PAST SINS
DAYTON WARD & KEVIN DILMORE
Sheriff August Jeffers never was much for fights, especially those that disrupted the atmosphere of the only place in town with food and drink he thought was worth a hot damn.
He entered the Alamo Saloon, the ping of the doorway sensor detecting the sheriff’s sidearm and tipping Smitty the barkeep to his arrival. The older man looked up from his duties and silently pointed to the scuffle in the back corner. When Jeffers saw who was involved, he would have bet his badge right then and there that this wouldn’t last long.
A broad-shouldered man wearing spacers’ coveralls took a wide swing at a similarly dressed woman about a head shorter than he was. Her dark hair waved as she bobbed, deftly avoiding what looked to Jeffers like an ill-considered punch. With jackrabbit speed, she jabbed her fist into the man’s throat.
He gagged, pitching forward as the woman grabbed his head and pulled it down to drive her knee up under his chin. He sputtered, grunting in pain before falling backward onto the saloon’s dusty hardwood floor. The scuffle over, the woman took a look around the place until her eyes met Jeffers.
“Laying someone flat?” he asked. “Far as I’ve seen, Myla, that’s a first for you.” Crossing the room toward her, Jeffers smiled as the woman tugged a Windsor wooden chair from a mismatched square-topped table and sat down to a plate of eggs and fried potatoes that Jeffers could see was still steaming. “He get in the way of your breakfast?”
She spoke around a forkful of eggs. “Ask him, Gus.”
Was it his imagination, or was she trying to hide…what? Nervousness? Agitation? Jeffers regarded the man lying on the floor, which bore a few spatters of blood from what the lawman figured was a bitten tongue or a split lip. Even though the poor lug likely would stay unconscious until Myla finished her meal, Jeffers pulled a pair of shock binders from his belt and cuffed the man’s hands behind his back. That done, he gestured to an empty chair at Myla’s table. She shrugged noncommittally, and he lowered himself into the seat.
“How’re the eggs?”
“Runny,” she said, prodding them with her fork.
Jeffers turned toward the saloon’s long mirror-backed bar and hollered at the mustached worker behind it. “Smitty!”
The shout startled the older man, who set down the glass stein he’d been drying with a rag before hustling toward them. “Sheriff,” he said, sidestepping the man on the floor, “whatever happened, I’d say he got what was coming to him.”
“Thanks, Smitty, but I don’t need you to vouch for Myla.” Jeffers pointed to her plate. “Just bring me some of what she’s having. Just not so runny.”
“Oh!” The barkeep started to reach for Myla’s plate. “Miss, if you’re not satisfied with—”
“It’s fine.” Myla waved off Smitty without looking up from her plate.
Something’s bugging her this morning, Jeffers thought. The two of them had crossed paths plenty since her arrival planetside and in that time cultivated what he would call a friendship. Their interactions were pleasant albeit within bounds; he always suspected that what little he knew about her was exactly what she allowed. Myla tended to use words sparingly and kept to herself—qualities Jeffers wished more people around here might display. She would often hit the Alamo for a drink or a meal to close out her shift as a systems tech at the spaceport docks, and crossing paths typically amounted to little more than a respectful nod in passing.
The most significant conversations they ever shared had taken place after someone new to town reckoned they would get a little handsy. On those occasions, like today, Jeffers had seen the speed and skill with which she showed such newcomers the pained errors of their ways. Hell, his feelings about her over time were good enough that he tried luring her from her job on the docks with an offer to deputize her on the spot. He’d done it more than once. She never bit.
Jeffers watched Myla eat while shifting her focus between her plate and his face, shooting glances that he’d seen before—ones that felt like she didn’t really want him around. He sensed she was eating not because she was hungry but more to make this all feel…normal? Jeffers decided to press into that.
“This guy’s got you rattled some.”
She kept her eyes on her plate. “No more than any others. You’ve seen enough of what happens around here.”
“That I have,” Jeffers said. “He didn’t follow you in here from the docks or anything?”
She shook her head.
“So he’s fresh off of a passing hauler or something and just put himself with you where he didn’t belong.” Myla stayed silent, pushing away her nearly finished plate, so Jefferes continued, “You don’t like the cut of this guy, so maybe I don’t, either. Ordinance says I can jail our out-of-towner for two days for disturbing the peace, attempted assault, and general assholery.”
“Your call, Sheriff.”
Jeffers reached into his pocket and then placed his hand closed-palmed on the table. He let go of what he’d been holding, a silver star-shaped badge. “Or you could pin that on, and we’ll both run him in.”
Myla slid her chair from the table. “This game isn’t funny today, Sheriff. Excuse me.” She rose and made her way at a brisk pace out of the Alamo.
Sighing, Jeffers retrieved the badge just as Smitty arrived at the table with a plate of eggs and potatoes as ordered.
“Thanks, Smitty. Hope I can eat in peace before our problem here wakes up.”
“The lady has left us?” asked the barkeep.
“It appears so.”
Smitty cleared his throat. “Then I’d like to report a theft of services, Sheriff.”
