ã€ŠRed Star Outlaw | A Weird Space Westernã€‹


 - PROLOGUE: DYING RED STAR -

    Our timeline is only one bullet in the cosmos chamber. Pulling the trigger rolls the revolver of reality, sending History on an alternate trajectory.

    In the 1880s, Thomas Edison contracted typhus, biting the dust prematurely. Wishing to further Edison''s work, the financier J.P. Morgan backed a young promising scientist, Nikola Tesla. Without Edison, Tesla fixed up his own ideas, developing alternating current machines, unrivaled.

    By the 1890s, visions of transmitting wireless power through the Earth''s atmosphere tickled Tesla''s fancy. Encouraged by Tesla''s progress, Morgan funded a conducting tower in the mountains of Colorado Springs, equipping Tesla with a team of eager scientists.

    One night in the tower, Tesla believed he received communications from the red planet, Mars.

    For the next fifty years, reaching the red star fixated Tesla. His team developed electromagnetic spacecraft, and his passion spurred an early space age, plunging mankind through the sea of stars. Tesla''s coil towers and geothermal pyramids paved the way for oxygen and water facilities on Mars, radically terraforming the red planet.Stolen story; please report.

    Romancing the era of their forefathers, colonizers exchanged soil for alien dust, extending the days of the wild west to the frontier planet.

    But in 1939, disaster struck Earth.

    That yeller cuss Hitler reimagined Tesla''s inventions as weapons. The atrocities of WWII eclipsed WWI. Seeing his life''s work abused, Tesla keeled over and died, wishing he''d never been born. Hitler attempted to claim Earth, and craved Mars.

    With all nations tangled up, Earth''s support to the Martian colony dried up. Stuck with technology they couldn''t advance, Mars regressed, slowly growing inhospitable to human life.

    Over the next hundred years or so, things got nasty. Under the ravenous rule of tycoons and barons who hoarded scientific knowledge, the Martian settlements stagnated in a perpetual Edwardian wild-west. Criminal outlaws flocked to Mars. Corruption plagued lawmen. Commoners lost hope.

    Now, the red planet herself rears, bucking unwanted passengers off her back. And deep within her canyons, dormant secrets rouse.

    She''s a place where one can take a shot of whiskey or a shot in the back. Slinging a revolver is a sure way to survive.

    Ride high or die, on red dead Mars.

 1 | CRAWLING OUT OF THE CRATER

    Tracy Irving crawled out of the crater. Smoke billowed on the wind, smothering him. Dust covered his crashed ship. He trailed his eyes over himself, from his booted feet up to his calloused hand.

    Scratched? Sure.

    Bruised? You bet.

    Blood stained? Undoubtedly.

    He tugged his head to the side until his neck cracked, then looked back. The wreckage was beyond bad. More like unsalvageable. Tracy gnashed his teeth.

    The sun bore down on him from a quarter high in the Martian sky, glinting off his U.S. Marshal''s badge.

    He spun slowly, squinting until he found it. His hat stared back at him, half covered in sand. He snatched it before it could up-n-leave with the rush of wind. Smoke from the wreckage continued assaulting him.

    His actual assailants were nowhere to be found. Scavengers. Blasted him out of the sky. Whether they set fire to the ship after looting it, or the crash started the fire, and they considered it a lost cause and left him for dead in an open grave, he''d likely never know. His head still reeled as he tried to shake the dizziness from blacking out.

    He spit, moved upwind, and drew a cigar and matchbox from his duster. If he was going to shrivel his tongue, might as well enjoy the taste. He struck several matches against the rough diamond patterned plate of his prosthetic palm. Otherworldly wind blew out the flame a couple of times. The charred matches did nothing for the stench, the natural odors wafting from the pits of the planet. They''d warned him about it. They weren''t exaggerating. Even with the planet semi-terraformed, whiffs of rotten eggs, hints of sweet onion and garlic tang, along with a chalky after-smell all rolled together into one heck of a nose tickle. The smell stung his nostrils, making his nose wrinkle.Support the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more.

    When the tobacco finally lit, he drew long and slow on the cigar, and took Mars in, in all her glory. She looked way better than she smelled. That was certain. Of course he was partial to rugged landscapes, being an Arizona boy, born and raised.

    Jagged fragments of volcanic rock peered from under the dull red soil, half-covered, hinting at more below. Way off in the distance, rectangle specks glared back at him against the backdrop of a blood orange mountain. Civilization. A quarry embedded in the mountain¡ªdormant volcano really¡ªand a settlement at the base. And between the crater and him, a lot of frigid Martian desert.

    Three weeks. The Attorney General gave Tracy just three weeks to scour the US colonies on Mars¡ªand if need be, the whole planet¡ªto capture the fugitive. And the allotted time wasn''t arbitrary. If he missed the cutoff window, He''d be stuck on Mars for another two years before the red planet''s cycle around the sun synced up with Earth again. The worm jump only worked one way after all.

    The burning of oil and metal told him everything in the lander was already scrap, including the speeder¡ªif the scavengers hadn''t sped off with it. He had a long, bone-chilling walk ahead of him, in which he''d have to weave around craters like a skin mite scuttling across a pockmarked face.

    The wind sighed, like Mars was agitated. She''d kick up a dust storm in no time. But there was nowhere to hunker down. The endless crater field sprawled out for kilometers in every direction.

    Picking up a handful of Martian soil, he watched it sift between his fingers. What wonders were buried beneath the surface of Mars, that blanket of dust? What history had the sand suffocated under the weight of time? As the last of the dust trailed off his hand he formed a fist and scowled. That same dust crept into the crows feet that framed Tracy''s eyes as he squinted against the glare of the sun. He tugged the brim of his diamond shaped cowboy hat further down, almost resting it atop his eyebrows.

    He patted himself down. Still had his trusty gauss revolvers. But not much else. His lever-action rail gun was either melted or stolen.

    Tracy removed the U.S. Marshal badge from his duster, pinned it to his shirt, and tugged his long coat tighter around his body to fend off the cold.

    On Earth the badge was a mark of honor. A star of authority. On Mars, might as well be a target. The planet was not entirely without Law, or a semblance of it. Only thing to do was get into town, see what reaction his star garnered, and sniff out that psycho killer''s trail.

 2 | FREE MEAL

    The panel doors whisked open. A tall man Gil had never seen in town before staggered in. He looked chilled to the bone. And hurt. Well Gil could fix that. Get him drunk if he wanted. Warm him up and wash all his pain away. The man scanned the room. Other patrons raised their heads, took in the dust, sweat, and blood sprinkled on the man, determined he was much like every other patron, and went back to nursing their drinks and problems. Gil could not tell if he was looking for someone specific or simply letting his vision adjust to the inside of the dim saloon.

    The man swaggered up to the bar, head down, hiding his features under his onyx Stetson hat.

    "What''ll it be stranger?" asked Gil.

    A gruff voice rose from beneath the hat. "Need to sterilize the dust in my throat."

    Mick butted in, stumbling towards Gil and the stranger, sloshing his own drink. "Spaghetti cider is what you need brother."

    "Spaghetti cider?"

    Gil glared at Mick, backing him away from the stranger with his fiery gaze. Mick had a bad habit of encroaching on other''s space. Then, to the stranger, "It''s a fermented tomato ale, but everyone calls it cider."

    "Pass."

    "Whiskey then." Gil produced a shot glass and a bottle of Thark''s. "Best whiskey in all of Tharsis. That''s not saying much though."

    The man''s metal hand clinked against the glass as he snatched it up and slammed the shot in one motion. Aside from that quick motion, the man kept his head down and Gil still hadn''t gotten a good look at his face. Oh well. If the man wanted anonymity, so be it.

    "Water," he croaked.

    "Water''s extra."

    The stranger nodded, so Gil slipped a half glass in front of the man and poured the cool clear liquid.

    The stranger took a gulp, then slowed, sipping the water, savoring it. Gil served several other patrons, but the stranger tugged at his curiosity. The man tilted his ear towards the keyboard bot playing the synthwave ragtime version of She''ll be Comin'' ''Round the Asteroid Belt. He nodded his head to the tempo and grinned.

    Gil limped back over to the man. He made a point to gaze at a patch of dried blood on the man''s flesh hand. "Hard day at work, huh?"

    "You could say that."

    "You with the oxygen treatment plant?"

    The man shook his head.

    "Water plant?"

    Another shake.

    "Bullet train railman?"

    "You''ll never guess."

    The man didn''t want to talk, so Gil didn''t press him. A gnawing feeling crept from his gut up into his chest. The counter next to the man''s cup remained void of a comm unit, which meant no creds or tip.

    Gil suggested a plate of hot food would pair well with the drinks, testing the stranger''s gall. The stranger obliged, taking the bait. "Better have creds to pay," Gil muttered under his breath. Then to the man, "You want real meat? Synthetic is cheaper. Comes in a nice brick shape, like meatloaf."

    "I''ll spare my intestines. Give me the real deal."

    Gil had to hold back from violently shaking his head as he put the order in with the kitchen. After a few minutes he slipped a steaming plate of real meat, albeit a small portion, along with some veggies and mashed taters. The man inhaled the food. It did not seem to Gil that he appreciated the organic goods. A homely meal back on a wealthy planet like Terra. But here on Rubrum, it was a delicacy to the layman.

    Gil noticed the man''s skin, though of a dark tan complexion, did not have the faint red hue of a native born. "I don''t peg you for a union worker. What brings you to Tharsis?"

    "Just visiting."

    "Here?"

    "Naw. Mars."

    Gil guffawed through his gapped tooth grin. "Nobody just visits Mars, man. You a homesteader? Got you a government plot of land from Terra?"

    "You could say I''m here searching for truth. You right about one thing. I am from Earth."

    At the mention of the mother planet, several sweaty patrons came to a full stop, eyeing the stranger.

    Gil gave a nervous laugh, trying to deflate the trouble before it started. He didn''t need roughhousing in his saloon. He''d been joking about Terra. He didn''t realize the man was actually from there. "So, you really just got here. We don''t say that name ''round here, proper or not. Brings up certain...unpleasant feelings in the locals."This book''s true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.

    The stranger grinned at the other patrons in unbelief. "Touchy. Okay. Meant no harm by it."

    Just visiting from Earth. That told Gil about all he needed to know. Gil''s gapped tooth smile vanished and he scratched the thick scar on his leg, just above the knee. It seemed like all his years of pent up frustration and anger came to a focal point in that scar. Whenever his irritation rose, that spot itched something fierce. But it wasn''t proper to scratch your pants so much in public, especially not when you served people food and drinks with those same hands.

    Something the man said stuck out. "Searching for truth, huh?"

    The brim of the man''s hat lifted. A faraway look appeared in his green pupils, like twin gun barrels pointed dead ahead. Gil shivered against his will, then shook it off and sniggered. "What is truth, right?"

    "Truth always leaves a trail. And sometimes¡ª" he gulped the water, "it''s a trail of blood."

    Gil''s arm hairs stood on end. It wasn''t because the man said it in a threatening way. It was the surety with which he said it. The stranger spoke from experience. Years of it. Gil frowned, unsure if he agreed. The only truth he regarded were creds for a day''s work.

    The stranger didn''t seem to realize he bothered Gil. Instead he elaborated.

    "Truth is, I''m looking for a feller. Royce Rothspalt. Might go by the name Roy."

    Other patrons stirred at the mention of the name, but Gil maintained his composure. "Never heard of him."

    The stranger grunted. "He''s pretty infamous. Back on Ear¡ªTerra. Rip-Roaring Roy some call him. Maybe you seen ''im."

    "Depends. What''s he look like."

    The stranger described Roy in a methodical way, moving from the head down to the feet, like Roy was an object, not a person. The visitor was starting to smell like a lawman, but Gil just kept polishing the glasses.

    "Never seen a man matching that description. But if someone possessing that name and description crosses paths with me, I''ll let them know you''re looking for them. Mister?"

    The stranger declined to give his name. "That''s alright. I''d love to surprise him. Been awhile since we...interacted."

    "Uh huh."

    Gil didn''t like the man''s cocky demeanor. So sure of himself. You don''t just waltz down the ramp, fresh off the shuttle from Terra and expect welcome arms from Rubrum. Gil knew from experience. He''d earned his place though. It sure helped that his establishment existed to put people in a better mood.

    He scowled. This was his establishment. He didn''t need no smug Earther souring the saloon''s vibes, especially if the feller was a lawman.

    "Wouldn''t serve you," growled Gil, "had I known you was Terran."

    The saloon grew quiet as the other patrons scooted to the edge of their seats, waiting for any excuse to pounce on the Terran.

    The stranger retorted without skipping a beat. "Guess you won''t need any of these Terran creds. Thanks for the free meal."

    The stranger turned to his side, disregarding Gil, unaware of the unease he caused, resting his ribs on the bar and lit a cigar. Even the smell of it was foreign to Gil. Alien.

    Gil chastised himself for feeling fear. His hands grabbed a rag and polished a perfectly clean glass with vigor. He decided right then, there was something odd about the stranger, a feeling he couldn''t shake. But he didn''t have to like the patrons.

    So long as they paid.

    Gil shot Mick a look, giving him a nod. "You''s gonna pay Terran. One way or another."

    Chairs made loud scooting noises as local boys from every table rose to their boots, clenching fists.

    As if he read Gil''s thoughts, the man flashed him a metal star confirming his lawful authority.

    A sliver of light caught the star and the name under the badge. Irving. Gil''s breath caught in his throat. He knew that badge.

    A vivid recollection tore him away from the saloon, from Tharsis, even from Mars, back into a memory.

    He practically tasted the fear as he had laid on the asphalt, leg bleeding. Gasping and groaning on the ground, he had fought the urge to cradle his leaking leg as his fingers scraped the blacktop, attempting to crawl towards the gun that had been ripped from his hand. The silhouette of a lawman had overshadowed Gil like a blanket woven of pure trepidation. He had waited for the hammer of the gun to fall, like a gavel pronouncing his life was over. But the shot never came.

    "Like it or not boys, I''m a lawman. Interfering with my mission earns you cold barrels and charged slugs."

    The words spoken by the same man snapped Gil back, years forward, to the saloon.

    Gil did not nod in agreement, nor did he condemn the man. He simply gripped the bar''s edge and plastered on a thin-lipped, dry mouth grin, trying to match the man''s gun barrel gaze with daggers of his own.

    His voice squeaked. "Meal and drinks are on the house."

    The men scowled at Gil, masks of confusion staring at him first, then open disappointment. Their chance to smash a Terran''s face was getting up and leaving.

    Without another word, the lawman left.

    Did he recognize Gil? Would he be back? No, Gil had a clean slate.

    The saloon owner held the edge of the bar in a vice grip well after the man left, wrestling his doubts.

    "Why''d you let that Terran walk, Gil?" asked Mick. "Look like you seen an honest-to-God Martian."

    The saloon owner snapped his slack jaw shut. His eyes never left the swinging sheet metal doors, as if the lawman might enter again and shoot his other leg.

    "Know who that was?"

    "Who Gil?"

    "One of the deadliest lawmen to ever walk Terra. That was Trace the Ace."

    The boys grumbled, but none pursued the stranger.

    Mick slammed his pint glass down, sloshing excess ale all over the counter. "He might be someone back on Terra, but he''s waaay out of his jurisdiction."

    Gil ignored the comment with the shake of his chin, but he couldn''t muster up a counterpoint. His bad leg throbbed.

    But no, drunken Mick was right.

    The authority the star held meant nothing here on the red planet.

    Or it shouldn''t. But Gil knew in his heart of hearts something as intangible as territory lines, Terran or Rubrum, would do nothing to stop a man like Trace the Ace from his duty.

    Luckily Gil had a favor to call in with the men who did run this county-state. Their authority outranked the stranger''s any red day of the week. They were the Law of the land, and they chomped at the bit to exact justice on those that crossed the line.

    Gil wrestled with the pettiness of placing the call, but only for a moment. Gil had his own authority within the walls of the saloon. This fine establishment was his by blood, sweat, and spit. His only truth was creds for services rendered, but no offering had been made.

    No. That lawman had it coming. If he wanted to follow the bloody trail of truth, so be it.

    While he was at it, Gil figured he better contact Roy too.

 3 | MUSTANG

    Tracy found the passenger bullet train station easy enough. But the next bullet train wouldn''t arrive for hours. Tracy clenched his fists and swaggered away. Every second was precious to Tracy''s mission. No time to waste.

    A pang of guilt gnawed at Tracy''s heart. His phony swagger and cocky grin were an act. Exuding confidence in a weary place like Mars was a must. These people were all survivors, but some were bloodthirsty. Predators. Ready to pounce on any sign of weakness. Truth was, he felt like a two-hundred-year-old battered bucket of a spaceship after the crash. It wasn''t like Tracy lacked confidence though. Years on the force taught him plenty of life lessons, gave him plenty experience. A little extra bravado would not hurt in this place. Too much though and he''d tempt someone to knock him off of his high horse.

    Speaking of horses, he might as well find a speeder. The trains were limited to the tracks running between the settlements. But Roy was free to roam anywhere. There was a chance Roy the fugitive might have plunked down right here in Tharsis, but odds weren''t good. The image of Tracy''s crashed lander flashed in his head. The wreckage was devastating. He still did not understand how he made it out in one piece.

    He inhaled and sighed.

    Local settlers ambled up and down the dirt street.

    Everywhere he looked, revolving coilguns peaked out of holsters. Guns were originally illegal on the new world. What did you need violent weapons for in the wake of a new society being built from scratch? The original colonizers had utopian dreams, fanciful wishes. How naive. That didn''t last long. The price of peace and semblance of civility had a funny way of costing blood.

    Always had. Always would.

    No one gave Tracy a second glance. Nothing for him to do but delve into Tharsis and replace his lost supplies. He passed a general store, and a brothel. Women called to him, women worse for the wear. Well, not all of them. A few were downright gorgeous. They beckoned in boisterous tones promising pleasures aplenty. They didn''t hold a candle to his Hina. And had they, well Tracy would''ve kept on walking anyways. So he tipped his hat and did.

    Soon he came to a fenced off cement lot that stretched across a wide bit of land. Speeders of all sizes hovered in place. Single riders, double riders, even hovering stagecoach styles. Most were open hatch, or had clear bulb hatches. There was even a tactical style brick red speeder. The hover bike models caught his attention. A salesman all skin-and-bones approached Tracy with open arms and a hungry grin. "Welcome friend." He extended a lean hand. "Call me Slim."

    "Sure thing, Slim."

    "Obliged. What can I do you fer, mister?"

    "Need a single rider speeder, hover bike style, but with room in the back for... luggage."

    The man put finger to chin as if in thought. "We''ll have something to suit your needs. Thisaway."

    Slim ushered Tracy further into the lot. Tracy couldn''t tell if his hair was slick with sweat or grease. The abundance of cologne made Tracy cough.

    "Feast your eyes on this bad boy."

    Slim showed him a muscle bike speeder, complete with massive exhaust pipes and almost out of reach chopper handlebars. Any part that wasn''t chrome was jet black, except for the flame decals enveloping the sides.

    Tracy''s lip tugged at the side of his cheek while squinting in open skepticism.

    "I can see this one''s too loud. Maybe something more sophisticated."

    He displayed a sleek charcoal hover cycle. While the lines were sexy, the cycle wasn''t large enough to hold a man of Tracy''s stature, let alone another body draped over the back.

    "Anything else? Used maybe?"

    "Only if yer willing to come back later."

    "Naw. Need it today."

    "You''re a straight shooter. A man valuing function over form."

    He showed Tracy a standard cycle. It was back to basics. A cycle that hovered.

    "Note the padded banana seat stretches so far back, you could practically lie down on it."

    She was nothing like his speeder back home, but what choice did he have? "She''ll do."

    "Alrighty. That''s what I like to hear. I''ll get the pad so we can tap out the paperwork."

    Slim produced a touchpad. "Fill out this information here."

    Tracy finished the formalities.

    "Alright. How will you be paying today? In full, or down payment?"

    Tracy reluctantly projected his account from his smartarm to pay the man. The amount they allotted him seemed large before leaving Earth. But they didn''t factor his speeder going up in flames. This purchase would whittle the account down considerably.

    Slim glared at the account banking name. "Terran bank?"

    Tracy squinted.

    Slim''s lips tightened. It was the first time his teeth disappeared. "I''m sorry. This vehicle is not for sale."

    "Don''t you want the creds?"

    "They''re tainted."

    Tracy hated to pull the same stunt twice, but he leaned in and flashed his metal star anyways.

    Slim snickered. "That supposed to mean something, mister?"

    "Means I''m on official business. Now, I can show you the badge again. Or I''ll have to show you two revolving pieces of metal currently residing in my holsters. Despite all of the dust, you keep a clean establishment, Slim. I''d hate to make a mess all over your floor."

    Slim gritted his teeth. "I seem to remember we have a selection that suits your kind. Follow me."

    Without waiting, Slim spun on his heels forcing Tracy to jog to match his lanky strides.

    He knew exactly which one Slim had in mind before the salesman even said anything.

    "You can''t get me to sit on that thing. I''m a grown man."If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

    "This is all I can offer, given the circumstances."

    Tracy''s chest heaved. That pang inside reared its head again. He did not want to rob Slim, but he had a job to do. Lives were at stake. Time was of the essence. He took in the metal steed in all its equine glory. It was a Ford Mustang. Literally.

    "I''m not riding a robot horse."

    "The older models were gimmicky. But don''t mistake it. This is a KEC model."

    Tracy offered him a blank stare.

    "The Kinetic Energy Converter. The horse generates energy with each gallop, stored for when you need to go real fast. When you do, you push this button¡ª" Slim pushed it. With a mechanical whoosh, the steed''s legs tucked in on themselves. The neck tilted forward and handlebars popped out, transforming the metal stallion into a hover cycle.

    "You get a few hundred kilometers at full speed. Then he converts back into a mustang. You never need fuel unless it''s an emergency."

    "Why''s it need exhaust pipes?"

    "It''s Ford. They put big pipes on everything. Makes this stallion really roar too."

    "Where do I put the quarter in?"

    Slim ignored his sarcasm. "The earlier models used horse behavior simulation, but this current operating system has the mind of an actual horse uploaded digitally. And if I may boldly point out, this steed comes with a built-in interface. Plug your prosthetic straight in and sync up, given that it''s a smartarm you''re sporting. It''s the best of both worlds."

    Tracy flexed his alloyed arm out of habit. It was a smartarm indeed. So that was something. "Sold. What''s the damage?"

    Slim relayed the price.

    Tracy guffawed. "That''s more than the other speeder. Can''t afford it."

    "The price is the price."

    "You''re impeding the Law."

    Slim shrugged.

    Tracy spat, rose up to his full height, strode towards the man, eyeing him hard.

    A good salesman, Slim didn''t so much as gulp.

    There was no way around it. If there was one thing he had to have it was transportation.

    "Fine. I''ll take it."

    ***

    A small bell rang as Tracy entered the armory.

    Tracy managed a free meal. He''d gotten a speeder, sort of. Shortly thereafter he''d been able to gather a bed roll, a small tent, and some supplies too. It stung his pride.

    If he could get his fingers on the scoundrels that shot him down, he''d wring their necks with his bare hands, badge or not. Wouldn''t even be in this predicament if not for them. They''d blasted him out of the atmosphere and left him for dead. Only the footprints in sand revealed they''d even been there. By the time he awoke from the crash, he couldn''t even see what they stole from the ship. The fire reduced it to slag. A physical picture of his wife on the dash went up in those flames. Call him old school, but that photo meant more than anything else in the ship. Not much to do now though, but press on.

    Now he was fixing to get the final piece of the equation before setting after Roy. His revolving coilguns were great. Reliable. But they were designed for close confrontations. As a hunter he needed a range option too.

    Guns of all shapes and sizes lay beneath a glass counter.

    "Howdy."

    "Got any lever action repeating railguns?"

    The armory man''s mustache drooped. "No. Got pump action."

    Tracy grunted.

    "If your heart''s set on lever action, I do have carbines instead." He pulled three different models out and placed them on the counter.

    The lawman tested the weight of each, the balance, the sights, trigger pull, and of course the lever action itself. Winchester never let him down before, so he settled on the Model X4 lever action carbine.

    Thankfully the steed speeder came equipped with a rifle compartment, among other things, so Tracy didn''t need a gun scabbard. He just needed ammo, and a bullet belt.

    "These reliable bullets?"

    The armorer pointed up. "Manufactured by Lunar Armaments."

    "The moon base? They ship it all the way out here?"

    "No. While they operate on the Terran moon, they also operate on the Rubrun moons too. Lots of resources on Phobos and Deimos."

    Tracy waved. "Good. Let''s get several more boxes."

    After getting the right buscadero draped over his torso, Tracy proceeded to load the .30-30 and .357 electromagnetic ammunition into the belt.

    "How would you like to pay?"

    Tracy grinned. "Funny you should ask."

    The man''s face looked chiseled from stone.

    Tracy was about to perform mental gymnastics, navigating around the fact that his creds were from the Terran government, but he didn''t have time.

    The door bell rang as two armed men stepped inside.

    "Tracy Irving? We''d like to talk."

    Tracy turned slowly, holding the carbine across his rib cage. He eyed the men. "Sure boys. Give me a moment and I''ll see you outside."

    "We need to speak now."

    Tracy held up a finger and turned his back on them, then proceeded to load the carbine. "Sorry about that. How much is this going to cost?"

    After an awkward pause the men went back outside.

    When the man found out he was paying with Terran creds, he overcharged Tracy, but not as much as Slim had.

    He didn''t argue the price. Not much choice. With less than three weeks to capture Roy, he had little time to fool around.

