when he noticed me. Clint looked around, searching for the reason the figure had stopped talking. His eyes fell on me.
“What are you doing here?” he asked, surprised. “I thought you were getting food.”
“I did,” I replied, holding up the pack for him to see.
“Good, good. Take it back to the ship while I finish my discussion with this gentleman,” Clint said, nodding to the figure behind him. I opened my mouth to argue, decided against it, and left the lean-to. Carrying the heavy pack, I walked down the street, weighted down by the pack. Did I mention how heavy it was?
Stepping carefully around the Flow addicts in the streets, I made my way to the ship docks. Half way there, Clint caught up to me. He must have run to catch up that fast. He must have run at least a mile, but he didn’t seem tired at all. In fact, he seemed to be … skipping? He certainly had a spring in his step. With a smile on his face, he grabbed the pack from me and swung it up onto his shoulder. It must have weighed half my weight, but he swung it around like it was nothing.
I started to ask who that man had been, but I was interrupted by a loud bang off in the distance. Smoke rose from the street next to ours. I kept walking, as did the rest of the street. No reason to get involved in what didn’t concern us. We just went about our business as usual. All except Clint. He turned his head, noticed the smoke, and cut down the nearest side street, heading for the source of the smoke. I shook my head at the foolishness of this human and followed him.
The source of the smoke became evident the farther down the street we went. A group of Watchmen was in front of a large, square-faced building, crouched behind their transports, pulse rifles pointed at the building. From the windows, more pulse rifles pointed back. Several bodies lay in the street, holes burned black in their uniforms. It was obvious what had happened.
Judging by the frothing bodies in front of the building and the charming decorations in the form of grotesque paintings drawn in blood, the place was a Flow Den. One of the more unsavory places in the universe, a Flow Den was where lowlifes produced and used artificial adrenaline. Outlawed in all but three systems, adrenaline was one of the more potent drugs on the market. Which is why it was so popular. The less you used, the less you paid, and you needed only a drop of Flow for it to work. I’ve never used it myself, but they say that Flow enhances your senses far past normal, giving you superfast reflexes, and much greater strength than you could ever possess without. When doped up on Flow, a person could fight off ten others. Soldiers use the stuff to prepare for battle, that’s how good it is.
But it messes with your brain, that’s why it’s so illegal. You lose track of who you are and you become driven by pure instinct. The Watch try to root out and destroy all Flow Dens they find and, clearly, this was their latest target.
“What’s going on here?” asked Clint, walking up to a uniformed Watchman. I had no idea what he was doing. He was going to get himself killed, either by the Flow-ers or the Watch.
“None of your business, civilian. Move along,” ordered the blue-uniformed Watchman.
“Clint, he’s right. We need to go,” I told him, grabbing his arm. “There is nothing we can do here.”
A voice boomed out from the building, coming from vocal cords amplified by Flow.
“ALL OF YOU WILL BACK OFF. WE HAVE A HOSTAGE AND WE AREN’T AFRAID TO THROW HER OUT THE WINDOW.”
“You are surrounded. You have no chance of walking out of there alive. Give up the girl and you will be given a fair trial,” shouted back one of the Watchmen, evidently the one in charge.
“DON’T THINK SO. YOU JUST WANT LURE US OUT TO KILL US. WE WON’T GIVE UP GIRL. YOU COME NEAR, SHE DIES, YOU ALL DIE. ONE COMES. NO WEAPONS. TALK.”
The shouter’s mind was being affected by the Flow, as his speech patterns left something to be desired. Off to the side, I could see a male Bonas hugging a female Bonas, who was huddled on the ground sobbing, and I guessed that the girl the Flow-ers had taken hostage was theirs. A crowd was growing on the edges of the street, drawn by the shouting, and curious as to the proceedings. A Watchman ran up to the one who was in charge and whispered something into his ear. It wasn’t something good, because the Captain frowned and his tentacles fluttered in annoyance. The Captain motioned for the Watch to gather closer. He spoke in a low voice, meant only for the men surrounding him, but thanks to my ears, evolved to hear noises at a distance, I heard what he said.
“I just got news from up top. They can’t have this story break as it is, the public opinion of the Watch is still poor. If we let a little girl die when we could have saved her, they’ll hate us for it. We need to save that little girl. These orders come from on high and there is nothing I can do. I need a volunteer. Who is willing to go in that building and walk out a hero?”
None of the Watch stepped forward. They looked down, their tentacles waving, and shuffled their feet. I couldn’t blame them. I would have done the same. There was no way that I would have been able to walk into a den full of Flow-ers and talk them into letting their only bargaining chip walk out the door.