Jeffers sighed again before taking a forkful of eggs into his mouth. “How about you just put her breakfast on my tab, and we’ll skip the report, okay?”
On the job less than a year, according to the planetary calendar, Jeffers still wasn’t entirely sold on the idea of his being the lead lawman in these parts. On the other hand, New Bandera’s slower rotation meant longer days, and its slower revolution meant a longer year. By Earth standards, he’d held the badge for three years and change, and to him it sure as hell felt more like that.
His predecessor, Rosy Randall, had talked him into it. “Gus, what I can’t do is bring a good law enforcer to this shithole and teach him to love it here. What I can do is take someone with a good disposition who, for whatever reason, loves this place and teach him to be the kind of sheriff these people need. And you sure do seem to love it here.”
That he did, so here he was.
The sheriff’s office was pretty small and sparse, with half of the single-floor building devoted to Jeffers’s living quarters. Aside from a pair of workstations with data terminals, a weapons locker he mostly opened to inventory its contents, and some chairs, its chief feature was a pair of lockups that saw more use as cooling tanks for drunk-and-disorderly off-worlders than for any other offenders. Jeffers sat across from the cells, absentmindedly turning a small magnetic fob over in his grasp while watching through the cell bars as the idiot from the saloon scuffle started to stir in his bunk. The man rolled over, coughing a few times while bringing his hand to his mouth to gingerly assess the swollen split he’d suffered to his bottom lip.
“There’s some water in there for you,” Jeffers said. “Just don’t kick it over.”
The man bolted up to a sitting position on the bunk and swung his feet to the floor. In doing so, he kicked a paper cup resting on the floor near his bunk, dumping its contents across the floor.
Jeffers snorted. “Well, your choices this morning aren’t running for shit, sir.”
Surveying his surroundings, the man met the sheriff’s gaze. “Bars. How…nostalgic.”
“You can’t go wrong with the classics,” said Jeffers. “Besides, fancy force fields use a lot of power. That said, those’ll shock your ass if you decide you want to grab onto them. Feel free to test that theory, if you’re bored.”
The man massaged his temples. “Thanks, but I think I’ll pass.”
“Care to introduce yourself?”
“You know my name, by now. Didn’t she tell you?”
“Myla didn’t tell me anything,” Jeffers said, noting how the man looked at him as he spoke. “Once I got you carted over here, it was pretty plain to see the syntheflesh puckering on the back of your neck. Myla must have snapped your head back pretty good to do that.”
“My-la,” said the man, as though trying the name on for size.
Holding up the fob in his hand, Jeffers said, “I peeled that back just enough to find this thing jammed up into your bioport. I don’t know about this gizmo, but I do know that implant of yours is military hardware.”
“You’ve just explained my headache, Sheriff. Now you’re going to tell me you have a law enforcement-grade scanner at your disposal.”
Jeffers nodded. “Didn’t take long to read your identity module, Sergeant Jarek Shaw.”
“Nicely done, Sheriff,” said Shaw. “Now, suppose I give you some insight into why I’ve made the trip to your small town.”
This ought to be good, Jeffers thought. “I’m guessing we’ve got time, and neither one of us is going anywhere.”
“You might rethink that when I tell you that your ‘Myla’ is not who she says she is,” Shaw said. “I’m here because she’s a fugitive from military justice.”
Jeffers didn’t try to hide his surprise. “Really?”
“Were you to run your scanner on her implant—and I assure you she has one just like mine—you’d learn she’s really Sergeant Shanna McCall of the Colonial Defense Forces, wanted for war crimes on Malpaso. I’ll spare you the details. Maybe you can get her to talk about them after we go and bring her in.”
“We?”
“Why not?” Shaw asked. “I’ll forgive you the misunderstanding at the saloon, and, for your help, I’ll offer a split of the bounty on McCall’s head, which you’ll find surprisingly rewarding.”
Jeffers had seen the breaking news bulletin about the war crimes exposé released late last night. Details were still coming in, and he’d not yet had time to absorb everything. He’d try to get caught up tonight, but for now? It was enough that this news had obviously expedited Shaw’s identi-check, with the CDF responding that someone was already on the way to retrieve him.
“A split sounds good and all,” he said, “but I’m just as happy to take all of whatever bounty the CDF might be offering for you.” He reached over to the vid-screen on his desk and spun the arrest warrant bulletin it displayed so Shaw could see it. “Nice try with the whole ‘project your own situation away from yourself and onto one of our people’ plan, but as I said before, your choices today aren’t runnin’ for shit.”
Shaw studied him for a moment. “You entered my name and arrest notice into the Colonial DataNet.”
“Pretty standard procedure for a spaceport town, even one as small as ours.” Jeffers stood and approached the lockup’s barred door. “I expect the CDF will have people here pretty directly.”
“That’s a damned shame.” Shaw once more massaged his temples. “Between that and your having removed my implant scrambler, I suppose there’s nothing stopping me from connecting to your local DataNet hub.” The smile spreading across the prisoner’s face made the hairs on Jeffers’s arms stand up.
“Shaw, what are you on about?”
“When it comes to choices regarding your office information network security, yours aren’t running for shit, Sheriff.”
