The Fringe Wars

1.8

A Hazardous Proposition

Reyne came awake with his head throbbing twice as hard as it had that morning. He gingerly touched the back of his head. "Son of a bitch."

"I'm surprised you showed up."

Reyne cracked open his eyes to find two Critches standing in front of him. As Reyne's vision came into focus, the shape solidified into a single man. He hadn't seen the pirate in twenty years, but he'd seen his picture on the news plenty—each time, the bounty higher than the time before.

"And miss the chance to see your ugly mug again?" Reyne responded. "I never would've taken you for a nostalgic man, but the Uneven Bar? Choosing the place we first met makes me feel all warm and tingly inside."

Critch grunted. "I didn't want to make it too hard for you to find, especially considering you don't come out this way often."

"Knowing that damn near everyone on the Coast wants me dead tends to put a damper on my travel plans." Reyne looked the room over. They were alone, but he didn't miss noticing that the familiar weight of his guns and knives was absent.

"Not true," Critch said. "Everyone on the Coast wants you dead."

"I see you still have that silver tongue of yours."

"And I see you're still damn lucky to have that head of yours."

"'Luck' is not the word that comes to mind with the pounding headache I have right now. Oh, and thanks for the welcome committee out on the Coast. That was real nice of you."

"You're still alive, aren't you?" Critch smirked, a crooked tug of his lips that in no way reflected humor. When he scowled, you didn't have much to worry about. When he smiled, you were screwed.

Reyne motioned to the pirate. "Tell me, buddy. You invite me all the way out here just to catch up on old times?"

"You're the last man I want to converse with."

"Setting the bar a little high considering your chosen profession, aren't you?"

"I may be a pirate, but I've never been a traitor."

"That makes two of us." Reyne gritted his teeth. "I'd tell you I had nothing to do with what happened at Broken Mountain, but I'm guessing you wouldn't care."

Critch leveled a hard gaze at Reyne. "Damn straight."

This Critch had colder eyes than the young man Reyne remembered, but his face had otherwise remained unchanged. He still had the familiar scars crisscrossing his cheeks. Reyne was there when the pirate had gotten those scars. They'd been searching for survivors after a particularly bloody battle during the Uprising, and an unexploded grenade went off. Critch had still been a fresh recruit under Reyne's command then, not yet twenty years old, headstrong, and full of passion.

Reyne gingerly touched the bump on his head. "I think I liked you better back when you were Drake Fender."

"Well, not all of us marshals were able to have our torrent records cleared, like you. When there's a death sentence tied to your name, you're better off starting over."

"From what I hear, you've earned several more death sentences with the new name."

He shrugged.

"Speaking of death sentences," Reyne said, holding out his hands. "I'm still breathing, which means you need me alive, at least for now. Why don't you tell me what the hell I'm doing here?"

The pirate gave Reyne his back as he walked over to a table and poured himself a glass from a glass decanter that looked like it was worth more credits than what most colonists made in a year, including Reyne.