Disclaimer: All the characters from the "Magnificent Seven" T.V. series are property of Trilogy Entertainment, The Mirisch Group, MGM Worldwide. The same goes for all characters from Time Trax, which belong to Gary Nardino Productions Inc and Lorimar Television. All characters and situation from Terminator and Terminator 2: Judgement Day is the property of Carolco Pictures and Corolco International.
Authors Note: Herešs something different. This is a cross over between Time Trax, Terminator and M7. I have tried to make the three universes as cohesive as possible, so if youšre prone to picking out faults as a rule, I donšt want to know. This is written to be enjoyed and while I accept constructive criticism, please remember that all fiction requires some suspension of belief. If you want realism, look at newspaper. This is just for fun.
With the help of Selma's expert navigation, Darien Lambert found himself at the edge of Four Corners and knew with absolute certainty that Sahmbi's device had succeeded in sending him back to the 19th century. He stared at the town, gaping with the wonder of a child discovering that not all fantasies were fiction. When he was a boy in the orphanage, Darien had dreamed of how exciting it would be to live in this rugged and challenging area. So much of the west had been untamed at this point and it added a new strength to those born to it. He remembered the legendary figures of the era, Wyatt Earp, Buffalo Bill and Jesse James just to name a few and knew that they must have lived in towns not unlike this one.
"Its just like in the movies." Darien grinned as he left the outskirts of Four Corners and began moving into the heart of the town. He hoped the clothes he had chose did not make him look too out of place. Instead of relying on the portrayals from popular movies and books, Darien had referenced accurate historical data when choosing to outfit himself. He needed to blend in and did not want to arrive looking like a reject from a circus rodeo. To a certain extent he succeeded with his selection. His tan duster covered a plain cotton shirt that would have little difficulty fitting in any era and a pair of jeans. Although he missed his sneakers, especially during his walk to town, Darien was forced to concede that the ankle length boots he was wearing sufficed well enough.
It was with open fascination that he observed the horse drawn carriages and wagons rumbling past him. Women wearing long dresses with sweeping skirts and straw bonnets strolled up and down the wooden sidewalk that ran up the length of the town central district. It was almost noon and the heat of the day prickled his skin. Darien pulled the dark hat stock hat favoured by Australians everywhere, over his eyes to keep the glare away. He had to admit feeling like a bit of a tourist, as he studied everything closely, enraptured by everything in this world that was so far away from the one he had known before. He supposed the movies did get some things right because the customary jailhouse and saloon, looked exactly like he expected. There were even the barbershops with the familiar barber pole hanging outside the door.
Darien wondered if the sheriff was about and did he look anything like Gary Cooper. Of course where there was a sheriff, there had to be some spirited school mistress or lady saloon owner who was his romantic interest otherwise television had lied to him completely. There was a great deal of people on the street today and Darien wondered if it was always this busy. Fortunately, none of them seemed at all bothered by his presence. Although Darien had no idea that women in this era was so forward. From what he knew women in this time, they were still considered second class citizens and yet those he had encountered since arriving in town were less than shy.
At least a dozen young ladies had offered him warm greetings as he past by them, laced with suggestive smiles and 'come hither' looks that made him wonder whether that aftershave this morning was such a good idea. One had even come up to him and actually commented he looked good without a moustache.
Considering that Darien had tried growing moustache when he was a teenager and was now old enough to know better, he tended to agree with the young lady in her assertion. With growing confusion, he realised that it was the women in town who mostly noticed his presence. They waved and smiled as they passed him by while the men regarded him as just another person in town. However he did catch one or two looks that could only be described as a mixture of hostility and plain admiration which added to his puzzlement.
Deciding that it was best that he did not delve too much into this odd behaviour, since he had a far more important agenda in mind, Darien made his way to the saloon. If he knew his westerns at all, it would the best place to find Christopher Larabee
He had not paid attention to the loud footsteps behind him because there were people moving back and forth about their business everywhere. The streets were crowded with so many differing sounds that it was impossible to keep stock of every one. However, when he heard the booming voice that followed those footsteps, Darien was forced to concede that it was for his benefit only.
"You have a lot nerve Wilmington!" He turned around to find himself staring at the clearly enraged face of a huge behemoth. Darien, who was quite tall himself, felt positively tiny next to this giant of a man who possessed the astonishing ability to block out the sun. For a minute Darien wondered if he wrestled alligators for a living. However, judging by the glowering on that thick bone Neanderthal face, Darien realised that discovering this man's occupation was the least of his problems.
"I think you've mistaken me for someone else." Darien said politely, trying not to cause or scene nor did he wish to provoke a fight. He attempted to walk away from the situation before it deteriorated any further.
"Very funny Wilmington." The man slapped a huge palm against his shoulder and held it in a firm grip that clearly indicated that Darien was not going anywhere. "I suppose it wasn't you in my Virginia's bed this morning."
Oh hell. Darien swore under his breath coming to the unhappy conclusion that this was an angry husband out for revenge on his wife's lover. "I assure you," Darien said calmly even though he had the sneaking suspicion that the civilised approach was not going to resolve this case of mistaken identities. Judging by the anger on his face, the man was spoiling for a fight and the moment cared little for what sparked it. "I don't even know a Virginia."
"You're a yellow bellied, low down liar!" The man growled and threw his enormous fist at Darien. Fortunately, like all men of his bulk, he was slow and Darien who was a product of 22nd century genetic engineering was more than equal to the task of fending off his attack. He caught the man's fist easily and used his opponent's forward momentum to flip the man onto his back. He hit the ground and made it tremble slightly because his weight, sending clouds of dust in the air upon impact.
There was shock on his face but only for a moment. Darien saw the astonishment on his face quickly evaporate into a mask of crimson rage. It was quite possible that no one had ever humiliated him this way and with a sinking feeling, Darien realised that there there would be no placating the man after such a public injury to his pride. People had stopped what they were doing to observe the proceedings and Darien winced at this. He had no intention of making this altercation into a spectator's sport for the people of Four Corners.
"Look, I don't know who you think I am but I don't want to hurt you." Darien said quickly making a last ditch effort to resolve this misunderstanding peacefully as he saw the man scramble to his feet, covered in dirt and wearing a look on his face that could only be described as murderously angry.
"You're going take your medicine Wilmington!" He growled before lowering his head and charging.
"Oh shit." Darien swore under his breath as he saw the man coming towards him like a cannon ball.
Jumping out of the way easily, Darien saw the man ran straight past him only to connect with a wooden beam holding up a section of short awning, head first. Darien winced as he heard the terrible crack of skull meeting wood before his would be attacker staggered backwards from the collision. He met Darien's eyes for a moment and the expression seemed to be dazed shock.
