By Larry Stovall
and Joseph Manno
“Could use some help over here!”
Jason Fryar was off duty… but he was
off-duty security. He stunned a pair
of looters and shoved his way towards Lieutenant Rhodes’ voice. Fryar got close enough to see the lithe Greek fending off
three different attackers when someone grabbed him from behind, hard enough to
jar the phaser from his grasp. He had time to notice his new friend was Sarmatian before being locked into a half-assed
half-nelson. It didn’t have to be textbook, though, when you were built like a bipedal
Clydesdale.
Fryar tried to slide down and slip out; the
alien adjusted and maintained its grip. He snapped his head, trying to break
something on its face. No dice: It reared back out of range. Jason was close to
blacking out from the pain... and knew he wouldn’t wake up.
Desperate, his free hand found its way to the Sarmatian’s
crotch. Getting a good grip wasn’t too tough; there was something to the
phrase ‘hung like a horse,’ after all.
He yanked… and twisted.
His opponent brayed, and its grip loosened—just enough. Fryar levered away,
releasing its pride and joy… just before planting a boot in the same location.
The Sarmatian let out a strange scream—a
whinny, perhaps—and doubled over. Fryar’s knee then
caught it squarely on the chin; the click of teeth clattering as its jaw
snapped shut was painfully audible.
It fell over… and stayed there.
Fryar couldn’t feel much below his neck, but
turned towards Cassie Rhodes nevertheless; he could at least get in someone’s
way. Fortunately, the lieutenant had already disabled the opposition; the mob
now gave her a wide berth. She
blinked at Fryar, seeing something new, perhaps… then
spared a glance for the Sarmatian, who was still
conscious—curled around his groin and braying pitifully at the top of his
massive lungs.
“Guess they’d better scratch Man’o’War
there from the third race, huh?”
“Glad I don’t have to kiss that
and make it better.”
She grinned wickedly.
“What a waste.”