Chapter 2
New Austin
Lone Star System
Las Cruces Spaceport, Laredo Territory
Southern Hemisphere
“Marshal,” the deputy sheriff complained, “are you sure about this? Everything looks normal to me.”
Colonial Marshal Marcus Winchester ignored the deputy and continued to study the ship parked on the ramp through multifunction binoculars. With the optics zoomed in and gyro-stabilized, he was able to read the registration number on the hull of the ship. He turned to the bewildered-looking spaceport traffic controller and asked him if he’d run the ship’s number when it set down.
“Of course,” the controller said nervously. He was a short, sweaty man with a bad comb-over. “It checked out. That’s the Luxor, an independent free trader. She comes through here two or three times a year.”
Marcus frowned, lifting the binoculars to his eyes again. The Luxor had a fat, cylindrical hull capped with a blunt, rounded nose. Her unpainted gunmetal hull was covered with scorch marks, dents, and fabricated repairs. She stood a hair over fifty-three meters tall on her landing jacks. Stubby, aerodynamic radiators and small airfoils jutted out of her hull. The Luxor was presently the only ship on the parking apron at the so-called Las Cruces Spaceport, and was connected to the service tower at the port’s only fully functional launch pad. The bridge from the tower was locked into the ship’s open cargo bay, and a retractable umbilical refilled her reaction mass tanks. The spaceport terminal where Marcus found himself was maintained by robots and was in pristine condition, despite being practically deserted.
Marcus’ partner, Deputy Marshal Wade Bishop, tapped the screen of his handheld. “She checks out, Boss,” he said without looking up. “She’s an old tub, currently registered to Captain Bartleby Oleander out of the Llewellyn Freehold. That comes from their transponder download from when they arrived in-system. Everything else I can pull up on the ship is from more than a year ago.”
“The Freeholders ain’t exactly known for their deep and abiding respect for customs law,” Marcus said with a grin. “The only reason they bother to register in Concordiat space at all is so they can trade with the Inner Colonies. There’s a very good chance that info is out of date or an outright lie.”
The Llewellyn Freeholders were considered to be a bunch of belligerent anarchists by most civilized societies. Their colony had a barely functioning central government with almost no actual authority. The Freehold was notorious for its easy access to every imaginable vice and the stubborn, individualistic independence of its small permanent population. What existed on Freehold couldn’t exactly be called a “black market”; as long as you weren’t killing people or trafficking in slaves, you could buy or sell just about anything you could want on the open market. There were no taxes to speak of, precious few actual laws, and no police. Unscrupulous traders and smugglers would often register their ships as out of the Freehold to give themselves political cover.
None of that constituted suitable probable cause to detain the ship. If its registration information was outdated or forged, that was a job for the Colonial Customs Service, not the marshals.
This has to be the ship, Marcus thought to himself. Why else would a free trader land way the hell out here? With only two million total inhabitants, Las Cruces Spaceport was remote even by the standards of a frontier colony world. It was a former Concordiat Defense Force auxiliary landing field, built a century prior during the height of the Second Interstellar War. It wasn’t used much then, and was effectively abandoned after the Concordiat achieved its hard-fought victory against the Maggots. It was run by one of the big mining firms on New Austin, who let non-company ships use it for a fee to pay for the cost of maintenance.
Private spaceports were supposed to have their personnel make sure that customs regulations were adhered to, but there wasn’t much oversight. Las Cruces was a good place to get stolen goods off-world.
The perspiring traffic controller was one of a handful who manned the spaceport full-time. Most of its operations were automated and didn’t require much oversight. “Marshal, please,” he said. “The Luxor has come through here numerous times. I’ve met with Captain Oleander and have inspected his manifests. Everything is in order.”
“Is that right?” Marcus asked. “When are they due to depart?”
The controller glanced at the transparent eyepiece over his right eye, as if he really needed to check the schedule to know when the only ship at the port was supposed to leave. “They’re, ah, due to depart in two hours, sir.”
“I see. Have they finished loading their cargo, then?”
“Yes sir, they have. I can send you their manifest.”
“Please do. Is the crew all back on board?”
The controller looked around. “I’m not sure. It’s not my job to keep track of spacers once they land.”
Wade raised an eyebrow. “This spaceport is a controlled facility, isn’t it? We went through a gate and were checked by security when we came in. I know you don’t let whoever happens to show up come onto private property as they please.”
A slightly overweight man wearing the gray and orange uniform of the Sierra Nevada Mining Concern’s security patrol had been standing in the corner and hadn’t said much so far. He piped up when Wade asked about security.
“No sir, we do not,” he said, his voice filled with pride. “Company security protocols require all visitors to identify themselves, and we keep a log of when they come and go from the facility. Their movements while at the spaceport are monitored by our security system. As of right now, every individual who left the Luxor is back on board. The manifest lists the ship’s complement at twelve.”
Marcus nodded. The security guard had a ridiculous mustache and could stand to get more exercise, but at least he knew his business. The marshal also noticed that the spaceport controller had tensed up even more. Marcus and Wade exchanged a knowing glance. There was definitely something unusual going on here, but it didn’t yet constitute probable cause. Marcus could probably bully his way onto the Luxor if he wanted to, but the Sierra Nevada Mining Concern and the owner of the Luxor would both have grounds for a lawsuit if he didn’t find anything, and that would be the end of his career. Wade had sent the local judge a request for a warrant to detain the ship, but it had been declined.