Before Jeffers could react, the lockup’s bars de-energized as its steel bolt clacked back into the door’s lock assembly, and Shaw burst through the open cell door.
“…bombshell report comes nearly five years after the alleged incident on Malpaso, a farming colony and the first settlement in Sector Eleven. Reaction to the exposé has been swift, with Colonial Defense Forces security teams taking all but two members of the elite special operations unit into custody.”
Transfixed, Myla stared at the small vid-screen on the wall of her cabin’s main room. The Colonial Network News anchor, a middle-aged Asian man, shifted his attention from a data tablet in his hand and the camera, doing his best to convey information fed to him in real time even as he offered the breaking news.
“Efforts remain underway to locate and apprehend former sergeants Jarek Shaw and Shanna McCall. While security forces have some information on Shaw’s last known whereabouts, McCall is listed as a deserter since shortly after the alleged crimes took place.”
The anchor’s face disappeared, replaced by two photographs. Studying Jarek’s picture as she nursed a lukewarm beer, Myla shook her head, awash in conflicting emotions as she replayed encountering him at the Alamo. As for the other photo, despite the shorter haircut with military precision, fuller cheekbones, and skin unblemished by years spent in direct sunlight, the face on the screen was the same one she saw on those occasions she bothered to look in a mirror.
“Long time, no see, Troop.”
“We’re told these highly skilled soldiers are trained to conceal their identities and operate for extended periods under false personas. CDF officials believe McCall has utilized these skills to evade capture since her disappearance.”
Finishing her beer, Myla tossed the empty bottle into a small waste receptacle in the corner of her austere cabin’s compact kitchen. Like everything else in the modest abode she’d built well away from town, the emphasis here was on functionality, not luxury. It was a fallback position; a retreat in the event her house became unsafe.
Like now.
“Well, shit.”
This backwater planet of New Bandera was among the more remote worlds in the United Colonies, home to an unimpressive agricultural operation that neither attracted nor deserved notice from the authorities. On the other hand, it had a reputation for being the sort of place anyone looking to cause trouble tended to avoid. Such an environment, far away from the soul-sucking tempo of the more developed colony worlds in the core sectors, appealed to Myla. After spending the money needed to fashion a new identity and take other steps to isolate herself from a life she’d come to loathe, she figured she could blend into LaGrange’s quiet, unpretentious community. If she kept her head down, did the job she’d taken at the spaceport to the north of town, and avoided unwanted attention, perhaps the CDF might one day just forget about her.
Myla sighed. “So much for that plan.”
A great deal of time, effort, and money had gone toward covering up the atrocities on Malpaso. She now thought herself foolish to think they might ever stop hunting her, if for no other reason than simple fear of her doing what someone else had accomplished: bringing the entire gruesome story to the public. With the other members of her old unit in custody, the efforts to find her would intensify.
Think it through, Shanna.
“Myla,” she said, scolding herself for the mental slip. “Your name is Myla Dynion. Don’t go getting stupid, now.” Long ago, training taught her to suppress urges to think of herself by her real identity while operating undercover, but even after five years there still were times when she let her inner defenses slip. A momentary loss of focus could be dangerous if not fatal. This was not the time for such weakness.
“Think it through, Myla.”
Somehow, Jarek had tracked her to New Bandera, and so far as she knew he now sat in Sheriff Jeffers’s jail. As a matter of procedure, Gus already would have run an identity check, triggering CDF monitoring algorithms throughout the Colonial DataNet. Security forces would be dispatched here. For all she knew, they’d already made planetfall.
Realizing she’d been caressing the patch of scar tissue in that hollow space near the base of her skull, Myla pulled her hand away and rubbed it on her pants leg. There’d been no breaking that habit. Her fingers, seemingly of their own volition, often found the spot where her CDF SpecOps implant still connected to her cerebellum, at one time interfacing her brain directly with the civilian DataNet, as well as the military’s own network. Removing it had been impossible with the resources at her disposal; deactivating it cost her a large portion of the money she’d hoarded in her contingency fund. Is that what had brought Jarek here? Seeking help to evade capture as she’d done? It still didn’t explain how he’d found her, but that was now a moot point. Jarek was here. CDF wouldn’t be far behind.
Playing a hunch, Myla tapped the vid-screen and called up a status for the spaceport’s inbound and outbound flights. One entry from the arrival itinerary caught her eye, its format different from the others on the list. Instead of a name, a ship recorded as having landed an hour ago bore a nondescript string of letters and numbers Myla recognized as a CDF transport identifier.
“Yeah. Time to get gone.”
She had a plan for getting off-planet, but CDF security forces already on the ground complicated things. Supplies in the cabin could last several weeks. She could bide her time before sneaking onto an outbound hauler—but that presupposed Jarek not alerting the CDF to her presence just to save his own ass. Given the charges he faced, Myla harbored no doubts he’d give her up as part of some deal with prosecutors.
This place isn’t safe. Just a few minutes with a public DataNet connection to forge the proper credentials, and I’m out of here.
The vid-screen squawked for attention and Myla looked up to see a local “Breaking News” banner flashing across the display. It cut to an older Latino woman with black hair cropped close to her scalp, staring into the camera with wide, dark eyes.
