Page 7 of Silent Lucidity

None of the guards had drawn their weapons; they likely saw no need, given they outnumbered Tenthil seven-to-one, and there were more security personnel stationed around the club.

“I got all kinds of women in this place.” Drok gestured vaguely around him as the valzin began the music again. “Most of them, you can touch—or fuck—for the right price. But that one? That one’s not for touching. I understand the desire to, but she’s off-limits. And you…you almost cost me alotof money by being stupid.”

Tenthil’s foes had moved into a semi-circle to his front and sides, standing only a couple paces away. Their postures were confident—too confident. After all, what sane being would resist in Tenthil’s position? Tralix were large and strong enough to snap many smaller species in half with their bare hands, and vorgals and borians had reputations as fierce, powerful warriors.

Drok grinned, dark eyes gleaming beneath the bone crest on his forehead. “There’s a nice, quiet room in the back. You’re going to walk to it with us all on your own. You’re going to sit in the chair. And we’re going to beat you into a pasty gray pulp. But we’re not going to kill you. Hell, I’ll even let you come back—at least on nights the ertraxxan isn’t coming.”

The tralix took a step closer, eliminating the distance between himself and Tenthil. He extended a finger and tapped the Ergoth pin on Tenthil’s chest. “Consider it a favor, okay? Your boys are usually well-behaved in here. I’m willing to call all this an unfortunate misunderstanding. I just need to make an example. What do you say?”

Keeping his head tilted back, Tenthil held the tralix’s gaze.

Drok’s grin faded. “Not much of a talker? Guess we’ll have to make you scream, instead.”

“Maybe we ought to open up those scars on his cheeks. See how far we can pry his jaw open before it breaks off,” one of the guards said.

Drok patted Tenthil’s shoulder with a rough palm; though the gesture was gentle, the weight of the arm would’ve been enough to knock most people down.

“He’s a tough one,” Drok said, stepping backward. “No more wasting time. Grab him.”

The two guards directly to either side of Tenthil advanced, reaching for him.

The situation was far from ideal, but his cover had been compromised. Even if he were allowed back into the club after tonight, security would always keep an eye on him, would watch his movements, and that wasn’t to mention potential problems with the Ergoths when they heard about this incident.

His mind flashed back to the human, back to the fear and sadness on her face. She didn’t have psychic powers, hadn’t bewitched him; Tenthil knew that now with unreasonable certainty. He’d connected with her during their too-brief dance. Something had sparked between them—something powerful that had been buried inside of him. But now she was gone, and he might never learn of her fate, might never learn her name.

He latched on to his boiling rage and attacked.

Tenthil thrust a hand to his right, catching the guard’s wrist and digging his claws into the vorgal’s tough flesh. As the vorgal hissed in pain, Tenthil kicked the left-hand guard in the knee. A cry of pain drowned out the sound of crunching bone.

The other guards were caught in shock as Tenthil tugged the vorgal closer and sank his teeth into his foe’s neck, pumping venom through the wounds. The vorgal’s pained exclamation intensified. Tenthil pulled the blaster from the vorgal’s belt holster and shoved the doomed being aside. The others fumbled to draw their weapons as Tenthil leveled the blaster. He squeezed off three shots, striking two guards in the head and one in the throat before the fourth guard, a dark-haired and broadly-built borian, stepped closer and swung a thrumming energy blade.

Tenthil swayed back from the first swing, dodged a second, and fired the blaster from his hip. The bolt of plasma pierced the borian’s thigh. The hiss of sizzling flesh was quickly swallowed by the screams of the crowd and the thumping music.

As the vorgal with the shattered knee staggered forward, raising a blaster in his trembling hand, Tenthil grabbed the borian’s arm and wrenched it back. Bones cracked, and the motion swung the energy blade through the advancing vorgal’s throat. The vorgal’s head tumbled off his shoulders and landed on the stage with a dullthwap.

Dropping the blaster, Tenthil tore the energy blade from the borian’s grasp and stabbed him through the chest.

Drok released a wordless, enraged cry and charged forward; the stage shuddered under his heavy footfalls.

Tenthil lowered his hand to the gun holstered at the sagging borian’s hip as Drok lifted his massive fists over his head. Tenthil leapt away just before Drok slammed his hands down, using his momentum to draw the gun. The stage floor collapsed inward where Drok had hit it, producing a deafening crack.

Tenthil stabilized himself on one knee and aimed the gun at Drok. The weapon’s short, thick barrel was characteristic of a flechette pistol.

The tralix lifted his gaze to Tenthil, his beady eyes widening. “Who the f—”

Tenthil squeezed the trigger. The flechette pistol roared, spraying fire, and Drok’s face disintegrated in a spray of burning blood and mangled flesh.

Turning his attention away from his foe, Tenthil surveyed the club again. The crowd was fleeing, and the congestion caused by of hundreds of bodies attempting to press through the single door at once had created a backlog on the main staircase and the walkway around the middle floor. Several guards were fighting their way toward the stairs.

Drok’s body dropped to its knees with a heavy thud, dark blood running over its teal and violet skin. Tenthil pushed onto his feet, plucked a blaster from one of the fallen guards, and fired two more plasma bolts into each of the beings on the ground. With the flechette pistol in his left hand and the blaster in his right, he hurried to the side of the stage.

Distant shouts came to him over the music, followed by the high-pitched whine of fast-firing blasters. Several plasma bolts struck the walls around him, melting metal and concrete. He wasted no time in thought—there was only one viable route of escape he was aware of without entering the unknown doors markedSTAFF ONLY.

Tucking the guns into his belt, Tenthil leapt onto one of the massive, wall-mounted speakers beside the stage. The frantic beat of the music pounded into him, louder than ever. It was quick enough to match that of his racing heart.

He scrambled atop the speaker as bolts whizzed around him, grateful for the guards’ poor aim, which was likely worsened by the relatively dim, pulsing lights overhead. Grasping the middle floor railing, he hoisted himself over. Movement flickered at the edge of his peripheral vision.

Landing in a roll, he drew the blaster and fired instinctively. One of the two guards who’d been rushing to intercept him spun aside and fell, an orange hole glowing where the plasma bolt had pierced his groin. The other dove behind an overturned table and fired his auto-blaster blindly around its side.

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