Then he fell flat on his back and moved no more.
"Well this is good too." Darien sighed as he walked over to the man and felt for a pulse. He did not think the man had injured himself very badly but it never hurt to check. Darien reached for his neck and felt a pulse beating slowly but steadily. Other than a further injury to his pride and a severe headache when he regained consciousness, Darien foresaw little permanent damage.
"Captain are you all right?" He heard Selma whispering.
"I'm fine." He muttered under his breath as he broke through the crowd that had gathered to witness the fallen man's misfortune and continued towards the saloon. After that little episode, he could actually use a drink.
"Very well then," Selma retorted. "I shall return to silent mode."
"I wish you would." Darien grumbled, unhappy that his attempt to make a discreet entrance into Four Corners had been shot to hell. Darien supposed he would have to deal with the man again when he had regained consciousness. Hopefully, that would not happen for some hours. Selma remained silent, probably aware that when his voice took on this particular tone he was in little mood or patience to tolerate questions. Darien knew he should not take his annoyance out on Selma but he could help it.
He reached the saloon and walked through the bat wing doors, hoping nothing else would take place that would bring undue attention to him. He wanted to blend in and carry out his mission. Despite the sight seeing he had been indulging himself earlier, Darien Lambert's mission here could not be allowed to fail. It was rare that he could say with any kind of honesty that the future existence of everything humanity would ever know depended on how he managed the next few days.
Darien sidled up to the bar and climbed onto a stool. No one took any notice of him inside the walls of this establishment, as most of the patrons were too busy downing their drinks or playing cards. Some were enjoying the attentions of garishly dressed women that Darien could only guess were working girls. With very few exceptions, the interior of the saloon looked exactly as he imagined it would.
A most beautiful Mexican woman appeared behind the counter as he waited for service. As she approached him with her dusky skin and sultry features, Darien found himself admiring her heart stopping feminine presence.
"Hello." He said pleasantly as she came up to him.
"Hello?" She returned coldly, her eyes narrowing as she met his gaze. "So much for the new you."
"I beg your pardon?" Darien looked at her blankly.
"I knew you were low," she continued oblivious to his confusion and clearly very angry with him. Her hands were on her hips and her eyes were blazing fire in his direction. "I knew you chased everything in a skirt but a married woman who is known across five states for her reputation! Don't you know you were just another notch on her garter belt?"
"Look I just came in for a drink lady." Darien retorted starting to get very tired of this. Just exactly, who did these people think he was?
"Oh its lady now?" She shouted angrily and Darien looked around and noticed all eyes were staring at him, which is exactly what he had wanted to avoid. If he ever met this Wilmington character, Darien decided he was going to kick his philandering ass from here to the 20th century.
"There's been some mistake..." Darien tried to explain and calm her down.
"Of course there's been some mistake!" She snapped cutting of any attempt he made to explain things to her. "I made it! I trusted you and thought that you had some scruples at least! I will never trust you again Senor Wilmington." With that she poured a glass of whisky into a small shot glass and threw it in his face.
The room exploded into laughter as Darien wiped the dripping alcohol from his face and managed to see a flounce of red skirt moving out of his line of sight with a trailing sob in its wake. "You even shaved your moustache for her...."
"Goddamn it woman, that hurts!" Vin snapped at Alex while she was examining the contusions that had formed a substantial lump on the side of his head.
"I said sit still." Alex returned such as sharply.
When Nathan had discovered a sizeable bump on Vin's head while treating his injuries, the healer had been concerned enough to have Ezra summon Alex from her clinic to make a quick examination just in case. Since her arrival in Four Corners, Nathan and Alex had developed somewhat of rapport when it came to the medical health of the community. When he was convinced that he had neither the skill nor experience to deal with some injuries or illnesses, he often consulted Alex if it concerned him enough. On the other hand, Alex found that Nathan was skilled enough to assist her in surgery whenever it was required. Surgery was something Nathan had no wish to try and she knew the few occasions that he had been forced to perform the task had been little more than minor procedures.
"Look I'm fine." Vin complained on the examination table in Nathan's infirmary.
"He was out for a couple of hours." Nathan pointed out, knowing that any kind of blackout following a severe injury to the head required inspection. He regarded Alexandra Styles were highly because she was a real doctor with all the diplomas and education that came with the title but because she treated him like an equal. To her, he was not simply some quack with a modicum of skills. She respected his opinions and even tried to help him expand his knowledge. A copy of Gray's Anatomy sat on one of the shelves in his infirmary, a gift from Alex. Nathan had been genuinely touched when she had presented the worn copy to him not realising until much later when he read the stencilled name inside its jacket that the book had originally belonged to her father.
"Well," Alex stepped away from Vin, pleased that her examination was more or less concluded because Vin Tanner could be as obstinate as a mule. "I've done all the visual acuity tests and the balance and coordination test. I think its little more than a mild concussion and although his disposition could be better." She threw Vin a look as she made that remark. "I'd say he will be fine."
"I didn't mean to bother you Alex." Nathan responded. "Its just kind of worried me."
"It pays to be careful Nathan." Alex smiled. "What happened to him anyway?"
"I am in the room you know." Vin made himself heard.
Both Nathan and Alex glanced at him for a moment and then continued speaking again. "I'd keep an eye on him for the next day or two." Alex said with a little smirk on her lovely features. "No alcohol or I should say, no more alcohol. If there is any dizziness or nausea, we need to know whether it is caused by the head injury and not just another hangover."
"I'll keep him out of the saloon." Nathan said without any hesitation.
"That will be an interesting trick." Ezra spoke for the first time. When Alex and Nathan were talking shop it was best not to get involved. Most of the time, the content of the healers conversation was so beyond his understanding that Ezra had learnt fairly early in his association with Alex that it was best to sit back and let them continue unimpeded. He particularly enjoyed it when Vin required Alex's considerable medical knowledge because unlike Nathan, who considered them friends' first and then patients, Alex knew no such sensibilities. Friends or not, her medical advice was to be followed without fail.
"Don't worry," Vin drawled rising to his feet. "I won't go anywhere near the saloon." He announced. "I'm going to find the varmint that stole my clothes and my gun."
"Hold it there Mr Tanner," Ezra interjected. "You are doing nothing of the sort for a while yet. Let us wait until Mr Larabee returns before we decide on a course of action." Without even hearing his words, Ezra was certain that Chris would not allow Vin embark on any hunt in the condition he was in.
"He could be anywhere by now!" Vin exclaimed in protest.
"He could be," Ezra agreed. "But as you say he was on foot and had no horse. Wherever he is, it isn't far away and the man you describe is not easy to fade into the background."