    And that was assuming he made it out the armory in one piece.

    ?

 4 | LOCAL AUTHORITY

    Russell Ghelus thumbed the heptagonal cylinder of his .38 Special Oersted gauss revolver, watching the bullets spin round and round, waiting across the street from the armory for the Terran to exit.

    Born and raised on Rubrum, he still remembered the days when she had almost been green. Almost. Memories so estranged, it seemed as if they were now foreign to his mind. Completely alien.

    But the ground now? Reverted back to red. Red sand. Red dirt. Red everywhere. Like the land itself had been soaked in blood. Most of it anyhow. NASA and Tesla Inc. only knew that hostile Mars had killed enough humans to dye it permanently scarlet.

    Rubrum always desired new blood.

    In a way Russ was like a sacrificial priest from one of the ole'' Terran religions. When a man or woman disrupted the peace by crossing the line, he''d offer their life to Rubrum, let her drink freely.

    Russ'' pa was a homesteading radish and tomato farmer. The Terran government gave his great grandfather free Rubrum land, livestock, seed, and a one-way trip from Terra to Rubrum. Then Terra forgot all the support they promised. Got themselves caught up in another world war or the like. All Russ knew was you couldn''t trust a Terran. They only cared for themselves. And after being estranged for years because of the war, they still expected current taxes, and back pay for what they missed. So Russ'' father told him. Them Terrans whittled his already small father down to the bone, like they had every other Rubrun. The vultures.

    As for Russ, he''d developed one of the fastest, accurate draws this side of the planet. Even his pa told him he''d make a sheriff someday. To this day Russ suspected the Sheriff had deputized Russ simply so he wouldn''t have competition. He wanted to ensure Russ'' barrels pointed away from him, not at him.

    Crag was second smoothest draw to him. Though a good partner, Crag was about as intelligent as his name implied. Rocks fer brains. But he was a dang good shot too. Between Russ and Crag, they could outshoot any man in Tharsis. They were both better shots than the Sheriff too, but he wore the badge and they didn''t. Sheriff''s power wasn''t in his blaster, it was in his words. The man had connections, built on expectations, and promises.

    So Russ and Crag had been sent in his stead.

    They had gotten tipped off from Gimpy Gil the saloon owner that some supposed crack shot Terran was fixin'' to make trouble in Tharsis. They heard from Slim he''d purchased a speeder at more than double the price. One of those ridiculous bot Mustangs too. By the time they located him, he was in the armory buying out the owner''s stock of ammunition. Fixing to make trouble indeed. Well Sheriff wouldn''t stand for trouble. No-sir-ee. Sheriff intended to go himself, but Russ saw a strange look in his eyes when he named the Terran.

    "What''s this fella''s name?"

    "Gil said he''s known as Trace the Ace. Some kinda Terran lawman."

    Sheriff''s face became serious as a seizure. Void. Empty of all emotion. Russ had never seen Sheriff turn as yeller as sour milk.

    "How do you boys feel about handling this one?"

    "He a good shot?" asked Crag.

    Sheriff licked his lips, slow like. Then he nodded. "Shale yes. Real quick."

    Russ grinned. "Ain''t no Terran rat gonna get the best of ole'' Russell."

    "And if''n he does," Crag beat his chest, "I''ll avenge ye."

    Well Russ didn''t like the look in Sheriff''s eyes. His eyes spoke of fear, the way a cornered sheep did come shearing time. Crag might be a fool, but not Russ. That was why he ordered two scum like Milton and Edom to confront the man. Russ didn''t even deputize ''em. Only offered them a few creds. Heck not even that. He offered drinks on him. Free drinks and potentially shooting a man down in the name of the Law? The boys had been ecstatic. It was a win-win situation. If this Tracy posed a real threat, Milton and Edom would bite the dust, not Russ. And if this Tracy was less than Sheriff cracked him up to be, then those two alchys could have drinks on him.

    The bell on the armory door rang, and out swaggered the Terran. Russ got a good look at him, sized up the man. Dressed head to toe in black. If Russ didn''t know any better, the man could have fit the description of a preacher, a lawman, or an undertaker. Apparently he hailed from a certain  Airy-zona , a dry land, not unlike Tharsis. Well, he could dress to impress, but would he come quietly?

    Sweaty Milton leaned on his left leg in the middle of the road to the man''s side, while Edom stood parallel with his buddy, about a speeder''s distance between them. The stringy haired dolt twirled his gun like a moron while Milton did the talking.

    "You Tracy Irving, otherwise known as Trace the Ace?"

    "I see my reputation has preceded me."

    Russ scowled. He didn''t like the man''s cocky temperament. He''d soon fix that.

    "The Sheriff of these parts would like an audience with you."

    "Uh huh."

    "He''d like you to come quietly. I, however, don''t mind either way." Milton parted his duster revealing his gauss revolver.

    The man Tracy clicked his tongue. The machine steed trotted from the side of the building over to the Terran. He pressed his hand on the steed and a hidden compartment popped out so he could store the lever action rifle he''d just acquired from the armory.

    "And what if I don''t have time to come? What if I have pressing business? I am a lawman myself after all. You can respect a man''s time can''t you?"

    The Terran turned so that his star glinted in the sun''s rays.If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

    "See, about that star," said Milton, "that''s what the Sheriff would like to talk about. It don''t mean much of anything here. And I suspect the Sheriff will tell you just as much."

    "Then why didn''t he come get me himself?"

    The challenge hung in the air like a starship. Big, heavy, and ready to be shot down.

    Crag elbowed Russ. "Here it comes." He licked his lips, anticipating a shootout like a boy about to steal his first kiss.

    "Shuddap, Crag. Be ready."

    "Oh, you bet I''m ready."

    The Terran moved to mount the horse.

    Edom clicked his tongue, as the man had done. "Ah ah ah. Saddle up on that steed and I''ll have to shoot."

    "Is that so?"

    At Russ'' side, Crag panted like a dog, mouth open, tongue hanging out slightly. While not as eager for a shootout, curiosity tugged at Russ.

    In the middle of the street, Milton''s hand twitched toward his gun. The Terran went still as a statue. Russ smiled. The drunks had Tracy scared straight.

    Or he thought they did.

    Tracy planted his feet firm, taking a wide stance. Russ noticed both his gun grips faced forward. Russ scowled. Reverse draw? For both guns? That was as bold as it was backward. Russ preferred a cross draw and so kept his piece a little off center mass, away from his dominant hand. Crag wielded a standard draw, but Russ doubted Crag had ever tried any other way, too stupid to notice there were variations to holstering a gun. As for Milton and Edom, Russ couldn''t recall what kind of draw they used.

    Pew. Pew.

    Two electromagnetic blasts cut the silence.

    Russ had not seen Tracy''s arm move. One moment his arm hung limp at his side. The next moment sparks flew from the end of Tracy''s barrel.

    Milton was still raising his revolver when a projectile ripped the gun from his hands. His jaw swung on a hinge. He eyed his draw hand. It was fine. His blaster lay in the dust, toasted.

    He and Edom exchanged a glance. Edom''s gun lay in the dust too, his hand also fine. On impulse Edom bent to retrieve it.

    Pew.

    The gun skittered away like a lizard.

    Russ stood still, dumbfounded. Before he knew it, Tracy Irving mounted his ridiculous metal steed, bobbing up and down atop his metal Mustang, his back to Crag and Russ.

    It all happened so fast. How? Until today he was the fastest draw in all of Tharsis. Maybe even all of bloody Rubrum.

    But the Terran lawman had been faster. And not even a hair on the back of the drunk''s hands were singed.

    He stared at Tracy''s back, open amazement splayed across his face.

    "Trace the Ace indeed."

    The two drunks interrupted the deputies. "We still getting those drinks?"

    Crag smacked the backs of both their heads. "Shuddap. Scram."

    Russ and Crag hopped in their two-seater and sped off. They passed the man on horseback, looped back around, flipped on the blue and red flashing lights, and cut him off.

    Russ flashed his badge. Crag just scowled.

    Tracy brought his steeder to a halt, blue and red pulsing lights reflecting in the steeder''s chrome hide.

    "Can I help you boys?"

    "Sure," said Russ. "We''re the real Law ''round these parts."

    "Deputies," barked Crag.

    "The Sheriff truly does want to speak with you."

    "Okay. But you know you''re holding up a U.S. Marshal from tracking a wanted murderer and a fugitive?"

    Russ shrugged. "I ain''t the Sheriff. I just work for him. Do I need to ask again?"

    Tracy sat, unmoving as a hawk. While Russ kept one hand on the speeder steering, his dominant hand already wielded his blaster, just under the dashboard. He could match the Terran''s draw, speed for speed. He was sure of it.

    Russ held his breath.

    Tracy''s hand lifted slow, empty, and palm up. "Lead the way."

    Russ spat. He''d wanted to put the Ace to the test. Settle who was the best. He whipped the speeder around, letting Tracy eat his dust all the way to the Sheriff''s office.

 5 | MEETING THE SHERIFF

    Sheriff Blaine Leroux ran a finger over his short clean mustache. The cut hairs tickled his fingertip like velcro. He clawed his upper lip with clean fingernails, irritated. Why had he let the barber talk him into trimming his mustache? Until a day ago he hadn''t even seen his own upper lip in years. He''d sported a squirrel''s tail of a mustache for the longest time. Now this sad excuse for facial hair. Fifteen-year-old boys had thicker growths. He''d almost gotten a straight edge razor and lopped it clean off. But that would only prolong the journey back to a full ''stache.

    The low thrum of a hover speeder rumbled in his chest. Leroux set the mirror down, almost cracking it. Russ and Crag were back and they were speaking with someone else outside. Probably Trace the Ace.

    Leroux shuddered at the thought of confronting the Terran lawman while his face was practically naked. But, there was a chance things had gotten messy and the deputies had dealt with it in a lethal fashion.

    "What''s wrong Sheriff? And what happened to your lip?"

    Leroux gnashed his teeth and slammed into the cell bars. "Keep wagging your jaw, Couch, and I''ll come in there and make sure you have to eat through a tube."

    Jeb Couch cowered into the furthest corner of the cell. Leroux straightened his jacket and cracked his knuckles, composing himself. Couch didn''t mean anything by it. Couch was the village idiot. Had a mouth bigger than his mind. No filter. And that got him into quite a bit of trouble. He still had a black eye from the last brawl he started.

    Leroux stole one last glance at the mirror, checking his hair. At least the barber got that right. He liked to keep his gray sides short, with enough black hair left up top for the ladies to slick back with their slender fingers. Despite the lack of a man''s mustache, he reminded himself that he still had a square jaw. And broad shoulders. Huge hands too. A debonair smile crossed his lips. Unlike most Rubruns, his ivory teeth shone like pearls.

    The door whisked open. In strode Tracy Irving. Leroux''s deputies flanked the man. "As I live and breathe," said Tracy.

    "Hey Tracy," said Leroux. "Long time."

    "Real long. I thought you said you''d never move to Mars. Not in a million lightyears."

    Leroux smirked. His hand rubbed his five o''clock stubble out of habit. "Things change. An opportunity presented itself. I took it."

    "How''s the wife?"

    "She left me years ago. I''m a free man now."

    "Uh huh."

    "Pull up a chair, Irving." Leroux slid into his own chair and kicked his clean boots up on the desk.

    Russ and Crag stood there, dropping eaves, probably wondering how he and Tracy knew each other. Leroux displayed a wide smile. "I see you''ve met my deputies, Russ, and Crag." Leroux pointed to each in turn. "Mr. Irving and I are going to have a talk. Why don''t you boys go hose Couch off downstairs? He''s starting to smell. Thankya."

    Russ stepped up to the desk and dropped the visitor''s holsters and guns. Leroux waited until the clomp of their boots died down. "How about you? Free like me?"

    Tracy turned the chair offered to him and spun it around before straddling it and laying his arms across the headrest. "I''ve been married for a while now."

    "That a fact? Congratulations."

    "Thanks."

    "Let me guess. Asian girl?"

    "What difference does it make?"

    "A  yes  then."

    It was Tracy''s turn to smirk.

    "You always had an eye for exotic brunettes."

    "This is true."

    "Any kids?"

    Tracy''s eyes grew as cold as the black of space. Leroux suspected he had tread over a sore spot for the younger lawman. Perhaps an old wound.

    "One on the way."

    "No kidding? When''s your baby momma due?"

    "About three months from now."

    Leroux calculated on his fingers. "You barely have time to make it back."

    "No thanks to Earth''s one-way worm jump."

    Leroux didn''t mind the use of his former home''s name. He wasn''t born and raised here like most. It still made him feel like a pebble was stuck in his boot. It reminded him that Irving did not belong here in Tharsis, did not belong on Rubrum at all. He''d get to the bottom of that momentarily. But first he needed to smooth things over.

    "Kentucky Bourbon?"

    "You can''t have any honest Kentucky here."

    "Why not? This is my desk, my jurisdiction, my town. I can have honest to goodness Kentucky Bourbon."

    "Hard to come by, I''d imagine."

    Leroux produced the bottle and two glasses. "Challenging. But not as hard as you''d think. Cost a pretty cred though. That''s for sure."

    Leroux held his glass up. Tracy mirrored him.

    "To becoming a father."

    Tracy nodded his head. They both downed their glasses.

    Leroux smacked his lips, enjoying the burn from his tongue, down his throat, deep behind his chest. A recollection set his hands to patting his vest pockets. "I know I have a few cigars somewhere."

    Tracy produced two of his own from his portable humidor in the time it took Leroux to blink.

    Leroux had forgotten the man had a quick, smooth-handed draw. Well, one hand. The other was a prosthetic, and not the low-end kind either. Smartarm by the looks of it. He seemed to recall hearing that Tracy had lost his arm in the line of duty, meaning the arm was covered by workman''s comp. And considering he lost it in the service as a lawman, he''d gotten compensated with the best prosthetic on the market at the time.

    Leroux wanted to ask about it. But after stinging Tracy with the kid question, he figured if Tracy wanted to bring it up, he would.

    Tracy struck a match against said hand, toasting and lighting Leroux''s cigar before lighting his own.

    Leroux took slow drags, working through the first inch of the maduro stick. His eyebrows lifted. "Wow. Good body."

    They smoked for a time in silence. Leroux leaned back and reveled in his current position. How many men in Tharsis wore the power of the law on their chest and hip? How many got to ease back into comfortable chairs and enjoy cigar profiles with an old colleague and friend? Not many. Man, he loved his job.

    "Do you like your job, Irving?"

    "Huh?"

    "Do you like being a marshal?"

    "Most days."

    "I''d imagine it gets exciting."

    Tracy tapped his alloyed fingers on the desk. "At times. It can be."

    "You remember the last time we did this?"

    Tracy nodded.

    "Day we heard you got accepted. What a day. Remember we had just finished that SWAT raid. You merked so many of those human traffickers. Can''t lie. I was jealous."

    "Jealous of the body count?"If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

    "No. Of you getting the marshal position."

    "You didn''t aspire to be a marshal."

    "Don''t have what it takes."

    "You could do this."

    "No. I really don''t think so. You though. You were born for it."

    At the word  born,  Tracy twiddled his thumbs, as if uncomfortable. He cleared his throat and removed his onyx Stetson, giving his fingers something to grasp. He drew a breath and sighed. He looked like he had a lot to say, but didn''t know where to start.

    Leroux changed the subject. "What brings you to Rubrum?"

    "Royce."

    Leroux tried to show no reaction. "Who?"

    "Roy Rothspalt. Roy the charmer. Roy the crafty. Roy, that conniving son of a king cobra. Don''t give me that stupid ignorant look, Leroux. I didn''t leave my wife more than 55 million kilometers behind to play games. You seen Roy? Know where he is?"

    Leroux chuckled in disbelief. "This Rothspalt feller must have done something pretty bad to have Terra catapult a U.S. Marshal all the way to Rubrum, outside of his jurisdiction."

    "Mars is a colony of the United States of America."

    "Parts of Mars. And most of Mars don''t see it that way. Not after Terra got distracted in the war and forgot to provide support."

    Tracy ignored that comment and continued, leaning over the edge of Leroux''s desk. "Since you''re playing dumb, I''ll remind you that Roy was the leader of a fringe cult. Gained a following. But then, as cults go, some of his trusted followers tried to wrestle power from him. Or he was paranoid. Either way, anyone involved ended up slaughtered. Except Roy."

    "So? You know what they say. Cults be crazy. And this was how many years ago?"

    "Recent enough. Especially for the Attorney General. See, he wanted his daughter to go off to a prestigious college for the political elite, but for once she just wanted to go to school with the normal kids. Finally he concedes. She''s his only daughter after all, his little princess.

    "Well she got an exploratory rebellious streak in her, as young adults do. But she got in way over her head. Ends up in Roy''s cult. Then ends up dead, and Roy''s to blame. But she''s just one of many. The rest are all working class families whose kids just wanted to cut loose from all the life''s pressures. Instead they got cut loose from life itself."

    Tracy leaned forward.

    "None of them parents have the resources to get the justice they deserve. But the AG does. He can get justice for all of them. But, Roy falls off the map. Disappears, making matters worse, The Attorney General keeps an ear to the ground the whole time though. And suddenly Roy reappears on Mars."

    "Ain''t my problem, Tracy. Earthen crimes don''t transfer to Mars. Not anymore. Not after the Clean Slate Bill. Y''all sent some of the worst of the worst former inmates to us¡ª after  the war, mind you."

    "Doesn''t matter. Nor does it matter that Earth and Mars only fly side by side for a three month period every two years. Doesn''t even matter that the Attorney General learned of Roy too late to send me during the last cycle. Doesn''t matter if it were days later, or years, he was going to send someone some day to collect Roy and make him stand in court in front of a judge and jury, and more importantly to face those fathers and mothers, who lost their college kids, just as their lives were blossoming."

    As if to hammer home the point, Tracy tapped his smartarm, projecting a hologram wanted poster, highlighting Roy and his rap sheet. "I didn''t send the Clean Slaters and I didn''t send Roy. I''ve got one job. Bring Roy back alive, and I''ve got less than three weeks to do it."

    Leroux knew there was no denying it. Despite being separated by years and worlds, Tracy could still read him like a book. And he knew the man''s persistence. He and Tracy worked shoulder to shoulder, holster to holster for years. Tracy would draw the truth about Roy out of him. He couldn''t deny it. The only thing he could try was to dissuade his old buddy.

    "You try to remove him, you''ll find he''s as difficult as a weed. Rip off the head, it just grows back. Despite only being here for several years, his roots run throughout Rubrum, from the high to the low." Leroux spoke in a quiet voice. "He''s dug in deep. Like a splinter, burrowed so far down you''d have to dig it out with a knife, and once you start diggin'', you''ll lose track of the splinter because of all of the blood the knife causes."

    "Just tell me where to find him."

    "On a planet with as small of a network as this one, you only get one reputation. One. I''ve worked hard to maintain my standing with those of repute, Tracy. You don''t understand what you''re asking of me."

    In one puff of the cigar smoke he was Tracy Irving, Leroux''s long-standing friend. But after the next drag and puff of smoke his pupils opened, like dark dried up wells. He wasn''t Irving. Leroux now dealt with Trace the Ace, and he was thirsty for justice.

    Leroux wanted to dodge that look. He felt cornered in his own office. Trace''s silence demanded an answer.

    Leroux tugged at his collar. It felt way hotter in the office. Must have been all the cigar smoke. "He''s cozied up with fellers and ladies that have deep pockets. And not just that. Roy has a way of talking, relating to the common man. People are drawn to him. Like mosquitoes to light. No one, and I mean no one, will turn Roy Rothspalt in."

    "Why?"

    "He gives ''em hope. Something they haven''t dreamed of in a long time."

    "How? What''s he got to offer that no one else does?"

    Leroux could not put it into words. Even as his thoughts turned to Roy, his heart was filled with nothing but warmth, like a child caught up in the loving arms of a kind grandparent smothering them with affection. Roy put people at ease. He made men feel like victors over Mars, not castaway victims from Earth''s scraps. He made women feel beautiful, like princesses instead of prostitutes. Leroux could not even say that Roy was his friend, but he was loyal to Roy, though he could not explain why.

    Tracy''s eyes locked on Leroux''s like they could bore into his skull and mine the truth within. "You''re on their payroll, aren''t you?"

    Leroux didn''t move.

    "He''s got dirt on you too."

    "He''s got dirt on all of them," Leroux admitted. "Like I said, he has a way with words, so as he can gaze on a man or woman, and they''ll unravel. Reveal all of their insecurities to him."

    "I don''t care what he knows about you or them. Just point me in a direction."

    Leroux made the mistake of peering out the window, Southeast, past the Noctis Labyrinthus, towards Phoenicis. He scowled as soon as he realized he''d given Roy''s location away. For a marshal as skilled as Trace, that was all he needed.

    Trace the Ace donned his Stetson, readying to leave.

    "You don''t have jurisdiction here, Irving. This isn''t your town, it''s mine. It isn''t even your planet. You should get on the ship that brought you here and sail back to your pregnant wife."

    "Can''t. My ship got shot down. It''s a melted scrapheap now. If I gotta find the means for a return voyage I''m going to make it worth my time and bring home that murdering fugitive."

    "I''ll make arrangements. I''ll get you a new ride out of here. I roll with one of the most influential men on the planet. He can spare you a ride."

    Trace snatched his holsters and belted them on. Names etched in each revolver jumped out at Leroux, taunting him. One said  Judge , the other  Jury .

    "How much did they buy you for, huh? How much are you worth? Must be some opportunity. You''re just their lacky. You may wear a badge, but you''re nothing but a puppet. Was it worth it? Throwing your whole life on Earth away for this barren wasteland, just to make a few extra creds and flaunt some fancy title?"

    Leroux got to his feet, fists clenched.

    "What are you gonna do, pal? Punch me?"

    "I see the marshal badge has puffed your chest full of hot air."

    "I see this Sheriff job keeps your boots clean. Are you proud of yourself?"

    Leroux snarled. "Get out before I throw you in a cell."

    He watched Trace get up and leave, a trail of dusty red footprints followed him to the door, like dried blood.

    "Oh, one more thing, Leroux. I hate your mustache."

    Tracy mounted his metal steed, gave it a pat with his metal arm, and trotted off.

    Leroux stood in front of the window, watching Tracy ride away with his back to the sun until he was a speck on the horizon.

    Leroux wanted to help his former friend. But he had new friends now. Tycoons that controlled the business on Mars. The social structure was all interwoven, moreso even than on Earth. The livelihood of families was at stake. Food supplies. Fresh oxygen. From the bullet rail lines to the water system that melted the polar cap and transferred it and distributed it to the farmers so they could grow crops. All of it intertwined like a spider''s web. And poised in the center of that web, somehow, someway, was Rip-Roaring Roy. To pluck Roy out was to unravel the threads that held Rubrum together. Things must continue the way they were.

    "Everything okay Sheriff?"

    Leroux flinched. How long had his deputies been standing there? He''d been lost in thought. Trace was out of sight. Long gone. If Roy made him feel warm and happy inside, Trace made him feel cold and angry. He reminded Leroux of the better man he used to be. But that man died on Terra, and everything he left behind had decayed with his old life.

    He studied his deputies, considering if they were up to the task. Crag by himself would fail in this specific scenario. But with Russ taking the lead, they''d succeed. Leroux trusted Russ. Dependability defined him. He always accomplished whatever was required of him. It warmed Leroux inside, bringing a slight smile to his lips.

    "Follow my old compadre. Arrest him without making a scene if you can. But, if not, rough him up if you have to. Don''t get too close to Noctis Labyrinthus. I wouldn''t want anyone to slip and fall into the canyon and be swallowed up by the maw."

    Crag grinned. Russ just nodded. The two of them got into their speeder and shot off.

    Leroux winced, wishing he could call the boys off, but they were already gathering a small pack of bloodthirsty wolves for the hunt. His hands were tied, but his boots were clean.

 6 | SCORN

    Russ burst into Gil''s saloon, Crag trailing behind him.

    Heads swung toward him, then ducked back, resuming position, no doubt cowed by the embers in his menacing gaze. Two pretended they had not seen him, sweaty Milton and Edom. He stormed right up to the boys, standing between their stools.

    "Hey Dep," said Edom. "You got that cocky Terran locked up?"

    "Nope. Sheriff let him walk."

    "Why he do that?" asked Milton.

    Russ inhaled deeply, biting his lip and pushing his bowler hat over his forehead to his hairline. "I don''t quite know. Doesn''t matter. I''m deputizing both of you right now. We goin'' after that dirty Terran."

    The morons grinned and turned back to their drinks.

    "You think I''m joking? Get your speeder. Let''s go."

    "I thought you said Sheriff let him walk?"

    "He did. Now he wants us to see him outta town."

    "You saw how smooth his draw was," said Milton. "Could''ve blown both our hands off. I ain''t going after him."

    Edom nodded.

    Russ snarled and tugged both of them off their butts by their collars. Glasses tipped. Drinks drained. Stools toppled.

    Milton swore with vigor. "Shale and squalor. What''s wrong with you Russ?"

    Russ reprimanded the two men, then sent them to their speeder to wait for the rest of the posse.

    Crag grinned, arms folded, enjoying his partner''s outburst against the drinkers. Russ backhanded his chest. "Get with it, rock head."

    "What''s your deal, partner?"

    "No one''s taking us seriously with you grinning like a mutt."

    Crag''s eternal grin shrank into pursed-lip embarrassment.

    Russ rolled his eyes. Now he''d done it. Gone and hurt his partner''s feelings. He knew how this would play out. A silent pout would overtake Crag, like a kid bottling up his anger, and then he''d explode on Russ at the worst time. Couldn''t have the animosity between them while hunting Trace the Ace. They needed to focus on the same goal.