“I’ll go.”
I jump at the voice. It didn’t come from the huddle of Watchmen, but it came from beside me from the mouth of that foolish human. Of course Clint said he would go. In the year and a half I had known him, he had done some of the craziest things I had ever seen any being do. He had gotten into a fight with the whole Diunf Gang on the moon of Gragol, hijacked a space station and jumped from it in low orbit to land on the planet below, and rebuilt a mentas fighter, by himself, into the fastest ship I have ever seen. Then he flew it straight into a star. Yes, I’ll tell you but later, after I’m finished.
“What?! You’re crazy. First, I can’t let you. You’re a civilian. Second, how in the name of Yoiu did you hear what I was saying?” sputtered the Watch Captain.
“Good ears,” replied Clint Stone. His eyes grew hard and piercing, well, more than usual. “And you can’t stop me. I’m going in there and I’m going to save that little girl. You lot don’t have enough balls between you to play a game of soccer, so I’ll go.”
He dropped the pack of food, reached into his pockets and pulled out a gun, a knife, and a large piece of metal with four holes in the side and spikes on the edge. Placing those on the ground, he reached into his boots and pulled out another gun and two additional knives. He paused, then pulled out several more knives from his sleeves, almost as an afterthought. I have no idea where he got all of those. Anymore and he would have been able to take out an army.
“Listen up, you Flow junkies. I’m unarmed and I’m coming for the girl. I don’t want any trouble, I just want the girl,” Clint shouted up at the building.
“But if any of you hurt her,” Clint’s voice grew harsh, the honey gone from his voice, leaving only the rocks, the sharp, hard rocks. “If any of you hurt her, I swear to all the gods of the universe that you will pay. You will pay with blood and broken bones. I will send you to the deepest, darkest pit of hell, and the devils will weep when they see what I have done to you.”
I took a step back. The raw fury in Clint’s voice was scary. I had never seen him like this before. I had seen him angry, I had seen him violent, but I had never seen anything like this cold fury that radiated from him now. It seemed that the thought of innocents being hurt was appalling to him. An innocent getting hurt was sad, but there was no reason to get worked up about it, it happened all the time and there wasn’t much you could do about it. But Clint Stone was willing to walk into a Flow Den, unarmed and outnumbered, to save a stranger.
“Clint, you can’t do this,” I said, grabbing his sleeve. “They’re juiced up on adrenaline. They’ll kill you as soon as look at you.”
He shook my hand off. “They’re nothing I haven’t dealt with before. Besides, it’s artificial adrenaline. I wonder how they’ll do against someone with natural adrenaline.”
With that, he walked off into the building. I stood there in shock. Had he just said that his body produced adrenaline? The most powerful combat drug in existence and he had it inside of him?! No wonder he was crazy. No wonder he could turn from gentle and peaceful to hard and raging at a moment’s notice.
Screams came from the building. I snapped my head up to look at the windows, but I could see nothing. Sounds of violence floated out of the window. Pulse rifles flashed inside the building and bodies crashed into the walls loud enough for us to hear the sound of shattering bone. The topmost window broke with a crash and a body fell, smacking into the pavement. The sounds of fighting and the sounds of pain kept coming for another five minutes and then it grew quiet. The crowd grew hushed. What had happened?
The door flew from its hinges with a crash, propelled by a boot worn by a man harder than stone. Clint Stone walked out of the Flow Den, burned, bleeding, and carrying a little Bonas girl in his arms, her tentacles wrapped around his shoulder in fright. He walked over to the crying Bonasi and he gave her back her daughter, unharmed. He stood in the light of the sun, burned, half his hair missing, bleeding from many cuts on his arms and torso, but unbroken. I had never seen a more inspiring sight.
And neither had the rest of the crowd. They rushed him as one, encircling him and hugging him, shaking his hand, praising Clint for his bravery. He shrugged it all off and made his way over to me. He gathered his weapons and the pack of food and walked away. I stood there in shock. He had fought and beat a whole den of Flow junkies and walked away. Not only that, but he didn’t stop for praise. He would be the talk of the city for months to come. But he didn’t care. He acted as if it was just something to be done and forgotten.
“You coming or what?” he asked me over his shoulder. I hurried after him.
After that I spoke to him about the natural adrenaline and it seems that humans produce it from their bodies when they are in danger or they need an extra boost in a “fight or flight situation”, that’s how Clint described it to me. What you should take away from that is that you should never ever get in a fight with a human. They’re mean and vicious as hell. And their bodies make themselves stronger to give them even more ability to kick your ass. However, many of the beings Clint encountered never got that advice. Remind me to tell you of the Oleand Arena sometime.