Vin opened his mouth to protest but he knew Ezra was right. Despite his anger at what had happened to him, he was unable to deny the throbbing in his face and head. His head injury was slightly worse than he had let on but he knew that if his friends had an inkling that he was hurt, they might not allow him to participate in catching the man who did this to him. In truth, he did feel woozy and nauseous but he was not about to admit that to anyone, especially after that drink in the saloon.
"Okay," he conceded. "I will get some rest but if he come into town, I want to know about it." He said looking firmly at Ezra and Nathan so that they would understand how serious he was on this matter. Very little bothered Vin Tanner but this had infuriated him beyond belief. He had not felt so stupid and vulnerable since he was a boy and a part of him was still in astonishment at how a complete stranger had sneaked up on him and taken him out so easily. It stung his normally unflappable confidence to the core and Vin hated feeling like this.
"Of course." Ezra replied. "Now why don't you let Mr Jackson and I escort you to your lodgings." The gambler offered politely.
Vin shrugged, unhappy at being out of commission for any length of time but he had to confess needing the rest. Begrudgingly, he looked up at the friends who were not about to tolerate any argument on the matter and replied wearily. "Just don't try to help me walk." Vin said as he made his way to the door with great dignity. "I can get there myself."
"I'm sure you can." Ezra said with a completely straight face.
Vin could only glare at him.
JD had decided to help Vin in his own way by doing a quick patrol around the town to see if there were any strangers in town. Following Buck's lead, JD made a quick visit to the hotel and boarding houses to see if anyone new had recently acquired lodgings in Four Corners. His search had not been fruitful and after an hour of so engaged in this endeavour, he returned to the saloon to find Ezra and perhaps get some lunch. Even though he considered himself a man, JD had to admit he still had the appetite of growing boy and unlike the others who seemed content with three meals a day if that, JD had to have proper lunches because it was the manner in which he was raised.
Thinking of lunches invariably brought the young man to consider the mother he had left behind. He wondered if she was all right back in the east and made a note to write her this evening if he had nothing better to do. He did not expect to see Buck until dark he probably would have time after he made his customary patrols around town to ensure things were running smoothly. JD took his duties as sheriff very seriously and often considered himself to be the first line of defence when it came to trouble town.
JD walked into the saloon and looked around for anyone he knew. The table normally occupied by Ezra and the others was empty and guessed they had not returned from seeing Vin to Nathan's infirmary. He knew Josiah had mentioned something about fixing a stained glass window in the church he was attempting to build and assumed that the preacher was probably there, since he did not accompany Vin to the infirmary.
Suddenly, JD caught sight of Buck sitting at the counter. For a minute, he did not recognise the older man. For reasons he could not explain, Buck looked different somehow. The most obvious difference was of course the moustache. JD seemed to recall Buck once saying that the only way he would ever be rid of this moustache was over his dead body. Without it, Buck seemed a lot younger actually.
"Buck!" JD called out as he strode over to the tall man at the counter.
Buck did not seem to hear him and that heightened JD's puzzlement further. For a moment, JD wondered if Buck was in disguise so that Jasper Cray would not find him. JD did not for a moment believe that Buck Wilmington was afraid of anyone but then Jasper was pretty mad, not to mention huge as he could personally attest after suffering the brunt of the man's rage earlier.
"Hey Buck!" JD exclaimed slapping him on the back as JD climbed onto to the stool beside him.
JD noticed Buck's eyes rolling in what could only be described as a mixture of indifference and pure annoyance. In either case, Buck turned to him and said very firmly. "Listen kid, I don't know who you think I am and I don't really care but I am not him, got that?"
He had to be joking. It was the only explanation that could wrap itself around JD's rising confusion. "Buck, this ain't funny."
Buck started rubbing his forehead as if he was developing a sudden headache before meeting JD's gaze again. "Exactly who do you think I am?"
Now he was certain that Buck was kidding with him. JD knew Buck had a strange sense of humour or maybe he really was hiding out from Jasper. In any case, JD was willing to play along for a while. "You're Buck Wilmington of course unless you've changed your identity so Jasper don't come after you."
Darien groaned visibly. "My name is Darien Lambert, I'm in town for a few days on some private business. I don't know who Buck Wilmington is and if Jasper is a seven foot tall ape who thinks I've been with his wife, we've already met."
"He must have pounded you good." JD exclaimed, looking Buck over for any signs of injury that may explain this erratic behaviour. "Are you hurt? Do you need to see Nathan or Doctor Styles?"
Darien poured himself another drink from the bottle the angry Mexican beauty had left behind. "I'm fine kid." He growled. This young man reminded him of one of the rookies on the force who were too green to walk away from a bad situation until it blew up in their faces. Despite his persistence, Darien could not help liking the boy and he was a boy, even if he was packing six shooters on either side. This was hardly surprising of course. In this day and age, the NRA was not a bunch of gun happy fanatics; it was the corner stone on which the old West functioned.
Darien was about to tell him to go away when suddenly he noticed the silver glint of a sheriff's badge on the breast of JD's waistcoat. "You're the sheriff?"
"Very funny Buck," JD retorted. "I suppose you don't know that you're the one who told me I was a fool for taking on the job?"
With that much Darien agreed with the unseen Mr Wilmington. "You're just a kid!"
JD bristled at that remark and Darien scolded himself for being so insensitive. The badge was polished and well cared for, a clear indication that the young man who wore it was inordinately proud of the title and the authority behind it. "Listen Buck, I'm getting mighty tired of this game you're playing." In truth, JD was feeling unusually persecuted and was actually angry enough to leave Buck to his little role playing fantasy. He rose from his chair when the older man responded.
"Sit down kid." Darien sighed, deciding that it was not his fault that JD did not understand what was going on. "I didn't mean to insult you. I'm sorry Sheriff.... what's your name?"
"JD Dunne!" JD exclaimed. "That's it, I'm taking you to see Nathan." JD put his hand around Buck's arm. "You're not yourself."
"Sit." Darien said coolly, with a tone in his voice that told JD not to argue. JD did so obediently and Darien turned around on his stool so that he was meeting the young man face to face. "Just assume for a moment that I am not your friend Buck Wilmington. I know I look like this Wilmington person but I am not him. Just empty your mind of that whole concept and start thinking of me as Darien Lambert. I am looking for a Christopher Larabee. Do you know where I can find him?"
If this young man was indeed the sheriff of Four Corners, then Darien had to assume that he would know where the ancestor of Kyle Reese might be at this moment. Considering his luck already, Darien did not think he would have much to lose if the boy knew nothing. In any instance, he would be no further along in his search than he was now.
JD wondered what sort of game Buck was playing with him but something had started to nag at him that the young man was too inexperienced to recognise or heed at this stage in life. "Christopher Larabee? Come on Buck, you know where Chris is better than I do! You went with him to Sweetwater this morning."