Marcus shifted tactics, softened his tone, and addressed the controller again. “Listen, Mister . . . uh . . .”
“G-Greely,” the controller stammered. “Odin Greely.”
Odin? “Right. Mr. Greely. Here’s the situation. Thirty-one hours ago, an unknown group of individuals executed a daylight robbery of a Sierra Nevada cargo train. They cut the tracks, knowing full well that the train’s systems would automatically bring it to a halt. They had some pretty sophisticated communications jammers with them, and apparently knew what frequencies the trains transmit on, because no one realized the train had been stopped until it was all over. The company called the marshals and sent their own security team to investigate. Do you know what they found?”
“I, uh, how would I know that?”
“Millions of credits worth of refined platinum, rhodium, and iridium were taken. A literal truckload. The robbers, whoever they were, obviously knew what security measures were in place, because they were able to counteract them.” Marcus glanced at the company security guard. “They also shot and killed the two security officers who were escorting the shipment. They were the only two people on the train.”
Greely’s face went pale. Gotcha, Marcus thought. “This isn’t just an old-fashioned train heist. We’re looking at a double homicide and armed robbery. Since there’s likely no place on New Austin they could fence that much stolen metal, we suspect that they’re going to try to get it off-world, which is smuggling. They’d need a remote spaceport, far from the eyes of the Customs Service, and a ship willing to take stolen property. They also had to know how to disable the security devices sent with the shipment, because we haven’t been able to track it.”
Wade spoke up. “What we’re saying, Mr. Greely, is that this had to be an inside job. Someone with access to Sierra Nevada’s systems had to be in on this. Someone with the authority to access security protocols.”
“W-what are you trying to say?” Greely protested. “I don’t have that kind of access! I’m just the spaceport controller!” His eyes darted to the door of the room. The two sheriff’s deputies accompanying the pair of colonial marshals noticed his distress and quietly positioned themselves between Greely and the exit.
“Hey now, Mr. Greely,” Marcus said, “calm down. I’m not making any accusations. I’m just bringing you up to speed on the situation. But now that you mention it, you’ve been awfully nervous since we got here. Do you know something about this? Have you heard something?”
Greely flustered. “Of course not. This is ridiculous! I’ve had enough of you two, I think. You don’t have a warrant, and I haven’t done anything wrong. I’m afraid I’m going to have to insist that you leave.”
Marcus shrugged. “Fair enough. Bear in mind, though, that we’re not just talking about the theft of some metal from the company. This is a murder investigation now. Two innocent men, peers of your security officer here, were shot down in cold blood. Both men had families, you know.”
“That’s . . . that’s tragic,” Greely managed, “but I’ve had enough of your accusations and veiled threats! I’ve done nothing wrong. If you want to talk to me again, you can get a warrant and talk to my lawyer!” He turned to the security guard, “Lazlo, escort these men to the gate.”
Lazlo folded his arms across his chest and glared at Greely. He didn’t move.
“Suit yourself,” Wade stated. “But again, this is a murder investigation. We’ll get a warrant, and we’ll be back. If it’s found out that a person was lying to a peace officer to cover up a murder . . . well, that’s not good. Even if that person had nothing to do with the murder, that makes him an accomplice. That person would be looking at a very long stay in the Purgatory Correctional Facility. That’s not a nice place to be, Mr. Greely.”
The two sheriff’s deputies glanced at each other. “Hey, Tam,” the tall, thin man said to his female partner, “remember that child molester we hauled in a few months ago?”
The female deputy, a stocky woman with reddish hair, nodded. “Yeah. Chester Nightingale. Chester the Molester. He got sent to Purgatory, didn’t he?”
Marcus smiled. The deputies were playing their parts perfectly.
“He sure did,” the tall one said. “They were planning on moving him to the isolation block, for his own protection. But I guess there was a mix-up. He ended up in the general population.”
“Oh hell,” the female deputy said, feigning surprise. “That probably ended badly for him.”
“You know it, partner. Cho-mos aren’t too popular on the inside. He got involved in a fight. Another inmate ripped his jaw off. Like, clean off.”
“Ouch!”
“Yeah. It happened so fast it was over before the corrections officers could pull him off the guy. He bled to death right there in the shower room.”
“Well,” the woman said with a shrug, “that’s Purgatory. The worst of the worst go in there. And it’s the only supermax prison on New Austin, so that’s probably where anyone involved in this case will end up.”
Greely finally cracked. “Okay! Okay. Look, I was just supposed to look the other way when a cargo haul came through, alright? I didn’t know what they were hauling, who was hauling it, or where it came from. I certainly didn’t know it would turn violent! I didn’t even know that the attack on the train was related!”
“Oh, come on,” Lazlo, the security officer, said.
“No, I swear!” Greely insisted. “I was just supposed to look the other way, and they were going to slip me a bribe. It’s not like this sort of thing doesn’t go on all the time!”
“Not on my watch, it doesn’t!” Lazlo said, stepping toward Greely.
Marcus help up a hand. “Hold on there. This is a law enforcement matter now. The deputies here will take Mr. Greely into custody. I’m sure that the court will look favorably on his cooperation with the investigation.”