    Russ balled his hand and punched a table.

    "Hey."

    "Sorry Gil." He put a hand on Crag''s shoulder, his other hand pinching the space between his eyebrows. "Look, Crag. Sorry I exploded on you. Now, can you do something important for me?"

    "What?"

    "Go get one good gunner. Just one. Can you do that?"

    "Of course I can. Why, Pete''s right over there."

    "Good. Grab Pete. Deputize him. Meet me back at the speeder."

    "Wait, we''re really going to off a fellow lawman for the sheriff."This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

    A sharp hiss cut through Russ'' teeth. He looked around, but no one in the saloon paid them any attention. "Quiet fool. You want the whole town to hear?"

    Crag lowered his voice. "But we really doing it?"

    Russ considered telling Crag that Sheriff only wanted them to get rough if Tracy resisted arrest, but Russ decided to omit that detail. "He ain''t no lawman. He swaggered into our town, made us look like fools, armed himself to the teeth, and left with his nose turned up. I don''t care what shape his badge is. A Terran rat is still a rat. So sure as the twin moons, I''m going to see him fall into that canyon."

    Russ turned heel.

    "Where you going?"

    "To get my one gunner."

    Crag grunted, holding back a word.

    "I have to."

    "Him? Really?"

    "You saw how good the Terran was."

    Crag hocked a loogie into a spittoon. "Fine. But he''s riding with Pete. I''m still your shotgun."

    "Of course you are."

    Crag nodded, satisfied, his mood back to normal.

    Russ rolled his eyes. Sometimes Crag could get a mean jealous streak. It wasn''t like he and Crag were friends. Just deputies together.

    Russ whipped out his comm and swiped a few creds towards Gil for the mess he made. The saloon owner got the ping and nodded to Russ.

    Russ stormed out of the saloon to go find Quynn. A weight rested on his shoulders. He felt eyes boring into his back as if everyone in the saloon was following him out. He hated making scenes. And no thanks to the Sheriff, he only had a small window of opportunity to catch up to the Terran before the rat got away for good.

    Sometimes Russ despised the Sheriff''s decisions. No. Not some. Most times. Leroux seemed to think that he led by assigning orders, but never by doing the dirty work himself. This put Russ in the position of always bearing the bad news, always being the bad guy. He had to enforce the Sheriff''s word, stand up for his bad decisions, and deal with the molehills that Leroux let build into mountains. All of this stemmed from the fact that Leroux was handed the position on a silver platter, without earning it.

    The more Leroux did not lift a finger, the more apparent his lack of practical application became. Worst part? Leroux seemed oblivious to all the added stress he piled onto Russ. Only things he noticed were mistakes Russ made. Then he''d come down on Russ hard. Yelling. He never said anything overtly offensive, but having to take a yelling from one grown man to another was shameful.

    Russ'' only silver lining in this situation was finding an excuse to deputize his best friend.

    He found Quynn just getting back to his modular home from working at the Olympus Mons quarry. Red dust soiled his jumpsuit from head to foot, and his hardhat was no different. A figure eight around his eyes and a triangle stretching from the top of his nose to the bottom of his mouth were the only places the goggles and a respirator had prevented dust from staining Quynn.

    Aside from the dust covering him, he was the same Quynn that Russ befriended all those years ago. He had one of those faces that was not drastically impacted come puberty, but stayed virtually the same. Though they''d gone into different professions, he into the quarrying and Russ into law enforcement, their frequent and open conversations only strengthened their bond.

    The whole situation Leroux threw him in wouldn''t magically go away, but seeing his friend made Russ give a weak smile and a sigh.

    "What''s wrong, bud? I know that sigh. Sounds like Sheriff''s got you in a bind again."

    "You said it. That piece of splitshale..."

    Russ hardly explained the scenario before Quynn snapped and pointed his cyborg hand like a finger gun while winking. "Offing a Terran. Say no more brother."

    Being the grandson of Rubrum homesteaders himself, Quynn shared his sentiments towards Earthers.

    A smirk crossed Russ'' mouth. He ignored the official deputizing of Quynn. They did not have time. "Grab your blasters. You''re riding with Pete."

    "Of all people, why Pete?"

    Russ neglected to tell him Milton and Edom were coming too. He did not want Quynn backing out. "Forget about Pete. Just focus on nixing the Terran."

    He omitted the fact that it was Trace the Ace they were after, in case Quynn had heard of him. Likely he hadn''t, but word spread faster through Tharsis than gauss projectiles.

 7 | FOLLOWED

    Tracy''s face shriveled as if his scowl could ward off the stench of Mars. When would he get used to it? Never. That''s when. He imagined that the worst of the gust blew beneath him as he sat atop his new steed.

    They followed the industrial bullet train railway out of Tharsis, the train that carried the ore shipments and crude oils that the quarry shipped out to the refineries and factories. Tracy looked at the bright side. The hard work of cutting a path across Mars was already done for him. So, he and his steeder traveled parallel with the train tracks.

    Tracy kept the horse at a trot for now. A panel atop his cybernetic hand opened projecting a holoscreen. Tracy identified the steed''s operating system and synced to it. It took a few moments but soon he had access to all of the steed speeders schematics, dials, and digital displays. A semicircle speedometer showed they were at the low end of the steed''s capability. A bar showed the kinetic energy being stored in real time, and if he selected it, the bar gave him a countdown of how much time he had until a full kinetic charge.

    He swiped the holoscreen to a stats screen. Here he viewed things such as the steeds current temperament, the level of bonding between the two of them, and the horse''s endurance. The other screens showed things like a countdown until the next suggested tune up, a slightly outdated map of the Martian territory settlements, along with some hardware provided with the steeder itself.

    As interesting as all of those settings were, he yanked his head up and observed his surroundings.

    As with the way into town, the sights leaving Tharsis were much the same. Tattered thin modular buildings covered in red dust huddled together, forming the town proper. The town itself butted up against Olympus Mons, the dormant volcano mountain. Long conveyor belts stood over the tops of mounds of quarried gravel piles, like herds of metal giraffes vomiting up rock streams.

    While the irrigation ran mostly underground, large water towers perched at strategic points around the town, supplying water to Tharsis itself, as well as the farms which enveloped it. Farmers gathered grain in the near endless fields of rye, a sea of beige rocked by waves of bread-colored cereal grain. Here and there the metallic sheen of a bot laborer caught the sun beams as they swiped with their sickle hands and scythe arms. In other fields cattle herds grazed behind barbed fences, their jaws chewing in circular fashion, unaware that they were bovine planetary colonizers, a simple and incredible testament that the terraforming of Mars worked, more or less.

    Tracy eased back in the saddleseat, which he admitted was quite comfortable. He smiled. He''d actually gotten a killer deal. Public perception was everything. Simply because people thought these  steeders  were goofy meant that they had dropped considerably in value over the years, but that did not mean Ford had pulled any stops when it came to the features available. Tracy let out a deep laugh and the steed whinnied in return.

    "I might actually enjoy aspects of this trip."

    They reached the edge of Tharsis and entered the wild. The terrain contorted underfoot, growing jagged, composed of shattered slabs of shale. Nothing but open red country all around as far as could be seen. And it would be that way all the way to New Oklahoma.

    An industrial train shot past them, whipping Tracy''s duster into a frenzy, traveling to that very city settlement, no doubt.

    Tracy knew Leroux well enough to deduce Roy''s location when the Sheriff''s eyes slipped in that direction. Several centuries ago, the surface of Mars had been split into quadrangles, massive rectangles of land that together made up the entire surface of the red planet. It was a way to standardize the sections of Mars so everyone could refer to the same locations. Some of those quadrangle names remained in use to this day. Some even kept the name of the whole quadrangle as their settlement name, like Tharsis. Others kept the name, regulating it to mean the county-state, but gave their settlement an additional name.

    The settlement of New Oklahoma resided smack dab in the middle of the Phoenicis quadrangle. From what Tracy gathered, each county-state had its own sheriff, judge, and governor. Noke''la, as the locals called it, was a big settlement. If Mars had a capitol, that was it. Many of the immigrants from Earth made Noke''la their first and last destination when fleeing from Earth. And a booming, bustling town was just the place Roy Rothspalt was likely to garner a cult following.

    Tracy and his steeder traveled much of the day caught up in the ever-present wail of the Martian winds in the distance. As they trotted on and on, the wailing wind almost sounded like a chorus, a lament of Mars herself. It was as if the planet rejected any effort to rejuvenate it. Barely revived, it was dying again, and was resolved to do so. The steeder''s clomping didn''t break the wordless ballad of Mars, but instead provided the eerie unending notes a steady beating tempo that haunted his ears.

    On and on they trod. The sun seemed to follow them for a time, moving from straight overhead, then sinking, and now perching just above the horizon in the west, thankfully behind Tracy and the steeder.

    A rusted Tesla tower rose up into view from between two parting hillsides, a web composed of metal and coils. The thing still thrummed with life, though not operating at full capacity. The vibrations reverberated in Tracy''s metal arm. The wailing buzz of the tower rang in his ears. Alone, it appeared otherworldly, ancient. Fitting for an alien planet. Tracy steered clear of the bygone relic. Zealots had claimed the broken tower, transforming it into a venerable sanctuary, an electrified temple of worship to the now deified Tesla. If the electric apostles even caught wind he was from Earth, there was no telling if they''d hail him as a prophet, or slay him as a sacrifice on their AC altar. Tracy pressed on.

    Occasionally another industrial train would fly down the track, blowing a frigid breeze across the back of Tracy''s neck.

    Every so often he''d glimpse a black tailed jack rabbit, a roving triangle-eared Fennec fox, or a slithering Chuckwalla lizard. He recalled that during phase four of the terraforming process, they''d introduced a whole slew of animal types, many from the Gobi Desert in Mongolia, the coldest inhabited desert on Earth. Later, other mammals, reptiles, insectoids, avians, and even some amphibians like the red spotted toad were transferred. It amazed him how much life had taken to Mars, adapting as if they had been natives all along. But no aliens. If there were any, he would have seen them by now, he reckoned.

    "I guess all that Martian alien crap was truther propaganda," he muttered to himself.

    Back on Earth, whether or not aliens existed on Mars was a source of heated controversy. Media and the scientific community at large insisted that this was post-war Martian propaganda bent on enticing explorers to abandon Earth and start an adventurous life on Mars, all to bolster the Martian economy. Hogwash Burroughsian tales, if you asked Tracy.

    Tracy blasted a jumping tarantula that skittered too close to him. A roadrunner zipped by the steeder, the spider''s twitching spindle legs protruding from her beak. Tracy glowered.The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

    The steeder never tired, never thirsted, but carried on, step after step, as full of energy as when he left Tharsis earlier that day.

    While patting his steeder, he opened a hidden compartment and was pleased to find goggles, a helmet, and a small respirator. He disregarded the helmet, but donned the other two. He was also happy to find the goggles had a mini heads-up-display, and though small, monitored his own heart rate, body temperature, as well as the current Martian temperature. Readings from the respirator showed the current oxygen percentage in the atmosphere being pumped out by the oxygen plants, and displayed it as a percentage of levels needed to sustain human life. The decreased air pressure reminded Tracy of the elevations of Arizona''s higher mountain ranges. That explained why he was short of breath.

    A warning alarm blipped across the HUD and he pulled the steed to a halt.

    A crevasse split the ground in front of him.

    He followed the fissure from where he rested as far out as he could see. The crack in the planet''s surface stretched across the horizon, splintering into thousands of branches, weaving every which way, encompassing the entire lay of the land before Tracy. Good thing the steeder''s operating system had sensors. He could have come dangerously close to the edge had he not been warned.

    He brought up the holoscreen again and swiped to the map screen. A dot represented his steeder. In front of them lay the Noctis Labyrinthus, a canyon that scarred Mars like a patch of dried, cracked skin. Planetoid eczema. He kicked his horse into a trot, moving parallel along the edge. When he felt he was close enough, he stopped, dismounted, and stretched his sore legs a bit before peering over.

    For as wide as the fissure stretched, it plummeted just as deep through the planet''s layers. An array of stone sediments lay stacked atop one another, much like the Grand Canyon, except the entire canyon back on Earth could fit in this Martian mega-chasm. The crack ran so deep, the sunlight could not even penetrate the darkened depths.

    "Well, boy," said Tracy to the steeder, "Now''s as good a time as ever to relieve myself."

    Tracy chuckled with boyish mischief as he sent a stream over the edge, an action not at all befitting a man his age.

    Just as he wrapped things up, a gust blew his hat off, over the edge. Without thinking, his hand snatched it out of the open air, thrusting his center of balance forward.

    Vertigo smacked Tracy, causing him to teeter. His knees buckled and he stumbled. His breath caught in his throat as the edge rushed up to meet his face. Tracy swallowed the pain of the impact as his fingers clawed for an anchor. Rocks sliced his natural hand, but his cybernetic limb found a handhold. All of his weight hung over the precipice, tugging on his metal arm. His flesh arm waved in circles as he tried to find his balance. A shadow fell across his face.

    His steeder knelt on the ledge, putting the exhaust pipe within reach. Was the horse really that intelligent? He hadn''t given it much thought. Didn''t matter now. He grabbed hold of the edge with both hands. Then, with a heave, Tracy swung his metal hand up and grasped the pipe, or tried to. His hand slipped on the first and second attempt. Nervous desperation dried his mouth. His eyelids shut tight. One more look down and he was a goner. With a final heave his arm shot up and grasped the exhaust. His aim was true. The steeder neighed and dug its hooves in, pulling him forward. Once he cleared the ledge, he lay there for a time, catching his breath.

    "Wheweee. That was foolish," he said to the metal horse. His chest heaved up and down. "I''m not usually afraid of heights, but the depth of that canyon... sure makes a man feel insignificant."

    Relief flooded through him, from his toes to his ears. In fact his ears picked up a new noise. He got to his feet and dusted himself off. His eyes came face to face with the robotic eye orb of the steeder. It held his hat in its metal jaw. Intelligence glistened behind that eye. "My, you''re as smart as any flesh horse I ever rode."

    He ran his fingers through his hair and donned his hat.

    The horse knickered.

    "Guess I owe you some appreciation. Thanks." Tracy patted it with as much affection as a man could pat a living metal beast. A notification pinged from the steeder operating system.

    Bonding level increased 25% .

    Tracy smiled.

    "Wish I had a sugar cube, but I reckon that wouldn''t mean much to a living contraption. Sorry bud."

    The noise that drew him to his feet persisted. The wind wailed in the distance.

    He turned away from the canyon, looking back towards Tharsis. A rolling sandstorm heading his way masked the settlement. But as he gazed on that storm trying to judge how fast it moved, sleek man-made shapes erupted from the plume of cloud sand.

    The goggles zoomed in. The HUD''s target system blipped to life. Six brackets framed three moving objects. Speeders with armed men inside. Even with the zoom-in feature, their faces were too far away to make out. But he recognized Leroux''s two deputies. Sure as salt and pepper. One seemed to be missing a few cogs upstairs, Crag, if his memory served him correctly. The other, Russ, the sleek man with wide-set eyes, was as friendly as a rattlesnake, and if Tracy''s gut was right, his arms could spring-draw his guns just as fast as a viper lashing out, fangs first. He''d give special heed to that fella.

    "So that''s how you''re going to play it, eh Leroux? I thought we were friends."

    Well, he wasn''t going to shoot them from this distance. Not first anyways. They might just be coming to wish him farewell. Yeah right.

    He whipped out his double action seven shot revolvers and cracked the guns in half. One gun held seven rounds. The other only four. He drew three bullets from the gun belt running across his chest and dropped them in the heptagonal cylinder. With the flick of his wrist he snapped the seven shooters back into place.

    Still, he''d not shoot until he confirmed their intentions to do him harm. And if so, God have mercy on their Martian souls.

    "What do you think, boy? Can we outrun ''em?"

    The steeder pawed the ground.

 8 | WARP JUMP

    Miss Coraline cradled her two-year-old, reminding herself for the hundredth time, if not the thousandth, that her son''s heavy weight was indeed a good thing. It seemed though that the longer he slept in her arms, the heavier he became. If she were to estimate, she''d guess he weighed the same as a large sack of potatoes, but she had no real way of knowing.

    Coraline shifted the heavy boy to her other shoulder, giving her first shoulder a break. She was careful not to bump or even graze the man sitting next to her. He had not offered her a smile or even a friendly look during the entire trip to Mars.  Rubrum , she chided herself. And she was not from  Earth , she was from  Terra . They''d been adamant about that. Rubrum wasn''t too keen on the surge of prospectors, homesteaders, and would-be settlers. Not after Earth had another world war. The war had been good and done for years, but relations between Earth and the red planet had not been pleasant since the war started. Rubruns saw Terra as a cheating husband that left his wife hanging out to dry and no one to share the responsibility of their shared child. Just like Coraline.

    Just the thought of him made her eyes twitch, looking for some clue, some sign that her ex-husband had in fact followed her, stowed away on the ship and hidden until an opportune time when he could catch her wrist or maybe a fistful of hair and drag her kicking and screaming back home.

    Out of reflex she clutched Ashton tighter. He tossed in her arms, but did not wake. He was such a good boy. She rested her nose on his forehead, enjoying the scent of the perspiration in his hair. Through thick and thin, Ashton was a happy, peaceful boy. Nothing could shake his mood. Well, nothing but his good for nothing father. But that was all behind them now. There was no way Bron even knew they had escaped, let alone followed them to Mars. Rubrum.

    She stole a glance out the window. The black of space stretched on to infinity, but now a faint white orb loomed nearer. The moon. And beyond that, the man-made floating ring. Her breath quickened. Soon the ship would enter the worm jump. After a fierce warp through spacetime, they''d exit the other end and touch down on Rubrum, docking in New Oklahoma. Her freedom would begin. Her work would not end though. It was only just beginning, but her and her son''s freedom would start. Really it had begun already, the moment she stuffed all of what little she owned in a backpack along with a few toys, a tablet, and one change of clothes for her Ashton and some diapers. She did not even have a change of clothes for herself. Just one extra bra. That was it.

    But she was free.

    She didn''t feel free though. How could she? Cramped on a rusted old bucket of a space shuttle hurtling through the star-speckled black. It was a wonder this creaking metal transporter did not burst open and suck out all of the oxygen from their lungs, leaving them cold husks floating in an open grave forever.

    She shook her head. Negative, sour thoughts were for Terra. She was a Rubrun now, or would be soon. But, she would die on Rubrum. There was no doubt about it. The finality of it shook her a bit. For someone of low class like her, the trip to Rubrum was one way, with no chance of ever getting off of the cold red planet. Many on Terra considered it a death sentence. Only the foolhardy and desperate optimists considered it a fresh start.Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.

    Rubrum was not for the faint of heart, nor for the naysayer. It was for those that adopted a hard life in exchange for a lack of overlords. A lack of domineering governments, overreaching politicians, corrupt law enforcement, and domestic abusers. She told herself no lies. Life for the foreseeable future would be hard. Likely downright difficult. No doubt she''d shed fresh tears. But as long as she kept her son fed, heavy, and kept herself alive and got some semblance of sleep, she''d be alive. And free. So free. She could practically taste it.

    Bron had been a good man once. But the weight of the world had crushed him. He''d gone down swinging, but the only people his fists reached were those nearest him, and not the corrupt system that he so loathed.

    A muscled bald man draped in tattoos paced up and down the walkway. Underneath all of the ink he was quite an attractive man, and an ex-convict by the way he carried himself. Probably a byproduct of the Clean Slate bill that had been passed and renewed, giving Earth convicts a chance to wipe their record clean and start anew on Mars as unskilled laborers. After a probation period, they could apply for better paying jobs, become part of society again. Gain a fresh start.

    She thought of Bron, so far away now. Maybe her love life could have a fresh start too.

    Coraline flirted with the idea of finding another man on Mars. She pictured him perfectly as if she''d known him her whole life. A tall man with a square jaw. Lean muscled but strong from working in the dormant volcano quarries. Or perhaps a blue-collar oxygen treatment operator. He didn''t even have to be that handsome. There was something attractive about a resilient self-made man that a good looking softy just could not compete with.

    But that would never happen. If she was honest with herself, Coraline was quite through with men. Didn''t trust them as far as they could piss, excuse her French. Except of course for her little Ashton. She''d make a fine man out of him yet. Nothing but opportunity lay ahead for him on Mars. And he was young enough that come time, many would think him a native born when he was grown. Coraline reckoned he''d have no solid memory of Earth. He would know Mars and only Mars.

    The bot voice of the artificial captain blared over the comm system. "Everyone please fasten their harnesses and prepare for the warp jump."

    Her and Ashton were already harnessed in place, but she double checked and tightened them, just in case.

    This was it. Tears welled up in Cora''s eyes and mingled with Ashton''s sweat. Tears of sorrow for their pitiful state? Yes. Of joy at their freedom and potential future? Yes, of that as well. And of the finality of the upcoming warp. Once they entered, there was no going back. Emotions swirled like a vibrant nebula within her breast, but she bottled them up as best she could and released them in the form of kisses on Ashton''s dreaming head.

 9 | THE CANYON

    Tracy pulled up the holoscreen on his smart arm again, checking the steeder''s readings. The KEC bar still had some time until a full charge. If the speed reading on his HUD wasn''t being thwarted by the racing dust cloud, then those deputies and their small posse would catch up to him within a few minutes.

    "Seeing as they hate it so much, let''s give ''em a taste of Earthen justice."

    The horse whinnied again.

    With one high kick, he dropped into the saddleseat and moved the horse into a trot, then a gallop.

    Tracy had ridden horses before. He grew up around them thanks to his grandfather. But not one like this. Sun beams reflected off of the chrome hide making the equine vehicle seem more like a flash of lightning skipping across the Martian surface. The metal steeder was not only designed to imitate a horse, but to improve upon it. The leg pistons moved with measured efficiency. Hydraulic hisses and mechanical hums resonated through Tracy''s legs as the bot beast kicked into overdrive.

    Tracy leaned forward in the saddle, letting the horse have its head. The steeder aimed its whole frame forward, lunging into an eternal fall. He could almost feel glee emanating from the steeder as it found satisfaction in fulfilling its design.

    The speedometer continued to rise, but despite going much faster than a biological horse ever could, Tracy knew it would reach a limit. The only way to break that cap would be to morph it into a true hover speeder, but he couldn''t until the kinetic energy built up.

    He sifted through the operating system screens again, searching for new options. One such option brought up rear monitors that sent a mini feed to the inside of his goggles. Behind the cloud of dust kicked up by the steeder, his pursuers grew larger in the rear view, gaining ground on him. And behind them, the storm.

    Soon Tracy''s ears detected new thrums, the pulsing of speeders.

    Pew.

    A blast riveted the ground to his right. Tracy drew the reins away to the left. Another blast, closer this time, same side. Again they drew away.

    "Alrighty, boys," Tracy yelled into the wind. "You ordered your own tombstones."

    Meter by meter, they edged Tracy closer to the chasm.

    One of the speeders drew up alongside him. They had all day to shoot and no obstacles. They could gun him out of his saddleseat at any moment. They wouldn''t. Not yet. Like felines, they''d toy with their prey first.

    His lips tugged at the side of his face in a smirk. In times like this his heart should have exploded from his chest. But he was used to it. The thrill outweighed the twinge of fear. Like the horse, Tracy felt right at home doing what came natural, what he was born to do. The Martian air tasted fresher, now that the chase was on.

    Tracy''s flesh hand held the reins, but he let his alloyed arm hang at his side, matching the motion of the steeder.

    It was all a ruse. Let ''em think they had him. Let them think his back was up against the wall.

    Tracy bared his teeth and drew one of his .357 JC Maxwell double action coil revolvers with his cybernetic hand. He could not really feel it the same way his flesh hand could. But he did have receptors installed that told him in a roundabout way that he palmed the gun. All he knew was that the men following him were at a disadvantage. He knew for certain that his draw was the smoothest, fastest draw this side of Mars. What was good on Earth was amazing here thanks to the lower gravitational pull of the planet. Metal thumb cocked metal hammer.

    His electromagnetic shots raked the cockpit of the speeder nearest him. The bulbous windshield shattered, spraying his pursuers in a shower of fiberglass shards. The speeder swerved, turbine whining with a shrill yip. They hit a crater like a jump.

    "Liftoff," Tracy hollered.

    Airborne, they toppled towards him in a wicked barrel roll.Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

    He aimed overhead and squeezed the trigger again for good measure. His aim was true. He struck the pilot in the shoulder. When the speeder completed its roll on the other side of him, the deputized posse member had no time to course correct and went over the edge of the canyon. The scream of the speeder climbed octaves higher as the vehicle plummeted to eternal depths.

    Victory burned in Tracy''s chest. But he wasn''t out of the thick of it.

    Still had four men, and all in all, eight possible barrels could be pointed in his direction now.

    Thumbing the cylinder release, he cracked the revolver against his thigh with a swift flick of his wrist, ejecting the cartridges. Clenching the steeder with his knees, Tracy retrieved a speed loader from his duster and dropped seven fresh bullets into the chambers, then snapped the gun whole again.

    Quick as a wink, he toggled the KEC bar and swore. Still not enough to transform the steeder, but the bar was climbing fast.

    The terrain shifted. The grade tilted downhill. He steered for a natural ramp leading into the canyon. Crimson walls rose on either side of him. Even if he were to enter the maze of the labyrinth, the dust trail his steeder left in the wake would ensure they could easily track him. He either had to outrun them, which wasn''t likely, or deal with this posse now.

    The jagged walls of the canyon leaned in like massive citadel gates being closed to ward off intruders. The path grew narrow. And then Tracy saw it.