At this moment, a man who looked exactly like him was out riding with the very person Darien Lambert had chased across time. The irony of this situation was not lost on him. "Are you telling me Wilmington and Larabee are friends?" Darien started to feel the onset of a very severe headache and was tempted to pour himself another glass of this rotgut that passed for whisky.
"You're really not Buck are you?" JD said softly, finally starting to realise that differences he had been seeing could lead to no other conclusion. The man looked exactly like Buck except there were subtle differences around the eyes and the way in which he spoke. The voice did not have the familiar Texan drawl that Buck possessed. Instead, the man's voice inflections that JD had grown up with in the east.
"What made you guess?" Darien smiled faintly. The kid was pretty smart. Darien could see his eyes studying him closely, detecting those little differences that he had ignored earlier.
"You look exactly like him." JD replied somewhat shocked. "I'm not kidding...what did you say your name was?"
"Darien Lambert." Darien answered with some relief that finally; someone was calling him by his own name.
"You look exactly like Buck, Mr Lambert." JD said studying him even as he responded. "Even without the moustache and I think Buck's a little heavier than you are but for most part, you're nearly identical."
"Terrific." Darien retorted, brushing aside this uncanny resemblance to another person for the moment. Until now he had been reluctant to go asking questions in light of his mistaken identity. However with the aid of this young man who now believed that he was not Buck Wilmington, perhaps Darien could get somewhere with his search for Christopher Larabee. "Look, its important that I find Larabee immediately. You said he's gone to Sweetwater, when he will be back?"
"Tonight." JD replied with some apprehension. There was a threat of something unspoken in the eyes of this stranger who wore Buck's face. JD could sense the hard edge of concern in his eyes that he often saw in Chris' own. Something was wrong. "What's happening? Is Chris in trouble?"
Deciding he had little choice at the moment since he needed the information, Darien decided there would be little harm in taking this kid into his confidence. Judging by the way that he spoke about Chris Larabee, Darien guessed that JD Dunne knew the gunslinger personally. "Someone is coming to kill him." Darien replied, editing the truth for his benefit. JD did not need to know that a killer cyborg was a more accurate description, even if Darien could explain it to him in a way he would understand. "I am here to stop them but I need to know where he would go first when he comes back to town."
"Well that's easy." JD replied without even having to consider the question. "He'd go see Mrs Travis."
The Terminator had chose to make its entry into Four Corners once the sun had set. Although there was little reason to fear discovery, his programming had calculated that optimum success would be ensured if he entered the town under the cover of dark. With a community as small as this one where complex social groups were in force, it was likely that the presence of a stranger may raise enough suspicion for the target to escape.
What information there existed about the target was mostly the archival data stored from the periodicals of the age. When the Terminator was being prepared as a vassal for the Skynet intelligence, the read-only function in its neuro-net central processor had been disabled. To date, he was the only model of the Terminator series to have this function made inoperative, as the requirements of a Terminator did not involve being a learning computer. The information necessary to hunt and kill humans on a wholesale basis did not require anything that was not already programmed by Skynet. Skynet was the only artificial intelligence program with self-awareness. It intended to remain that way.
The clothes and weapons that the Terminator had liberated from the humans he had encountered earlier in the day had proved successful in allowing him walk through the community engendering little interest. The scant information in his memory banks regarding the whereabouts of the target indicated that he would eventually arrive at this establishment. As the Terminator made its way up the steps, his internals sensors detected precisely 35 people in the building. The life signs were scattered on both levels.
Stepping through the bat wing doors of the saloon, the Terminator scanned the floor very quickly. Most of the humans present were on a high level of chemically induced intoxication. He saw the bottles on the shelves behind the counter that seemed to prove this point. Some were seated and indulging in games of chance while others drank solutions of questionable quality with hallucinogenic properties. Since Kyle Reese had been coded while in the camps of the future, his DNA pattern was also on record and with this in his memory banks, the Terminator was able to learn that the target was not present. Although its range in this matter was extremely limited and so the subject could be in town without his sensors detecting it.
He found a table in the corner of the room that was presently occupied by a human that was slouched across the table in a complete alcohol induced stupor. As the Terminator approached it, the human made no move to stop his advance. Confident that the human was going to offer any resistance, the Terminator sat down quietly, observing the proceedings in the rowdy establishment with little notice.
A search throughout the town would raise suspicion and allow the target the opportunity to fee and so the Terminator decided against this. According to the information in the archives he had called up for the purpose, the probabilities were heavy that the target would arrive here eventually. If not, the Terminator was equipped with the names of all associates as noted in the periodicals of the time. The target had six other companions and the Terminator decided that if ample time had elapsed without the target's arrival, he would seek the six and use secondary measures to find out his whereabouts.
And if that failed, there was also the matter of the secondary target.
The Terminator watched the proceedings with a mild case of fascination. Once the read-only function was disabled, he was capable of absorbing great volumes of data. The Skynet programming that was currently in existence in its limited confines thirsted for such information with almost human need. The expansion of the Terminator's understanding of human behaviour was the one aspect of its programming that needed to be updated at regular intervals. There was no equation or logistical application to human behavioural patterns that could be predicted. Ten Terminators could be expected to react the same way to a given situation but ten humans would react in ten different ways.
The war in which John Connor had defeated Skynet's machine army was case in point of how such an odd behavioural trait could become the defining weapon in the human arsenal. Skynet had to restructure its Terminators to learn from the mistake, to try as best any machine was capable of anticipating human response. At this moment, the Terminator studied the human selection before him and found that they were far removed from those encountered in the future. The group present revealed the worst excesses of human behaviour in every vice ranging from avarice, sloth to lust. These humans survived almost completely on instinct. The humans of the future would drive themselves with the belief that survival depended on their ability to discipline themselves against such vices.
If the target was anything like these present individuals, then the Terminator did not expect to encounter much difficulty when the time came to carry out its mission objective.
"If this is some joke between you and Mr Wilmington, I will not be impressed." Mary remarked as she served Darien and JD a cup of coffee. It had taken even more convincing for Mary to believe that this person was not Buck Wilmington. However, if he was Buck then Mary had underestimated Mr Wilmington's ability to play pranks by a country mile. Even though the face was his, everything else was different. The face looked younger and not as tanned from being under the sun. Obviously the disappearance of the moustache made a difference in how he looked but this man was healthier. Darien was leaner, with more emphasis on muscle than bulk. It could be just the clothes he was wearing but he had the body of someone who was at least five years younger than Buck and probably ten pounds lighter.