“We interrupt the Colonial News feed to bring you this important report of a jailbreak at the LaGrange Sheriff’s Office. Sheriff August Jeffers has been injured, and there are unconfirmed reports of at least one unidentified fatality. We’re awaiting official word on the escaped prisoner’s identity and description, but sheriff’s deputies caution the citizenry this fugitive is to be considered armed and dangerous. Notify local authorities if you see this individual. Again, a jailbreak has occurred—”
Myla deactivated the vid-screen, her mind swirling with the new information. She should’ve taken Jarek somewhere quiet to work out whatever problem he’d brought her way. Instead, she’d made him the sheriff’s problem. Now Gus was hurt and someone else was dead.
This was her fault.
Any thoughts of eluding the CDF vanished as Myla entered the foyer of the LaGrange Sheriff’s Office. Instead of facing one or more of Jeffers’s deputies, she found herself before an imposing, dark-skinned man wearing an impeccable drab-green utility uniform bearing a colonel’s insignia on the collars. His bald head reflected the office’s low light, and he regarded her with cold, piercing eyes. Years of military training and discipline almost made her pull herself to a position of attention but she caught herself. She schooled her features, hoping she might pass off her shock at seeing the colonel as genuine confusion.
Any thoughts of bluffing her way through the next few minutes evaporated as soon as the colonel spoke.
“Sergeant Shanna McCall.”
It was a declaration, not a question. The colonel exuded not doubt but confidence. His gaze never wavering, he made no effort to move toward her. Myla’s initial shock at hearing her own name spoken by someone else was replaced by an impulse to flee. Then she heard footsteps before noting in her peripheral vision someone standing on either side of her. She didn’t have to look to know they had to be CDF soldiers, each likely armed.
“Got me fluxed with someone else. My name’s Dynion. Myla Dynion.” It was worth the effort, if only to observe the colonel’s reaction. She wasn’t surprised when he smiled. Rather than speak to her, he gestured to the soldiers flanking her.
“Search her.”
The pair made short work of patting her down and finding the plazmag strapped to her right hip. The female soldier to her right removed the pistol from Myla’s holster and tucked it into her own gun belt while her male counterpart extracted the hunting knife from the sheath on Myla’s left side. They were thorough, even finding the second knife, folded in her back pocket.
“You could’ve just asked,” said Myla. “I’m not looking for trouble.”
Now the colonel did move to step around the desk, drawing close enough for her to read the name tag on his chest: THORNE. She also noted the diamond-shaped crest of the CDF’s Security Forces, but nothing to indicate any affiliation with its Special Operations branch.
He’s here because he was the closest CDF resource to New Bandera, she decided. He only knows what he’s been told.
“Sergeant McCall,” Thorne said, “you’re under arrest for disobedience of lawful orders by a superior officer, insubordination, and desertion from the Colonial Defense Forces. You have the right to be represented by counsel provided by the judge advocate general, and to say nothing except on the advice and in the presence of counsel. With that in mind, is there anything you wish to say to me at this time?”
“How’s Jeffers?” asked Myla, holding out her hands while the woman soldier placed restraints around her wrists. “And the person who was killed. One of the deputies?” She knew all of them by name. The thought of one of them dead at Jarek’s hands sickened her.
The questions seemed to catch Thorne by surprise. Regaining his composure, he replied, “The fugitive killed one of my security officers. That individual’s name is not being released, pending notification of their family.”
“Damn.” Lowering her head, Myla cast glances at each of the soldiers flanking her. “I’m sorry.”
Another voice said, “As for the sheriff, I’m figuring he’ll live.”
Moving with a noticeable limp, Jeffers emerged from an adjacent office. Myla couldn’t help grimacing at the large bruise on the left side of his face, and his right arm now nestled within a sling. The blue mesh of a bone-knitter cast stretched from elbow to wrist. Another cast sheathed his right foot to just above the ankle.
“What the hell happened?” She watched Jeffers shuffle toward his desk, with Thorne stepping aside to afford the sheriff access.
“Your buddy, Shaw.” Jeffers released an extended groan as he lowered himself into his chair. “Managed to hack the lockup and let himself out before Colonel Thorne and his team showed up. He waited to make his move, then took out one of their soldiers and ran for it.” He scowled. “Broke his neck. Kid never had a chance.”
Myla flinched at the blunt recounting of the soldier’s murder. What the hell was Jarek thinking, killing one of their own? Thorne and the entire Security Forces would hunt him down like a rabid animal.
“He was in our sights already,” said Thorne, his voice tight. “What your unit did on Malpaso is on every news broadcast across every colony world. There’s no place for him to hide, and he didn’t do a very good job covering his movements.”
“You did the CDF a favor, stomping him the way you did,” added Jeffers, before he held up his broken arm. “Can’t say it did me much good.”
“Sheriff,” said Myla, “I never wanted anything like this. I just wanted—” She stopped herself, redirecting her gaze to Thorne. “I just wanted to be left alone.”
“He didn’t waste any time offering you up.” Jeffers regarded her for a moment before adding, “I always knew there was something about you. I wish you’d told me.”
