[Brackets] by David Sloan Page A

wasn’t anywhere near the café. He found himself looking down from a small building that he recognized as across the street and much further to the east of where he thought he was. He was just below the mist, overlooking several boxed flower gardens and standing next to a stairway going down to the street level. His GPS came online and confirmed how far he had travelled.
    “Everyone, I am not near the café. I didn’t come out there. You need to move east…” But before he could finish calling his real position, a minor leader from some tribe he didn’t know pushed back passed him and tried to enter the door that had been shut behind them. In a moment , the General saw why. A sizeable Ahtzon patrol was closing in from one side of the street. Several tribal leaders were retreating and trying to return fire, but the patrol was advancing inexorably. They would overtake his position soon.
    “Ahtzon coming in heavy on the east side of the street. I need back-up!” he yelled into his headset as he also backed up the stairway. He quickly assessed his options. Going down the stairs would just put him in the middle of the firefight. The railing in front of him led nowhere.
    “Killer, I’m a sitting duck, you need to get here—”
    “You’re too far away, Stud! There are all these freaking tourists!”
    Something whizzed past his head, a nd the General turned to see tha t he’d been noticed by the Ahtzon. The other leader fell off the stairway to the ground below. Another shot, and bullets struck the General in the right arm, knocking his gun over the railing and rendering his arm useless. He jumped over the railing and steadied himself on a window box. Another quick jump and he was on a roof, running at an angle and trying to find a way up and over the buildings. There was none. A narrow alleyway, partially hidden, branched off below. It seemed like his only chance. With a risky jump, he awkwardly maneuvered around stone and windows and ungracefully fell down into the corridor. But it was a mistake. The alleyway was a dead end. He turned around and noticed two Ahtzon guards closing in. There were no exits, no doors, no windows, not even any convenient tourists to use as human shields. He was cornered.
    They had him . The warning light in his head-up display indicated that he couldn’t jump out of the city—no one could leave without automatically dying once they were marked by the Ahtzon. He was General Studblood; if he was to die, he would die fighting. He turned low and away in a desperate attempt to duck, then he rolled forward and up to go out with a ferocious, possibly suicidal pounce.
    Guns fired as the General landed, and then a voice. “Stud! Yo, Stud!” The General opened his eyes wide , stunned to see Lazaro in front of him with the two Ahtzon dead at his feet. “C’mon, Stud, there are more coming!” They snapped back into action, firing behind as they ran down the sidewalk and ducked around to safety behind a cluster of vendor stands.
    “So,” said Lazaro as the General looked back. “This will be fun to talk about at my party.” The General sighed heavily and wondered if he should have just taken the bullets.
    *               *               *               *
    At one point during Perry’s drive that night, he realized that he couldn’t remember Lazaro’s real name. He hoped that wouldn’t be a problem.
    There were lots of reasons for him not to go. For one, he was too old for th is kind of stuff. He would certainly be older than any of Lazaro’s friends—not to mention more mature, not to mention more sane. He didn’t like parties. He especially didn’t like parties late at night when he could be doing other things, like sleeping or shooting something in Kaah Mukul or anything else in the world. He absolutely hated small talk. He couldn’t even remember what people were supposed to wear to parties, and he’d settled, after a few minutes of