"I swear to you Mrs Travis," Darien sighed, wondering if it was even remotely possible for him to have foreseen this complication when he had decided to make this trip through time. "I am not this Buck Wilmington that everyone has apparently mistaken me for. Trust me, I am not enjoying this any more than you like seeing it. Since I've got here I've been set upon by an angry husband and the most beautiful Mexican woman I have ever seen threw a drink in my face."
Neither Mary nor JD could help laughing upon hearing that. "Well, Inez and Buck have a kind of peculiar relationship," JD tried to explain.
"I thought he was the wild mamba with someone's wife." Darien said confused. Then he remembered the women on the street and how they had reacted to him. "Just how many women does he have?" Darien found himself asking.
"The wild what?" JD asked perplexed by the term.
"Nevermind." Darien shrugged and reminded himself that the use of 20th century lingo on these people would probably serve to confuse them more than anything else. "I take Mr Wilmington is popular with the ladies?"
"Extremely." Mary said with a slight nod.
"This just gets better." Darien groaned visibly. "No wonder, I've been getting strange looks all day."
"Well your resemblance is uncanny." Mary pointed out. "As well as your story."
Darien had told them nothing about the future. However, he could not blame them if his credibility was less than stellar. He suspected the only reason that either of them had given him any time of the day was because he looked so much like this friend of theirs. "I can't help that." Darien said honestly. "I can only tell you that I know someone is coming after Christopher Larabee and they will kill anyone he knows to reach him."
"But why?" Mary looked at him in concern. In light of what she had learnt earlier today about her pregnancy and all, she was glad that her relationship with Chris had been kept somewhat private. The last thing she needed to know as that Chris was vulnerable because of her or the child she now carried.
"I can't say for sure." Darien lied. According to the time line in which Darien was born, Christopher Larabee married twice. It is not known what happened to his first wife but the information on the second was quite extensive. He had no doubt that he was sitting across the woman would soon the Mrs Mary Larabee in Selma's database. The descendants that would give birth to Kyle Reese and eventually, John Connor would begin from this woman as well as Chris Larabee. Darien had no idea whether the Terminator had access to this information but if it did, if it failed to find Chris, this woman would become its most probably secondary target.
"You're going to have to do better than that Mr Lambert." Mary said firmly. "It may be sheer coincidence that you look exactly like Buck Wilmington but we have no idea who you are or where you come from. I do not wish to sound ungrateful but you've given us nothing to prove your word."
Darien found himself flinching under her high powered stare because he guessed this was a highly intelligent woman who missed very little. Her beauty and her youth could disarm a person into believing she was just another product of her time but they would learn otherwise very quickly. Darien knew he was not going to fool her with any fabrication and he considered the alternatives of telling her the truth. Perhaps, he could ensure more cooperation that way.
Suddenly, a shrill sound tore through the air. Both Mary and JD reacted in surprise, Mary dropping her teacup and spiling hot tea across the floral table cloth while JD jumped to his feet weapons drawn, trying to discern where the alien sound was originating. Mary backed away from the table as hot tea flowed in her direction when she noticed that the sound was coming from Darien, who was the only one who had not reacted violently. Darien was wearing an expression of annoyance on his face and Mary was sure she saw him swear under his breath.
"Selma, stop that." Darien said wearily, wondering if this was Selma's way of helping his with his quandary over revealing the truth to Mary Travis about the part she and Chris Larabee played in the future. "They don't have beepers in this day and age."
"I am sorry Captain." Selma responded amidst the astonished expressions of Mary and JD who was staring at Darien in nothing more than absolute shock at the voice that had started speaking out of thin air. "I felt this was an emergency situation."
Darien let out a weary sigh wondering if Selma had any idea what kind of situation she had just placed Darien. There was no way he was going to explain this away with out telling them the truth. Mary was not a fool even if JD was a little naive. She would not accept any less than the truth no matter how outlandish it may sound. "This better be good Selma." He warned, openly upset at this sudden breach in his orders.
"I apologise Captain," Selma said sounding genuine regretful of what she had done. "However, you asked me to scan for unusual energy signatures at one hour intervals."
"Yes, yes," he nodded, ever mindful of JD and Mary before him. "And?"
"I've detected what could be the resonance from a highly focus atomic power cell approximately 25 metres from this location, in the area of the saloon."
Darien held his breath. "Enough to power a cyborg?" He asked.
"For at least 125 years."
"He's here." Darien exclaimed and looked up at Mary and JD. There was little time to waste and now that he knew what part Mary had in the future, he could not allow her to remain at risk.
"Who was that?" Mary demanded her face almost ashen. JD could only stare dumbfounded because he knew he heard a woman's voice speaking to Darien and it was not Mary.
"I don't have time to explain this to you." Darien said firmly and turned to JD. "He's here and I've got to stop him before he reaches you or Chris."
"You will make time to explain!" Mary demanded angrily. Something was happening here, something that had far more important implications that this stranger was letting on. Suddenly, her mind was opening up to the possibilities that the physical laws she knew were not that immutable. Darien Lambert seemed to be at the heart of this sudden vortex of the fantastic.
"I can't!" Darien returned with just as much fierce determination. "He's out there and if I don't' get to him before he gets to Chris then the future dies tonight!"
Before Mary could say anything else in response, Darien turned to JD. "Listen kid, I thank you for trusting me but I need you to trust me a little more. I want you to keep Mrs Travis safe. If anything and I mean anything comes through that door, you kill it do you understand me? You kill it!"
"What's going on Darien..." JD stammered. "Who is this guy?" He asked fearfully.
"No one you ever want to meet in this lifetime, Sheriff Dunne." Darien retorted before running out the front door, leaving Mary and JD behind in stunned disbelief.
He should really see Mary first but he needed a drink.
The ride from to Bitter Creek had been long enough, without Chris having to endure the tedium of listening to both Buck and Ben Davies claiming innocence for two completely unrelated crimes. While Ben Davies pleaded innocence to all the crimes of horse rustling of which he had been accused of, Buck Wilmington swore that he had no idea that Virginia Cray was married. Considering that Ben had been captured on one of the stallions he didn't steal and the only person who did not know that Virginia Cray was married happened to be Jeff the idiot who cleaned the public outhouse and possibly Buck, did not lend much credibility to either man's statement.
By the time they reached Bitter Creek, Chris Larabee had half the mind to shoot both of them. Initially, he was supposed to have Josiah's company for the trip but after her husband discovered Buck with Mrs Cray, Chris decided a change of roster would be a good idea. It would give Jasper time to cool off and abandon the idea of dismembering Buck from limb to limb. It was safe to say that after the day he just had, Chris had more then earned his dollar a day as unofficial lawman to Four Corners not to mention, the drink he was going to get when he reached the saloon.
