Still covering his head, Jack peeks out between his arms. Corva’s lying facedown on the ground. Spent. Dead? Ignoring the pain in his shoulder, Jack scrambles over and checks her pulse. He breathes a sigh of relief. Good. Not dead.

The same can not be said for Eye Kabob and Scoops. They’re both clearly never getting up again. He looks back down at Corva. “Not a fighter.” Yeah. My ass.

He feels movement around his neck and catches a glimpse of Zeke leaning down from his shoulder to look at Corva. The sight of the curious monkey reminds him that he’s got something to be pissed off about. “What the shit, Zeke? Since when did you start abandoning me during a raid? Dick move, man.”

“Afraid that’s my fault.” Harris is on his feet, limping over to them. “I think he came to let us know you guys were on the way. Raised a helluva stink when we started to close the main doors on the cave. Little bastard did all sorts of things to slow us down from closing them all the way. When that didn’t work, he took to jumping up and slapping each of us one at a time. Had me pissed off enough to chase him to the stairs. That’s when I saw you two.”

The thought of Zeke slapping Harris in the mouth instantly melts Jack’s anger with the monkey. He grins, casting a quick sidelong glance at his four-handed buddy. “That sounds like Zeke.”

He looks down at Harris’s leg. His knee is already wrapped in a stretchy fabric with a series of stiff ridges that run vertically around it. Jack nods at the knee wrap. “That Slim’s handiwork?”

The militia chief snorts and follows Jack’s line of sight to his leg. “It’s a tactical brace. And no. It’s not one of your tinkerer’s broken toys. New tech from up north. Normal use adds strength to the joints. Augmentation. Gorm traded for a set of ’em a couple weeks back.” He runs his hands along the brace’s ridges. “Didn’t expect to need this secondary feature so soon.”

Harris looks up the steps, back toward the siege cave. “We’ve gotta go. Lookout said six grunts in the raid.” He does a quick survey of the courtyard. The look on his face is that of someone who doesn’t believe what he’s seeing, but has resigned to accept it. “Who the hell takes on an Umbrati grunt with their bare hands?”

“Two.” Jack’s grin is only getting bigger.

“What?”

“Two grunts. She took out two of them Goat grunts.”

“Yeah.” Harris shakes his head as if doing so would suddenly rattle the world into making sense. “Yeah. Well, we’re gonna catch hell if we’re still out in the open when the other four find out. Time to go.”

Jack squats down next to Corva, who is still mostly unconscious. Zeke hops off his shoulder and sniffs the air around them, keeping a lookout. Jack looks up at Harris. “You gonna help me with her this time?”

Harris gives another head shake and finally manages to pull himself out of his daze. With a pained look on his face, he squats on the other side of Corva.

Jack points at Harris’s knee. “You gonna be alright?”

“Yeah. The brace is great for gettin’ you moving, but it doesn’t do much of anything for the pain. I’ll be fine. Let’s just get to the cave. One. Two. Three!”

With effort, the two of them hoist Corva up so her arms hang over their shoulders. Of course, at his height, Jack can’t help lift her but so much. Fortunately, she’s not completely unresponsive. Besides, the last few days gave him a lot of practice with moving her around while incapacitated.

The trio shuffles their way up the steps to the siege cave. Zeke leads the way, pausing every few steps to wait for them and nervously scan the area.

Jack cuts an eye over at Harris and notices that the balding man is staring at him. It’s a look that says either he’s in a lot of pain or he’s heavy in thought. Could be both. Jack points his face forward and focuses on getting to the cave entrance.

They get to the top of the steps and Harris reaches for his comm kneak. “I got ’em, Denny. Let us in.”

There’s a series of clanking noises from the smaller steel vault door next to the main entrance to the cave. A second later, the door cracks open.

As they drag through the last dozen or so paces to the door, Jack looks back across Corva’s shoulders at Harris. The militia chief still has that look of mental constipation on his face. Jack takes a deep breath and mentally repeats more negotiation advice Old Man V. gave him. Go slow. A distracted mark is an easy mark.

“Hey, Harris.”

“Now isn’t the time, Jackie.”

Shit. Maybe he isn’t as distracted as I thought. Regardless, Jack pushes the point. “Way I see it, there ain’t no better time than now. You seen what she can do. Two grunts! With her bare hands, man! We got a town full of mercs and there ain’t a single one of ’em who ever even tried that. They’re all hiding in the cave.”

“They’re smart. She’s unpredictable. And unconscious.”

Jack glances at Corva, her head hanging forward, bobbing with each shuffling step they take.

“Look. Sure, she’s a bit rough around the edges. But she can obviously handle herself. Between her and the kit repairs I’m gettin’ from Slim, that should be enough to keep the bar crowd under control.”

Harris lets out an audible sigh. “Jack, this last blowup—literally—at your bar was the third one since you started running it. And the worst one, too. Bule exists for two reasons. It’s—”

“Yeah. Discretion and trust. I know. Ain’t like I just got here.”

“A bar massacre with imbued tech isn’t discreet. Raids aren’t discreet.”

“An’ spy cams in a bar don’t build trust. We’ve had this back ’n forth before.”

They make it to the heavy vault door, and the people inside push it just wide enough for them to slide through. Jack decides it’s time for his final plea.

“Look, Harris. Just gimme a trial run—an honest one. No surprise audits or any other bullshit. If we can’t control the bar, then you can put your peepers in. How’s that sound?”

“A month.”

Jack gawks at Harris. The balding older man answered way too fast. Was he expecting this? “What?”

Finally in the cave, the vault door closes behind them. Jack and Harris sit Corva on the ground and lean her against the wall. Zeke hops up and reclaims his perch on Jack’s shoulder. Once he’s sure that Corva won’t slump to the side and hurt herself, Jack stands up and spins to face Harris.

The militia chief straightens, stretching his back. He accepts a rag from one of the folks near the door and mops the sweat and grime from his head. He’s talking to them like Jack isn’t even there. “No, I’m good. This brace kicked in right when it needed to. Air cannon’s a total loss, though. Wore it out blowin’ those metal-faced bastards back to Hell.”

With great effort, Jack keeps his mouth shut. Let him take credit. Treat it like a favor. Besides— He glances down at Corva. The bar don’t need any more special attention.

Harris sends the people near them on their way and turns back to Jack, getting right in his face. He speaks fast, just loud enough that only Jack can hear him. “You have a month, Jack. A month with no serious incidents like this last one. And we’re past the peepers discussion now. You lose control of your place even once in that month and you’re done. Town’ll reclaim it.”

“What? You can’t do that!” Jack tries to keep his voice down, matching Harris, but it squeaks and cracks on the last word. Fortunately, it doesn’t seem that anyone else is paying any attention to them.

“Not me, Jackie. The town. I’m not the only one tired of cleaning up after the shit that’s been leaking out of Vardin’s bar since you took over.”

“But—”

“Or, the town could just reclaim the bar now. I’m sure there’s enough people from the board here in the cave to make a vote.”

Jack’s shoulders slump. This is not the way this was supposed to go. “No. No need for a vote. You’ve got a deal. One month.”

Harris smiles, the smug bastard. “Good luck, Jackie.”

“Fuck you, Hairless.”