“I will!” Greely squealed. “I’ll tell you everything you want to know!”
“All I want to know is, what haul were you supposed to wave through?”
“It’s supposed to arrive any time now. One truck. Don’t know what it was carrying. I was just supposed to make sure it got let in. It was going to load its cargo onto the service tower lift, then leave. The ship was supposed to launch as soon as it was loaded. That’s all I know, I swear!”
“Thank you for your cooperation, Mr. Greely,” Marcus said. He turned to the deputies. “Take him into custody. The people that pulled off this heist are dangerous. Police custody is the safest place for him. Hurry—don’t want our truck to see you leaving and get spooked. Thank you for your help, deputies. Excellent work.”
“Sure thing, Marshal,” the tall deputy said. “We’ll send you a copy of his statement as soon as he gives it. But, hey, you want us to send you some backup? We’re stretched kinda thin right now, but we could get a couple of other deputies out here.”
“We’ve got it taken care of,” Wade said. “I’m sending a request for them to airlift in a tac team, and get us a warrant to detain that ship.”
Marcus patted the security guard on the shoulder. “And we’ve got Mr. Lazlo here to assist us.”
The guard’s eyes lit up, and his back straightened. His hand moved to the butt of the pistol on his hip. “I’m ready to render assistance, Marshal!”
Wade looked back down at his handheld. “The judge signed the warrant. Mr. Greely, before you go, can you lock down that service tower so the Luxor can’t leave?”
“Y-yes, of course,” Greely managed. He crossed the room to his control panel. A 3D image of the Luxor was displayed in the holotank, with all pertinent information available. When a ship was docked with a service tower, control of the ship’s engine was typically given over to the spaceport traffic controller, with the crew locked out. This was a safety protocol that was observed across most of inhabited space. It prevented ships from taking off without clearance, destroying the service tower and killing ground crews with their exhaust. It also prevented damage to the ship itself. Most service towers were stout structures, enabling the transfer of heavy cargo and personnel into the ship. They were generally sturdy enough to stabilize the ship, even in high winds. Launching with one still attached to an open cargo bay would likely be catastrophic for the ship involved.
With the launch controls locked down, the two sheriff’s deputies restrained Greely and escorted him out of the room. Marcus turned to Lazlo. “How many guards are on site right now?”
“I’m the shift supervisor. I’ve got two patrol officers here during the day, plus some security robots. We’re pretty much out in the middle of nowhere. Not a lot of risk of theft or vandalism out here, usually.”
“Alright,” Marcus said. “I’m deputizing you and your officers. Let’s get ready. Our guests will be here soon.”
* * *
Lazlo’s voice sounded in Marcus’ earpiece. “Marshal! The security system just alerted me to a vehicle approaching the gate. It’s a ten-ton, eight-by-eight wheeled cargo truck with five people in it. Its registration plate is covered with dirt, and it doesn’t have a broadcasting transponder. We don’t have any shipments on the schedule for today, and this truck isn’t from one of the shipping companies.”
“That’s probably our mark then,” Marcus replied. “Where are they at?”
“They’re approaching the truck gate on the south end. What do you want me to do?”
“Let them in, but don’t do anything to spook them. Just open the gate. If we’re right about this we’ll have our train robbers and some smugglers too. Tell your officers not to make any moves until I say so.”
“Understood. Opening the gate.”
The two colonial marshals watched on one of the security feeds as the big truck rumbled into the spaceport. It made a beeline for the Luxor, not adhering to the posted directions regarding driving on the flightline. It kept its distance from the terminal building as it approached the service tower. Swinging around, the truck backed up the ramp to the loading gate of the massive structure.
“Okay, it’s happening,” Marcus said into his transmitter. “Stand by.” On the security feeds, the marshals watched the men climb out of the truck and remove the soft cover from the cargo container on the back. The container matched the size and volume of the missing Sierra Nevada Mining Concern property, but had been painted over. Its registration transmitters had all been disabled as well. It wasn’t proof, but it was probable cause.
The suspect container was then lowered from the back of the truck onto a large wheeled dolly. The dolly and two of the men proceeded into the lift. The other three stayed at ground level, standing watch while their compatriots ascended.
The suspects were separated. Only two of them could get into the truck and attempt to flee. Perfect. Marcus keyed his transmitter. “Execute, execute, execute!” He then looked to his partner, behind the wheel of their vehicle. “Punch it!”
Wade nodded and stepped on the accelerator. Their patrol vehicle sped from where it had been hidden in a utility garage, across the flightline, toward the launch pad. The two marshals had access to every security feed at the spaceport, as well as real-time footage from a small aerial drone they had deployed. On cue, Lazlo initiated a security lock on the launch tower, freezing the lift halfway up.
As the marshals rolled across the vast, deserted tarmac, they were joined by a spaceport security patrol vehicle. The other security patrol was approaching the launch pad from a different direction. Two hundred meters out, Wade flipped on their lights and sirens. Right on top of the huge truck, the marshals’ vehicle screeched to a halt. The two lawmen were out in a flash, guns up. Marcus used the armored police vehicle as cover. Wade had his big revolver drawn and was covering one of the suspects, a wiry man covered in tattoos. He reached for a gun hidden under his vest. Wade’s revolver roared, and the tattooed man was dead before his body hit the tarmac.