"You think Jasper is still mad?" Buck asked as they both walked up the steps of the saloon. The evening festivities were in full swing and they could hear music and laughter from inside the crowded establishment.
"If I found another man in my wife's bed, it might take more me than a day to calm down."
"Chris, you'd just shoot 'em." Buck pointed out.
"Yeah I would," Chris grinned at him devilishly. "But I didn't want to put your hopes down."
Buck narrowed his eyes and gave Chris a dirty look. "You're compassion is overwhelming."
"Buck, how many windows are you going to jump out of before you learn that taking up residence in someone's hen house in a bad idea?" Chris had known Buck for years and knew for a fact that this pattern of behaviour had existed for nearly that length of time. Buck could never say no to a pretty face, whether that face was available to him or not. If Chris did not know better, he would swear that the more unavailable the woman, the more determined Buck would be in his pursuit. The challenge of forbidden fruit was just too much for him to resist.
"I just can't help it," Buck smiled salaciously. "It's like a candy store. I just got to taste every one."
Chris rolled his eyes and shook his head in resignation. "Just be careful someone don't take it in mind to rip out your tongue."
"It would be a loss to ladies everywhere." Buck replied with a straight face.
Chris laughed despite himself and chose to abandon any attempt to sermonise when it was quite clear that Buck was never going to change. Chris also did not believe for one second that Buck would give up his affair with Virginia Cray even in the face of Jasper's discovery this morning. If anything, the dalliance had the added attraction of being a challenge now and that was almost as addictive to Buck as the sex itself. Deciding that a chance of subject was definitely in order, Chris left the issue of the Crays gratefully behind. "Look, I can't stay long, I want to check in on Mary."
"How's she doing?" Buck inquired, aware that Mary had not been feeling well lately. During the few times that he had seen her, she looked somewhat haggard and quite exhausted.
"Better than she was last week." Chris said without much pleasure in that admission.
"Well Billy's a bright kid but like all children, he is a handful," Buck commented as they entered the saloon and spotted Ezra, Josiah and Nathan at their usual table. "Mary's a working woman with a business and a son. Its gotta take its toll on her sometime." He replied as they weaved their way through the sea of bodies in the saloon.
"I guess." Chris said dubiously in response to Buck's statement. "But she's always managed to handle it before." He pointed out. "Seems kind of strange that it's only now affecting her now." He said shortly, not wanting Buck to know just how concerned he truly was about Mary's state of health.
The atmosphere in the saloon was quite lively this evening, with everyone from drifters to working girls were present. Someone was playing the piano in the corners and a few cattle pokes had taken up post to sing some off key but bawdy songs. The drinking session was in early stages yet so for the moment everyone was behaving themselves. Although the jovial mood remained balanced on a knife's edge and could slip into rowdy at any point, depending on how drunk everyone became.
"True," Buck nodded in agreement, speaking over the dull rumble of voices. "But these days, she got her hands full what with looking after the paper, raising Billy and now keeping you happy at night." Buck threw him a mischievious grin.
"Watch it." Chris grumbled, disliking any talk about Mary in that manner especially in such a public place. His relationship with Mary was special and he did not appreciate anyone reducing it to such a tawdry level, even in jest. Besides, they were still conducting it under a veil of mild secrecy and Chris did not need the entire town knowing about his personal affairs.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry." Buck apologised laughing, knowing when he had crossed the line from bad taste to an insult. However, he could not resist teasing Chris sometimes, the man got riled up so easily when it came to Mary Travis. "You know I think highly of Mrs Travis." He said offering Chris a conciliatory bow.
"Yeah." Chris frowned sarcastically knowing exactly what Buck was up to by the time they reached Josiah and the others at their usual table. Pulling a vacant chair from another table, Chris sat down and relished being off his feet for the first time in hours.
However, following the chorus of greeting followed their arrival, Chris soon realised that the circumstances of their return were less than ideal. Judging by the thoughtful look on everyone's faces, Chris guessed quickly that something must have taken place during their departure from Four Corners. Buck continued onward to the bar in order to get them some drinks since it appeared Inez had her hands full with the nearly full house on this particular evening and would not have time to be waiting table. Besides, whatever had happened today, he was certain the others would fill him in when he returned.
"Vin's hurt." Josiah replied explaining the situation to Chris who had no impatient with any form of small talk until he was appraised of everything. "Apparently, someone attacked him before stealing his clothes and his gun."
"Attacked Vin?" Chris said with some measure of disbelief. If it was anyone else, Chris would have no trouble envisioning it but Vin was formidable opponent even without a weapon. Chris had seen him fight before and knew it took some one pretty skilled to incapacitate Vin. "How bad is he hurt?" Chris directed this question at Nathan who would have undoubtedly treated him since Chris had some idea about Vin's attitude towards Doctor Styles.
"He's got a concussion and some nasty bruises." Nathan reported dutifully. "He also lost a couple of back teeth." At the moment, Vin was taking a well needed rest at his lodgings and Nathan made a mental note to check up on him upon leaving here.
"Jesus." Chris remarked distastefully. "Where is he?" He asked, noticing the absence of the tracker at the table.
"Miss Styles ordered him to get some rest." Ezra answered. "She did not feel it appropriate that he indulge in any hard living in his present condition."
Vin would have loved that, Chris thought silently to himself. "Any idea who it was?" He inquired as Buck returned with two glasses of whisky.
"Not a one." Josiah's deep voice responded while the preacher shook his head in distaste. "The man came out of nowhere it seems, stark naked and took Vin down really fast. You should have seen the bruising on him Chris. It looked like someone took after him with a shovel."
Chris winced at description and felt a rising knot of anger stemming from the pit of his stomach at someone doing that to any of his friends, let alone Vin Tanner. He resolved himself to pay Vin a visit after he had said hello to Mary. For Vin's sake, Chris wanted to find whoever had attacked him before Vin chose to do it himself. Knowing just how tenacious the tracker could be when an idea was firmly rooted in the mind, Chris decided it was best to take care of this matter fast but Vin did something they would all regret.
"Well that was strange." Buck announced his return with a look of puzzlement on his face. He kept glancing over his shoulder as if a further look would resolve his confusion.
"What?" Nathan inquired.
"Inez just asked me how I grew my moustache so fast." Buck retorted, wondering about the strange exchange he had just experienced with the lovely bar tender. Just when he thought their relationship was starting to improve, she went and said something that proved otherwise. He guessed she probably heard about Virginia Cray and felt a little guilty for the first time since this whole affair began. Although, he did not know why it should upset Inez so when she had hardly raised an eyebrow at his earlier liaisons with half the women in town.
