Jazo reeled his head back and stared upwards into nothingness.
His chronometer was reading a 2393 spacetime index.
Kalthrax, Monnus, and Grayzar sat bound in the corner. They’d been restrained for upwards of an hour. Monnus began to squirm. His forehead began to grow warm, and his eyes began to dart nervously around the room. His struggling caught the attention of Kalthrax. The boss forcefully threw an elbow into his lackey’s stomach. Monnus let out a sheepish wheeze, and after taking a moment to catch his breath, managed to regain his composure.
“Enjoying yourselves, lads?” Jazo said.
Monnus gave Jazo a look of acerbic bemusement. “You can’t keep us here forever, Mr. Jazo.”
“Oh, I don’t intend to. Soon, you’ll be sitting comfortably in a PFIA cell, dining on the finest foods that galactic municipal funds can buy.”
Kalthrax roared, “And you, Mr. Jazo, will find yourself sitting comfortably on the end of a particle blaster. The family will find you. They will bring your head to me in that very cell.”
A computerized voice came in over the Mu’azadi’s communications array. “Docking vessel incoming. Docking vessel incoming. Please clear the landing bay presently.”
Jazo looked up to see the familiar shape of the Outreach completing its descent. He looked at Kalthrax and smiled. The Remian gnashed his teeth.
The ship extended its landing sprigs and sat itself down upon the berth. With a great rush of plasmogen steam, the ship relieved its engine exhaust and powered down. The entrance ramp descended. The glow of the Outreach’s interior lights illuminated a short, stocky figure, obscured by the numerous smoky emissions of the landing procedure. Jazo took a step forward to approach his ship, only to be greeted with the crack of a warning shot.
He ceased midstep, holding as still as possible. This was unexpected, to say the least.
The barrel of a particle blaster emerged from the smoke, and soon, the figure holding it emerged from the musky air and finally came into view. Jazo’s eyes grew wide, and after a moment, he burst into a fit of laughter.
Swoob looked confusedly at his friend. He lowered his weapon and placed it in his boot holster.
“Swoob, are you sure that all this is necessary?” Jazo remarked.
Swoob began to protest as he attempted to set down the GN-366 Modular Assault Cannon slung on his shoulder, but its bulky frame knocked off three of the CMA XL-2 Handblasters that were strapped to his chest. The guns clattered to the floor, causing Swoob to trip over them, and in the process, his Remian R9 Pulse Shotgun slipped off of his bandolier. Swoob tried to balance on top of the small armory forming under his feet, but his legs gave way, sending the Koldavian J.A.W. Personal Munitions Launcher flying out of his hands.
Jazo caught the weapon with one free hand. Swoob dizzily glanced up at Jazo, who could scarcely stifle his snicker.
“The face paint was a nice touch, though.”