“Colonial marshals!” Marcus shouted. “You two, get down on the ground!”
“Get down or I’ll put you down!” Wade ordered, shifting his aim to the next closest suspect. “Now!” The two security vehicles arrived, and the three guards, dressed in orange and gray, piled out with sidearms drawn.
The suspect closest to Wade, a stocky man with a wild shock of orange hair, looked down at the body of his deceased compatriot before slowly lowering himself to the tarmac. The deputy marshal and one of the security officers moved in to restrain him. The other suspect, covered by Marcus’ carbine, lifted his hands over his head, but didn’t move. He stood near the driver’s side door of the truck, staring Marcus down. He was a large, bald man with obvious bionic augmentations. His arms were black and rippled with synthetic sinews. His eyes had been replaced with ugly bionic implants, which made him look like he was wearing goggles. His long, sleeveless duster flapped in the breeze as he stood in silence. Marcus had a bad feeling about this one. The other suspects looked like a bunch of yokels, but the cyborg in the duster had the presence of a leader and the look of a hardened criminal.
He also didn’t get down on the ground as he’d been told. “Last chance, tin-man, get down on the ground, face down, right now!” Marcus ordered. The cyborg smirked, but didn’t move.
“Suit yourself,” Marcus said. He flipped off the safety of the less-lethal launcher mounted under his stubby carbine, and squeezed the second trigger. With a muffled pop, a 30mm compliance round launched from his weapon, struck the stubborn cyborg in the chest, and initiated.
The big man grunted in agony as his body was shocked with a tremendous jolt of electricity. Spittle shot through gritted teeth as every muscle, natural and artificial, locked up. He fell to his knees, then unceremoniously flopped to the tarmac.
Marcus exhaled slowly, relieved. “I wasn’t sure that was going to work,” he said to Lazlo. He then approached the incapacitated suspect, slinging his carbine behind his back. “Cover me. You,” he said, pointing to the other security guard, “keep your weapon on the guys in the lift.” He moved toward the incapacitated suspect with a pair of restraints in hand.
The cyborg lurched upward just as Marcus stepped over him. An augmented arm backhanded the marshal, knocking him clean off his feet. In a flash the cyborg lunged forward, grabbing the closest security guard by his gun hand. He wrenched the guard’s arm upward, snapping bone like sticks, and threw him at Lazlo. The two security officers tumbled to the pavement in a heap.
Realizing what was happening, Wade and the remaining security officer appeared from the other side of the truck just as the bionic criminal jumped back into the driver’s seat. The truck’s hydrogen engine whined as he hit the accelerator. The two injured guards were barely able to jump clear as the truck roared past, smashing aside their small electric patrol car without slowing down.
Wade’s revolver roared as he rapidly fired off all seven shots at the fleeing truck. The big 12mm explosive rounds punched fist-sized holes in the back of the vehicle, but it didn’t slow down. “Marshal, he’s getting away!” he said. The empty cylinder ejected vertically from his weapon, and he slapped a fresh one into place before helping Marcus to his feet. “Come on! Are you alright?”
Marcus shook his head and blinked hard. “Yeah, I think so. I might have a cracked rib. Go go go! You drive!” Marcus shouted to Lazlo as he climbed into the vehicle. “Secure the scene until we get back! The tac team will be en route. We’re going after him!” The colonial marshals didn’t wait for Lazlo’s response before speeding away after the fleeing criminal.
Wade drove as Marcus got on the radio and explained what was going on. The tactical team was on its way, but even traveling via VTOL aircraft, it would take them almost an hour to arrive. Marcus instructed the special response team commander to secure the launch pad. He didn’t want to leave three security guards, one of whom was injured, and a few old security robots with the remainder of the cyborg’s gang and the crew of the Luxor. With the marshals gone, they might try something.
Marcus next contacted the local sheriff’s office and explained what was happening. The spaceport was in a very remote location, and the local sheriff only had a handful of deputies. It would be a while before they could set up a roadblock. On the other hand, there weren’t that many roads in the outback. There really wasn’t anyplace for the truck to hide.
“Where the hell does he think he’s gonna go?” Wade asked, as if reading Marcus’ mind.
“Damned if I know,” Marcus said. “Unless . . .”
“Unless what, Boss?”
“Unless he’s just trying to lure us out so he can kill us both. Have you figured out who this guy is?”
Without taking his eyes off the road, Wade turned the dash screen toward Marcus. “No match, Marshal. No criminal record, no record at all. Not even a name or address. Probably from off-world.”
“Probably,” Marcus agreed. “There are a few salty types out in the desert that like to stay off the grid, but this guy doesn’t match that profile. He’s got serious tech on him. You don’t see that kind of augmentation out here that much.”
Technological wonders like heavy bionic augmentation were hard to come by so far out from the Inner Colonies, the long-established technology and economic base of the Concordiat. Not only was it rare, but it wasn’t cheap, either. The odds of a local criminal coming up with the funds to pay for that kind of augmentation weren’t good. Just to be sure, though, Marcus told HQ to crosscheck the suspect with the augmentation clinics on New Austin.
“So what’s the plan, Boss? We can’t just chase him ’til we run out of fuel.”
“The sheriff is trying to get a roadblock together, but that’ll take too long. I want to stop this asshole before he hurts anybody else.”
“I tried disabling his truck,” Wade said. “It didn’t work.”