    A thin bedrock bridge arched overhead connecting the canyon walls. In a few moments they''d pass underneath it. Beyond it, the trail climbed back up and out of the canyon. Shots zipped overhead, electrifying the air coming through his respirator. Tracy huddled in the saddle as close to the bobbing horse head as he could get.

    Clenching the steeder with his knees, holding on for dear life, he raised both revolvers. Detecting he was attempting to make precise shots, the HUD inside the goggles projected holographic front sight targeting on the ends of his barrels, drawing enlarged beads for him. He squeezed the triggers with wild abandon, aiming at the thinnest section of the bridge. The cylinder chambers spun like tornadoes, unleashing a barrage of magnetized ammunition.

    The shots scored the natural bridge in a neat cluster, but nothing seemed to happen. Had he missed? Had the shots penetrated? Then, poof. A crack snapped across the bridge, severing the stone. Low rumbling resounded from on high as a rain of rock boulders was a-coming down.

    Tracy''s guns twirled around his pointer fingers before the holsters sucked them back in securely. It worked. He couldn''t help but beam with admiration at his own gunwork.

    But the reality of the collapsing boulders wiped his smile off. Within milliseconds, he calculated, he realized he wasn''t going to make it under and through to the other side. At the speed he was going, even if he drew the steeder to a complete stop, his momentum would carry him sliding into home plate, right beneath the falling bridge. The whine of the speeder turbines being thrown in reverse filled his ears, but he knew his enemies were in the same predicament.

    The KEC bar on the steeder blinked, flashing across Tracy''s HUD.

    Full charge.

    His fist mashed the button. The steeder''s legs tucked in. Tracy felt weightless as gears spun, pistons retracted, and cogs slipped into place. Panels folded, pipes extended, and handlebars sprung from the steeder''s back. Tracy had no room between the walls for error. His cybernetic hand clamped on the emerging control and he throttled it. The single jet roared to life.

    Tracy found himself no longer atop a horse, but a muscled hover chopper.

    "Yeehaw!"

    The steeder lurched forward and hightailed it out from beneath the rain of boulders.

    The posse wasn''t so lucky.

    One speeder ran smack dab into the chaos and exploded on impact.

    Tracy did not stop until he climbed the top of the grade. Only then did he look back. The surviving deputies crawled out of their wrecked speeder. They managed to slow down in time to just miss being buried alive. They fired shots at him, but they were so far away Tracy needn''t even dodge. He tipped his hat off with an exaggerated dip so as to be sure the boys caught the motion and the sarcasm.

    "Read between the lines, boys," he muttered.

    They shook fists at him as he sped off alongside the canyon.

 10 | UNDER THE TWIN MOONS

    The day began in a crater crash. That same day ended in the concave depression of a new crater, one that Tracy would call home for the night. He felt easier with a natural wall all around him, and a barrier to block his firelight in case anyone out there was still on his trail.

    Warped firelight flickered, mirrored in steeder''s chrome hide. The steeder plopped down on its side, tucking its legs underneath it''s body like any real horse would. Strange. But then again, Slim had said a real horse brain had been uploaded into the thing. Tracy wondered how Ford did not have some sort of animal right''s activist lawsuit. Now that he thought about it, he could have sworn they did, back when the Mustang steeder models were first introduced.

    He patted the equine bot. "You did good today, ole'' boy."

    The man-made orbs in the Mustang head somehow captured all of the life of a real horse. Tracy wondered what horses thought about. What did this bot horse think of him? Probably had a better opinion of Tracy than his wife did. He sighed at the thought of her. It was a sigh thick with guilt, heavy with burden.

    A notification pinged, interrupting his thoughts.  Bonding level increased 47% . Tracy allowed himself a small smile. Then got to work.

    He set his tent, flung out his bed roll, all while the small fire sparked to life. He silently thanked the Tharsians for their contributions to his cause. They might hate him now, but they had no idea how many lives their small actions could potentially impact. And save. Hopefully.

    His fingers twitched, but not for his guns. As nice as the trigger pull was on his twin revolvers, Tracy missed the string pull of his acoustic guitar. Ever since the installation of the smartarm, his playing sounded with much more twang, the metal strings responding to his metal fingers. But he''d grown accustomed to the sound, and his hands felt empty now that he wasn''t defending himself.

    A low rumbling from his stomach broke his train of thought.

    Before leaving Earth, they''d issued him an IV backpack which patched directly into him via the shoulder of his smartarm. He''d depleted most of it on his long trek into town after the crash, but had been able to replenish it in Tharsis. While keeping his thirst in check, it did nothing to sate his hunger.

    Tracy placed his flesh hand on the cool metal surface of the steeder. A panel slid open, revealing the storage compartment. He pulled his satchel out and peeled open a can of spam.

    "Yeah. I''m eating spam. So what?"

    If the mechanical horse could blink, he would have. He didn''t care. Tracy continued on as if he did care.

    He propped up his campfire spit, two Y-shaped poles and a cross pole on which he hung a small pot. The fire was just hot enough to cook the spam. Soon the steam rising up hit his nostrils. His mouth watered. He ate in silence, staring up at the stars.

    Mars was quieter at night. Quieter than anything he''d ever experienced on Earth. The stars twinkled like a choir of soft lights. So many stars. Of course that was due to the thinner atmosphere. The first astronauts that ever set foot on the red planet saw millions more stars. Tracy bet he still saw most of them though. What with the atmosphere only semi-terraformed. The horse gazed at the fire, unimpressed with Trace the Ace or the heavenly host above.

    After he finished, Tracy licked his fingers, savoring the sodium laden experimental meat. He considered putting the respirator on again, but he shook his chin.

    "Better to get acclimated to the sparse climate," he said to the horse.If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

    He lay down on his back with his head near the fire and outside of the tent. Instead of feeling empty, the black of space above seemed thick as shimmering black tar. The stars made him feel small, reminding him he was alone.

    "Hina. I reckon she''s staring up at the stars right now too."

    Really, he had no way of knowing. He wasn''t aware of the exact time difference between Earth and Mars, and he had not even had time to check in with Hina and tell her he''d made it safe and sound. Partially because he didn''t have time to, and partially because it wasn''t true. He''d made it sound, just barely. But safe?

    "Nothing safe about what we did today, eh boy?"

    The horse snorted, pushing the flames sideways.

    "You need a name."

    Tracy pondered a name, or tried to. It was hard to take his mind off of Hina. "She''s going to kill me when I get back."

    The horse was silent.

    "If she knew I''d run into an old buddy who fetched his men on me, I''d get a verbal lickin'' for sure."

    Leroux. Tracy could not believe his friend was in deep enough to send the deputies after him. "That coward. Didn''t even come to finish me off himself. You weren''t inside, horse. You didn''t see. Not a speck of dust on his boots. Pristine. Clean enough for those brown-nosing deputies to lick. We sure showed them. We make a good team."

    He stared at the midnight blue sky, arms folded under his head. He said a prayer, thanking the Maker of planets that he had not bitten the bullet today. Leroux really did not want him going after Roy. Why? How had his friend fallen so far from upholding the law? How could he break his oath like that? Mars changed him. Royce changed him. Roy was like that. Mars had no magnetic poles. Somehow Roy had taken that role upon himself, becoming the magnetic center for all the inhabitants of Mars. Tracy shook his chin, baffled. Roy twisted people, warped them so they turned on each other, like Leroux. Tracy scowled and spit to the side.

    "I''m coming for you Roy Rothspalt. So help me God." He patted Judge and Jury, his trusty revolvers.

    The dark of the night sky reminded him of how he almost took a long fall into the dark depths of the planet.

    "You pulled me out of the frying pan today. Saved my bacon. How''s about we call you Chasm?"

    Chasm knickered, accepting the name.

    "Hina would scold me. Have me fleeing like a dog with my tail between my legs if she knew I almost died for something as silly as my hat."

    Chasm starred.

    "You don''t believe me. Well you don''t know Hina. Let me tell you..."

    The horse stared into the fire, either totally engrossed in what Tracy told him, or absolutely ignoring the retelling of the events that led Tracy to Mars in the first place. The red planet''s two moons rose high overhead, eager Phobos leading the charge, while sluggish Deimos trailed behind. Phobos almost completed her course before Tracy finished his story. He never really finished it either. It just slowed down, until the words didn''t have the strength to leave his lips. Instead they echoed inside his head, into the night, into his dreams.

 11 | THE CALL AND THE BADGE

    -THE PAST-

    Hal wasn''t keen on smoking cigars, but today he made an exception for Tracy.

    Tracy drew on his Rocky Patel Sun Grown box-pressed maduro, savored the rich flavor, smiled, and blew, retrohaling this time to get the full-bodied profile. Smoke drifted out of his mouth and nostrils on a rare Phoenix breeze. Perfection.

    "Congratulations, Trace."

    "Thanks Hal."

    Hal patted him on the back. "You''re going to be a father."

    Tracy beamed, the corners of his mouth stretching further apart.

    Hal ruined the moment with his hacking. His eyes watered. "Man. I know this is cause for celebration, but I don''t understand how you enjoy smoking these." He held his cigar out at arm''s length as if it might bite him.

    Tracy tugged on his stick, a nice slow draw so that the embers at the end blazed. He exhaled. "You don''t inhale it into your lungs. You just enjoy the flavor profile. These aren''t cigarettes. Those are gross."

    Hal''s face wrinkled. "For the taste? I guess my taste buds don''t jive with cigars."

    "I got you a light bodied Connecticut. Sweetest type." Tracy laughed at his friend. Then he recalled the circumstance and beamed again.

    Hal noted his expression. "Fine. I''ll try to enjoy this."

    They smoked in silence, leaning on the edge of Hal''s porch. Shade from Hal''s Brazilian Pepper Tree blanketed them in a serene shadow. Tracy observed everything around him, ingraining all the details. Sitting on Hal''s gorgeous stained cedar deck around the square granite fire pit, Hal''s beautifully landscaped vibrant green lawn surrounded by the smooth adobe wall, and the hazy fuchsia horizon beyond the palm trees. He etched the scene in his mind. He never wanted to forget it.

    "Is she scared?"

    Tracy''s smile faltered. His lips drew a tight line, as if he wanted to hold back the words, the feelings, the memories, the scars.

    "I''m sorry man. I didn''t mean to soil the celebration."

    "Naw. No harm done, bud. She''s in the second trimester now. No signs of anything serious so far." He rolled the cigar in the tray, knocking off the excess ash.

    Silence followed. Hal tugged on his own cigar, either waiting for a response, or not knowing what to say.

    "But to be honest," said Tracy, "I don''t know how she feels. We haven''t talked about it much."

    "Must be rough, wanting to get your hopes up, but remembering all that happened before."

    "Exactly. All we can do is pray and carry on as if it''s all going to be alright."

    Hal slugged Tracy''s arm. "And you didn''t tell me until now? Some friend."

    Tracy smiled again, but no longer beamed towards the future. Hal noticed his eyes held a faraway look, staring into the past.

    "She''s been having checkups?"

    Tracy extended his arm, unconsciously using the cigar to point in the direction of the local hospital. "She''s got one later today. After she runs errands."

    "That''s good. No surprises. Well, I''m happy for you man. We''ll be praying for Hina."

    Tracy smiled. "Thanks brother."

    ***

    Tracy opened the door and drew the curtains, letting light fall on the empty crib for the first time in a long while. Stale air filled his nose. A sigh sifted out of him. So much time invested, so much preparation. Walls painted. Wallpaper stretched around all four walls. A playpen folded, never taken out of the bag. Simple toys still within the plastic.

    At one point this room had been their only focus. Their future then had seemed so certain, solidified.

    He lingered in the room for a while.

    The maduro scent that had burrowed in his clothes mingled with the long-settled air of the still room. Nervous anxiety filled him. Had he lingered too long? Would she detect the cigar scent? He shut the curtains and pulled the door closed as quietly as possible, though he was alone in the house. Before he shut it all the way, with the door open just a sliver, he eyed the empty crib one last time. Perhaps this time, it would be one of the last times the crib would be unoccupied.

    His heart fluttered like it had a pair of wings. He drew in a long breath to settle himself. When that didn''t do it, he reached for the neck of the only thing he found joy in still.

    The steel strings of his rosewood dreadnought guitar thrummed under his plucking fingers, filling the backyard with gleeful clawhammer guitar tunes in the key of D major. His calloused left hand fingers skipped over the fretboard, as if dancing a jig, while his right cybernetic hand struck an upbeat rhythm, and his signature metallic twang.

    Normally, Tracy conjured dark somber tones from the strings. But today, well, today was different. Tracy leaned forward on the edge of his seat, hovering over the guitar, a smile splitting his lips. He lost himself in the joyous tune. They started as man and guitar, but the two merged, simply a song. It was a song long forgotten. A song fit for a celebration.

    His high E string snapped with a sharp yelp, like a wounded animal.Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel.

    Tracy''s hand faltered, flubbing the song. With no high E, he could not bring the song back home to the open D chord, leaving the harmony suspended, neither major or minor. Ambiguous. Downright distasteful.

    His eyes shut.

    He might have another string in his guitar case, but he doubted it. A long exhale left his lips.

    Tracy''s comm vibrated. His eyes opened, fixating on the interruption. Even from across the porch he could see the caller ID flashing on the screen.  Caller Unknown.

    They could not have another assignment for him so soon, could they? He''d just returned. It wasn''t really himself he worried about. Hina had news for him today. Good news. He knew it. He could not ruin her good news with bad news. But he also understood the ramifications of not answering the phone call from Unknown. Maybe he was assuming too much. Maybe it was more good news. "Psh yeah right."

    Setting the Seagull down, he spit the bad taste out of his mouth and strode over to the bad news beacon. He fetched it off the counter, glaring at the screen, daring Caller Unknown to hang up. But he knew exactly who it was. They''d never let up. Not in a hundred lightyears.

    "This is Irving," said Tracy.

    "This is the Attorney General''s office."

    "Howdy."

    "We have an assignment for you."

    Tracy drew in a breath and held it. What could it be? Only a handful of choices. Prison operations. Court security. Witness protection. Criminal asset seizure.

    All of those he would gladly do at the drop of a hat. There was one that under any other circumstance he''d be chomping at the bit to do. Just not today. Not tomorrow. Not for the next eight to nine months.

    "A high-profile criminal who has evaded law enforcement apprehension for several years has resurfaced."

    An ache knotted in Tracy''s chest. He let out the breath he held in a long, drawn out sigh, but still clutched the phone in an iron grip. "So you need me to capture a fugitive."

    "At least one. Possibly more. We''ll send you the details in an encrypted message. Please log in immediately after this call ends."

    "Roger that. How many state lines have they crossed?"

    The executive assistant held a pregnant pause. "The criminal snuck onto a spaceship and departed Earth four years ago. Intel has recently been informed of his exact location."

    Tracy''s eyes closed as if to ward off more information. This was too much to bear.

    "Moon Base One?"

    "Negative... it''s all in the brief Mr. Irving."

    Tracy clenched his jaw. Her silence said everything. "It''s Mars isn''t it?"

    Continued silence on the other end confirmed his worst fears. His thumb smashed the red X ending the call and splintering his screen.

    Whenever the Attorney General needed a U.S. Marshal to track down fugitives, they were high profile cases. These guys were the worst of the worst. Crafty, dangerous, and deadly did not even begin to describe them.

    Without thinking, Tracy lifted his Seagull guitar and lowered it gently into its coffin-like case, closed the latches, and locked them.

    The ache in his chest still lodged there, taking up permanent residence. How was he going to break the news to Hina? He''d have to sit and ponder exactly how to tell her. And what not to tell her. He should probably head down to his office in the Bass Reeves Federal Building to get his full briefing and speak with his task force members. It would give him an excuse to ride his Harley-Davidson FX99 hoverglide. He should have enough time to do that, and sit and ponder before Hina arrived home from the doctor''s office.

    The front door opened. "Trace. Babe, I''m home."

    ***

    He fumbled with the badge, trying to shove the sharp pin into his duster. It resisted.

    Everything he needed for the journey across empty black space had been packed in a small duffle bag and placed by the front door. All except his star of authority.

    "Let me help with that."

    "I got it," he said.

    Tracy shrugged away from Hina, but she plucked the badge from his cold cyborg fingers. Her wedding engagement band clinked against his metal emblem.

    He remembered the day he bought the ring for her. It was the same day he learned that he had been accepted by the U. S. Marshals Service, the day he earned the badge. Heart full of elation, he''d gone out immediately and purchased the ring. Tracy had his eye on it for some time, waiting for the opportune time. That moment felt right.

    Now the very badge that gave him the courage to join hands with Hina was the crux of their looming separation.

    As she tried to pin it to his duster herself, she slipped and pricked her finger.

    "Ouch."

    A dot of blood pooled from the small incision, dripping on the badge.

    She cradled her finger. Her eyes watered.

    An injury as small as that would not hurt enough to move her to tears.

    Tracy moved close, wiping the blood away, kissing her hand.

    "I''m sorry," he whispered, as he tried to hug her.

    Sniffling, she broke away from his embrace and pinned the badge to his duster, then opened the front door for him.

    His mind hunted, seeking the right words to alleviate her pain, but none came to mind.

    Tracy leaned close, placing a hand on her belly, and kissed her tear-stained cheek.

    He tipped his hat, and she closed the door behind him.

 12 | CHERRY

    Cherry rushed from the brothel to the church. She hoped she wasn''t late.

    She remembered the first time she met Rip-Roaring Roy. He''d come into the brothel, tired and worn from his travels. Much like other men. Only difference ''tween him and them was that Roy, or  Scratch  as he wanted her to call him, was the most handsome man she ever laid eyes on. And that wasn''t just her opinion. All the girls were practically tripping over their skirts to offer Scratch their services. But he had chosen her. Sure he saw other girls now and then. But he always held a special look for Cherry. Her heart beat faster just thinking about it.

    She remembered the shock she felt when Scratch finally told her he was a preacher and had come to fill the empty position in the church. She always thought men of the cloth were supposed to be married. Or celibate. But Scratch was neither. A ''tweener as he liked to say. And say it with a twinkle in his eye. He''d even invited her to church after he filled the position. She''d been apprehensive to come, but some of the other girls jumped at the opportunity to be welcome within the church doors. Really just an excuse to be closer to Roy. Especially Dahlia.

    Cherry''s hand gathered a fistful of her dress, wrinkling it. That Dahlia. Always trying to come between her and her Scratch. He assured her that she was his special miss, but Dahlia was a devious one and Cherry didn''t trust her a lick. That''s why she had to make sure she arrived at the church first, so she could sit next to Scratch in the front row.

    Before she knew it she was walking up the steps. Silent Sammy nodded to her, he was always so polite, and opened the door, ushering her in. After thanking Silent, her eyes darted for the front row. Families filled the narrow pews, scattered on both sides of the middle aisle. Weathered and downtrodden men from quarry and the farm fields sat a little taller within these walls, some of whom Cherry knew personally, but could not acknowledge, whether they were married or not. A lady with Cherry''s occupation had no friends outside of the brothel rooms. Some of the women gave Cherry glares that could kill. Was it because of her beauty, or her line of work? She knew the farm ladies saw her as a lazy degenerate; too lazy to work a rye field with her hands. They thought she took easy creds willingly. As if she had a choice. Were they jealous? Perhaps their men had been with her at one time or another. Wasn''t Cherry''s fault. They came to her.

    Quite a few single mothers regularly attended service too. Those with teenage boys especially glared at her when she passed by, not wanting their sons to fall in line, following the footsteps of most men in town.

    And yet they all came to hear Scratch. His visits to the brothel were an open secret. If he had open secrets, he probably had closed ones too. But for some reason, Roy got a free pass from the whole community. His kind demeanor and his fiery passion renewed the Rubruns with something they had lost since the days Terra got tangled up with her own affairs, forgot Rubrum, and turned her back on these people''s grandparents. Roy offered a four-letter word, a word scoffed at for a generation. Hope.

    All of the stares and glares full of venom used to bother her. Genuine surprise and disappointment filled her when she realized she was not really welcome in the church, even though church was supposed to accept anyone who wanted to change. Just because people entered a building, did not mean their character changed. They might not stoop to her line of work, but they were just like everyone else Cherry knew. There was a pecking order on Rubrum, and no matter what sphere of influence, no matter what walk of life, Cherry and her sisters were always at the bottom.

    But of all those in attendance today, Dahlia wasn''t anywhere in sight.

    A grin parted Cherry''s lips. She straightened her back. Her high heels clicked atop the wooden floor as she made her way down the center aisle. Scratch sat on the left side pew going over his notes. She ran a hand through her hair, making sure her bangs fell just right. Did she need to add a dash more of her new perfume? But she was already halfway down the aisle. She''d have to double back, and that would be embarrassing. She hoped she applied enough for him to notice.

    "Why hey there, sugar," said Cherry.

    Scratch looked up from the sermon notes on his datapad, a warm smile taking his whole face captive. "Good morning, my daughter." He scooted over and offered her his cheek. She kissed it, then proceeded to wipe off the excess lipstick.

    "Why''d you go do that?" he asked.

    "You can''t go up there with that on your face. Ain''t proper."

    "A lot of things ain''t proper about me, hon."

    She batted his arm, only forcing the laugh a little. "You''re so funny."

    "And you," he raised a fingertip to tap her nose, "are so cute."Love what you''re reading? Discover and support the author on the platform they originally published on.

    Disdain crept into her chest, but she made sure to plaster on a smile. She hated that word. But she gave Scratch a pass. He didn''t know. Cute made her feel young, belittled, and insignificant. It was what men said to her when she spoke her mind. When they''d about heard enough, they''d say she was cute and brush off her opinions. She still hadn''t worked up the courage yet to tell him.

    She knew Scratch meant nothing by it. He was the only one who took her art seriously. At first when he showed initial interest in her charcoal sketches, she thought he was simply humoring her. But each time they met, he asked to see any new progress she''d made. No one else even knew she sketched regularly. But Scratch knew and cared. Her tension eased a bit.

    Pulling a fan from her purse, she waved it, not because she was too hot, although she was a tad warm, but to blow some of her new perfume Scratch''s way.

    "Girl, you smell fresh as rain," he said, finally noticing.

    The smile returned to her face. "It''s a new scent I''m trying."

    "Uh huh." His eyes returned to his notes.

    She stole a glance back at the big clock on the wall. It was nearing time for service to start. Dahlia walked into the church, her green eyes locking with Cherry''s. Her eyes seethed, her lip puckered. Dahlia was a looker, but she wore her emotions on her sleeve. Today she wore a sleeveless dress though. She had such pretty skin. And hair. Cherry reminded herself that she wasn''t the one late. She was sitting next to Scratch, forcing Dahlia to sit next to her. She pressed her body against him, whispering in his ear. "Got a special message today?"

    Scratch''s lips jumped up, almost touching his nose. They did that when he searched for the exact word choice. "Yep. I reckon I''ve got a good one today. Been working this out for a while."

    She''d caught him practicing once in front of the mirror. With her he was quiet, gentle, and sweet. But something happened to the man when he got behind that pulpit. His eyes lit up like two hot yellow embers. It wasn''t just his words, his whole presence would change, commanding the room. She wagered Scratch was the kind of man that would lead an assault against the fiery gates of Hell itself. The man was fearless.

    Warmness radiated from her heart. She brushed her fingers through his butterscotch hair. He was slowly but surely becoming one of the most respected and powerful men in town. And Scratch was all hers. Almost.

    Dahlia''s shrill voice invaded Cherry''s thoughts. The girl had everything working in her favor except the pipes God had given her. She was simply annoying. Cherry couldn''t understand why men put up with her, or tripped over themselves when she strutted past them. At that moment Dahlia''s green eyes may as well have been white for all of the icy hate she was throwing at Cherry.

    "Good morning, dear," said Cherry. "What a pretty dress. Is it new?"

    Dahlia''s eyes raked her dress for something wrong.

    Cherry smiled.

    Dahlia ignored her and greeted Scratch. "Well don''t you look as sharp as a knife this morning, Roy. I love your suit. Is that saffron? That color fits you."

    His eyes broke away from his sermon long enough to acknowledge Dahlia, but made no mention of her dress.

    Dahlia poised a breath longer, then sat down next to Cherry, defeated. She knew she could not compete when he had his mind on his sermon. Besides, synthesized notes now resounded from the electric organ, reverberating throughout the church. Service was about to start.

    He retrieved a pocket watch, noted the time, nodded and rose. "Wish me luck, girls." He winked at them both. Cherry just barely caught the dimples hiding under his mustache, but they were there. Her breath quickened. As much as she liked being so near Roy, there was an undeniable magnetism that empowered him once he set foot behind that pulpit. She''d be lying if she said she did not long to hear the words, hear the passion, to see the fire behind his eyes. It wasn''t even what he said as it was the fervor he expressed. It made Cherry feel like she was a part of something bigger than herself. It made her feel whole again, like the heart beating behind her breast still mattered, like she was still worth more than the cost of goods exchanged, despite the manner of her work.

    She longed for the day that Scratch would come into the brothel and take her with him instead of leaving her behind. She longed to be within his inner circle. Cherry wanted ¡ª no needed to hear the truth beyond the pulpit, the otherworldly wisdom saved for the select. She yearned for his touch, his anointing, a secret whispered in the ear of true believers. That was why she had to be here first, had to praise everything he did, laugh at every joke. She had to earn the blessing of the yellow sign at all costs.

 13 | NUMB

    Russ rolled a metal pointer finger over and over in his palm. Quynn''s cyborg finger. It was the only thing left of him. Pete had not been able to slow the speeder down in time. They''d collided with the avalanche of boulders. Boom. Poof. Gone.

