This is Ben Jonjak’s second story at and he brings us a new tale
featuring his interplanetary scoundrel, Darrent. — ed. N.E.
Lilly  Darrent aimed the shotgun and peered through the digital
view scope. His target was nearly two-hundred thousand miles
away. That was why he was using the shotgun. It emitted a red-
hot accelerated ultraviolet pulse about the diameter of a
baseball which, even at a distance of two-hundred thousand
miles, was capable of burning a hole three inches deep into the
body of its target.  Most sniper rifles had a much smaller
projectile, some were no larger than a few microns in width,
just big enough to silently burst an artery and send a political
candidate or mafia kingpin slumping over in an apparently
natural state of exhaustion. Death would quickly ensue. Nice and
neat. None the wiser.  The shotgun left no questions. There was
no better calling card than a big steaming hole, and unless the
target slipped or spun when he/she was taken out, it was always
easy to tell where the shot had