Marcus wasn’t surprised. Any two-bit criminal worth a damn knew to disable the safety cutoffs and lockouts on their vehicles. A lot of regular people did it too, just on principle. Most vehicles were sold with them, but they weren’t mandatory. “Let me see if I can get the surveillance bot in close enough to do something,” the marshal said. He tapped his handheld and directed the small aerial drone to fly close, alongside the truck. “I want to try something before we just start shooting.”
“Agreed,” Wade said. “The Freeholder ship, the train heist, bribing mining company people, and now a dangerous cyborg. This could be something big.”
Marcus watched the feed as the little drone barely managed to catch up with the speeding truck. The little bot had a less-lethal launcher mounted to it. It maneuvered into position, trying to get a shot through the driver’s side window. It fired, but the round failed to penetrate the truck’s industrial-grade safety-transparency window on the first shot. The driver didn’t intend to give them another chance. He smashed a bionic elbow into the window, punching it out with the second blow. Before the drone could line up another shot, the fleeing criminal stuck a machine pistol out the window and fired.
“Shots fired!” Wade said, pointing out the obvious for the record. On the second burst, the cyborg managed to wing the little drone, damaging its control surfaces. The criminal pulled his weapon back inside to reload.
“Shit,” Marcus snarled. “It’s not stable enough to get a shot now.”
“Ram him!” Wade said.
“What?”
“Ram him!”
Marcus grinned and told the drone to do just that. Using every bit of power it could muster, the little robot flew into the driver’s side window as fast as it could. The video feeds went dead as it smashed right into the cyborg’s head. Marcus looked up from his handheld just in time to see the truck swerve, then cut sharply to the left. Wade hit the brakes as the ten-ton vehicle, which had been barreling along at a hundred and twenty kilometers per hour, came off its wheels and flipped over. The massive truck rolled off the road and down a small hill, ripping a swath through the desert vegetation and kicking up a huge cloud of dust that obscured the wreck from view.
Wade pulled the marshals’ vehicle to a stop at the edge of the road. “God damn,” he said, still grinning.
Marcus was talking rapidly into his headset, requesting backup and medical support. The office was undoubtedly already vectoring those things to his position, having witnessed the crash in real time through the on-board cameras of the marshals’ vehicle. “Let’s go,” Marcus said to Wade, retrieving his carbine from its mount in the cabin. “Grab your rifle, he’s armed.” Wade nodded and followed him out of their vehicle.
Weapons shouldered, the marshals cautiously made their way down the hill toward the wrecked truck. There was no cover on the approach, so they went in guns up and ready to fire. Marcus used a hand signal to tell Wade to swing wide to the left, spreading out while still being able to see each other. The suspect was dangerous and they weren’t going to give him any more advantages.
“Colonial marshals!” Marcus announced. “Come out of the vehicle with your hands in the air or we will open fire!” The truck was on its side. Marcus could see the battered undercarriage, but had no visibility on the cabin. He moved to the right, hoping to get eyes on the suspect. Wade circled to the left, around the truck. They were coming at the suspect from two directions.
“Marshal, you see anything?” Wade asked.
Marcus advanced through the cloud of dust, trying to see into the truck’s cabin through the windshield. “I see him! He’s not moving! Wasn’t wearing his restraints!”
“Be careful, Boss!” Wade warned. The cyborg had fooled them once before.
“Hey, tin-man!” Marcus said. “Dead or alive, you’re coming with me!” No response. He looked up at Wade and shook his head.
“Medical support is inbound,” Wade said. “We have to disarm him before they get here.”
Marcus nodded. “Okay, I’m going to—” He was cut off as the safety transparency windshield smashed into him, knocking him into the dirt. The augmented suspect had kicked it out with both feet. Before the marshal knew what was happening, the murderous cyborg was on top of him. Marcus tried to bring his carbine up, struggling under the transparent sheet, but his attacker was too fast. The cyborg stepped on the weapon just as Marcus got it out from under the windshield, pinning it to the ground. He picked up the dislodged window, spun around, and hurled it like a discus. It spun through the air and smacked into Wade, knocking him off his feet. Turning back to Marcus, the cyborg clamped a massive synthetic hand onto Marshal’s throat and hoisted him off the ground with one arm. The emergency release on Marcus’ carbine sling gave way, leaving the rifle out of reach under the criminal’s boot.
A steely hand wrapped around his neck, Marcus was eye-to-artificial-eye with the cyborg. The cyborg’s eye lenses irised as he spoke. “Well, well, well,” the he said, a metallic tang in his voice. “Not how you expected this to turn out, neh?” He let out a rumbling chuckle and squeezed Marcus’ neck even tighter.
Marcus tried to speak, but couldn’t get the words out.
“What’s that? You got words for me, you backwater colony pig?” The cyborg relaxed his grip slightly.
Marcus gasped for air. “You . . . are . . . under arrest . . .”
An evil grin split the cyborg’s face. Even his teeth were artificial, glinting silver in the afternoon sun. “Haw. How you—HURK!” BLAM BLAM BLAM BLAM BLAM BLAM BLAM BLAM! Marcus had pulled his 10mm automatic, stuck it into the cyborg’s side, and rocked the trigger over and over. Whatever armor the cyborg was wearing, or had built in, didn’t stop him from dropping Marcus. The marshal fell to the dirt, coughing, hacking, gasping for air. When he fired the cyborg reflexively squeezed so hard his throat had nearly been crushed.