    He had sifted through the rocks and wreckage with wild abandon until his fingertips were scraped and bloodied. But to no avail. There''s no way Quynn or Pete survived that. Russ had been lucky to even find the index.

    In a way though it was better than the long forever fall that Milton and Edom suffered. Theirs had been a near endless plummet into Noctis Labyrinthus. The canyon swallowed them without so much as a whisper. If Russ thought about it, they blew up too, just much, much later. As much as Russ did not want to think about it, he could not help being reminded. The bloody canyon chasm crawled ever present alongside him and Crag as they dragged their feet back home.

    The sun set long before he and Crag made it back to Tharsis. Their speeder had not blown up, but the boulders had squashed the front half of the hovercraft. So they trudged the long walk of shame back.

    Starlight punctured holes in the night sky. The countless heavenly bodies reminded Russ of the equally countless times when he and Quynn¡ªas mischievous young boys- had explored the craters and canyons around Tharsis. Shirking their farming responsibilities, they would sneak out and be gone from midday until the twin moons ran their course across the sky. Expeditions full of hunting lean jackrabbits with railgun pellet rifles, capturing lizards by hand, or illegally operating and joyriding in an old rusty abandoned speeder they found and fixed. The ever-present stars were the only ones to witness he and Quynn''s adventures. And now besides Russ, only the stars would remember Quynn.

    Dark shapes squatting in the night brought Russ to attention. It took a moment to recognize the modular buildings. He and Crag had dropped one boot in front of the other all the way back into town. His mind snapped to the present with a mental whiplash. He did not even remember the long walk back. Judging by the position of the twin moons, it was late evening, almost the early morning of the next day.

    The town he''d known his whole life looked different in the moonlight. Unrecognizable. Empty. A chill wind crept over Russ, crawling across the back of his neck, down his spine. The strange shadows illuminated the deep maroon hue of the ground, dark as dried blood. For the first time in his life he caught a whiff of the true stench of Rubrum, what offworlders complained of. She reeked worse than an abandoned wet mutt. She stank of death and despair.

    Russ snarled.

    Numbness deadened his mind, but the chill lingered in his bones.

    In a daze, he did not respond as Crag bid him good night. Disorientation kept his thoughts spinning, never able to grasp the here and now, only the dead and gone.

    Somehow he managed to get out of his clothes and into bed.This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.

    He sunk into his mattress, drifting through delirium as the night hours sifted away. Staring at the ceiling, his mind replayed the deafening explosion over and over, and the ecstatic look on Tracy''s face as he escaped the doom while Russ'' friends died in a blaze of inferno.

    Early in the morning, Russ attempted to get some shuteye, but the mask of terror, the last look on Quynn''s face was etched on the inside of Russ'' eyelids.

    Anger did not burn in him. But a frigid frost spread all throughout his body, stemming from his heart.

    When the first morning light beamed through his window across the bags under his eyes, it did not warm Russ in the slightest. All it did was affirm his resolve. It was a new day full of old hatred. An emotion as ancient as Cain and Abel.

    With calm determined precision, Russ pulled on his jeans, slipped on his boots, buttoned his shirt, strapped on his belt, holstered his guns, and donned his hat.

    His badge rested in his palm.

    He opened the pin to slip it through his shirt, but he missed and pricked his chest.

    Rage erupted, filling him. He screamed and flung the star. Thanks to it''s sharp points, it embedded itself in the wall.

    He thrashed, pummeling his fists into anything that crossed his path. But none of it brought Quynn back.

    Eventually he ended up in a sobbing heap on the floor.

    He caught his reflection in the mirror.

    The mirror showed a circle of blood pooling underneath his shirt, just above his heart where the pin had pricked him.

    Russ dried his wet cheeks with his pillow, wiping all expression of sorrow from his face forever, then got to his feet. The revolvers at his hips hung heavy with duty, but not the oath he''d been charged with. Instead of the old oath, a new duty fueled him. It was a duty born of loss, a need to right wrongs, for scores to be settled. Russ tugged the star out of the wall and headed towards the Sheriff''s office.

 14 | BAD NEWS

    Leroux got to the office early. Hadn''t heard a lick from his deputies all yesterday afternoon. He''d stayed up late wondering what was taking them so long. A restless night made him rise with the sun. So when he found Russ and Crag in the office first thing in the morning, it caught him by surprise. Crag leaned back in the chair, boots up on Leroux''s desk. Russ paced the room.

    Leroux stopped in the doorway, head twitching towards the cells. They remained empty. "Where''s Irving?"

    Crag rolled his head back, pursing his lips and staring at the ceiling. That meant he had bad news and didn''t know how to explain it. The dolt. Dumber than a donkey sometimes.

    Russ stopped pacing. His body tensed like the reigns of a donkey tugged along by its owner. His face remained stoic. Dead.

    "Well? Took you a whole day to get back. And it doesn''t look like you''ve got anything to show for it. How about some answers, boys?"

    Crag looked to Russ, who gave him a look that could churn milk. Crag cleared his throat and shoved his meaty hands in his pockets. "About that, Sheriff. Like you said yesterday. The Ace''s got a smooth draw. Real good shot. We''s followed ''im out there. After deputizing the boys. Had to drive a ways out, right up to the canyon. That filthy Terran made it pretty far. That steeder is something else. Don''t know why Slim just let him have it. You should have seen it transform. Anyhoo. By the time we caught up to him¡ª"

    "Crag. Is your mind made of gravel? I swear, you''re too simple to ever tell it to me straight. Russ? You mind explaining?"

    Russ'' gaze turned on Leroux. Unbridled hatred spilled from his wild pupils. Leroux almost got the impression that some of that rage was directed at him. But he knew his deputy better than that. Something bad must have happened to have Russ so upset.

    Russ'' voice scraped it''s way out of his throat in a low growl. "He killed ''em all. ''Cept us. Everyone we brought with us. All dead. Pete. Milton. Edom, and..."

    The last name he muttered, too low for Leroux to hear. "Who? Speak up."

    Russ slammed his fist on the desk. "Quynn!" The name erupted from his mouth like a foul obscenity, like just saying it made Russ both outraged and ashamed at the same time.

    Leroux realized his mouth hung open and snapped it shut. He knew Tracy was good. But his boys, especially Russ, were quick on the draw, and accurate as all get-out. And they had the element of surprise, approaching Tracy from behind. Perhaps his old pal expected it. Four men slain. Deputized men too, under his authority. His mind reeled. He moved over to his chair and sank into it.

    "He just gunned them down?"

    Russ wouldn''t answer.

    Crag fumbled over the words. "Uh, no. Not exactly. Milton and Edom, they lost control of their speeder. Went right off the edge. Got swallowed up by Noctis. Pete and Quynn ran smack into an avalanche. Boulders would have crushed them, but the speeder exploded first. They were gonners either way."This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

    Leroux could not believe it. He looked to Russ for confirmation. Quynn and he were friends. That must be why he was so upset. Russ clenched his fists so hard his knuckles cracked, popping like dry logs sparking over a blazing fire.

    "Our speeder got busted up. Half buried under the boulders. We had to walk all the way back. Didn''t make it back until sometime this morning. I barely got any shuteye. Got me some boiling blisters on the bottoms of my feet and the backs of my heels."

    Leroux snapped his hand closed. "Shutup Crag. Let me think. How''m I supposed to digest this with you rattling?"

    Russ produced a cigarette from his pocket and stepped outside, leaving Leroux to decide what to do with the information Crag gave him.

    Tracy was here for one purpose. Roy Rothspalt. If he got to New Oklahoma and apprehended Roy, that would be bad news for Leroux''s sponsor, the man he reported to. Mr. McCrory would hear of this. Four men, deputized and acting for the law, dead. Killed by a Terran lawman. If Tracy wanted, he could inform the United States Marshal Service of what occurred. And that might be enough to incur the wrath of Terra, or at least the US government. Once they sorted out all of the details, they might send reinforcements out to support their marshal. A task force. Leroux could not deny his involvement. He had his own authority, but he didn''t have the resources or the manpower to spit in the face of Terran Justices. They would come to him, demanding answers. And if they weren''t satisfied, they''d drag Leroux himself all the way back to Terra to appear in court, especially since he was still a dual citizen. Even if he was deemed innocent, the time spent traveling the stars alone, he''d lose everything he built here, namely his sheriff''s badge.

    Leroux needed to speak with Mr. McCrory before things got out of hand, before word reached the tycoon''s ear by some other means.

    "Crag. You hold down the fort here. Russ and I have to make a little trip."

    "How long you going to be gone, hoss?"

    "I don''t know. Make sure you don''t burn this place to the ground okay. Make sure to have four tombstones erected for our fallen brothers. Make sure they have stars etched in ''em too. Those boys died deputized. We have some extra creds in the funds."

    Crag nodded.

    Leroux stepped outside. Russ smoked his stick so fast, he was already flicking the butte to the dirt and starting another.

    "In a half hour meet me at the tracks by the quarry."

    "Ain''t no passenger trains leaving at this hour."

    "We''re hitching a ride on the industrial train."

    Russ hawked spittle. "Conductor won''t be pleased. Ain''t supposed to be passengers."

    "I know they don''t have much room, but I can flash the badge and get us on. We''ll ride in the conductor''s quarters."

    "To Noke''la?"

    Leroux nodded.

 15 | SERMON

    Reverend Roy projected his voice, filling the church. People congregated so thick, the building might buckle.

    "I know why you came here, my children. You''re weary. Beaten. Tired. Raise your hand if that''s true."

    Most hands in the room shot up.

    "I know it, boys and girls. I feel your pain. You thought this land was ripe with opportunity. You heard from the naysayers, that hardly anyone strikes it rich, but in your head you said, naw, I''m smarter than all them. In your heart you said, naw, I got more grit. I''m going to be a tycoon. How many you thought that?"

    Hands sprung back up.

    "But you got here and realized¡ªyou were lied to."

    Roy paced across the stage, for a dramatic pause before returning to the pulpit. "The opportunity already dried up. They stole your chance. All that''s left is hard work. That''s why you and your ancestors left Terra. To get away from the corruption, the hate, the megacorporations and their slave labor."

    Roy stood besides the pulpit, as if standing besides himself.

    "But Reverend Roy, I ain''t from Terra. I''s born here on Rubrum. Well, I pity your poor soul, child, because you was born dry and thirsty and you''ve never been quenched, has you? Raise your hand if your heart feels dry as dust inside."

    Hands shot up, but not everyone participated. A frowning farmer kept his head down. A rebel. Roy would deal with him yet.

    "I used to reside in Coprates. Lived there a while, before the settlement fell to the wayside. You don''t think I know ruin? I woke up one day and practically everyone around me was dead. I fled. Just ran. Didn''t know where I was going or why. I had no direction. But I know now the King summoned me. Lead me deep into the canyon, through the winding Noctis Labyrinthus. And it was there he showed me something that changed my life forever, and made me the man I am today. More on that later. But first..."

    Roy singled out the rebellious farmer with his pointer finger, the one trying not to draw attention to himself. "Stand up sir. Tell me your name."

    "Moe."

    "Moe, I noticed you didn''t raise your hand earlier. You ain''t dry on the inside?"

    Moe shook his head.

    Oh. A doubter. Roy would break him here in front of everyone. Or later after service. Either way.

    "Explain yourself, boy."

    His adam''s apple bounced as he swallowed. "I till the soil. I plant my seeds. I water ''em. They grow. It''s an honest living. I don''t always get the full crop I was hoping for, but I have enough to get by. At the end of the day I''m happy enough."

    Roy smiled but shook his head. "Moe, Moe, Moe." He paused, letting his judgement fall on Moe, letting him feel the subtle shift in the room, as hundreds of eyes burned into him from all sides. "They got your mind clouded, my child. Just as cloudy as the Great Dust Storm that never ceases. The only reason you happy Moe, is because you don''t know any better. Do you know any better Moe?"

    He waited for the question to trigger Moe''s brain. As the man''s mind searched for a response, Roy abruptly shifted the conversation, interrupting the man''s thought process, but leaving his mind in an open, inquiring state. "I can sense you lost someone dear to you. You lost anyone Moe?"

    Moe hesitated, then said, "Yeah."

    "Who?"

    "A daughter."

    "When?"

    "Bout nine years back."

    "How?"

    "She got sick."

    "You ever heard of a tycoon getting sick, or their kids getting sick?"

    "No."

    "You ever heard of medicare?"

    "I know a little about it."

    "Back on Terra, just about everyone got health care. You know, they coulda saved your daughter. But nobody told you that, huh? They kept that to themselves. And you just sucked it up and dealt with it. Does it pain you to know that your daughter didn''t have to die?"

    The man shifted his weight from foot to foot. "Yeah."

    "How much do you miss her?"

    He watched as the man stared off, into the past, probably recalling his daughter''s smile or the way she laughed. The tears welled up.

    He broke Moe.

    Roy had to grip the pulpit, dig his sharp fingernails into the wood, just to keep from beaming. He pulled on a mask of sorrow, sorrow for Moe and his pitiful state. "I hate to bring up the thing that pains you most, friend. I really do. But I speak the truth, and as much as I want you to feel right, I can''t let you go on thinking they never wronged you."

    He turned back to the congregation now. "There''s a Moe inside every one of us. We want to believe we''re alright, that this is as good as life can be. We have to, especially when we lose something. And we all lost something dear to us. A family member or a friend. Crops. Even a job. But my friends, you can''t claim what''s yours by right if you don''t realize they took it from you in the first place. Can I get an amen?"

    "Amen," said the congregates in unison.

    "You can''t truly be happy unless you deal with your inner pain. Amen?"

    "Amen."If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

    "And you can''t deal with your pain unless you know who to blame. Amen?"

    This time it was shouted. "Amen!"

    "And who''s to blame?"

    "Terra," shouted one man.

    "Tycoons," shouted a woman.

    Roy held up a hand for silence. Then counted names on each finger. "Terrans. Tycoons. Tall talebearers. Turncoats. Traitors."

    His fingers folded, clenching into a fist. "They''re all the same. They may have left Terra behind, they may even look like Rubruns, but their insides are Terran, down to the core. Their mind doesn''t see truth. It rejects it. And they want you to reject it too. And by rejecting the truth forcing lies on you, they seed their Terran mind in you."

    He stepped past the pulpit, down the steps, past Moe. "Stay standing, Moe, if you don''t mind." He swiveled his head slow, gauging his congregation. "Did you know, you could be born on Rubrum, but still have a Terran mind? Did you know you could be born on Terra, but come to Rubrum with a free mind, be a true Rubrun? See, it ain''t about where you born. It''s about your heart and your mind. That''s all the King asks for. Your mind.

    "I know things they want to keep from you. I know things even they don''t know, knowledge they wouldn''t understand.

    "The electric apostles think they know truth," Roy spat. "But those lunatics worship a dead scientist."

    He shook his fist in the air.

    "If you want to know the truth, the King will give you truth. Just as he gave me, and only me. You ain''t going to find this knowledge anywhere else. The King says I can give it freely, but only for a short window of opportunity. And I can''t just give it to anyone. You have to want it with all your heart. If even a little bit of your resolve falters, he''ll see the weakness."

    Roy raised both hands. "And say it with me." In unison they cried an oft recited rubric. "The King hates weakness."

    He slid back up to the pulpit. "Now I know you''s strong. You wouldn''t be alive on Rubrum if you weren''t. Tell me you''re strong."

    "We strong."

    "Tell me you believe, children."

    "We believe."

    Roy''s eyelids closed. He exhaled a worn breath. "The King senses some here still have a Terran mind. Moe, step up here."

    As the farmer came up, Roy encouraged the herd to give him a round of applause.

    "I suspect boy, that you wouldn''t be here if you wasn''t strong. Are you strong?"

    "I am strong."

    "Say it louder."

    "I strong."

    "Yell it."

    "I STRONG."

    "But Moe, you got a Terran mind. It''s clouded. You want to remain in the dark?"

    "No."

    "You buried the pain of your daughter''s death. But I know it''s still down there. Do you want me to heal your pain?"

    "Yes."

    "Do you want to be happy and know the truth?"

    "I want truth."

    Roy turned to the crowd, his mouth full of sharp, gleaming teeth. "Y''all wanna see me free Moe''s mind?"

    The crowd applauded.

    "I said, y''all wanna see a miracle take place today?"

    They clambered to their feet, hooting and clapping all the more.

    Roy queued the electric organ player, Himura, who struck up a slow, methodical, yet inspirational chord progression.

    Roy lifted his hands and raised them towards the stars. "King of the chasm. Lord of the labyrinth. Sultan of sulphur, I plead. Cleanse this poor boy''s soul. Wipe away Moe''s pain. Make him see your truth."

    Roy reached inside his suit, pressing his fingers against his medallion. His fingertip traced the yellow sign and his hands grew warm. Without warning his palms shone with amber light. The crowd gasped. Himura''s fingers summoned frantic notes and chord changes from the organ as they glided up and down the keys. The light in the church dimmed as if all of it were being sucked into a vortex centered in Roy''s hands.

    He had to yell above the organ and the herd. "Do you believe, boy?"

    "Yes."

    Roy snatched Moe''s head, resting his glowing thumbs in Moe''s eyes. Moe resisted, but Roy held fast. The skin underneath Roy''s fingers turned white. Moe let out a scream like person caught in the afterburn of a rocketship. Roy released Moe who slumped to the floor. Ushers moved to revive him, but Roy held them back with a look.

    Moe surged to his feet. He stood erect, taller than he had before, shoulders thrown back, oozing confidence. But his eyes said it all. They blazed with sulphurous yellow light.

    "What dost thou see?"

    "I see him, the King in Yellow. I see. I see!"

    Moe raised his hands, reaching for the throne of the King that only he could see in his mind, and his feet left the ground a whole meter.

    A woman broke the awestruck silence. "He''s levitating!"

    The crowd swelled as if struck by a current.

    People screamed. Some fainted. Others foamed at the mouth. None remained still.

    The light in Moe''s eyes faded like dying embers, and he sank slowly back to the stage, then passed out on. Roy let the ushers remove him as Himura made the organ soar. Roy reveled in the spell that overpowered the herd, and he howled.

 16 | ROAMING MARS

    Tracy jolted up with a start. Crust sealed his eyelids shut. For a moment he had no idea where he was. His body ached like he''d slept on the ground all night in his work clothes. Turns out, he had. When his eyes finally adjusted, the big doleful orbs of a chrome horse stared back at him. He smacked his forehead.

    "Mars," he croaked. "I''m on Mars."

    The fire had gone out during the night. Daybreak was just beginning, the sun cracking the sky open like an oven, ready to bake the surface of Mars to a dry crust all over again.

    A quick perimeter check at the crater''s edge told him there were no pursuers after him, at least within eyeshot. His hands went for his .357 JC Maxwell revolvers. Time for maintenance. The storage compartment on Chasm''s flank opened and Tracy retrieved his gun care bag. Besides his cigars and the guns themselves, he was so relieved and thankful that he''d had the little bag on his person during the crash.

    Tracy knew he was a deft shot. One of the best alive. But what most did not know, was that aiming, a smooth draw, and great ammunition were only the tip of the meteorite. Speed and precision came from a meticulous study of your weapon of choice, and a fervent, almost religious care and devotion to the maintenance of the tools.

    He handled Judge first. He did not know why. All he knew was that repetition was important. Judge always went first, then Jury. He primed Judge''s hammer at half cock, then pulled and dropped the loading lever, exposing the base pin. Once the base pin was removed, that gave Tracy access to the cylinder. Each piece he disassembled went on the bed roll in the tent so no Rubrum dust soiled the components.

    His mouth begged for a cigar, but he never smoked cigars while caring for his guns. Might get ash on them, or in them. Besides, how could he appreciate the smells of the gun? From the lubricants, to the slight afterburn from the sparks left in the barrel, the metallic tang of the frame, or the sweet aroma of the worn, stained, and polished solid walnut grip.

    Tracy whistled a standard Blues shuffle in E minor, matching his slow and methodical work.

    He paid special attention to cleaning the seven chambers in each cylinder. If he didn''t, erosion could occur, gumming up the cylinder, slowing or stopping the rotation altogether. And without a rotation he might only get one shot off, if even that. But a properly cared for cylinder rolled like a bobbing log floating downriver. There was also the ease of ejection to consider. Certain revolver aficionados swore that you never needed to polish the chamber interiors of the cylinder on a well-made gun. But Tracy found that a careful internal polish now and then ejected the cartridges like buttered sausages.

    After a quick inspection of the capacitors and batteries, he pulled out a soft cloth and buffed the exterior, getting all of the Martian grime out of each divot.

    When he was finished, his guns gleamed like new.

    "Up and at ''em, Chasm." As if the horse needed to flex its muscles and warm up its joints. No, just men of mostly flesh needed to do that.

    Chasm had burned all of the kinetic energy, putting the surviving deputies far behind him. Even so, they were without a speeder. Their only recourse was to return to Tharsis. Thus Tracy was safe and alone in the Martian wilderness.

    He kept the train tracks to his right and the canyon to his left, but stayed far from the lip''s edge, no matter how enticing the splendor of the view tempted him. In the far far distance at the edges of his vision plateaus and mesas squatted everywhere, resting like great shelves upon the surface of the red planet, like stilled vagabonds, scorched by years under the sun.

    Here and there spiky succulent fauna sprouted. Tracy supposed the semi-terraformed atmosphere, coupled with the frequent intense winds had blown pollen and seeds far and wide, resulting in the natural growth of plants otherwise not native to the planet. He smiled, reassured that he could survive out here.

    A bright watermelon colored flower attracted his attention. Beavertail cactus, if he was correct. With a deft touch he examined the exotic bloom among the spiked needles. Even here on desolate Mars, this wandering flower had found a home and a reason to spread beauty. Tracy smiled under the respirator. "Beauty is found in the oddest of places, Chasm."

    The horse snorted, as if annoyed with Tracy''s romantic approach to life.

    "What? You don''t think so."

    The steeder remained silent.

    "Is not a part of the flower''s beauty relative to its barren surroundings?"

    Chasm knickered.

    Tracy sighed. "I suppose you''re right, boy. I am a helpless romantic. Obviously. I''m talking to my steeder."

    Still, Tracy relished the fact that he moved alone through the red terrain, land that few eyes ever beheld.

    The land rolled, up, then down, further down still, and up again, like a tossed ocean of crimson, solidified under the beating of the sun''s rays.

    Tracy kept quiet for the remainder of the trip. The wind stayed quiet too. Naught but the sounds of his thumping heart and Chasm''s beating hooves sounded for thousands of kilometers around.

    By midday they tried to find shade, but the light rays overhead obliterated all but the slimmest of shadows. Chasm made good time, as far as Tracy could estimate, but his KEC bar still needed yet more charge.

    Tracy pulled jerky from a small pouch in a compartment of Chasm''s flank. He chewed as small an amount as he could manage, but did not sate his hunger. There were times when it was good for a man to remain hungry. Hunger drove a man, tugged him along, even when he swore he had not the strength to keep going. Hunger would pull Tracy towards Phoenicis, keep him an honest man. After taking a single swig of cool water from a flask, he mounted up while reciting, "Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness. They will be satisfied."

    Tracy navigated Chasm to the next settlement well into the afternoon. They worked from a walk, to a trot, flirted with a canter, and then gave chase into a full unrestrained gallop. The breeze gave Tracy a rush. He smiled dumbly, like a dog who could not resist hanging his head out of the speeder, or letting his tongue flop outside his slack jaw. Here in open country he was free to feel whatever he wanted. But come New Oklahoma, he''d maintain his reservations, steel his resolve for darker deeds.

    All of a sudden Tracy felt as if something or someone admired his solitary race. He slowed the steeder to a trot, looking about.

    He was being watched.

    Gripping the reins between his flesh fingers, his alloyed hand dropped to his side, hovering over the holster that held Judge.

    Chasm whinnied, as artificial as a synthesizer compared to a grand piano, but a whinny all the same, confirming Tracy''s sixth sense.

    They crested a low hill and caught a trio of small people spying on him through a pair of binoculars shared between the three of them. Their fighting over the binoculars was what caught Tracy''s attention in the first place. He directed the horse towards them, one hand hovering over his holster.

    The figures screamed and bolted away over the far side of the hill. Their stature and high voices revealed them to be children.

    Chasm''s exhaust pipe puffed, much like a living horse would snort.

    "You read my mind, Chasm. Kids? All the way out here in the wild?"

    They followed up and over the hill.

    A folk tune reached Tracy''s ears. Notes streamed from a fancy jig coming from behind a worn and weathered stretch-hovercoach. On the side, scrawled in too many fonts to count were words like  essential hemp oils, vegan water, performance injections, ammunition , and the like. A caravan of camels lounged in the sand, listening to the music while resting. What Tracy''s sixth sense had taken for a threat was none other than children belonging to a traveling salesman. A husband and wife duo actually.

    The man''s fingers noodled some mean licks on the electric banjo, while his wife stepped to the time, an electric fiddle tucked under her chin. Too many children to count ran about the campsite, some clapping to the tempo, others playing a friendly game of electroshock dodgeball.

    "Ho stranger," said the man, a wry fellow with a wild look in his cybereye. He tucked his long salt and pepper beard into his overalls. Shirtless, the sun had tanned him to a rust color. He looked to be a native Rubrun while his wife was likely a child of East Asian immigrants from Earth. Their own children were Rubruns through and through, the resulting red-skinned, lean-structured humans of the Martian melting pot. They circled Chasm, thrilled to see a cyber steed up close. Chasm snorted, but Tracy knew he was enjoying the attention. He dismounted and let the kids pet the horse while introducing himself to the parents.