No one could respond to that as they shared his confusion in what that remark was supposed to mean. Chris shook his head and took the glass from Buck rather than even try to debate the foibles of his friend's life. With Buck, it always seemed as if the man was forever leaping from one situation to another and it almost always had to do with a lady.
Chris raised his glass to his lips when his eyes caught sight of a man coming through the crowd in their direction. The size of the man was what captured Chris' attention first because there was hardly enough material in his light flannel shirt to cover his massive chest and arms. His face was almost sculpted and there was a purpose in his features that sent a chill through Chris, without the gunslinger knowing why. However, it was enough to send every alarm bell in Chris's mind screaming the warning for eminent danger.
Relying on an instinct that had kept him alive for as long as he could remember, Chris knew without being able to explain how, that the man was coming towards him. The stranger's dark eyes were staring straight ahead at Chris, unwavering as strode purposefully towards the table. Pushing the other patrons out of the way, Chris saw the shiny length of a shotgun in the man's hands.
"Get down!" He shouted to the others as the stranger reached the front of the table and raised the double-barrelled weapon.
No sooner than the words had passed his lips, the five men at the table jumped out of the way, as the shot gun went off. The table tipped over at their hasty departure with glasses flying in all directions as they leapt out of the way. The discharge from the weapon tore a hole through the wood and kept going. Someone standing behind the five bore the brunt of the blast, catching the shot squarely in the chest. Blood erupted from his ruined sternum as the poor unfortunate uttered a short scream before falling to the floor. The shooter wasted little time and moved swiftly to take aim once more. Around him, working girls were screaming as patrons ran for cover. Nathan was shouting for everyone to get out but his cries were barely heard as the saloon descended into complete pandemonium.
Chris, who was the fastest and the first to see their attacker, had already drawn both his guns. Without thinking twice, he fired out one shot before the man could pull the trigger on the shotgun again. The bullet caught him in the dead centre of his forehead and then did the most amazing thing; it deflected outward. He barely reacted to the unusual trajectory of the projectile, even as the blood began flowing through the small entry and exit wounds on his skin. A wave of red covered his face in a thin veil, staining his shirt in expanding web. Chris holstered his weapon, not expecting the shooter to be on his feet for much longer when suddenly the man blinked.
Chris froze as the man reached for the blood on his face and studied the crimson on his fingers as if he were examining a cut. Ezra, Josiah, Nathan and Buck were starting at him with the same astonishment when the shooter disregarded the injury and then turned his attention back to Chris, showing no indication at being affected by a gunshot wound to the head. With perfect lucidity, he aimed the shotgun at Chris once again and pulled the trigger.
Snapping out of his shock, Chris had barely time to leap out of the way from the incoming projectile. He felt splinters flying into his back as the wooden table was blown to pieces behind him. Glasses smashing against the floor and those in the path of the shotgun pellets sprayed a mist of fine shards in all directions. Chris landed a few feet away, his weight buckling the chair upon which he fell. He rolled onto his feet in time to see Buck and the others had recovered their composure enough to draw their guns and let loose a murderous hail of bullets in stranger's direction. Chris stayed down low as bullets whizzed over his head. In the background he could hear glass shattering and wood splintering in the onslaught of gunfire.
Chris knew he had not missed. He fired a head shot for no other reason than for stopping power. Chris was absolute in the knowledge that he had seen the bullet penetrate the skin. Even now, while the others were firing away at him relentlessly, Chris could see the entry wound of the original bullet.
Despite the impossibility of what they were seeing, this stranger who should already be dead from the first bullet that Chris had put in his head, was still standing his ground against all odds. He reacted to the barrage of bullets with little more than a slight jerk of muscles each time he took a hit and was actually reloading his shotgun. He seemed almost oblivious to the gunfire. Chris could see fresh wounds appear on his skin since almost every bullet that was fired found its mark on his body.
"Goddamn!" Chris heard Buck exclaimed and his response mirrored what everyone in the room was thinking. "Why ain't he dying!"
"Keep firing!" Ezra's voice shouted frantically. Even from here, Chris could hear the fear in the gambler's voice. Chris could hardly blame him. This was not a man they were facing.
Whatever it was before them, was clearly uninterested in the others. He seemed to want Chris and only Chris for he soon turned towards the gunslinger once again, shrugging the gunshots like they were raindrops on his skin. He reloaded the shotgun, hardly caring that he was aware or caring that he was being turned inside out by a hail of bullets. His only concern seemed to be Chris himself.
"I'm out!" Chris heard Josiah cry and knew the others would be the same way too. They had been firing continuously for the last few minutes, without pause as they tried to put down this monster that could not for all intensive purposes, die. Chris had no idea how to defend himself, knowing that shooting pointless, if what he had seen so far was any indication of the effect that bullets had on him. However, Chris soon realised that he had reloaded the double barrel and had until he raised the weapon to fire for Chris to decide if he was going to make a run for it or not. Suddenly, he saw Buck run forward, attempting to knock him down before he could fire.
"No Buck!" Chris shouted because Buck as wide open to get himself killed but the shooter was not interested in wasting a bullet as he swung the shotgun outward and slammed the hard wooden but into the side of Buck Wilmington's face. Buck was nearly swept off his feet from the blow before he fell down hard. He regarded Buck impassively for moment and then continued towards Chris once again. Josiah hurled a chair at him but he swatted it away with ease, almost completely dismantling it with his enormous arm.
Chris Larabee did not know how to run from a fight. In all his life, he had never been forced into a situation where he had to tuck tail and run for his very survival. The idea was not only odious but it went against everything he was, especially when his friends were fighting life and limb to defend him. Chris was breathing hard, a tendril of fear had crept up his spine in a sensation that was almost a novelty for him. Despite his fear however, Chris realised that if he was indeed all this thing was interested in then perhaps running would lead it away from the others. Chris could see Nathan scrambling towards an unconscious Buck and knew he wanted to spare his friends further injury. If Chris did not run, this thing would kill all of them just to reach him.
"Chris, get the hell out of here!" He heard Ezra shout as the gambler reloaded his weapon and prepared to fire. By now, they were all perfectly aware that this thing had only eyes for Chris and each one of them would defend Chris to the death before allowing it to kill him.
While it was preparing to fire, Josiah had taken advantage of his concentration and leapt onto the man's back, sliding an arm around his neck in a deadly arm lock. As it tried to shake Josiah off its back, Chris saw the preacher tossed around like a man riding a bull. Using the distraction that Josiah had provided, Chris grabbed a chair and ran forward. He swung it in a wide arch forward and practically tore the weapon from its bloody hands. The shotgun clattered noisily away as Chris now swung the chair at him. He caught it with one hand and practically ripped it from Chris' grip with one powerful yank before throwing Josiah violently off his body. The preacher went flying and smashed into a table, collapsing it and all its contents from the force of his weight.