Marcus was out of time. The cyborg was on top of him again, before he could bring his pistol to bear. The criminal’s augmented face was purple with rage. Then his face exploded in a mass of blood, brains, and artificial structures. The top of his head pulped, the cyborg toppled over, crushing Marcus back into the dust. The marshal, still struggling to breathe, coughed and wheezed under the bulk of the augmented corpse. Blood and brains leaked onto his armored vest, but he didn’t care. He lay on his back, staring up at the intensely blue sky, and tried to get some air.
“Marshal!” It was Wade. “You okay? Marshal!”
Unable to shout to his partner, Marcus simply raised a hand and waved.
“Holy shit,” Wade said, appearing next to his partner. “I thought I got you.” He held his powerful 8mm rifle at the low ready.
Marcus coughed. “Nice shot,” he managed weakly. The armor-piercing explosive bullet was easily powerful enough to go clean through a human head. Wade had to have angled the shot so the bullet didn’t also hit Marcus, while firing from the shoulder, and the cyborg and the marshal weren’t holding still. “Damned nice shot.”
“Thanks, Boss,” Wade grinned. He grunted as he rolled the heavy corpse off of his partner, then helped Marcus to his feet.
Marcus holstered his sidearm and retrieved his carbine. “You ready to call it a day?”
Wade nodded, looking tired. “I’ve had enough fun for today.”
Marcus shook his head, and forced himself to smile. “Call back to the spaceport and see how they’re doing.”
* * *
The eastern sky was on fire as the sun called Lone Star slowly sank beneath the jagged peaks of the distant Redemption Mountains. The patchy carpet of clouds exploded in shades of gold, red, and purple, and the first stars of the evening twinkled far above. The pale glow of New Austin’s twin moons, rising into the night sky, took over as the last red rays of the sun disappeared below the horizon.
Annabelle Winchester sat on a weather-beaten boulder and sighed. “That was a really pretty sunset, Sparkles.” Sparkles paid Annabelle no mind. The Laredo buckskin mare focused her attention on the desert floor, rooting through the shrubbery for things to eat.
As the blanket of night rolled across New Austin, the already scattered clouds cleared up, revealing the shining tapestry of stars that Annabelle never got tired of looking at. Laredo Territory was sparsely populated; there were no big, lit-up cities to hide the stars. The Izanami Nebula, only a few light-years away, filled part of the sky with its electric blue splendor. Twinkling dots, satellites and ships in orbit, zoomed silently across the sky. Annie’s eyepiece, connected to the colonial network via her handheld, displayed information on the different stars and constellations.
Annie gazed up into the night sky with the oddest sense of longing. She devoured every text and media on space travel that she could find. It wasn’t that she’d never been to space before. She had been six years old when the Winchester family made the long voyage to New Austin, but that hardly counted. Annie could barely remember it, and they spent most of the months-long journey in cold sleep anyway.
No, Annie wanted to really go to space. To see firsthand the engineering marvel and controlled chaos that was a spaceship. To experience freefall, to see New Austin from above, and to experience the exhilarating, mind-bending terror of translating between transit points. She longed to set foot on unexplored worlds and see for herself the incredibly ancient ruins of one of the long-vanished Antecessor Species. In her sixteen standard years, Annie had lived on two worlds and traversed the incredibly vast gulf between them via an interstellar-capable ship. She knew it was silly to pine for space travel when, for the vast majority of all of human history, such things had been impossible and unknown.
Yet, as silly as it was, in her heart Annie wanted to go back to space. She didn’t know when or how, exactly, but she knew she would find a way. As if to confirm her desire, far to the north she saw the unmistakable glow and fiery plume of a ship lifting off, ascending into the night sky and the endless depths of space beyond. Her eyepiece told her the ship was the MV Atago Maru, registered on the Concordiat colony of Nippon. A diagram of the ship appeared before her right eye. It was a fat, blunt monster with airfoils symmetrically poking out of its hull, and stood eighty-three meters tall on its landing jacks. Annie didn’t know where it was going, but she found herself wishing she was aboard it.
An electronic chirp interrupted Annie’s wistful pondering. Her mom was calling. She accepted the call, and a small video image of her mother appeared on her eyepiece. “Hi Mom,” Annie said.
“Hi honey. Where are you?”
“I’m up on the south ridge with Sparkles. I was just watching the sunset. Is Dad home yet?”
“He just called. He’s on his way. I guess he had kind of a rough day, so I’m going to make a nice dinner. How’s meatloaf sound?”
Annie’s stomach growled. As she often did, she lost track of time while out on the lone prairie with Sparkles. It had been hours since she’d eaten lunch. “I’ll come straight home, Mom. I’ll be there in about an hour.”
“Okay, dear. Be careful.”
Annie smiled at her mother’s doting, as if she couldn’t handle herself out on the range. “See you later, Mom. Love you.” Ending the call, Annie stood up, dusted off her jeans, and took one last, long gaze into the sky full of stars.
Sparkles lifted her head in concern at a chorus of yipping, crying, and yelping from off in the darkness somewhere. Coyotes.