    "The name''s Wapasha, and this is my wife, Jangmi. I''d tell you the kid''s names, but even I can''t remember them all."

    The man grinned like he''d told a funny joke. How could a man blessed with so many children forget any of their names? A snap judgement threatened to furrow Tracy''s brows together in disapproval, but kept his face stoic.

    When Tracy failed to respond, the salesman cleared his throat. "Who might you be?"

    "Name''s Tracy. I''m just passing through on my way to New Oklahoma."

    The salesman''s cybereye traveled up and down Tracy. Tracy became painfully aware how he must appear to them, a tall man in dusted black clothing, strapped with twin coil revolvers, he himself sun-battered, bruised, and bloodstained. As a lawman he was all too keen on noting the body language of others so as he might pick out those hostile towards him. Applying that knowledge to himself could smooth over any tension bound to arise from an armed stranger appearing amidst the traveler''s camp. Tracy moved his hands away from his guns, palms up, as if anticipating a hug, and let his shoulders slack a bit. Couldn''t do anything about his must though.

    Tracy''s demeanor seemed to put them at ease.

    "Depending on how fast your steeder is, you''ve got about a day and a half left until you see the city. But fear not, friend. We''ve got all your necessities right here." The man went on to describe all of the odd knicks and knacks they sold. His head wobbled as he spoke, as if it was barely balanced on his neck and could fall off at any moment. Tracy didn''t hear what the man had to sell. He had too few creds, and once Wapasha pushed back his wicker hat to get a better look at Tracy, his thick whisker eyebrows were too distracting.

    "Thanks friend. Wish I could help myself to your wares. But I''m low on funds. Crashed my ship yesterday."

    The man''s eyes nearly popped from his head. "You don''t say."

    "That''s terrible," said Jangmi. "Are you stranded here?"

    "On the planet? Yes. But I''ve got me a steeder now. Once I get back to civilization, I have an acquaintance to meet. After that, I''ve got to return back to Terra."

    "I''d love to help you out, seeing as you lost everything in a crash. But I''ve got mouths to feed too. Got anything you could trade?"

    Tracy put on a lopsided grin. "I appreciate the concern and offer to barter, but everything on my person is essential to my mission."

    Wapasha squinted for a moment. "You said you was Terran?"

    Tracy nodded, jaw muscles tightening.

    "What kind of mission you on?"

    "I''m a U.S. Marshal, tracking a fugitive."

    Wapasha''s eyes shone like Rubrum''s twin moons. "Well why didn''t you mention it? Tell you what. My pack of kids love a good storyteller. And I bet they''d chomp at the bit to hear tales from Terran. You entertain them for any length of time, keep them out of the wife''s hair, and you got yourself a home-cooked meal. What say you to that?"

    Tracy relaxed his jaw with relief. Apparently not everyone hated Terrans. Yet, he hesitated. Did he have stories appropriate for kids? But it did not matter. As soon as the kids heard he might tell stories of Earth, he was as good as obligated to tell.

    Two of the older, taller children latched onto his arm. One climbed on his back. The rest crowded around his legs, guiding him to the campfire. He stepped with care so as to not trip over a child and fall headlong. They asked him fifty questions before he was even seated on a smooth rock.

    How did he get a steeder? How fast did the steeder go? Why did he carry blasters? What words were etched on the guns? Was he a good shot? What was the star pinned to his chest under his duster? Was he a famous star? How many Terran movies had he been in? Why was he alone? Did he like traveling by himself? Why did he wear all black? How come his skin wasn''t red like them? Why did he have a cyber arm? Did it make him stronger?

    He answered as many questions as they shot, but he never satisfied their curiosity. Each reply only seemed to draw out yet more questions.If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.

    They grew bored with his answers and he felt bad. Surely he could entertain children for more than a few minutes. Was he really that dull? He tried to recall when he was a child, what would his grandfather do? An idea burst into his mind. He chuckled.

    "You kids want to see a magic trick?"

    Their faces beamed, and suddenly they scrambled over each other to get as close to him as possible. He held up his palms and wiggled his fingers. Then, holding out his flesh hand, he covered most of his thumb with his other hand, then pretended to pull off his thumb. Only, the ruse didn''t work because this age-old trick required two flesh thumbs to give the illusion that he was pulling his flesh thumb apart.

    The kids saw right through it. "Hey! That''s your cyberthumb. You''re doing the trick wrong." Many of them crossed their arms, annoyed. Some rested their chins in their hands, disappointed. Others rolled their eyes, fed up.

    "Oh. Is that not how the trick goes?"

    "No."

    "Sheesh. So indignant. Let me try with the other then."

    Careful not to let them see, he wiggled his cyberhand and at the same time flipped the latch that kept it attached to his arm. Then he jerked hard, sending his alloyed hand flying off into a small boy''s lap. The kids gasped, heads swiveling from the hand to the arm.

    Tracy''s eyebrows shot up and he winced and hissed, cradling his arm as if in pain. The kids chewed their fingernails, eyes big discs, unsure if they should offer the stranger help, or retreat from the hand. The kid who the hand landed on recovered and retrieved the hand, his own two shaking as he held it up to Tracy.

    "Uh oh," said Tracy.

    The child whispered. "What''s wrong?"

    Tracy furrowed his brows as if concentrating hard.

    The metal hand sprang to life. First the fingers wiggled, then it flipped around and scuttled along the boy''s arm, down his back, and charged the crowd of children.

    With a roar they screamed and bolted in every direction. Some cried. Other''s got over the surprise quickly and shared a hearty laugh with Tracy as he directed the hand back over to him and reattached it.

    The boy sat slack jawed.

    "Fooled ya, huh son?"

    He nodded and Tracy ruffled his hair.

    The salesman and his wife heaved with laughter. Tears of mirth streamed down Jangmi''s face. "Our kids haven''t had a good healthy scare like that in a while."

    "Good for their hearts to jump into their throats now and then," said Wapasha. "Circulates the blood."

    Tracy beamed, proud that he was not boring in the slightest. Though the kids did not gather as close to him for the remainder of their shared time. "I''ve got to take it apart every now and then. Preventative maintenance. And actual maintenance. Most people don''t know it still works when it comes apart. For a time anyways."

    He''d pleased the family with his severed hand stunt, so they invited him to share a meal around the fire. Boiled pea and lean beef stew gave off a thick steam. They also offered Tracy rye muffins sweetened with an agave nectar spread, along with a pile of seasoned radish chips. He washed it all down with fresh camel''s milk.

    Throughout the entire meal, the boy who Tracy had dropped his hand on gawked at the metal limb.

    While trying to eat, the children felt the need to impress him with the pet jerboas they''d captured, shoving the hopping kangaroo-like rodents in his face, giggling until Jangmi shooed them away.

    Tracy ate every last crumb, licked his organic fingers clean, and tipped his tin bowl to get the last drops of the stew. He sighed with satisfaction, patting his stomach with his smartarm.

    The boy continued staring at him, then whispered in his sister''s ear.

    "How did you lose your real arm?" The little girl was the spitting image of her father, but more feminine and pretty.

    "That''s rude," said the eldest daughter, who appeared to be a pre-teen.

    "It''s okay. My feelings ain''t hurt."

    The family leaned forward, just a bit, eager to hear the tale.

    He lost himself in the story, forgetting where he was. He stared off into the light pink evening sky, the exact color of a healing wound. Tracy relived the vivid memory as if he was there right now.

    "We had captured some fugitives. A real dirty group of guys, mobsters, involved with...slavery. After we locked them all away, one of my jobs was to go into their estate and rummage through the compound with some deputy marshals and seize all of their belongings. They made a lot of creds and they filled their compound with all kinds of lavish things.

    Well, we didn''t catch them all. A cousin of one of the fugitives came sniffing around the compound. We didn''t realize he was on the property. The criminals had a secret safe built, and this cousin was there to retrieve the real goods before we found it. I noticed some of our law enforcement gear was out of place, and several doors were open. I moved into the open vault, ready for anything. Or so I thought. Wasn''t totally ready though. Should have trusted my gut. Nausea overwhelmed me. Went in anyways. The cousin heard me coming down into the vault, pulled a fast one on me. No sooner had I stepped into the vault did he set the megaton door to whisk shut. I overreacted and threw my arm into the path of the closing vault door."

    Tracy brought his flesh hand down in a chopping motion while doing his best imitation of a guillotine. "Wham! Took it clean off."

    Several of the kids turned shades paler, almost gnawing their fingernails to nubs.

    "Almost was a goner. Lost a lot of blood. Not a whole lot of oxygen in the vault. Couldn''t comm to my deputies either. No service in the vault. So I writhed there on the floor until I passed out. Luckily my buddies found me before I died.

    "Hina didn''t take well to the smartarm at first. I guess she never quite has."

    "Why?"

    He leaned forward, holding the arm out for all to see. "A part of me died that day. It was ripped clean off. Violently. All it does is remind Hina that she almost lost me. Which would have been too many losses to bear. And everyday I''m away from her is another day Hina could lose all of me."

    "Who''s Hina? Is she your sister?"

    "Hina''s my wife."

    A kid with a lisp gasped. "She mare-weed a marthall?"

    "Lawmen can''t be married."

    Tracy folded his arms, frowning. "Why not?"

    "Ma says because you''re always fighting outlaws and space pirates. Always getting shot at. And no woman wants that."

    "Doesn''t mean I don''t love, or don''t know how to love."

    "But Pa says lawmen don''t settle down because they''re married to their jobs. Are you married to your job? Is she a nice job?"

    Tracy chuckled. "No I ain''t married to her. Dedicated, sure. But I got a wife. Same as your Pa."

    "You got kids too?"

    Tracy held back a wince. He fumbled for the right words, but as he did the kids noticed his hesitation. "Not quite."

    For the first time since he arrived, the kids didn''t interrogate him further on the matter. It was as if they could see the pain behind his eyes and knew they''d crossed a line, albeit by accident. They intended no harm.

    A boy broke the silence. "Why do your blasters have them names?"

    Tracy wagged a finger at him. "That is a perfect tale for another time."

    The kids whined, but by then the sun had gone down and Tracy needed some shuteye. He had a long ride ahead of him tomorrow and intended to gallop into New Oklahoma and capture Roy by the evening if he could.

    He unrolled his bed, pitched his tent, but did not settle in for the night just yet.

    The traveling salesman prodded the fire with a stick, agitating the embers, sparks rising into the night.

    "Share cigars, Wapasha?"

    "Sure"

    He handed one to Wapasha. The man smelled the thin stick of tobacco. "That''s delightful."

    Tracy nodded.

    "Ever smoke one?"

    "A while ago. Tobacco is hard to come by out here."

    "Thing you don''t want to do is inhale it. That''s a misconception. Just enjoy the taste, then push it out."

    They both took long draws and puffed smoke clouds for a time.

    "This is quite dandy."

    Tracy retrieved another, even though he ran low. "Here."

    The salesman rolled it in his fingers before pocketing it. "I''ll fix you with some supplies tomorrow."

    "Thanks, but I''ll be just fine."

    "Don''t be modest. Your presence was a welcome treat."

    Tracy blushed and was glad his complexion hid it. Or so he hoped. "As a lawman I rarely have that effect on people. Usually the opposite. I''m often interacting with people that don''t want anything to do with me. In fact they''d rather finish me off."

    "After a fugitive, huh?"

    "Yessir."

    "Who, if you don''t mind my prying?"

    "Rip-Roaring Roy."

    Dying fire twinkled in the traveler''s mechanical oculus, but he did not respond.

    "Heard of ''im?"

    The man stroked his long beard, lips lost in the wild wisps of hair. "Been a long day for both of us. Best we get some shuteye."

    Tracy hadn''t the faintest idea how the conversation turned sour so fast. "Wait a minute. Hold on now. We only just started these."

    Wapasha grumbled, bit his tongue, then said, "My little''n, the one you played your hand trick on. He''d have died earlier last year of a nasty fever, but for Roy''s intervention and help, fugitive or no. Bunch a Terran shale and stonesweat, that''s what it is."

    The man tossed his used cigar into the embers, dropped the new one on the ground, then retreated into his stretched RV coach, leaving Tracy alone with the dying fire.

    Tracy tossed and turned for hours. He could not get comfortable, partially due to his revolvers still tucked in their holsters resting on his hips. Normally he lay the holster and guns by his side. But the abrupt odd ending to his last conversation weighed on him. And the crackle of the dying fire reminded him of soft footfalls sneaking up on him in the dark.

    Long before morning light and with no sleep, he gathered his things and mounted Chasm, leaving the family behind. He could have used whatever supplies the man originally offered, but he understood that he''d struck a nerve when he mentioned the fugitive. Tracy needed sleep, but not eternal slumber. Mars grew more hostile with every path he crossed.

 17 | EATING FROM THE PALM

    Himura the organ player brought the anthem to a crescendo and the congregation hollered, some with arms raised, others rocked in the fetal position on the floor between the pews.

    Reverend Roy descended from the pulpit, chest heaving, his brow covered in thick sweat. He''d lost himself completely in the rhetoric, the dogmatic doctrine he proclaimed. At times he wondered where the words came from. But the more he served the King, the more he knew. At pivotal moments when he held an audience captive, the King filled him. And Roy was willing, a vessel ready to be drunk on that power, that sweet, dark, honey-yellow warmth.

    Today was a day his King had answered his prayers and blessed his meditations. First he bestowed power on Moe. And after that Roy himself was taken captive. The congregation had all but melted away while he, Roy, had been raptured by his own message of transcendent conquest that awaited all true believers.

    When he descended from the heavens, after the King had left him, he dropped back into the dust and grime of Rubrum. His eyes once again beheld the pathetic bodies sitting before him, hanging on his every word like filthy alley cats fighting over scraps of trash. The first person he made eye contact with was Cherry.

    A fire burned in her eyes. Not the yellow fire, but something close. Her eyes raked his body with anxious desperation. Roy sensed he almost had Cherry. She alone made it all worth it. A smile curled his lips, pulling them back, away from his sharp stained teeth.

    She just needed one good prodding to push her over the edge and then she''d be his, always and forever. Then he could demand almost anything of her to prove her devotion. He knew. He''d seen her kind before, knew the signs to watch for. Beautiful but feeble. Outwardly able to strut her stuff and bring most men to their knees, but inside laid bare, vulnerable. And young. Her youth pleased Roy. Her mind was pliable. Her desires, her goals, and even her motivations sat like a lump of clay begging for his hands to shape and mold. Into what? He did not know. And there was joy in the mystery of what she might become.

    He had a gift he wanted to give her. The perfect present, sure to win her heart. A thrill burned in his chest. He rubbed his palms together and licked his lips.

    As the music died down and the emotions subsided, the ushers helped gather people off of the floor. Many wanted to stay and chat with Roy, bombarding his personal space as if he was their friend.

    A sharp inhale rushed into his nostrils, steeling him for the work he still had to do. The congregants thought his work ended after he stepped down from the pulpit, but really it had just begun.

    "I caught a vision today, Reverend," said Beth.

    Roy resisted wrinkling his nose at her. She always sought his approval. It was plain as she dragged her reluctant husband up to the front week after week, trying to show Roy she''d been attentive to his words, as if he cared. "That''s amazing, my daughter. I''m glad the King blessed you. He enraptures us all, if our hearts are willing." Roy made sure to glare at Beth''s husband, indicating his belief was lacking. It was a simple tactic he loved to goad others with. Give them a compliment seasoned with a subtle rebuke. Always kept them eating out of his palm, like offering a horse a handful of oats.

    "Howdy Reverend. Some miracle today with Moe. I''d like you to meet my kids."

    "How do you do kiddos?"

    Roy had to fight the urge to wipe his hand clean on his slacks after shaking each of the children''s grubby hands. He hated kids, and did not understand why parents felt the need to share their misplaced pride. Roy was not impressed. If the parents were simpletons, the children were worms to him.

    Up in the pulpit, the King filled him with rhetoric and inspired him with euphoric visions. Down here in the mire and the muck he was left to fend for himself and try to keep his head afloat while he waded through feces. He detested these people. But he also attained a sort of satisfaction while interacting with them. Making them believe he was their friend, their mentor, that he actually cared, it warmed his heart. So while they presumed he smiled out of genuine interest in their pathetic, mundane lives, he grinned because his performance convinced them completely. They entrusted themselves to him, and in the end that was worth more than all of the resources and riches the tycoons held combined.

    When you held the people''s hearts, as Roy did, you truly controlled Rubrum.

    The tycoons offered the people low wages, breaking their backs with hard physical labor, quarrying the rocks, building the bullet rail lines, or the mentally taxing work of keeping the air and water clean. And the people for their part put up with it, because it was all they could do. But in the end the tycoons reaped all of the rewards and the people knew it. And if you were a homesteading farmer, outside of the tycoon control, you were still in a tycoon-controlled trade system, and at the whims of Rubrum and whatever she allowed to bloom come harvest season.

    Roy was a man of opportunity. And if he had a talent it was seeing diamonds where others saw detestables. It was so simple. Tell the children what they wanted to hear, tell them they were resilient, puff them up by complimenting their hard work, sympathize with them for how every waking moment of their lives they''d been slighted and handed a bad hand of cards, whether born on Rubrum, or exiled from Terra. Always focus their negative emotions on a common enemy: Terra. Always insist that Terra further encroach on their sphere, diminishing their way of life. And of course he had to put on a little show. That was almost a reverend''s job requirement. And always, always dangle the juicy worm on the end of the hook, hints at something greater, but only for true believers.

    From the girls at the brothel he learned the secrets of men. Though they did not want to hear it, many of the girls were subject to pillow talk. Behind the calloused exteriors of the working men resided vulnerable misters, needing true companionship, but looking for it in the wrong place. With a little delving and prodding, Roy had learned the desires and dark secrets, the vulnerabilities of most of the men in town. He knew who was cheating on their wife, who was single and desperate because they were ugly, and who was hurting because they were burned out.

    Their pointless lives had no ultimate direction. Men and women alike had learned the hard way that life was more than occupation and survival. The human soul longed for more. It was that longing that was ripe for the picking. Roy arrived just in time for a harvest. His King offered him power in exchange for sustenance.This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

    So while he loathed them on an individual, name to face basis, the herd as a whole motivated him.

    "That was amazing, Scratch."

    Cherry latched onto his arm.

    The warmth of her body pressed so tight against his brought some genuine cheer back into Roy.

    He peered past her long eyelashes into her big, beautiful eyes. They were like two precious jewels ready for the taking. She reminded Roy why he even did all this to begin with, so that the cream of the crop could rise to the top. They weren''t all sheeple.

    She was ready. He squeezed her hand. "Cherry, dear. How would you like to attend a private meeting tonight, with some of the more devout followers?"

    Cherry''s mouth opened slightly. She almost could not contain her surprise, the excitement of being selected for more. She regained her composure. "I''d feel honored, Scratch."

    "Good girl. Meet me here tonight, after midnight. Also I have a gift for you, which I will give you then."

    He wanted to give her more details, but two of his ushers, one being Silent Sammy, approached, stopping on either side of him. "Have a word with you Reverend? Downstairs."

    The second usher spoke. Silent fidgeted with his blazer.

    "Sure."

    He waved goodbye to Cherry, who lingered, too excited to know what to do with herself. Roy grinned.

    The ushers led him through the door behind the pulpit, down a flight of stairs, turned the corner, and down another flight. Candlelight basked whatever wasn''t hidden in darkness. Smack dab in the middle where soft glow joined shadows, Moe writhed, groaning.

    Yellow secretion oozed out of every hole in his head, from his ears to his nostrils, mouth, and tear ducts. A thin film of slick wax covered the exposed skin of his naked body, robed only in jaundice. His clothing lay torn and cast aside, as if Moe had stripped himself of garments that had caught on fire.

    Roy slapped his hand over his nose and mouth and resisted the urge to heave.

    "Moe, Moe, Moe." Roy shook his head. Big, stupid, empty pupils stared back at him. "His faith was weak."

    The ushers nodded their heads. "The King hates weakness." They said it without skipping a beat, and without remorse.

    Roy''s hand, still clasped over his face, hid his proud smile.

    "What should we do, Reverend? His wife is asking."

    "Tell her I''m indoctrinating Moe in the ways of the church now that he believes."

    "And what about...that?"

    Roy scowled at the heap of filth-covered flesh. "I heard Moe loves spaghetti cider. Drinks it by the gallon. Let him drink to his heart''s content. Then point him towards the railway. Tell him if he can walk a kilometer along the tracks, I''ll give him a thousand creds."

    "Bound to get hit by a bullet train, walking along the tracks like that."

    Roy paused a moment to heave. "That''s the idea."

    He thought he had his stomach under control, but he didn''t. He vomited.

    "But what about after? She''ll still inquire."

    Roy wiped his lips. "I''ll tell her what I tell everyone. Moe was summoned to the King."

    This time the ushers smiled.

    "Get him some clothes and clean him up before you take him out though. And clean this puddle up too, before the seance."

    He left before the ushers could object.

 18 | SEANCE OF THE INNER CIRCLE

    Scratch closed  The King in Yellow , setting the tome containing the play down on the podium with trembling hands. The dim and guarded undercroft chamber beneath the church rang with cries of ecstasy.

    Cherry found herself face down, forehead pressed against the cold stone floor within the summoning circle etched into the ground, her body splayed across the yellow sign. A euphoric smile spread across her lips, her body filled with more pleasure than she ever experienced. There was dark, terrible magic in the King''s text. Terrible, but great.

    Instructed by Scratch, they arose from the ground and joined hands with the others in the group, their faces hidden behind yellow veils, their hands just barely peeking out of the folds of their long yellow robes. Scratch stood opposite of her at the head of the circle. She only knew him by voice, for he wore a pale bronze-colored mask. At first she thought it a replica, a casting of his face. But the longer she considered it, the more it didn''t match his face completely. It was off somehow, and not just because of the color. She dare not ask him now. Her curiosity would have to wait.

    Scratch had stressed before the ritual began, that this was a responsibility they trusted with few practitioners of the faith. And this was also a test of sorts to determine her awareness. "You must trust me completely, girl. You must obey every instruction. If your faith falters, there''s nothing I can do to protect you from the King''s wrath."

    She nodded, ready to give him perfect obedience.

    All eyes were on him waiting for instruction. They stood around a sign, a symbol etched into the ground. The dull yellow sign nagged at Cherry, filling her with both dread and a longing to know, to comprehend its meaning. Himura moved between the poles, lighting incense that soon permeated the room. It had a simultaneous warming and numbing quality, subduing all of Cherry''s worries, putting her mind at ease.

    She inhaled the incense, drawing it deep into her lungs, her mind, her soul. Likely it was a drug, now that she considered it. She wasn''t worried. She''d done drugs plenty of times. Instead she focused on the binaural meditative ambient music flowing from small speakers surrounding the seance. Peace and love washed over her. The smoke swirled in her mind''s eye. She allowed herself to fall into the incense until it enveloped her.

    Scratch lingered so close to her, Cherry felt the inhales and exhales of his breath on her ear. "Open your eyes. Here''s my gift to you."

    She didn''t know what to expect. So when Scratch removed a sheet from a tall shape, she gasped with delight when she recognized it was a large easel.

    Opening his palm, Scratch offered her a yellow bulbous mushroom-type fungus, one of the few forms of life found native to Rubrum, discovered when the first Terran colonizers arrived, those hundreds of years ago.

    The plants held amazing properties. They were illegal to pick, to consume, or to sell, not because they were the official county-state plant of Rubrum¡ªas was commonly believed, but because of their hidden hallucinogenic impact on the human mind. Terran drugs paled in comparison to the saffron mushrooms.

    Of all the participants, Cherry alone held the privilege of consuming them orally. Everyone else in attendance could only inhale the fumes of smoke as the burning tray was passed from hand to hand.

    As she chewed the bulbs, an aromatic yet chalky tang spread over her tongue. All relation to time was rendered useless. Her mind opened to everything beyond her cranium. She still resided in her body, but now also spread her awareness, her being, herself, beyond the bounds of her mortal shell, pushing it out into the ether. Two Cherry''s existed side by side. One on the physical plane, and the other Cherry was projected into a dreamscape.

    Scratch pressed a compressed charcoal stick into her hands.

    "Now, sketch the visions that you see." His voice resounded, deeper, fuller than she ever heard. She must obey.

    With one hand she held the edge of the easel, feeling the minute peaks and valleys of the vellum textured paper. She turned control over to her metaphysical self, staring into the hazy ether.

    Cherry stood alone in a black place, dark as space, darker still, as if all the stars had been snuffed out.

    Movement caught her eye. A lone figure seated atop a lofty seat.

    She spoke as she sketched, her voice reverberating in her own ears, as if her words stretched from infinity past to eternal future. "I see a man in a long black robe. In his hand is a hammer, no, a wooden gavel. He sits atop a raised chair."

    "A judge," Scratch mused. She heard his voice as if from far away at the end of a long tunnel. "What else do you see, my child?"

    "I see people at his side. A group of people sitting together, enclosed in a box."

    "What kinds of people?"

    Cherry fought to understand. They were all different shaped heads and various noses. Even their skin color showed a vast swath of difference, and their hair styles moreso. Yet there was one thing that unified them all. Her breath caught when she realized. "Contempt fills their eyes."

    Scratch paused a moment, deciphering the vision. "A judge and a jury. Breathe deep. Look further. What does this vision reveal? What truth must we know?"

    The vision swirled like mist. Only obsidian black filled her. A black wall rose in front of her, the full revelation withheld. Cherry''s hands grew cold. Her lips trembled. "I can''t go further."

    "You must," said Roy. It was not a wish. It was a command. His word was law.

