Ray Gun Revival magazine, Issue 53

ly. “It was the only way we could do
it.
“The hell are you saying, Doc?”
“You did your part...bought me a
few moments to charge the bomb.
You cannot stop it.” He tried to
laugh. “Remember the Rains of
November. This war is over.” His
eyes rolled back in his head and he
slumped over lifelessly.
The clock had just sunk under the
two-minute mark.
Veedle laughed hysterically.
Apparently the noise from his
weapon fire had caught the attention
of others, because a flood of
armed guards were making their
way out of the nearest building, as
well as from the ship.
“Two minutes,” Veedle said. “Better
make it count, then.”
He steadied both of the enormous
weapons and charged forward towards
Damascus City, laughing the
whole way.
Into the Deep © 2009 by Brandon Meyers
DEUCES WILD - Dining With The Enemy
by L.S. King
Tristan piloted his old partner Reggie’s
ship safely through the Confederation
blockade. Tristan now had to
face Reggie—where the true danger
loomed.
The two guards behind Reggie,
flanking his chair, raised their
PBRs. Pursed lips gave away Reggie’s
uncertainly despite his smug expression.
“Kudos. I see your skill is no
less than it used to be. You seem to
have aged well, like a fine wine. I assume
your other talents are equally
as honed.” Reggie still spoke in a bit
of a close-mouthed drawl, but that
broken jaw had caused considerable
damage, after all. It didn’t affect
his silky voice though, and only increased
his ability to appear poised.
Tristan didn’t answer except
through his stare. Reggie leaned
back, tenting his fingers in front
of him, his gaze growing curious.
“Would you join me for a meal?”
“Are you giving me a choice?”
A smile slowly spread. To someone
who didn’t know Reggie, it
might seem genuine, but to Tristan,
it was feral.
“No.”
Give in to the inevitable, wait for
ISSUE 53
a chance. Tristan stood. Reggie rose
as well, his lifted eyebrows the only
indication he was surprised. Did he
think Tristan would fight or balk?
Perhaps. He remembered a much
younger man, one with dark moods
and an explosive temper. Could
Tristan use that to his advantage?
“I apologize but I must ask for you
to relinquish your vest.” Reggie lifted
a finger. “And don’t try to palm
any of your...equipment. You know I
would see it.”
And he likely would, having been
one of Tristan’s teachers in the art.
His gaze didn’t falter as he took the
vest off and held it out for a guard
to take. None of the items was irreplaceable,
but he would mourn
the time, effort, and cost if he had
to be put through the process twice
within a year.
One of the guards ran a scanner
over Tristan, then nodded.
Reggie swept an arm out, inviting
Tristan to lead the way. The guards’
aim never faltered as Tristan passed.
Once in the corridor—the plush
blue fibers on the deck and polished
dark mahogany moldings indicating
it was a luxury yacht, Reggie said,
“The dining room is aft.”
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