Thorne eyed him. “You’d have been an accessory to her desertion.”
“Maybe you work out your own problems before you go looking for others where you’re not wanted. We were getting on just fine without all this dumbassery.” Before the colonel could react to his comments, Jeffers turned to Myla. “When I processed Shaw, I found the implant. It was pretty sloppy work.” He hooked a thumb toward Thorne. “I ran an identi-check, which rang his bell.”
“Clearly his implant’s still active,” said the colonel. “We’ve picked up DataNet activity we think might be him, trying to arrange transport off-world. We’ll have to hunt him the old-fashioned way. He’s got my man’s weapon and equipment. That and his training make him pretty damned dangerous. I was fine taking him back for trial, but now?” He stepped toward Myla, his expression going flat. “It’s up to him, but I’m hoping he puts up a fight.”
In her mind, Myla saw no other choice.
“I’ll help you.”
There was no time to second-guess her impulsive decision. In fact, she could feel a measure of relief welling up within her. This was the right thing to do.
His eyes narrowing, Thorne said, “If you’re looking for some sort of leniency deal—”
“I’m not doing this for the CDF,” said Myla, cutting him off. “Though I suppose I am doing it for you.” She nodded to Jeffers. “And you, and the people of LaGrange. Nobody here’s done anything to deserve any of this. Jarek’s here because of me. He killed your man because he came looking for me. I don’t give a damn about any military tribunal, but I can’t leave here without making things right. So, let me help, then you can take us both back for trial.”
Sounding unconvinced, Thorne asked, “Even if I agree to this, how do you suggest we find him?”
Myla could almost feel a not-quite-forgotten tingle at the base of her skull.
“I can find him.”
Sitting on a stool and holding her hair away from her neck, Myla felt only the slightest sensation as Thorne, standing behind her, guided the scalpel along the scar tissue at the base of her skull.
“You know this is insane, right?” asked the colonel.
“Let the scalpel do the work.” Myla had set the tool to cut no more than half a centimeter into her skin, which was already numbed thanks to a pain masker from the medical kit in Jeffers’s office. “You’ve performed first aid in the field before, right?”
There was a pause before Thorne replied, “I’ve never been in combat. Security Forces don’t typically see that kind of action.”
“Didn’t you start out in the infantry?” Myla knew all CDF officers spent at least their first two years serving in an infantry billet.
“Sure, but it was peacetime. The border wars didn’t start until I’d already changed designators.” He chuckled before adding, “Don’t judge me too harshly, Troop.”
“No judging,” replied Myla. “If I had it to do over again, I’d pick something else.”
“Like what?”
“The band.”
She felt Thorne’s hand stop the scalpel along her neck. “We’re there,” he said. Something brushed across her neck, and she knew the colonel was applying a clotting agent to stem any bleeding from the incision. “Now what?”
Though she couldn’t see what Thorne now observed, she’d been through this process before. “Spread the skin. You’ll see the implant.”
A dull stretching sensation played across her neck before Thorne said, “I’ve got it.”
“There should be three diodes in the center.”
Thorne replied, “Two are red. The one in the middle is dark.”
“Correct,” said Myla. “Below the diodes are two switches. They should be set to the left. Use the tool I gave you to flip them both to the right.”
The colonel didn’t have to say anything. She felt his hand on her neck at the same time her mind’s eye conjured a vision of the switches moving and the inactive diode flashing green as its two companions shifted to a matching color. Despite bracing herself for what she knew came next, there was no preparing for the onslaught of information racing into her head once the implant automatically reestablished its connection to the DataNet.
Floodgates opened, her mind howling in protest as she struggled to absorb everything. It was the psychogenic equivalent of leaping onto a moving train. Myla closed her eyes, fighting to regain equilibrium. After five years, the old training and exercises imparted by cognitive agility instructors were no longer second nature, and it took her an extra moment to reassert her mental firewalls. Then the torrent eased, the influx abating. After another moment, everything was contained. The flow of data was still there, but instead of a raging river it now was a steady stream she could enter on her own terms.
“Are you all right?”
Myla opened her eyes at the sound of Jeffers’s voice, only then hearing her fast, labored breathing. With conscious effort, she calmed herself, reining in her body now that her mind had settled.
Then came the connection to the other network.
Now she was ready for it. The rush of information through the CDF SpecOps neural net was not nearly so severe, designed as it was to foster ease of transition for soldiers laboring under combat conditions. With her mental barriers now in place, Myla had an easier time shunting data where it needed to go. It took only a few seconds to establish control, and she felt the familiar sensation of calm accompanying a stable link.
“Sorry,” she said. “I’m out of practice.” She shifted in her seat to regard Jeffers. “I never liked the damned thing, but you get used to it. Part of the job.”
The sheriff frowned. “I’ll take your word for it.”
Moving to stand in front of her, Thorne eyed her with skepticism. “What happens next?”
Well, well. Look who it is. I thought I felt you in here.
Gasping, Myla stood up with such force she nearly lost her balance save for Thorne catching her.