    Cherry thought of Roy, her Scratch. He trusted her, saw the worth in her like no one else did. He looked past her affordable beauty and saw the real Cherry, the one who needed someone to love her, to guide her, to value her. If this was where Roy wanted to lead her, she must follow. She must obey. Roy was the herald. He revealed the hidden knowledge and his word was law.Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings.

    She pushed against the wall, then threw herself into it. The wall evaporated, turned to a twirling trail of smoke. She followed billowing fumes down to their source. The smoke trailed from two gun barrels the size of cannons. The guns shrank, pulling away from Cherry fast, until two deep eyes swallowed the guns whole, eyes as dark as a freshly dug grave.

    The eyes belonged to a man. He was climbing out of the mouth of a dark cave that Cherry realized was actually the empty socket of a grinning skull. He stood erect, noble almost. The guns that vanished behind his eyes protruded from holsters at his hips. He could have been a preacher like Scratch, but for those twin instruments of finality. The exterior of the figure was that of a lawman, but the eyes belonged to an executioner. His fingers clutched a rose. Blood seeped between his fingers, streaming from where the thorns bit into his skin. If it pained the man, his face did not show it. Darkness fell across his face, filling his sockets with black shadows. Unease whispered in Cherry''s mind. She feared this man.

    "What do you see?"

    Cherry did her best to illustrate the man. She shuddered as the image formed under her fingers, afraid of the man in the vision, and afraid of what Scratch might do to her for proclaiming the revelation.

    "Who is he?"

    "I don''t know. I don''t recognize him."

    "Is he a lawman? A sheriff?"

    Cherry shook her head. She wasn''t sure how she knew, but Cherry knew the man was not a sheriff. He seemed distant, alien, from another place entirely.

    "Is he a deputy?"

    "No."

    Irritation crept into Scratch''s voice now. "Then who is he?"

    A star suspended in the night sky twinkled. Then it dwindled down, pulsing, until it alighted, blazing on the man''s chest. Cherry squinted against the bright light. The pulsing died down. A metal star of authority was now pinned on his chest. Underneath was a word etched in the metal.

    "Marshal," she whispered.

    The lawman''s eyes turned on her and she froze, unable to speak. He''d heard her say his title. All of his vindictive wrath now pointed at her heart. A shriek exploded from her mouth.

    The charcoal stick slipped from her hands and struck the floor, cracking in half. The floor rushed up to meet her. None of the other robed practitioners caught her. They let her fall like her touch was contaminated.

    Behind the mask, Roy''s eyes burned with yellow fire. And rage.

    Cherry waited for his hand to fall, to strike her across the face. She would bear it, just as she had hundreds of times from hundreds of men who she displeased.

    But punishment never came.

    She cowered on the floor. If only there were a corner nearby she could crawl to. But she knew better than to show weakness. It always made things worse. So she trembled, but stayed put nonetheless. She dare not lift her eyes though.

    A smooth hand lifted her chin. Through the watery gaze she looked into Scratch''s face.

    He spoke in a whisper meant only for her. "Speak truly. Did you really see this marshal?"

    He directed her face to the easel.

    There, on the vellum paper strode the lawman, enveloped in shadows, so lifelike that at any moment he could step out of the unending corridor of the dreamscape and right off of the page.

    Had she drawn that horrid image? Black charcoal stained her hands. She must have. So strong was the drug, Cherry had only the faintest memory of actually sketching the vision. She trembled at the depiction made by her own blackened hand.

    The answer lodged in her throat. She could not lie to Roy. To come this far and now to be rejected for her vision. Mascara streaked down her face, like two black roads, both leading to perdition. But no matter the consequence, lying to Roy would be far, far worse.

    She nodded with vigor and forced the word out. "Yes. My vision is true."

    Now it would come. The first strike. Then the second. And then she would awaken later with a headache and a swollen face needing a thick coat of foundation, blush, and eyeshadow. And after all that, she''d have to face Dahlia. What harsh words would Dahlia wield? Cherry didn''t think she could face her.

    "You did well, girl."

    Cherry blinked away the tears. "What?"

    Scratch did not repeat himself. Instead he offered her a hand, like a gentleman.

    She searched his eyes for any hint of malice, or even disappointment.

    He recognized her own baffled confusion and answered in kind.

    "You''ve given me something great. A vision from the near future. Weeks, maybe days. But a head start, nonetheless. Come, daughter."

    He led her out of the seance chamber. "We must prepare for the lawman that cometh."

 19 | THE TYCOON

    "Time to New Oklahoma?"

    "Forty minutes, Sir."

    Sujin McCrory nodded. "Tell the barber I''m ready."

    Mr. Page bowed and left.

    Sujin slid into the barber chair. It automatically tilted back and rose from the floor all while heating to a delightful temperature that put Sujin in a peaceful state.

    The bullet train panel whisked open and shut as the barber he kept on retainer strode in. "Good afternoon sir. What would you like done today?"

    "Taper the sides. Touch up the top, but do something new with it. Leave the back long. Line up my beard. Let''s keep the stubble look. Also, be sure to manage the shape of my eyebrows. Keep them sharp."

    "Of course, Sir."

    Sujin smiled. He prided himself in keeping an authentic barber on staff. The barber draped him and went to work on his head first with a pair of laser-sharpened scissors and a wooden comb. He only hired the best service, a master of the craft. The snipping sound of the metal blades and the gentle massage of the comb teeth slowed his thoughts.

    In the distance, the uplifting symphony No. 9,  From the New World , by Antonin Dvorak, Sujin''s personal favorite vinyl record, resounding from an authentic antique phonograph, complete with a horn speaker. Dvorak captured the elation, the inspiring wonder of adventure that was ripe for the picking in the then new world, America.

    He sighed with a smile. The entire barbering process soothed Sujin.

    He utilized the time to ruminate on the viaduct his company was constructing. Visions of the completed project filled his mind. He visualized himself at the opening ceremony, a red ribbon strung across the bullet rail track just at the precipice of Noctis Labyrinthus. A small platform stage would be built for him to stand on. New Oklahoma''s Mayor stood next to him, and crowded at the base of the stage the inhabitants of the settlement would gather to see the spectacle as Sujin cut the ribbon, opening up faster travel across Rubrum. The act would simultaneously interweave Rubrum''s economy, and expand his empire.

    Some thought Sujin a fool. He was spending millions of creds to build a string of viaducts. When the series of rail bridges were complete, they would cut a path straight across the canyon maze. No need to travel around the wide stretched canyon. Even with the bullet train, it still took too long to circumnavigate Noctis.

    The trance seemed so real that the barber''s soft brush caressed his face, removing all the stray hairs, it surprised Sujin.

    "All done, Sir."

    Sujin blinked as the barber held a mirror up. "Is everything to your liking?"

    He scrutinized his face the way his competitors would, eyeing the lines of his beard, the taper and fade, looking for any imperfection. The barber had done a phenomenal job combing his hair back and over to the side in a style sure to make women swoon and his competitors boil with jealousy. He looked every bit a baron, no a prince.  Red Prince , the voice in his head reminded him, with thick sarcasm, due to the ginger hair he sported. Though his facial structure and looks favored his Korean heritage, his hair and freckles proudly identified with his Irish surname.

    Sujin grinned. "Immaculate. Flawless as always."

    "I''m glad you find it to your liking." The barber packed his tools and left. Sujin clasped his gold knob cane and moved upstairs to the top deck of the bullet train.

    The bartender had the golden-brown rye whiskey in a glass for him before he even reached the top velvet carpeted step.

    Sujin swirled the rye in his glass before taking a swig. The spirits washed over his tongue with a distinct kick, burning dry all the way down his throat. Just the way he liked it. "Potent."

    He sank back into the auburn leather wingback chair and crossed his legs, resting for a time, reveling in the comforts of the heated private lounge of his bullet train.

    The train slowed slightly. Only one who rode it frequently would feel the subtle shift. The conductor commed Sujin. "Fifteen minutes to New Oklahoma."

    Sujin eyed his analog pocket watch. "Good. Page?"

    His assistant appeared.

    "Switch the vinyl to Holst,  I. Mars the Bringer of War ."

    Leaning on his cane, he approached the domed and tinted one-way window. Rubrum crater fields surrounded continent sized plateaus as far as he could see. Barren. Wasteland, some might say.

    The desperate sight contrasted with a swelling and majestic orchestral piece, the anthem for Rubrum, penned almost a century and a half ago. The blasting horns evoked a marching conquest, a force ready to trample any opposition under its sheer dominance.

    Mars, bringer of war.

    Ironic. On Terra, life warred with itself. On Mars, life only fought to survive.

    Where other men saw a dry desert planet, Sujin saw opportunity. Few others¡ªSujin''s business associates and competitors¡ªrecognized the signs as well, and moved most if not all of their resources to the red planet. And of the small network of men who ultimately controlled everything on Rubrum, Sujin was near the top of that chain. Except, the people loathed him for it. He was known as a flamboyant risk taker, flashy spender, a young man who was wasting his father''s inheritance.  Tycoon , they said in harsh tones.  Robber baron , another loathsome term liberally applied to him.

    He ignored it all for the most part, caring not for opinions of those below even his subordinates. But slander spread faster than wildfire, thicker than the red dust that covered every millimeter of the surface.

    What none of them understood, what few even knew, was that Sujin was dying. His cane was not a mere fashion statement. An unknown disease had rendered one of his legs almost completely useless. It mattered not that he hired the most skilled doctors on Rubrum, medical knowledge of the impact of the red planet on the human body only went so far.

    Ever since that revelation, he''d resolved to live life to the fullest. Others thought he had given into reckless behavior. But he was just making the most of the time he had left.

    Despite his endless efforts, in spite of directing all of his wealth towards things that would help all of humanity on Mars, they still despised him. Instead of combating directly with his competitors, he utilized the vertical integration business model, attaining all aspects of his rail business, from raw materials, to finished products. This helped keep cost low, and ROI high. Consolidation. Profitability. Harvest.

    But no matter how many jobs he created for unskilled workers and tradesmen alike, their jealousy drowned out all of his accomplishments. Sujin was learning what every man who had ever amassed large amounts of wealth came to know. The rats and snakes at the bottom of society would squeak and hiss until he uttered the most vulgar of P words.  Philanthropy . But until the Rubruns learned that he had given to a charitable cause in a very public manner, they would continue to stain his name. And no amount of decorum or decadent fashion could sway his reputation.

    His father taught him the importance of legacy. Sujin could not deny that he''d had an edge during many of his pivotal business deals simply by virtue of harnessing his father''s last name.  McCrory  stood the test of time. But Sujin''s illness left him unable to make children. Now that the mantle passed onto Sujin, it appeared that it would end with him. Something must be done to protect that legacy from the critical eye of the present Rubrum inhabitants, and future historians.

    "Page?"

    The assistant entered. "Yes sir."

    "Tobacco would pair nicely with this rye."

    The assistant prepared the tobacco and placed the pipe in Sujin''s mouth, then lit the pipe for him with a match. He left the matchbook in case Sujin needed it.

    Some savages used torches to light pipe tobacco. Those that had an ounce of dignity used matches. He puffed, enjoying the zesty flavors running over his tongue, the coffee-like aromas filling the room.

    After much reflection, Sujin had found the answer, one that would satisfy the people''s bitterness, gain their favor, and renew his reputation. A viaduct spanning the biggest obstacle between the Rubrum settlements. The sheer goal and determination to even attempt it would earn his name a spot in the history records. Once complete, it would stand long after he and everyone presently alive were gone.

    After all, Roy was progressively healing him. The healing could not be explained. Several doctors had tried. The disease eating his leg had receded more and more after each session with Roy. The reverend worked wonders.

    And that was in part why he made the trip to New Oklahoma.

    Like Sujin''s relationship with the commoners, the Rubrum settlements were fractured. This was no fault of the original colonizers. The various natural resources that abounded on Mars were also separated by kilometers of desolate country. They had built facilities to the best of their abilities. But almost a hundred years had passed since then. Progress made on Rubrum slowed to a halt after another Terran world war. Resource shipments from Earth had been cut off, supplies ran dry. And Rubrum had begun to revert back to the decrepit Mars that the original colonizers landed on.

    Rubrum, much like pipe tobacco, needed care and attention to keep going. He struck another match, relighting his pipe.

    "Sir, an update on the viaduct," interrupted Page.

    "Yes?"

    "Still no comm''s established with the canyon crew. It''s been almost two and a half days sir."

    Sujin forced a smile. "Thank you for the update. Would you please give me a few minutes alone?"

    "Certainly."

    Page and the bartender left.

    Sujin waited until they were gone to dash his whiskey glass against the cabin wall. Glass shattered, exploding in every direction. A glass chip flew back at him, scraping a hairline cut under his eye. He checked his reflection in a mirror mounted on the wall to see how bad the cut was. A drop of blood ran down his face like a scarlet tear.

    He spent several minutes in front of the mirror speaking positive affirmations to himself, chanting, like a religious mantra. When he was done the bartender entered and swept up the glass with a small hand broom in silence.

    Always he tried to shape the planet, mold it into something new. But each time he did, Rubrum fought back. Sujin stood in direct opposition to Rubrum regression. One day Terra''s resources would be depleted, and he refused to let this planet go to waste. He was not squandering the company his father entrusted to him. Instead he was trying desperately to accomplish all he could with the remaining time.

    To bolster Rubrum, he must connect the settlements more efficiently. And his rail system would do that. Noctis Labyrinthus lay in his path, a widespread web of an obstacle.

    First he would open it up to his fellow tycoons, allowing their companies to utilize the viaducts to cut on shipping and transportation times, for a reasonable fee of course. He longed especially to sign treaties with the Arab oil companies of Lunae. He could make the transportation of their black gold much easier. Then, from the quarries in Tharsis, to the polar water treatment lines in the arctic north of Arcadia, all of it would be even more connected. Shortly thereafter, with all of the compounding profits, he could open public transportation rail lines running parallel to the industrial use tracks. Rubrum would thrive, and Sujin would reap.

    "Arriving at New Oklahoma," commed the conductor.

    The momentum of the train eased to a halt.

    Sujin moved in front of the mirror as he did. Decked head to toe in a rose gold suit, he smiled. This was how he wanted to be remembered.

    "Sir," said Sujin''s attendant. "Sheriff Leroux and his deputy are here to see you."

    "Do we have an appointment? I thought our engagement was scheduled for tomorrow. I only wanted to focus on the viaduct progress today."

    "Correct sir. I explained all of that to him, but he insists that he must speak with you now."

    "Regarding what?"

    "He would not say," said Page. "But he stresses it is an urgent matter."You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

    ***

    The first thing Sujin noticed about Leroux was the lack of his stupidly thick mustache and how much of an improvement that made to his otherwise handsome face. The Sheriff was obviously conscientious about it. His hand rubbed his upper lip out of reflex when he realized Sujin noticed.

    "Barber messed up. This was supposed to be a little trim."

    "A vast improvement."

    "Very funny Mr. McCrory."

    "Your mustache looked ridiculous for some time."

    "I can''t tell if you''re trying to make me feel better, or being sarcastic. Either way it''s not helping."

    "I''d recommend my barber for next time, but you can''t afford him. Would you like something to drink, whiskey perhaps?"

    "Thank you."

    Sujin nodded to his attendant.

    Leroux waved him off. "That''s okay. I got it." He grabbed a glass for himself. "On second thought, I''ll decline. Not to be rude. But this matter is important."

    Leroux seated himself in another high back chair opposite Sujin. The tycoon observed the sheriff, noting that he seemed slightly out of breath. No that wasn''t it exactly. He was at a loss for words. Conflicted. His hand kept rising to rub the bristling remains of his former lip mop. He leaned forward in the chair, resisting the comforts of the fine leather upholstery. Sujin had not seen him so worked up in a long time. Not since the threats to his re-election as sheriff.

    Sujin had found the fretting of the man across from him amusing. He had used his wealth and assets to quash any opposition. A bribe here, a buyout there. And by financing the sheriff''s re-election campaign, Sujin now added Leroux himself to his list of growing assets. In exchange for Sujin''s help, Leroux now reported all serious matters and deferred to him to decide.

    It had not always been like that. Not long after his re-election, the sheriff had mistakenly attributed his success to himself. He''d grown bold, thinking he no longer needed Sujin, or owed him for that matter. Sujin had simply informed him, "You think I could not use my affluence to replace you. You are only the sheriff because I want you the sheriff. If you become useless, I will do away with you and find another who can do the job better. There are always hungry people below you willing to claw their way to the top. Many envy the relationship you have with me, Sheriff. Don''t abuse it."

    Sujin still recalled how pale the man had grown. The wavering look in Leroux''s eyes told Sujin that the point had sunken in. Ever since then he had no problems with the sheriff and did not have to entertain the threat of replacement.

    Until today. Sujin had a growing suspicion that the news today might put his faith in Leroux into question. One of the most valuable lessons his father taught him was intuition.  Trusting your gut , others would say. Sujin disliked that phrase. Gut was such a vulgar word. He disliked it because it reduced intuition down to a mere feeling, not taking experience, wisdom, and the augury abilities of the human spirit into account. No, his intuition was more than some feeling. It was a tool, almost a weapon that he sharpened with each day of use.

    Leroux mustered up the words finally. "There''s a man, just arrived. From Terra. A U.S. Marshal."

    "What business does he have here? He''s outside his jurisdiction."

    "Earth don''t see it that way. They''ve got a grievance against Rothspalt. And they''ve sent this marshal to collect."

    "So. Have him taken care of."

    Leroux shook his head, eyes locked on the velvet carpet. "Tried to. Sent my men after him. He downed four of them like they were lame cattle. Left my men, Russ and Crag alive, just to tell the tale I''d bet."

    "So send more men."

    "With all due respect, I don''t think you understand the situation, Mr. McCrory. Earth has sent the best of the best. Trace the Ace they call him. I know. I used to work with Tracy, years ago. He''s one of the best criminal trackers alive, and a crackshot to boot. Tracy''s resilient. He will find Roy, hogtie him, and drag him back to Earth."

    Sujin raised his chin, looking down on Leroux. "Oh. I see. This is a personal matter for you. You have emotions tangled up, because of your history with this man."

    Leroux remained quiet, not denying. "Even still. Only one man under me, my deputy Russell, has the skills and the experience to stop him in his tracks. But we should stack the odds in your favor. I don''t have the resources to attack him with strength in numbers."

    "And you have neither the skill nor the courage to confront the man yourself, no doubt."

    Leroux scowled, but knew better than to object to Sujin''s assessment of his character.

    "So you''ve come to me, with no solutions, hoping I will solve all of your problems for you."

    "You''ve got a vested interest in this, Sujin. We both know that Roy is vital to your...vitals. With Roy out of the picture¡ª"

    Sujin squeezed the cane head, and would have crushed it, if it were not crafted out of pure gold. Anger fumed within him. His temperature rose despite the air control in the cabin. "What is your solution, Sheriff?"

    "Let him walk into town, give him breathing room, let him think everything is hunky dory. Then, corner him with a sizable posse. Stop him in his tracks. You''ll need a good-sized team. The best shooters you can afford. Skilled, experienced, with steady hands and¡ª"

    Sujin dismissed the conversation with a backhanded wave. "Spare me the boring details. Page will handle all of the specifics."

    Leroux started to leave.

    "Don''t be so hasty. We''re not done. What''s the contingency plan?"

    "What do you mean?"

    "Wipe that stupid look from your face, Leroux. I mean, if this Ace is as good as you claim and he wipes out the entire posse, what then? He could follow the trail back to me."

    "Then we''re all either dead, or tied up on a trip to Terra."

    Sujin smashed his cane against a wooden stand, cracking the furniture. "Wrong answer. Not good enough."

    Without warning the door slid open and Rubrun man strode in wearing a faded bowler hat and jeans complete with a worn vest over an old button up.

    "Beg my pardon, Mr. McCrory. I''m the Sheriff''s deputy, Russell Ghelus. Couldn''t help but overhear your predicament."

    "You dare to not only eavesdrop on our conversation, but to interrupt us?"

    Quick as a wink, Sujin twisted the head of the cane, slipping the weapon from its hidden compartment. The short plasma arcblade blazed to life with a hiss, crackling the space between Sujin and the deputy.

    The deputy didn''t even flinch. Instead a grin spread across his face, as his hands edged closer to his holsters, a habitual reflex no doubt. But he seemed to realize what he did, and his arms fell to his sides. "Like the Sheriff said, in case this Tracy gets out of hand, you''re going to want a steady trigger finger between you and the Ace. I''d be obliged to hire out my skills to a renowned man such as yourself, for the right price of course."

    Sujin held the arcblade in place for a few more breaths, but then lowered it. As much as he hated to admit it, he admired this man''s brazen nature. All of a sudden, Sujin realized the key to Leroux''s competence wasn''t himself. It was this deputy, Mr. Ghelus.

    "You''re the man who went after this Trace the Ace?"

    "Yessir."

    "Is he as good as the Sheriff claims?"

    Russell''s eyebrows furrowed, his lips sealing too tight to speak. He nodded. It was plain to Sujin that this Ace stung the deputy''s pride.

    "I see by your lack of words that this fact is hard for you to admit. What makes you think I''d use you, a man who''s already lost to this Trace?"

    Leroux butted in. "Aside from Irving, Russ here is the best shot I''ve ever¡ª"

    Sujin held up a hand. "Quiet Leroux. I''m asking this gentleman, not you."

    Leroux turned a shade darker.

    "Well, circumstances were not in our favor. The marshal had a leg up. But like Sheriff said, I''m the best gun in all of Tharsis. Maybe even all of Rubrum."

    "So you''ve got something to prove. I can understand that. Let me ask you this. Who keeps Tharsis in order?"

    The deputy''s eyes darted from Sujin to Leroux. "I don''t think I catch your drift, Sir."

    "Oh don''t be bashful, son. I myself know that I''m nothing without all of those that work under me. They do all of the hard work. But I in turn guide the ship as it were, and compensate them well. And I''m proud to say that I''ve retained all of my staff. I have a certain skill, an eye for spotting talented individuals. Now, tell me truly, who does all the dirty work keeping Tharsis in order. Yourself? Leroux? Or someone else?"

    Russ'' eyes danced between his two superiors again.

    "Eyes here, son. Forget the Sheriff is in the room. The truth. Out with it."

    Leroux shifted, not finding any comfort in his seat.

    "I do what the Sheriff asks me to do. And I do my job well."

    "A modest answer," said Sujin. "Leroux has you do all of the work, doesn''t he?"

    Russ didn''t move.

    "You know how I know? I''ve known Leroux long enough to observe his character. I made an allowance for it, when the results were good. But lately the results have been subpar. As I said, I have an eye for spotting talent. I see a man before me, hungry for opportunity, who needs to prove himself. Are you that man?"

    To his credit, Russ did not glance at his boss this time.

    "I like opportunities."

    "Good answer. I like your proposal to join my personal retinue. I do have a need for a personal... bodyguard, we''ll say. The job will entail more than that. Getting one''s hands dirty is a must. But I can promise considerable compensation. Much more than the taxpayers of Tharsis are paying you now."

    Russ nodded. "I''d like that very much."

    Leroux looked like he''d been roused awake by a bucket of ice water.

    "Splendid. You''re alright with being my shield should the need arise? I''m asking you to put my safety above your own."

    "If the pay''s just right," said Russ, grinning.

    "Smart man. Go see my assistant. Tell him your current pay, and explain I''ve just hired you for triple that amount. He''ll take care of getting your creds in order. Then have him schedule an appointment with my tailor immediately." He made a point to trail his eyes over Russ from the top down. "You''re in my retinue now. I''ll see that you look the part."

    Russ left the room striding taller, leaving Sujin with a squirming incompetent.

    Sujin turned on Leroux. "If my math is correct, you''ve now lost five good men. Four of which could have made decent new deputies, but they are dead because of you. And I''ve just hired the fifth man. Leaving you with..."

    "Deputy Crag."

    "My. He sounds bright. It looks like you''ll have your work cut out for you, Leroux. I expect you to maintain order in Tharsis. Apparently all it took was one man to arrive, the wrong man, and your feeble competence shattered. I had a feeling, an intuition. And I was right."

    Leroux said nothing. The sour look on his face spoke for him.

    "You''ll keep your job for now. But you''ve disappointed me Leroux. One more disappointment and I''ll see you removed from office. Understood?"

    Leroux nodded. He leaned forward, hands on his knees. It was obvious he wanted to leave, but was smart enough not to do so without being dismissed.

    Sujin wanted him out of his sight, but realized that was what the sheriff wanted as well, so decided to drag out the situation.

    "Since you have interrupted my tasks today, I''ll be having you attend me and my new bodyguard to the viaduct construction site."

    Leroux gawked. "I can''t stay here. I''ve got to get back to Tharsis. Crag can run things, but only for a few days at most."

    "I''m not making a suggestion. I''m telling you to accompany me. Prepare yourself. We''re taking a lift down into the canyon."

 20 | CATTLEMAN

    For a short time Tracy contemplated braving the dark tunnel. The railroad ran straight into a solid granite mountain. At some point an excavation had taken place, drilling a tunnel so the train could pass through, unhindered. The pathway, that until this point ran alongside the tracks, veered off, traversing up and over the range.

    Time waited for no man, and Tracy was no exception.

    The window of time allotted to catch Roy dwindled, sifting away like hourglass sand.

    A whole uneventful day came and went since he departed Wapasha, Jangmi and their troupe of kiddos. Well, not entirely uneventful. Yesterday morning, a yeller Cape cobra roused Tracy with much hootin-n-hollerin. Latched onto his smartarm though, cracking its fangs. Poor fool. Tracy''s metal fingers had constricted around it until the thrashing stopped. Chasm just stood there, nickering at Tracy, as if he thought the whole ordeal rather amusing.

