There was a still moment wherein the lynix turned his head, his slow hiss a menacing promise that encompassed both buyer and seller alike, then all Hell broke loose. The lynix was suddenly amongst the well-armed buyer’s party. The dull whump of pulse pistols discharging, and missing, were punctuated by shouts as the nearly six-foot cat flowed like water and struck like thunder. Here was something I’d heard of, but never seen in person—a Felis monk. They were something of a cult among the lynix and combined the rigorous discipline of Zen Buddhism, the sense of impending cataclysm of doomsday preppers, and the secrecy of the old pre-Dim Scientologists.
I watched in awed terror as the monk closed his jaws on a man’s throat. He then swung that man around to absorb the impact of his fellow’s pulse shot before thrusting both hands out to send him, sans throat, flying into yet a third hired gun. Blood splattered as the monk spit ragged flesh from his mouth and ducked another pulse shot. From his low crouch, he pounced at the man in the toupee, but a brave bodyguard—or whatever kind of hired help they were—leapt in his path and was bowled over instead..
That’s enough gawking, Link. This was your party to crash, remember?
“Right,” I wheezed resolutely, air finally agreeing to reenter my lungs. Since I wasn’t keen on getting anywhere near the carnage of the Felis monk, I turned my attention to the sellers. One was smarter than the others and was already running for the exit. I fished from my pocket the gravitonic cue ball I’d used to test the staff earlier and got my feet underneath me. “Oh no, you don’t!” I whipped the ball sidearm, like skipping a stone on one of the shallow reflecting pools in Grand Park. The spin from my throw