On a dusty old planet far out on the edge of the greater galaxy a princess and a amnesiac turned milkman, turned bodyguard are ducked behind a large crate in an old forgotten saloon.

"You just had to say something didn't you?" Zorek's accusation barely registered over the sound of laserfire.

"And take an insult to my honor? I think not." Cresta didn't look at him as her attention was focused on taking down the plebian that dared try to sneak on her from behind. Insulting! Did they not think she would notice such juvenile tactics? She was a princess for Lord's sake not an imbecile!

With an elbow to the jaw the assailant was downed.

But she supposed she shouldn't raise her hopes too high. They were merely bandits of the Unkind after all.

"That was exactly what they wanted!" Zorek ducked his head lower as a stray laser almost singed his blue hair.

"For a milkman you are certainly knowledgeable about stratagems of the Unkind."

“So I’m told,” he remarked dryly as he returned fire from his own laser rifle. It was a odd thing well used, a laser blaster with the butt of the rifle that looked suspiciously like a sword handle. If Cresta hadn’t known any better she would have thought he was a guardian which was precisely why she trusted him in the first place.

Big mistake.

And for the thousandth time Cresta wondered how she got into this situation in the first place.