The wooden boards creaked under the boots of the three men as they entered the saloon. Conversations ended, and all eyes looked toward the newcomers while more than a few hands reached for holstered laser pistols. Although no one drew their weapons, most were prepared to do so.

The open doors provided much needed ventilation during the hottest part of the day as the saloon lacked environmental control systems, but with the wind came the dust, and a thin layer of pale soil covered everything in the bar and accumulated into small piles in the corners. The air smelled of various liquors, sweat, and the acrid stench of a native plant smoked by the locals.

The trio of men were conspicuous by their attire. While everyone in the saloon wore the tanned leathers and homemade fabrics common to border towns, the new arrivals wore the solid black uniforms of the Earth Union; a white stripe down the outside of each leg signaled they were notofficers. The soldiers were clean shaven and neat in contrast with dusty and scarred men they shared the saloon with. Doing their best to ignore the attention and open hostility of the other patrons, the soldiers headed for the bar.

"What'll you have?" the barman asked while polishing a drinking glass with a rag. The servos in his mechanical right hand were in need of repair, and they whined slightly with each movement.

"Three meteor showers," the middle of the three soldiers answered. The triangular pin on the upper left of his chest identified the blond man as a Corporal. He smiled as if the bartender were an old friend he'd known for years. The smile faded when the bartender didn't react in the slightest.

"You got something other than Union credits?" the bartender asked, making no move to prepare the requested drinks. "That digital stuff don't work out here."

"We know," the Corporal answered, digging in his pocket and pulling out a trio of glittering green ingots the size of his thumbnail. He took one of them and held it up, letting the light sparkle along its edges. "This should cover it."

"I can't make change for that much," the bartender replied.

"Then cover the drinks of everyone with it," the soldier countered with a satisfied grin. He left the coin on the bar and returned the others to his pocket.

The crowd seemed to relax with the prospect of free drinks, moving their hands away from their weapons and putting them back on the battered wood tables.

The bartender placed three glasses on the bar and filled them with a concoction of blue and green liquid the consistency of honey. A trio of claws extended out from a ring of steel surrounding a mesh screen; the bartender hooked the claws over the rim of each glass to suspend the screen over the surface of the drinks before placing a rock the size of a sugar cube in the middle of each ring. Lighting a match, the bartender set each of the black rocks on fire, and the burning drippings leaked through the screen to shower down upon the surface of the drink and change the fluid to bright orange and yellow while at the same time making it more transparent.

When the cubes burned up completely a few seconds later, the soldiers removed the metal suspended screens and dropped them clinking to the bar's surface. The fire had gone out, and the soldiers downed the drinks simultaneously.

"Another round," called out the soldier on the left, only to be immediately seconded by his companions.

"It be mighty gen'rous of you Union boys to pay fer our drinks," growled a voice from behind them before the bartender could pour the next set.

The soldiers didn't have to turn around as the mirror behind the bar let them see the six men who had moved to stand behind them. The man who'd spoken had a weathered face, a narrow left eye, and a hand resting comfortably on the grip of his laser pistol.

The bartender took a step back, then two more at a quicker pace. A few patrons decided they'd had enough free drinks and departed through the nearest exits.

"How come you're not drinking?" the Corporal asked, focusing on the man's reflection in the mirror.

"I thought I might like to have some later," the man replied. "You got the coin to pay fer it, and then some. How 'bout you hand it over? In fact, hand over all you got."

"That's no way to treat someone who just paid for your drinks," the Corporal mentioned in an calm tone. He kept his hands on the bar, neither reaching for his sidearm nor the money in his pocket.

"Quit stalling!" snapped the thief, fingers tightening on his laser pistol. "All three of you, hand over the money, or you ain't gonna need any money no more."

"If you insist," the Corporal accepted. When he turned around, he kept a hold of his drinking glass and threw it at the thief. Although the criminal was fast enough to dodge, the momentary distraction was sufficient for the three soldiers to draw their own laser pistols and open fire on their assailants. Red beams of light struck multiple criminals, kicking them over backwards to crash into tables and chairs.

Two of the criminals dived for cover, upending tables to intercept the lasers fired in their direction. Burning holes tore through the wood tops of the tables, but the metal reinforcement underneath halted the lasers before they could penetrate and reach the men hiding behind the tables.

The soldiers bolted for the door, and laser fire from the surviving criminals chased them outside, impacting around them with poorly aimed shots. Waiting in the dirt street were three fighters.

The cone shaped nose of the fighters held the sensors and the majority of the computer components for the cockpit residing directly behind it under a clear canopy. The engine was mounted behind the pilot with only enough shielding to keep the occupant of the cockpit from being roasted when the engine was driven to full power. The main thruster assembly composed the tail of the fighter and spewed a jet of blue plasma when at full speed. Gull wings stretched out from the sides of the fighters, and the logo of a star pattern behind a golden number 12 identified the ships as belonging to the 12th Cavalry. Dual barreled laser cannonstipped each wing, and the wings were loaded underneath with singularmissiles and canisters of rocket pods.

When the onboard sensors detected their designated pilots approaching, the canopies raised automatically, letting the three soldiers climb in. Engines powered up quickly as the surviving thieves inside the bar fired on the fighters from the open door. The personal lasers were no match for the heavy armor of the space craft, so the pilots ignored them and engaged the thrusters. The fighters pushed away from the saloon in clouds of dust, forcing the thieves to shield their eyes.

Making a hard burn, the fighters shot away from the ground, rocketing into the sky at tremendous speeds. The pilots laughed together over the communication system.

"I don't think they'll be forgetting that for a while," one of them snickered.

"They should've known better than to challenge us," the Corporal added.

Before the third member of their group could inject his own comment, the tactical sensor displays on all three fighters began beeping an alert.

"We've got incoming ships," a pilot reported.

"It's probably just a supply caravan for the mines," the Corporal dismissed.

"Then why aren't they headed for the planet?" asked his subordinate. "They're coming toward us."

As the five red blips came closer, a more detailed scan allowed for their identification. All enjoyment from the previous fight vanished from the three pilots.

"Tressos fighters," the Corporal breathed in a horrified whisper. "Full burn back to Palisade station!"

"We're three days from Palisade," a voice through the Corporal's communication panel protested.

"Stop arguing and hit the throttle," the Corporal fired back.

As the 12th Cavalry fighters accelerated away from the incoming alien ships, additional blips began to appear on their tactical display.

"There's three more," came the report through the comm panel, but it was almost immediately followed by a different voice. "I've got seven coming out from behind the third moon."

"Back to the planet," the Corporal ordered. His men started to argue, saying how the locals wouldn't help them, being too concerned about protecting themselves from the alien Tressos. The Corporal shouted over them. "Enough! We'll take shelter in the abandoned mine. It's deep enough to prevent them from strafing us. We just have to hold out until the rest of the squadron comes looking for us."

Not wanting to hear their complaints, the Corporal closed the channel. It would be days until they were due back at Palisade station, a few more days until it was certain they wouldn't be returning, and a few days more for the rescue ships to arrive. Glancing toward the tactical screen and seeing more than two dozen indicators for the Tressos fighters closing in from all sides, the Corporal knew it was unlikely his small force would be able to hold out until help arrived, but he didn't have any other choice.

Tightening his grip on the controls, he led the way back down through the atmosphere with the hostile aliens in pursuit.