“I hear ’em, girl,” Annie said, grabbing her varmint carbine. The coyotes in Laredo Territory could be aggressive sometimes, especially to a lone horse with a lonely girl on her back. “Come on, we’d better get home.” Annie stuck a foot into a stirrup and pulled herself up into the saddle.
Sparkles whinnied in agreement, and the two turned for home at a quick trot.
* * *
Annie’s eyepiece had rudimentary night vision capability, but she didn’t need it on such a clear night, even to keep watch for critters. The open desert was brightly lit by the twin moons, and Annie was able to ride Sparkles home using her own two eyes. As she crested the last ridge, the Winchester family ranch came into view below. Their single-story, prefabricated home was efficient and modern. Her parents had added onto it over the years, including a shade for her father’s armored police vehicle (which was too tall to fit into the garage) and her mother’s workshop. The roof was covered with solar panels and a backup radioisotope thermoelectric generator provided extra power if needed. There was no electrical grid in this part of Laredo Territory.
Next to the house stood a prefabricated barn where the Winchesters kept their few livestock. Annie guided Sparkles down the ridge, and led her into the barn. Once she had gotten the mare unsaddled, fed, and put in her stall, she slung her carbine over her shoulder and headed into the house.
Annie’s stomach growled as the wonderful smell of her mother’s cooking filled her nose. The whole house smelled of meatloaf, potatoes, and baking bread. Her mom didn’t cook often, but when she did, she went all out. “I’m home, Mom!” she announced, unloading the 4.5mm caseless carbine she carried.
“Your father will be home soon, honey,” her mom said. “Put your rifle away and get cleaned up for dinner. It’s almost ready.” Famished, Annie locked her weapon in its storage cabinet and headed to the washroom to shower. She’d been out riding all day and was eager to wash off the grit and change into some clean clothes.
When Annie walked into the kitchen, showered and changed, her father had just walked in the door and kissed her mom.
“Dad!” she said, giving her father a big hug.
“Hey darlin’,” he said. “How are you?”
“I’m . . .” Annie noticed then the bruises on her father’s face and neck. “Dad, holy shit.”
“Language, young lady!” her mom corrected.
“Uh, sorry. What happened to you? Are you okay?”
Her father gave her a lopsided grin, hand on her shoulder. “I’m fine, baby. Just a rough day is all.”
Annie noticed her mother giving her dad a worried look. They obviously didn’t want to tell her what had actually happened. He’d probably had to shoot somebody or something. They always tried to hide stuff like that from her, as if she were a little kid who didn’t know what was going on. She decided to drop it, for now. She was daddy’s little girl, she thought, grinning. She’d get the truth out of him eventually.
Annie didn’t talk much during dinner. She was too busy devouring her mother’s homemade meatloaf. The potatoes and vegetables came from their own garden, and the bread was fresh and warm. It was much better than the prepackaged meals she usually ate when her mom was absorbed in her work or off at one of her claims.
Taking a sip of water, her father looked over at her mother. “How was business today, Ellie?”
“I spent all day in my workshop analyzing core samples. I’m pulling good ore out of the West Range site, but the Rocky Slope site just isn’t producing. I’m probably going to cut my losses and shut it down. We’re losing money on it just keeping it open, and putting a lot of wear and tear on my equipment.”
Annie never had the love for rocks that her mom did. Eleanor Winchester was a geologist and miner by trade. She had several claims filed with the colonial government, and most of the family’s income came from her mining business.
Annie’s father had a worried look on his face. “So . . . are you thinking about opening up the Jerome Mountain site then? You’ve been sitting on it for almost two years.”
“I know. It’s just so remote, and the terrain out there is really rugged. Getting the equipment out there would be a nightmare. I’d have to rent some all-terrain vehicles, and I’d probably have to camp there during the season. The rock is dense, too. The drilling equipment I have probably won’t last too long. I may have to use explosives.”
“Wade could do the demo work for you. He was an explosives technician in the Defense Force.”
“I’d need to pay him, and buy the explosives, and get some heavier equipment. I’d need a small crew, too. My bots couldn’t handle that kind of work unsupervised, and it costs a lot of money to get a technician that far out if one of them breaks down.”
“Ellie, you know I support you if that’s what you want to do.”
“It is, Marcus. It’s just . . . I don’t know. We don’t have the money to invest in the kind of equipment I need. It’d be a lot.”
“I could see about picking up some extra assignments,” Annie’s father suggested.
Her mom shook her head. “No. We’re both gone too much as it is. I don’t want to leave Annabelle alone all the time.”
“I’m okay, Mom,” Annie protested. “I can take care of myself.”
“I know you can, sweetie,” her father said. “That isn’t the question. It’s just not good for the family if we’re gone all the time.” He looked back over at her mother. “Could we borrow the money, maybe?”
“I don’t think so. Especially now that Rocky Slope was a bust. The bank is going to question my judgment on possible mineral sites. Everything else we have is tied up in the property, the house, paying off debt, or Annie’s university fund.”
“You can use that,” Annie interjected. “I don’t want to go to university.”
Her mother furrowed her brow. “Annabelle, don’t be silly. You’re not just going to live out here and be a ranch hand. You’re going to university if I have to scrub floors to put you there.”
