The saloon's name was The Cleft Skull and came with a lovely drawing of a bone white and grinning skull being split in half with a katana that looked very much like her own.  The inside was all thick pine boards and rough hewn tables with stools. Bast loved it.

She ordered a fresh cider and found it was the best drink she had had in what felt like years and soon the atmosphere was enchanted by a man playing the pipes, and wouldn't you know it, it was her fathers favorite song.

The man stopped just before the climax, and Bast noticed a hush had come over everyone in the bar. Outside she began to hear the murmuring of the crowd, and a few seconds later, a woman's scream.

Before she could stand, a giant of a man and then two others that looked just like him burst into the saloon; all three were wielding large energy based scatter weapons.

If they all opened up in that room, everyone in there would be dead. Bast was angry at herself. If she’d had her helmet on, she would have seen them coming much sooner and could have done something about it. She could hear other men outside pushing the people in the streets and seeming to grab up anything that caught their attention.

Bast carefully placed her sword under the table where she was sitting. She would not part with it, no matter what.

“Barkeep... barkeep... my my has it already been two weeks?” The first man said, and saddled up to the bar, aiming his large scatter weapon at the man behind the counter.

“Why brother, I do believe it has...” said the second, and repeated the gesture.

“That cider sure does smell tasty,” said the third, as he reached over the bar and grabbed a mug that had been freshly poured.

“Hmmm that's good,” he said, wiping the froth away from his thick black beard.

After the first sip, he threw the rest of it onto the ground and spat.

“We will be needing…” he seemed to think for a moment about it, “all of the barrels you got.”

This announcement was met with a few groans from the bar, but no one stood up. No one said anything.

The first man pointed his weapon at a table of three men.

“You three. Go grab all the cider in the basement and put it out on our bikes.”

The three stood up and did what they were told.

“Hell riding is thirsty work,” the leader of the trio said and punched one of the men standing at the end of the bar on his way out.

“Be seeing you soon... friends and neighbors,” he said and laughed again.

Once they left, the atmosphere in the bar was much more subdued than it had been before. The bartender passed out ale to any that wanted it and went back to cleaning the same spot of pine he had been working on before the trio had entered and the mirth of the day taken.

Bast could hear scattered screaming and cries coming from the street, no doubt from others who had suffered the same fate as the bar. Through it all, she hated the fact that it was their spirit the men had taken most. These scrappy frontiersmen had started a new life after their world had literally been shattered, and once again it was the worst of society that was reaping the reward.

Dozens of people had spent months tending their crops, making cider, weaving clothes, doing all the hard things, just for someone to come in and take it all. The cider turned to ash in her mouth, and Bast decided the best thing for her to do was leave the bar and head back down the mountain and carry on with her life.

Then she walked in.

The girl was something wild. As Bast had begun to stand, she immediately sat back down when the front door was flung open and a brace of rabbits was flung on to the bar.

She was painted in the colors of the forest and had the clothing to match, a camouflage that would almost be undetectable to the naked eye, which would exclude almost everyone except for Bast. Slung on her shoulder was a large bore rifle with an equally large telescopic site.

“Again?” She shouted to all the men seated in the bar.

No one answered her.

“A woman lies dead in the street,” she said and pointed out the door.

The fire in the woman's eyes made Bast scared and intrigued; there was real passion there.

Bast caught up to the cursing woman in the street.

“Would you have them throw away their lives? These men seem like simple farmers and tradesmen.”

The woman turned quickly to face the trailing bounty hunter.

“For their lives? I would expect anyone to at least try,” she spat and just then noticed Basts’ gear.

Bast still had a bit to go before she was satisfied with her kit, but compared to everyone else in town she was impressive. Her helmet was attached to her belt by a leather strap, her sword which she now called her ‘Catana' strapped across her back, along with her heavy mechanically enhanced legs. Her upper torso was covered in her old training gear, sturdy enough to stand up in a fight, but not strong enough to last from many blows.

The patchwork of welds told the story of that torso. A silver star pattern above her left breast where a blaster bolt had shattered the thin metal covering and required several stitches to repair when it cut through and scored the skin beneath. Cuts and scrapes marred the rest of the chest piece and showed its resilience to several other cutting weapons the bounty hunter had faced in the trials of her new life.

The woman looked Bast over and took it all in.

“Will you help then? Mercenary? Soldier?” She asked and turned to walk away again. “We don't have money here,” she finished and walked off down the street.

“Bounty hunter. I hunt those that have done wrong. No matter the payment,” replied Bast.  

The woman stopped and slowly turned to face the hunter. “I know where they sleep,” she said and motioned for Bast to follow.

She led Bast across the town and to a small house overlooking the nearby mountain stream. The outside was simple and was made complete with a small fence that encircled the well kept yard. The only thing out of place was the small shed on the edge of the yard that was covered on three sides by the furs of various wild game from the area, each marred with a single hole, where a shot had been placed to bring the creature down.

The hunter took her boots off at the screen door and also unslung her rifle, unloaded the round in the chamber, and placed the cannon sized weapon by the door. Bast did the same with her sword, but left the armor on. Inside she found the house rather bare, she had seen places like this before; it wasn't a home, just a place where someone that was obsessed with their job occasionally slept. The kitchen felt the most like home, with a pot resting on the eye of the wood burning stove, which the other woman quickly lit.

“We will have tea,” she said, and Bast agreed with a nod.

“What would you have us do?” Bast asked as she sat down at the small kitchen table.

At first the woman didn't answer and continued to move about the kitchen until she placed the water on the eye to boil.

“This little town, Hope,” the woman said and paused, “was even better when we first got here, my little sister and I. We had barely survived the impact. Our parents died, along with everyone else, and we had taken to wandering the mountain when we found the first cluster of houses and heard about the new town. We first served drinks at the little bar. Sometimes she would clean people's houses along with waitressing. I soon found I had a knack for hunting and began to hunt all the little valleys for days on end. We started to feel like we belonged here. Then the raids started. The first time they just asked for a little food, which we gave willingly, the next time it was more and the third time… my sister Jira, said no. They came in and demanded she go outside with them, as well as give them everything in the bar. She cut one of them when they took her. When I found her she had skin under her nails and her mouth was covered in someone else's blood. She fought like a demon. But in the end they got what they wanted from her and killed her for the effort. She's not the only one, and she won't be the last. But the gang has gotten bigger, and I am the only one mad enough to do anything.”

Bast simply nodded. Her story wasn't very different after all, so she knew exactly how she felt. Sometimes you didnt need a conversation, as much as you needed to tell your side of something.

Bast noticed the girl seemed like she was done talking, and she watched as she stood to steep the tea. As she placed a steaming cup before herself and the bounty hunter, Bast finally asked the only question that really mattered.

“How will we avenge her?”