“It’s him. Damn, that was fast.” She held up a hand to reassure Thorne and Jeffers she had things under control. “He found me first.”
You made it pretty easy. Easier than tracking you to this shithole planet.
Myla ground her teeth. How did you find me?
We used to hunt people for a living, remember? Identify patterns, habits, routines. You always hated big cities, or crowds. You wanted to retire somewhere quiet, with wide-open spaces where you could see people coming ten klicks away. I tracked your movements through the DataNet before you severed your implant, then worked out from your last known location. Fifth time was a charm.
Damn it.
Her best efforts hadn’t been enough to throw Jarek off her scent. It was her own fault. She’d let him get too close to her. Closer than anyone ever had. Far too close.
Close enough.
Taunting her, Jarek’s voice echoed in her head again. What are you even doing out here, anyway…? Wait. Don’t tell me you’re working with those CDF assholes. I thought you’d had enough of their shit.
A cascade of images seemed to fly at her, one after the other almost too fast for her to process. Explosions. Fire. People running, burning, dying. Sounds—in reality an artificial stimulus to her auditory pathways designed to simulate hearing—assaulted her ears with cries for help, for mercy, for death. Before she could temper the maelstrom, it vanished in the face of a new stream. Now passion replaced violence, with two figures intertwined—on a beach, in bed, aboard a troop transport—blurred bodies and faces coalescing until she recognized herself pressed against Jarek. She heard more sounds, only now it was the two of them, restraint lost amid the throes of—
Stop it!
The command spat forth from her mind, launching into the cacophony with such force that black replaced everything. Myla latched onto that darkness, wrapping it around her consciousness as she extracted herself from the link. Awareness returned, and she opened her eyes to see Jeffers and Thorne staring at her with shock and concern.
“Stop what?” asked the sheriff.
Myla placed a hand on Jeffers’s good arm. “I’m truly sorry for all of this, Gus.” She turned to Thorne. “All right, Colonel. When do we get started?”
“Right now.”
Thorne held up a compact rectangular device Myla hadn’t seen before now. It reminded her of the positioning trackers infantry units used during ground operations, receiving information from satellites or orbiting dropships. She’d used them herself, until joining SpecOps and receiving the implant that provided such data. This unit had a display screen depicting a scroll of information she couldn’t read.
“As soon as you engaged him, I locked onto his position. So long as he stays connected to the CDF net, we can track him.”
Myla’s eyes widened. “I’ve never heard of anything like that.” She’d always been told SpecOps implants were shielded from tracking, for fear of an enemy gaining that ability and compromising a unit’s operations security.
“It’s pretty new,” replied Thorne. “And not the sort of thing you advertise. I wasn’t planning to tell you, but then you offered to help us catch Shaw.”
Jeffers asked, “If you had that gadget, why the hell did you need her to turn her implant back on?”
“She wanted to help,” said the colonel. “And her implant gives me an edge.” He looked to Myla, and she saw the understanding and even sympathy in his eyes. “Besides, I respect her wanting to make things right, so let’s get on with it.”
Thanks to Thorne’s tracker, Myla realized Shaw had chosen what she knew to be his best course of action: fleeing LaGrange. He looked to be going to ground, likely hoping to evade pursuit long enough to make his way to the spaceport and sneak aboard a hauler. It wasn’t the dumbest idea. The rolling hills and lush forests in all directions outside of town provided plenty of cover and concealment for someone who knew how to use the terrain to tactical advantage.
Jarek, for example.
Her, for another.
“Thorne,” she said, subvocalizing into the comm unit affixed to her throat. “You okay?” In her mind, she reviewed the topographical map fed to her by Sheriff Jeffers via the DataNet, noting the green icons indicating Thorne’s position as well as his two soldiers relative to her own. Another icon, this one red, marked Jarek’s possible location as indicated by the colonel’s tracking device and sent directly to her implant to avoid their quarry’s notice.
Over the encrypted comm link, Myla heard Thorne’s labored breathing in her earpiece. “I guess I’m a little out of shape for this sort of thing, but I’ll manage.”
Jeffers, monitoring the situation from his office, added, “If I’m reading this map right, you’re within two hundred meters of his position. He’s on a rise overlooking the valley.”
Myla had gleaned that much from the map before they’d even left town. With that information, she’d convinced Thorne to deploy his two soldiers farther to the north on the far side of the valley, where they could approach from the opposite direction while she and Thorne advanced from the south.
“This is about as far as you could go on foot in the time since he escaped,” she said. “The elevated position makes for a good overwatch position.”
Jeffers replied, “I know the area. The trees start to thin out the farther you go. It’s a good bet he’ll see one of you first.”
“That’s not very reassuring.”
Looking to her left, she saw Thorne moving among the trees. He stepped with slow deliberation, the barrel of his CDF plazmag rifle sweeping slowly from right to left and back again. His eyes tracked with the weapon’s movements, glancing at the ground ahead of him to verify his footing with every stride. His rifle was a match for the one she carried, having exchanged her civilian pistol for the CDF armaments provided by Thorne’s team. The familiar weight was a comfort; an extension of her body. Far more powerful than weapons available to civilians, the rifle also possessed a greater effective range, allowing for engagement at longer distances than anything carried by a freight hauler or farmer on New Bandera.