Annie rolled her eyes and continued chewing her food. Her mom was being ridiculous. Why would anyone pay someone to scrub floors when there were robots that did that? Anyway, she just wouldn’t listen. Going to a real university, with an actual campus, classes that assembled in person, and professors that you actually met with face-to-face was prestigious, a luxury, and one that Annie didn’t see the point of. She’d been educated by remote access learning her entire life. She didn’t understand the appeal of some old-fashioned university where everyone wore strange square hats and sat around in lecture halls or got drunk at parties. It all seemed so pretentious.
No, what Annie really wanted was to go to the New Austin Spaceflight Academy and become a spacer. But that cost even more money than the university, if you couldn’t get a scholarship, and her mom never seemed to listen anyway. She was strongly considering just running off and joining the Concordiat Defense Force as soon as she turned eighteen, or maybe trying to get into the Survey Fleet or even the Courier Service. Anything to get out into space.
“I don’t know what we’re going to do, Marcus. If I can’t up our revenue stream we’re going to have a very hard time making the payments on the ranch.”
“I guess we could always try to sell the place and move back to the city. Aterrizaje isn’t anything like the arcologies back on Hayden.”
Hayden was where Annie had been born. She didn’t remember much of it, except that she and her family lived in a massive, two-hundred-level arcology outside of a huge Concordiat Defense Force Base. Hayden’s small habitable landmass was very crowded. Pollution and crime were both high, as was the cost of living. The Winchesters decided that their daughter shouldn’t have to grow up in such a place, and emigrated to New Austin when Annie was little. Her father was correct, though; Aterrizaje, the capital city of the New Austin Colony, wasn’t anything like the congested urban wastelands of Hayden.
Annie’s mother didn’t seem consoled by that fact. She hated living in the city, and preferred making her living in the wide open spaces of New Austin’s frontier. “I’ll probably have to close up shop completely if we do that. Aterrizaje is just too far from my claims, and there isn’t much good mining ground unclaimed anywhere close to the city. Either that or I’d have to be gone for weeks at a time.”
“Well, don’t stress too much, Ellie,” Annie’s father said reassuringly. “This is just a bump in the road. We’ll figure it out. We always do.”
As they were finishing up their meal, Annie idly thumbed the touch screen of her handheld, checking social media to see what her friends were doing. Her mom normally hated it when she used it at the table, but she’d waited long enough this time that all she got from her mother was a frown.
“Hey,” she said, reading a posting on the small screen. “I almost forgot. The Aterrizaje Stampede is coming up soon. I’ve been practicing barrel racing with Sparkles all season. You guys are going to be able to take me, right?”
The Aterrizaje Stampede was an annual rodeo held in New Austin’s capital city. It was a huge annual attraction, and Annie had been training hard for months to qualify for the junior division. “I don’t know, honey,” her mother said. “I need to get back out to my mines.”
Annie looked pleadingly to her father. He gave her an apologetic look. “Honey, there was an, uh, incident at work today. There’s gonna be an investigation. I don’t know if I can get away.”
“But . . .” she said, trailing off. Exhaling heavily, she set her handheld down and looked at her plate.
“This is important to her, Marcus,” she heard her mom say. “It’s the only time she really gets to see her friends.”
“I know, baby, but I told you what happened today. Can you take her?”
“We’re losing money every day my bots sit at Rocky Slope not doing anything.”
“Well . . . what if she went by herself? She’s old enough.”
Annie’s head shot up. “Can I, Mom?”
Her mother looked pensive. “I don’t know, Marcus. There are other teenagers, and boys, and who knows what all goes on?”
“Mom! Don’t you trust me?”
“It’s not that I don’t trust you, sweetie, I don’t trust boys.”
“But Mom!”
Marcus put his hand on his wife’s shoulder. “Ellie, she’s growing up. We let her go out on the range by herself. If she can handle the varmints out there I think she can handle a few teenagers.”
“I can, Mom! You know I’m responsible!”
“Annie, hush,” Marcus said, before turning back to Annie’s mother. “We’ve got to let her out of the nest eventually. We raised her right. I’m not worried.” He gave Annabelle a stern look. “Do I need to be worried?”
“Dad, no! You know me! I don’t give a shit about boys!”
“Language!” Eleanor snapped. She stood up from the table, sighed, and told the kitchen appliances to pour her a glass of wine. “Fine, but we’re going to establish some ground rules. You’ll check in every night. No overnight parties, no boys in your room, and so help me God, young lady, if I find out you were drinking I’ll lock you in a tower until you’re eighteen!”
“Mom, I’m not gonna drink! I’m not stupid!”
“Sweetie, believe it or not, I was sixteen once. I know what kind of trouble a girl can get into.” Eleanor shot a scowl at Marcus, who was obviously trying not to laugh. “What is so funny?”
“I know what kind of trouble you can get into too,” he said. “Hell, you were trouble when we met. Nothing but trouble.” He shook his head, smiling from ear to ear. “I used to have to stop you from starting fights at the club when we were dating.”
“That . . . was a long time ago. And on another planet! And entirely beside the point! You,” she said, pointing at Annie, “will not get into any fights!”
“Oh my God, Mom, I’m not going to get into fights! Will you give me some credit?”
Marcus’ expression became more serious. “You know what I taught you about that,” he said.
“Of course I do, Dad. You never start a fight, but you always damn well finish one.”
He nodded in approval. “That’s my girl. See, honey? She’ll be fine.”