With lightning reflexes, Chris did not give the monster time to react and he threw a fist into the enemy's bloody face. The thing looked up at him and reacted with little more than a slight jerk of muscles as if it were shaking of the blow. Chris pummelled him with repeatedly in desperation. Even as his fists struck its jaw, Chris felt his knuckles flare in pain. Hitting it was like hitting an iron wall and to Chris dismay, the gunslinger realised with a tinge of panic that he could not keep this up indefinitely.
"Get down!" Ezra shouted having reloaded his gun and preparing to fire.
Chris dropped to his feet as the gambler began firing everything he could at this seemingly unstoppable stranger. The bullets rippled across his broad back and then across the chest as he turned around and took notice of something other than Chris for the first time. Despite the danger in his approach, Ezra ignored the obvious threat to himself and kept firing, determined that this thing whatever it was would not reach Chris. The monster's skin was starting to hang off his massive frame like a carcase that was being stripped by a pack of wolves.
Chris reacted quickly; knowing he had little time before Ezra ran out of bullets or before the thing reached him, which ever came first. He searched the floor frantically for the shotgun that had gone flying only minutes ago. Chris located it under another table and almost dived forward in his haste to reach it. As he dropped to his knees to pull it out as hastily, Chris looked over his shoulder and saw that it was almost on top of Ezra who would not have time to reload to defend himself. Chris checked the barrel of the shotgun and saw one bullet in the chamber. Secretly, he prayed it was enough to stop this thing, since a man was no longer an apt description of what they were fighting.
Ezra had little room to escape when the stranger reached him and grabbed him by the throat. Ezra felt the floor disappear from under his feet as he was lifted into the air with ease. Thick fingers enclosed around his throat with such strength that Ezra could barely budge the digits that were crushing his windpipe. In seconds, Ezra was fighting to breathe. Through the haze of pain, he saw Nathan who had pulled an injured Buck out of the line of fire was now hurrying towards him to aid him in his precarious situation.
"I assure you we can talk this out." Ezra tried to gasp as he felt his spinal chord pressing up against his windpipe with such intense pressure that he was starting to lose consciousness.
"Let him go!" Nathan shouted as he reached for the hand around Ezra's neck. The stranger lashed out with his other arm and swatted the healer away like he was an annoying insect. Ezra saw Nathan being thrown backwards and marvelled at the strength of the thing that was strangling him in its relentless grip. Everything was starting to go black when he anchored back to clarity with the sound of Chris Larabee's voice speaking very calmly.
"Let him go or I'm going to blow your fucking head off."
The shotgun was poised to fire and Ezra followed the voice to see the barrel of a shot gun pressed firmly on the back of the stranger's head. The icy cold delivery of that threat told Ezra that Chris would have little difficulty in carrying out the threat. Chris Larabee was known to protect his friends from danger with the savagery of a rabid wolverine.
"Christopher Larabee." The stranger surprised them both by speaking for the first time. His voice was strange; it almost sounded lifeless in a way Ezra could not place.
"You have been schedule for termination." He retorted and then crushed the fingers around Ezra's throat almost into a balled fist.
Chris did not even hear the first gurgle of moist sound from Ezra's throat as he began to choke violently, before pulling the trigger. The resounding blast forced the stranger to release the gambler and Ezra tumbled to the ground, unconscious. Chris felt his heart pounding and prayed that his friend was not dead. He could see blood running out of Ezra's mouth and the terrible discolouration around his throat. However, the stranger did not fall. The blast had staggered him enough to release his grip on Ezra but not enough to drop him. Chris had fired at his head, knowing that angle correctly, a shot like that could easily decapitate a person.
But this was not a person and none of this happened when the smoke cleared.
Chris let out a groan of frustration when he saw a bright red glow of light staring at him through mist of gunfire. What Chris saw then was beyond even his ability to comprehend with any measure of calm. Under the exposed flesh of an eye socket, a bright red eye glowed with illumination Chris knew without doubt was artificial. Like a lamp, it lit the rest of its face. Chris' steel blue eyes widened in shock as he saw the gleam of metal beneath the ruined skin on the man face. Man? It was not a man, it was something that defied description. Chris searched his vocabulary but could find nothing that could adequately describe what this thing in front of him was.
What in god's name was it?
"You have been scheduled for termination." The voice repeated and took another step forward, completely unfazed by the shotgun blast Chris was certain would finish it completely.
"Step away from him Larabee." A new voice entered the fray. "Step away now."
Chris turned in time to see a shape running forward through the chaos of upturned tables and unconscious bodies with incredible speed. His own reflexes were fast but the speed in which this new arrival crossed the floor of the saloon surprised even him. The monster before Chris had little time to react as a very human looking man stopped behind it and produced an odd looking device from his tan duster. To Chris, it looked nothing remotely resembling a weapon. It was squarish and black, with two sharp points protruding outwards. Chris could only hardly guess at what it was meant to do but at this moment, he hoped it would be enough.
Shoving it against the monster's side, Chris saw the man depressed a small button on the side of the object before jumping back to a safe distance before it could grab him. No sooner that the man had withdrawn, tendrils of blue energy erupted across its body. Chris had seen the effect to know that it was some kind of electrical energy for its effect resembled the lightning produced by fierce thunderstorms. His would be killer spasmed with pain, although the expression on his face was more of surprise than actual agony. It jerked around in place like a puppet whose strings were pulled violently before finally being cut.
When it finally collapsed onto the floor with a loud thud a few seconds later, Chris found he was finally able to breathe again. Around them, the saloon was almost demolished by the firefight. The gunfire had left little standing and there were shattered remains of glass littered across floor and there were bullets in almost every wall holding the ceiling above their heads. The room looked like aftermath of a battlefield. He saw Nathan struggling to rise to his feet as the healer crawled slowly towards Ezra whose face was deathly pale and stained with blood. In the corner, Buck was starting to come around while Josiah was buried under the remains of the table he had landed on. The monster and Chris could think of no other word that seemed more appropriate, remained where it had fallen, unmoving.
Chris looked up at the man who had saved his life, in fact saved all of them as he approached the gunslinger. When Chris looked into his face, what he saw that was unsurprising in light of everything that transpired in the last hour. Even though he wore his friend's face and looked identical to Buck Wilmington, Chris knew unconsciously that this was not Buck. From the corner of his eye, Chris could see the real Buck struggling to regain some balance after their ordeal. Suddenly Buck's earlier statement about what Inez had returned to Chris and now made complete sense.
"You're not Buck." Chris stated if only because he needed to hear himself say it.
"No," Darien shook his head. "My name is Darien Lambert and we don't have much time. Come with me if you want to live."