Looking down the scorched barrel of a mach 25.4 plasma blaster was…interesting. Especially since the gunman, uhm, girl, looked tiny against the huge metalloplastic device.

Didn’t do much for my image, either. Seven feet of hard muscled Tarsian cop being mugged by a six-year-old pinch of a child-a human one at that. Since when did they allow Humans on this planet? Serves me right for popping to the corner store unarmed.

“Okay, kid. Hand over the gun and I’ll let you go. Got it?”

“Gimme the milk,” she growled, well, squeaked.

“Come on, kid, I said…”

I stopped saying as a 3000 degree blast cindered the hair on my right ear lobe and, incidentally, lobbed the top off the Mackrow’s Business Tower seven blocks away.

“Okay, okay.” I dropped the milk and stepped back. “Why do you need it anyway?”

She waved me back further before picking up the plastic jug, the blaster wobbled in her hand.

“For my brother,” she said, eying my other carrier hopefully. “Do you have diapers in there…?”