I know you’re out there.
Myla stopped. “Thorne, Hold up.”
Yeah, I’m here. She pushed her reply through the net. Not many places for me to go, now.
So you come here? Jarek’s tone was playful, almost mocking. Why?
Payback. No way I’m letting them drag me back by myself.
Jarek’s laughter echoed in her mind. After all we’ve been through, after everything we meant to each other, this is how it ends?
Memories that weren’t hers flashed in Myla’s mind. Two bodies locked together, sharing love and laughter. Happiness. All of that was true, for a time.
Until Malpaso.
Look, I get it. What we did was wrong. I know that now, but back then? It was the job, remember? They sent us in to pacify that resistance cell.
The words were there, Myla decided, but not the sincerity. Jarek was rationalizing as much to himself as he was to her.
Killing noncombatants wasn’t the job, Jarek. Putting down the rebels was the mission. Everything else was—
When the visions came this time, they were a hammer inside her skull. Structures and vehicles exploding. People falling in hailstorms of weapons fire. Women and children, bursting apart from plazmag rifles set to maximum power. Cries for sanity in the midst of utter chaos, unheard. Cries for help, unanswered. Cries for mercy, ignored.
Instead, there was nothing but violence, destruction, and death.
Myla saw herself standing amidst the carnage, uniform torn, dirty, and covered in blood not her own. Rifle broken and useless by her side, she watched in mute revulsion as men and women she called friends unleashed the hellfire of their weapons on those helpless to defend themselves. Her ears rang with screams of terror and pain. She watched herself running toward her comrades, waving her arms and pleading for them to halt this most heinous of sins.
The mission was over! We’d broken them. Taken out the cell’s leaders. There was nowhere for them to run. No fight left.
Jarek’s voice seemed more somber now. I know, now. At the time? There was no way to tell who was a threat. It was them or—
They were unarmed civilians! Myla rejected the memories, realizing they hadn’t been sent by Jarek but instead welled up from where she’d buried them in the depths of her consciousness. You kept firing. Everyone kept firing, even after I begged you to stop! Why didn’t you just stop?
It was the mission, Shanna. We had our orders.
“Enough,” she snapped, realizing she’d spoken aloud as the word echoed through the trees around her.
“Myla,” said Jeffers over the link. “You all right?”
Pushing away the unwelcome memories, Myla reoriented herself to her surroundings. “I’m fine.” She turned to look for Thorne and saw the colonel crouching low to the ground, his weapon facing to his left as he regarded her with concern.
“You okay to keep going?” he asked. Before Myla could answer, the high-pitched whine of a plazmag pierced through the forest. She saw a blue-white pulse of energy surging through the trees until it slammed into Thorne’s left leg. The impact spun the colonel off his feet, twisting him in midair until he crashed to the ground before rolling toward a nearby depression. Myla ran in that direction but then another plazbolt tore into a tree just in front of her. Chunks of bark flew in all directions, peppering her as she ducked her head to protect herself. She scampered away from the attack, seeking cover behind a larger, gnarled tree.
More shots echoed in the distance, varying in pitch enough to tell her they came from different weapons, followed by the more familiar whine of what had to be Jarek’s rifle.
Then she heard nothing. At the same time, she realized she could no longer see the feed from Thorne’s tracker. Was it damaged? The map it supplied her was gone.
“Colonel Thorne,” said Jeffers. “I’ve lost the feed from your tracker.”
“Thorne’s down.” Hunched behind the tree, Myla hunted for movement. “I think his men are down, too.”
They don’t train these troops like they used to, taunted Jarek. Looks like it’s just you and me.
Without the tracker and its telemetry, Myla could only guess at Jarek’s location, but it made sense he’d move from his last position. Would he advance, or retreat?
Her answer arrived with another plazbolt, this one punching her just above her right hip. It was a glancing blow, the bulk of the energy pulse boring into the tree that was her protection. The rest of it was enough to spin her away from the tree, off-balance and tumbling to the ground. She lost her rifle, pressing her hands against the burning in her hip, nerve endings screaming for attention in the face of the brutal assault. Fighting to control her breathing against the pain, she heard running footsteps from somewhere nearby.
Too easy. Jarek laughed.
“Myla!” It was Jeffers, his voice tight. “What’s going on?”
Her rifle out of reach, she pulled her right hand from her wound and reached for the holster along her thigh. Sensing movement to her left, she looked up to see Jarek advancing toward her, rifle up and aiming at her face.
It didn’t have to be this way. Did Myla hear regret in his voice?
“Shut up.” She hissed the words through gritted teeth. Her hand rested on her pistol, but she knew she’d never clear its holster in time.
A smaller plazbolt sailed past Jarek’s head from his right, and he pivoted in that direction. Myla tracked his movements to see Thorne, limping on his damaged leg while brandishing his own pistol, firing a second shot that also went wide. Jarek’s first shot missed, but only because Thorne’s leg gave out and he stumbled to his knees, the plazbolt darting over his shoulder.
“Damn it!” Jarek snarled, stepping around a tree to adjust his aim for a second shot. There was nowhere for Thorne to go.
Her every movement sending a stabbing pain through her side, Myla pulled her pistol from its holster, raised it, and fired two shots in rapid succession. The first drilled through Jarek’s back while the second sheered away the top of his skull.
Shan—————
Jarek’s final plea faded into nothingness, and Myla felt his mind severed from the net. His body trembled, his rifle unleashing a final errant shot into the trees before he collapsed in a lifeless heap.
“Talk to me, Myla,” said Jeffers. “I’m blind here. You okay?”
“McCall!”
Jeffers’s voice was a low buzz in her ears, and Thorne’s call seemed even more distant, the sounds around her fading as her vision dimmed. She felt the net’s tendrils slipping away, extracting themselves from her consciousness before everything went dark.
Jeffers closed his eyes, relishing the burn of the whiskey as it coursed down his throat.
Damn. That’s good.
Myla was clearly of like mind, considering she had downed three shots to his one. Dropping her glass on Jeffers’s desk, she grabbed the bottle to pour herself a fourth before refilling the glasses sitting before Thorne and himself.
“One of the reasons I like you, Myla,” he said, raising his glass in tribute. “You can handle your liquor.” A few more of these, Jeffers decided, and he might just forget about the pain in his injured arm and leg.
Finishing his own drink, Thorne set down his glass. “Time to head out. Transport’s waiting.” Jeffers watched the colonel rise from his seat with the help of a cane; a medical sheath encased his left leg, its mesh continually working to heal the damage caused by Shaw’s rifle. Seemingly mindful of Jeffers’s own wounded arm, Thorne shifted the cane so he could extend his left hand. “Thank you, Sheriff, for everything.”
“Happy to help, Colonel.” Jeffers pushed himself up to shake the offered hand. “Just please don’t go making this a habit. I like my town quiet and boring.”
“Fair enough.” Thorne turned to Myla, and Jeffers instantly noticed her tension. Was the colonel about to pull out a pair of restraints? Her expression made him believe the same thought had crossed her own mind.
“Myla, there’s something I haven’t mentioned,” Thorne began. “On the way here, I read your file along with the pertinent intel about what happened on Malpaso, including your original report and transcripts of comm traffic you exchanged with your command post that day. In light of everything, you’re not being charged with any wrongdoing pertaining to the incident itself.”
“No charges?” asked Jeffers.
Thorne shook his head. “No charges.”
“Well,” said Myla, “seeing as how I didn’t do anything wrong, that’s nice to hear.”
“The CDF got it wrong, Sergeant.” Thorne’s features softened. “Your squad’s attempt to cover it up and throw you into the grinder is fragged. On that count, at least, the news reports and our own intel saved your ass.”
Jeffers snorted. “On that count. Sounds like your bill’s due, Myla.”
Thorne kept his eyes on her. “There’s still desertion and disabling your implant.” The colonel paused with an expression that made Jeffers think he was choosing his next words with care. “But you helped me with Shaw…and saved my life along the way.”
“Like I told you, I had to make things right.”
“Shaw? Him I get. Me? Hell, you could’ve killed me and disappeared, and no one would ever know.” As Thorne paused, Jeffers studied the man’s face. Was he starting to…smile?
Myla broke the silence. “I feel an ‘and’ coming.”
“And,” Thorne said, “in all the commotion, it turns out I never got around to updating headquarters that I found you here. Come to think of it, I can already feel myself forgetting I ever saw you. But, if you wanted to come back to the CDF, I can wipe your record. Nothing would be hanging over you. It’s a fresh start and you keep your stripes. I might even be able to swing your back pay.”
Jeffers was taken aback by the offer. Would Myla be tempted enough to accept it? He thought it had to sound better to her than sweating out a job at the spaceport. This might be just enough for her to kick the dust of this place off her boots for good—and he’d not blame her.
“Any chance you could just do the record wiping part,” said Myla, “and we go with the whole forgetting you saw me thing?”
Frowning, Thorne asked, “And why would I do that?”
Myla shrugged. “Because, then I’d owe you a favor.”
Appearing to mull that for a moment, Thorne extended his hand to her. “I can always use a favor now and then.” As Myla took his hand, he added, “Take care of yourself, Ms. Dynion.”
Placing his uniform cover on his bald head, Thorne offered a mock salute before he and his cane shuffled out of the office. Once he was gone, and the door closed behind him, Jeffers laughed.
“Well, I’ll be dipped in shit and spread on toast. Can’t say I’m unhappy about how that turned out.” He paused before asking the question nagging his mind. “Think you’ll stick around?”
Myla reached up to rub her neck. “Way I figure it, I owe you a favor, too. Two, if you help me disable this damn implant again. The sooner I unhook from the DataNet, the better.” She blew out her breath. “Hopefully, for the last damned time.”
Jeffers did not even bother trying to hide his grin. “Don’t think I won’t call in that marker one day.”
“How about we cash it in right now?” Jeffers drew his head back as Myla reached to tap the badge above his left shirt pocket. “Still got that extra star?”
He sure as hell did.