    As punishment, Tracy rode Chasm hard the rest of the day, following the elevated railway. Crisscrossed beams composed a compact trestle bridge that held the railway high above the sea of sand dunes. Tracy would have ridden under the trestle, seeking shade and a straight path, but the beams were framed too close to allow that, forcing him and the steeder to sail the sands, cresting and bottoming the grain waves like a storm-tossed life raft.

    And now they came to a fork in the path.

    Save precious time braving the tunnel, but risk their lives? Or waste time hiking over the safer mountain trail?

    "What do you think, Chasm? Could we make it?"

    But he had no idea how long the tunnel stretched, how deep it delved underneath the alp. Say he even made it most of the way through. Who was to say that a bullet train would not zip through at any point after he was in the thick of it? Thousands of pounds of force colliding head on with him and his horse. They''d be a splat of muscle and metal. He shuddered.

    Tracy shook his head. "Naw. That''d be foolish. Come on boy. Let''s hike around." Chasm agreed.

    The trail snaked back and forth, winding uphill, growing steeper the higher they climbed. The air grew cooler, but not by much. Sparse succulents clung to the sides of sheer rock walls. Chasm climbed higher and higher. Only once did he lose his footing, slipping on a patch of loose gravel. Tracy kept a firm grip on the reins, and held his breath, but after the steeder regained his footing, Tracy dismounted and led the horse. "Whew. That was a near miss, boy."

    But for that one slip up, Chasm''s durorubber all-terrain horseshoes proved to be invaluable.

    Then they crested the peak of the pass, moving between a cleft guarded by two silent sentinels, pillars of rounded rock, weathered by time and wind. A fierce frigid gust rushed through the pass, but Tracy remembered his episode at the canyon''s edge and secured his Stetson with a shiver.

    Tracy paused a moment to savor the view.

    A pink haze permeated the overcast sky, dulling the sharp edges of the landscape, so that mountains and rough pillars of raw stone appeared on the horizon as if stepping out of a boundless desert sauna. Gorgeous marbled rock swirled under his boots, dark maroons, deep obsidian, bright scarlets, creamy ivory, and thick crimsons, all whirling down the naked mountain like a flowing stream frozen in slab, locked in time. The marble flowed over bedrock crags, buttes, and wind-worn yardangs.

    His boots stayed, rooted in place, but his vision soared over the raw landscape. Another gust, gentler this time, pushed up against Tracy. He perched atop the planet like a red-tailed hawk, ready to soar.

    The view stole Tracy''s breath.

    "Beautifully bleak."

    A notification pinged on his smartarm.

    Bonding level increased 63% .

    "You can''t fool me, Chasm. I knew you were a romantic too. Still, I''d have rather shared this moment with Hina. You''ll do though."

    Chasm snorted.

    Smoke arose from a fixed point near the bottom of the alp, blackening the sky like a billowing bruise.

    "Wonder what that is?"

    That side of the mountain eased down, a much gentler slope. Tracy mounted Chasm and the two moved downhill, two specks trekking across the exposed foundations of Mars.

    The rock road leveled out. They trotted through an eroded forest of top-heavy mushroom rock pedestals, which cast shadows of bulging heads atop thin necks.A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

    The smoke grew thick on the horizon. Soon Tracy caught the familiar stench of slagged metal. He spurred Chasm into a canter, following a large scrape that gouged the ground. A downed hovercraft groveled at the end of the fresh trench.

    The sunken speeder coughed up clouds of dark smog, polluting the air. A wounded man inside coughed up blood. Tracy rushed to his side. His eyes were closed, crusted shut, but his pale lips hung open. His chest still moved up and down, but at a slow cadence.

    Red life liquid coating the inside of the speeder painted a vague picture of what sort of trouble befell the man. He didn''t have long. If only Tracy knew what happened. He scanned the horizon. The stone forest of pillars thinned, coming to an end, giving way to fields of rye. Farmland.

    "Must be near an outpost on the way to New Oklahoma," Tracy told Chasm.

    The man stirred, hearing Tracy for the first time. He blinked, squinting, the sun far too bright.

    "You''re alive friend. But barely. I need to get you somewhere fast. Where''s the nearest place we can get you help?"

    If the man heard Tracy, he ignored the lawman. His heavy breathing sounded like labor. Tracy neared the man to speak closer in case the man didn''t hear the first time.

    With a death grip the man''s hand snapped to Tracy''s duster, tugging them face to face.

    Scraggly beard hair pointed in every direction, tickling Tracy''s cheek. Iron and tang odors of blood and salt-scented sweat lingered. "Cowboys got her," the man whispered. "Filthy cattle rustlers." He wasted dying words to curse those who''d put him in this predicament.

    "Who is she? Who''d they take?"

    Tracy noticed the man''s other hand clutched a weathered pink bandanna. Tracy hesitated, then grabbed it, searching for any hint at who the man spoke of. Other than a whiff of lavender and initials sown into the bandanna, he got nothing.

    "Stole our cattle. We followed ''em. Shot me. Took my lil'' girl. She ain''t never known a man."

    From the look in the man''s eye and the gravity in his voice, Tracy knew what he meant.

    "They''ll fix her ignorance," he rasped. "They''ll fix her good."

    Labored breathing stopped the man from elaborating.

    Tracy couldn''t spot another soul as far as he could see. But sure enough, a herd''s worth of cattle tracks indented the dirt.

    The man choked, trying to get more words out.

    He whispered something. Tracy had to put his ear on the dying man''s chapped lips to hear it. "Save her."

    The cattleman stilled, reduced as his soul left.

    Tracy squinted to keep his eyes dry, then turned his attention to the ground.

    The cattle tracks veered off, leading away from the road to New Oklahoma, into the rye fields and beyond.

    Tracy poised at the crossroads, crushing the bandanna in his hand.

    Chasm stood at his side, faithful to gallop whichever direction Tracy steered him.

    Roy might have all the time in the world, but Tracy didn''t. This was his fourth day on Mars. He had a two-n-a-half week window to nab the fugitive and start heading back to Earth or he''d be stuck on Mars for two years. Less now. This red orb circumnavigated the sun at a different speed than his home planet, putting him in a bind.

    But this man''s dying wish was for Tracy to save his daughter.

    Images from years past filled his mind. Images of storming a human trafficker''s hideout. The eyes of the girls and boys he rescued looked deader than the traffickers he gunned down. Their young, hollow eyes haunted him still. He shivered, chills prickling his skin.

    "Roy ain''t going nowhere," he reminded himself.

    Wild men stole this young woman''s cattle, shot her pa dead, and would have their way with her.

    But they hadn''t bet on crossing paths with the fiercest marshal to ever set boot on Mars.

    Judge and Jury grew restless at his sides like two famished Rottweilers, eager to spring out of their holsters. Tracy examined the cylinders, making sure the .357 gauss bullets stared back at him, one round stuffed in each chamber. Satisfied, he put them back. He mashed the button, morphing Chasm into a hovercycle. Donning his goggles, Tracy twisted the throttle.

    Chasm roared to life and sped off after the cattle rustlers in a cloud of dust and smoke.

 21 | MAGNETIZED

    Coraline carried a tray of water glasses hoping no one noticed the beads of sweat running down the side of her face. She was a hard worker, but she was not yet used to the temperature inside of the resort, kept hot to combat the cold of Rubrum.

    Men catcalled for her. She put on her best smile, as sincere as she could make it. She learned the hard way during her first week that if she ignored the men it only made them try harder to get her attention, and usually ended in unwanted advances of men''s hands violating her personal space. It was nothing compared to the fists of her ex-husband. So even when they did cross the line, she reminded herself, it could be much much worse.

    She should be flattered, she insisted. "I still got it," she whispered. And she should be grateful. In just a few weeks on Mars, she''d scored a job as a server at the Taj Diwan, the most exclusive club casino resort on all of Rubrum.

    It was all for Ashton. The thought of his large eyes and sweet smile, so innocent, brought her joy, yet made her heart heavy at the same time. She was not used to being separate from him for any length of time. Her ex-husband wanted her to stay at home. They never could afford daycare, what with minimum wages for bots raised so high. And if she was honest, she enjoyed staying home with Ashton, experiencing him crawl, take his first steps, and say his first words.

    "He''s fine," she whispered to herself. "He''s happy."

    She passed out the waters to the men at the Faro table, dodging puff clouds of e-cigar and hookah smoke. Before any of the men could grab her behind, she spun on her heel and strode back to the kitchen to retrieve the appetizers they ordered. Her high heels clicked a fast tempo on the laminate chestnut floor, matching her heartbeat. If she did not rush the food would grow cold. And cold food meant less tips, and tips were all she had.

    A table of Arab sheikhs garbed in white flowing robes and red checkered kaffiyeh got the last of their gambling done before making the voyage back to Earth. Apparently it had been determined that Islamic practice did not apply in space, or other planets, so gambling on Mars was not  haram , at least if you were wealthy enough to even afford the two-way trip. With extensions of their oil companies stationed on Rubrum, many of them were.

    Behind them, a handsome man reclined in a leather chaise, one leg crossed in a figure-four over the other leg. His saffron suit was tailored to perfection, highlighting his athletic figure, framing his body in sharp angles, complimenting his square jaw. He swirled a glass of spirits and sipped it on occasion. He was the most handsome man Coraline ever laid eyes on.

    Their eyes locked.

    He fixed a charming smile and winked at her. Coraline''s heart skipped a beat. Her hand brushed curled bangs away from her face. She nodded, trying to be polite, and strode to the kitchen to pick up the next order. It wasn''t until the heat of a steaming plate of food on her palm jarred her that she realized what was happening.

    No. Don''t do it. You promised yourself you were done with men. At least until Ashton is older.

    But he was so handsome. She''d never seen a man with a jaw so strong, yet eyes so soft.

    She bit her lower lip and peeked around the corner of the kitchen doorway. The man stared in her direction. She recoiled.

    "He''s a looker, ain''t he," said Beth.

    Coraline felt red rising in her cheeks. It was one thing to be caught staring by a fellow employee. It was another thing to be caught by your boss.

    "He''s my pastor you know," said Beth. "Or reverend, I guess is the correct term. And he''s single."

    "I''m not looking for a relationship," said Coraline.

    "Well, you''re looking at something. And he''s it."

    Before Coraline could object, Beth handed her three more plates of food to balance and deliver. The tables she had to go to put her directly in the path to encounter the man again. Coraline underbit, blew hair away from her eyes, and strode out locking her gaze dead ahead.

    "Howdy, ma''am."

    She pretended not to hear.

    She delivered the plates and made for the kitchen again, though she knew she would have no plates ready for several more minutes.

    "Excuse me, miss."This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

    She quickened her pace.

    Strong fingers locked around her wrist. Coraline stopped on a dime cred.

    She was about to rip her hand free but when she looked into his face, his smile melted her. "Sorry to grab you, miss. You did not seem to hear me. My name is Roy. I believe you are new here. I just wanted to introduce myself, as I''m a frequent customer."

    He still held her wrist. His hand was smooth, yet strong.

    "Oh. How do you do, sir? I''ve only worked here for a few weeks."

    She pulled her wrist away.

    He held on for just a moment, then released, letting his fingers trail down her wrist and over the back of her hand. Warmth filled her chest while chills tingled her spine. She felt short of breath.

    She spun on her heel to go.

    "Ma''am? I didn''t get your name."

    She straightened her back, trying to put some of her inner wall up, but it was crumbling fast. She attempted to take a level, even breath. "Miss Coraline."

    "What a pretty name. Fitting for a woman as stunning as yourself."

    Tight lipped, she thanked the man, then retreated back to the kitchen. By the time she reached it, a smile threatened to break loose. A dapper man had said she was stunning. Why had she imposed a rule banning herself from relationships with men again? Oh yes. Ashton.

    At the end of her shift, while leaving, she encountered the man Roy again.

    He leaned against the entrance wall of the resort, chewing on a toothpick, eyes hidden behind perfectly round glasses. "Pleasure to meet you today, Miss Coraline. Would you like a ride home?"

    As if on cue, valet pulled his speeder around, parking right next to the high-end club. The valet boy tossed the ignition fob to Roy, who snatched it from the air without looking.

    He patted the speeder. She wanted to reject his offer. But her sore feet screamed for relief. Wearing high heels for an entire shift was still taxing on her feet and legs. And what could one innocent ride hurt?

    She accepted his offer.

    Roy chatted, small talk mostly, but she found that his open-ended questions forced her to reveal more about herself than she liked, even if this man was such eye candy.

    "I''m sorry Mr. Roy. I''m exhausted and not able to carry a conversation at the moment."

    They rode in silence for the rest of the short trip.

    He insisted on holding her hand to guide her out of the hovercraft.

    She did not object.

    "I''ll be seeing you again I hope."

    "You know where to find me." The words came out of her mouth before she could stop them. They sounded like an invitation, which was not what she intended. Why did she say that?

    Roy chuckled and saw her to the door, before speeding off.

    She watched the speeder until it was out of sight. And she hated herself for it.

    After checking with the babysitting bot and dismissing it, Coraline found Ashton already fast asleep.

    Rubrum already changed Ashton. While in reality he had so much to be afraid of, he was cheerfully ignorant. Ignorant to the fact that his livelihood depended solely on the tips his mother earned. Ignorant to the fact that Rubrum was only semi-terraformed experiencing a regression. They''d both been short of breath when they arrived, but had adjusted in a mere matter of days. But without his father to worry about, Ashton was carefree as could be.

    She stroked his tender face, reminding herself that her son came first. No more men. It was just a ride home.

 22 | THEM TRAITORS

    Cherry rose off the bed and shut the door behind George Frumt. New Oklahoma''s sheriff or not, Frumt, or  Georgie  as he wanted her to call him, needed to learn how to close doors after himself. It wasn''t a barn, and she wasn''t an animal. But it sure felt that way, at times.

    Not for long. Soon she''d be more than just a brothel girl. She yearned for more. The King could give her more¡ªhad given her more. Scratch seemed to believe that her vision spoke of the future. Cherry wasn''t so sure. Nothing had come of her vision. That had been weeks ago. She began to doubt what she saw. The s¨¦ance involved drugs. How could she be sure her vision wasn''t her own spun-out imagination?

    But she''d seen the miracle with Moe. As had everyone else. Of course no one had seen Moe lately. But there was no denying Scratch''s connection to the King. He''d worked other miracles before. Healings, feats of strength, impossibilities. She longed to know more of the King, the one who bestowed such power. Cherry needed to learn more of who this figure was, the man in yellow tattered robes. She needed to connect with him again.

    But Scratch had not come to see her this week at all. And only once last week. He stopped in briefly, exerted himself, and then left without so much as offering small talk to her, let alone inviting her to another sacred meeting to the inner circle.

    Well, if she wanted something, she might as well go find it. Quickly she slipped into a vermillion dress that hugged her figure, stepped into a nice pair of laced high heels, tugged on her cute grey gloves, the ones that matched her simple purse, and topped it off with an Edwardian style hat, one that made men halt where they stood. After locating her umbrella, she went out for a stroll through town.

    She casually checked several saloons, leaving when she did not spot Scratch and the catcalls grew too numerous. She batted her lashes, acknowledging the men, even blowing kisses as some of the handsome ones, before moving on. Cherry didn''t think Scratch would be in any of the laymen saloons, not since he''d been invited to the high rollers club. The Taj Diwan¡ªfanciest hotel casino in all of Rubrum¡ªhugged the Noctis Labyrinthus canyon wall, built right into it in fact, hanging over the precipice, and draped down the side for seven full stories so that whether you lounged, drank at the bar, or stayed in a room, you had a stunning view of the layered beauty of the inspiring canyon.

    The Terran Native American tycoon who owned the casino had hired an Iranian architect¡ª a student of two thousand years of historic Eastern architecture¡ª to design the extravagant and exotic resort in hopes of attracting the oil emirates and other clientele drowning in too many creds to count.

    Cherry stepped into the high vaulted  iwan  entrance, strode through the open-air courtyard framed by a colonnade of smooth ivory mosaic tiled pillars covered in pleasant but mind-boggling geometric patterns. How they kept it clean in spite of the dust storms beyond her, but it spoke to the immaculate quality of the place. It was only visited by the bullet train tycoons, the oxygen and water plant owners, and the Arab oil company sheikhs, and entrepreneurs from Terra on holiday. The richest of the rich. And Scratch. Serpents were less shrewd. Scratch''s charismatic personality and religious affluence gained him access that a man of his class would not normally attain.

    Being a woman of a specific trade granted Cherry access as well.

    Dealers turned over cards and collected chips or awarded them in games of Faro at the many tables basked in low amber light. It reeked of e-cigar fumes, which she hated. She wanted to gag, but grew accustomed to it.

    And there sat Scratch on a leather chaise, seated by himself, but not alone. He held the wrist of a woman who''s beauty dropped jaws.

    Roy flirted with the woman, laying on the charm thick.

    Seething, jealous anger boiled under Cherry''s cheeks, turning them redder than any blush she owned. Her lips pursed together and she brushed her bangs away out of habit.

    Cherry hated to admit it, but not only did she recognize the woman Roy spoke with, she knew her by name. Miss Coraline, they called her. She was the new woman in town that all the men raved about and other women gawked at. If Cherry turned heads when she strode by, Cora turned men to stone statues. The woman was a goddess in the flesh. That''s how she got a job in a place so fancy. And the worst part about it? The woman had apparently lived a sheltered, quiet, and na?ve life. Cora didn''t even realize how beautiful she was, nor did she understand the power she held.

    Cherry''s fingers tightened on the closed umbrella handle, her long fingernails digging into the palm of her hand until it hurt. She''d love to rake her nails across Cora''s face. Who would find her gorgeous then?

    With nothing to say, and not wanting to make a foolish scene, Cherry left. With every step towards the door, she pondered¡ªwhy did this bother her? She knew plenty of men around Noke''la, but she never thought less of them when she found them with other women. That was her job, to offer pleasure without strings attached.

    The flushed heat in her cheeks traveled up into her eyes. Cherry tried to blink away the hot tears, but she could not hold them back. Sniffles overwhelmed her. Why was she crying about it? Had she believed she could keep a man like Scratch all to herself? That was silly. She knew Scratch saw other women, most of whom she worked with. So why did Cora enrage her?

    Cora''s perfect face filled her mind. That woman did not even need to wear makeup. Cherry had seen her up close. She did not believe that Coraline wore a speck of powder, blush, foundation, or even eyeliner. She was perfect. And she didn''t have to flaunt it. She didn''t have to put on a show.

    Now she realized why she hated Cora. She didn''t have to work for men''s attention like Cherry did. And whenever she garnered men''s attention, it was for one thing and one thing only. After they were done with Cherry, they paid her and turned their attention elsewhere. The attention Cherry fought so hard to get was dismissed moments after she had it. Then she became invisible again, until the next customer needed her.

    She wanted Scratch to need her, and she wanted the power he held. She wanted to share his life and his influence. She wanted others to notice her, to desire her always, and to respect her.

    She removed a handkerchief from her purse and dabbed her eyes. Black liner streaks stained the cloth. Pulling out a little mirror and liner pencil, she reapplied the makeup quickly, lest anyone notice.

    "Hey there, girlie. Whatcha crying about?"

    It was Scratch.

    "I ain''t crying," she said, but it came out too fast, too defensive.

    "And I ain''t the Reverend of Noke''la. Come now, you can tell old Scratch."

    Cherry finished and replaced her tools back in her purse, masking her face with a fake smile.

    "It''s nothing, really, Scratch. Nothing at all."

    "Well, it must be something? I only ask because I care."

    Cherry hesitated. She couldn''t tell him about Cora. But she could ask a simple question.

    "You ain''t been to see me, Scratch. I was starting to miss you."

    Scratch leaned in and kissed her cheek. "That''s mighty sweet of you, girl. I''ve missed you too. Old Scratch has been busy as a spider, spinning a web. Problem is, the web is too good and the flies keep getting trapped in it before I can finish the web, see?"

    Cherry didn''t see. But Scratch often spoke like that. It amused her as much as it confused her. It was part of why she liked him, trying to understand him.

    "You still meeting with the inner circle?"

    Scratch looked about as if he didn''t want any prying ears to overhear. "I am. In fact, I''m glad I ran into you. Can you attend tonight''s meeting? I''d sure miss yah if you weren''t there, girl."

    So Scratch still needed her after all. And he''d been busy. That''s why he hadn''t come to see her. Cherry hadn''t lost his attention. She''d gone and let her emotions get her all tangled up, like a fainthearted fool. She giggled at herself for being so silly. "Sure. I''ll be there, Scratch."

    "Good." He put a hand on her arm. "I need you, Cherry. So much. And the King needs you too."

    She withheld a gasp at his touch. Her heartbeat quickened.

    "I''ll see you when the moons are high overhead. Now, you''ll have to excuse me, girl. I''ve got some business here to attend to."

    "Okay, Scratch. I''ll catch you later."

    Cherry strode off, sighing with relief. Scratch wanted her tonight for a meeting of the inner circle. She was one of the few. One of the privileged.

    As she crossed the street and turned the corner, she looked back. Scratch leaned against the building, looking cool, casual, and dangerously handsome. At the same moment Cora exited the resort and Scratch called out to her. Cherry couldn''t hear what they spoke of, but it ended with Roy driving off with her somewhere in his speeder, alone.

    They were going off to do one thing.

    Her vision swam in red rage. Fresh tears streamed down her cheeks again. She stormed back to her living quarters.

    Along the way, she picked up a drunken stalker, a sweating man with a borg jaw and leg.

    "Hey sweetie. What say you and me find a room?"

    "Back off bot brain."

    "Hey, ain''t you a whore? I seen you at the brothel. Come here and gimme something good."

    He cornered her, pressing her up against a back-alley wall.

    "My, you''re a cute little thing, ain''t ye?"

    Cute . It burned her ears.

    He was so drunk she easily pushed him away. He stumbled into a puddle of oil and waste, swearing.

    He clambered to his feet, enraged.

    Cherry didn''t even hesitate. She pulled the snub nose coil pistol from her purse and pulled the trigger five times. With each flash at the end of the short barrel she imagined Cora''s face contorted in pain.

    The end of the gun shook until she stilled her hand.

    Without a second glance she placed the pistol back in her purse and left to prepare for the moonlight meeting.

    ***

    Roy began the s¨¦ance session as he always did. Reading from  The King in Yellow , penned by the great prophet Chambers himself. Surrounded by a circle of the true followers cloaked in tattered yellow mantels, they sat on pillows on the floor while Roy stood. Though he spoke from behind the pallid bronze mask, his voice rang true, enunciating the blessed words of the near religious play with emphatic fervor.The author''s narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

    Cherry knelt on her knees, resolved not to sit. How could one full of contrition and devotion sit lazily while the words of the King were read aloud? She felt it showed severe disrespect for the cryptic text.

    As with every reading, the text livened her beating heart, quickening her pulse, and her breath. Her need to take action grew stronger with each syllable. Smoking incense permeated the small room, filling it with a thick pleasant haze that both soothed and tickled the nostrils. Those around Cherry rocked back and forth on their pillows, offering otherworldly chants of guttural sounds, dog-like yips, and serpentine hisses, or repeating phrases of the passage aloud as Scratch read them, mirroring his exact inflection, responding however they were led by the King''s spirit.

    Candlelight flickered off of Scratch''s mask as he read from the text, his voice practically howling now as he reached a crescendo, the climax of the second act.

    In one voice they cried out, wordless, for no words could contain their unbridled emotional enlightened nirvana.

    Scratch felt moved that night to continue reading from other supplemental sacred doctrine, texts added later to the canon. He preached from the prophet Wagner''s  River of Night''s Dreaming,  and after he continued with prophet Carter''s  Tatters of the King . Cherry barely heard the words from the additional texts. The original revelation was enough for her.

    A man''s hand lifted her chin, raising her off of the floor, where she''d collapsed sometime during the reading.

    With the tome closed and tucked in one arm Scratch held Cherry''s hand.

    "Now prophetess, read the night visions and speak for your King. What word doth he have for us this night?"

    By now those words were ingrained in Cherry''s mind. For only after they read from the tome could they even dare to contact the King. Incense sticks were lit, in addition to the yellow fungus.

    Scratch coaxed her with affirmations of voice and gentle touch. "Sketch what you see, prophetess."

    The yellow light dawned in her mind''s eye, the culmination of her intangible experience reached.

    Cherry peered into the beyond. Her vision swirled with indescribable geometric colors, isometric smells, and tangible slick notes of a faint song only she could hear, along with feelings of warm mirth.

    Images took form. "I see you Scratch." She dragged the charcoal stick over the paper.

    "Go on."

    Behind him, she drew shadow men stalking her reverend. Roy remained unaware of their approach. She scowled. "Two shades bearing ill will stalk at your back. One holds a pair of scales, testing weights in the balance, and the other brandishes a crooked knife dipped in poison."

    "Do I not know they approach?"

    "No. You are unaware. They¡ªoh," she gasped as the vision turned violent. She trembled, afraid of what she must explain next.

    "Yes? What?"

    "They plunged the knife into you and dropped you in the canyon. Now one stands on a stage behind a pulpit. The other shade holds out a bag and people from all around drop precious stones into it, rubies, sapphires, and pearls."

    She hurried her sketching to match the speed of the vision as it came faster. "The sun sets again and again, day after day. With each passing of the heavenly flame, the church building falls into disrepair and ruin. It burns now, tumbles, and crumbles to ash."

    Scratch''s hands tightened, almost crushing Cherry''s.

    "Who? Who are the traitorous vermin?"

    In the vision Cherry metaphysical self stepped through the archway of the church building, the only piece still standing. Gallows stood in the place where the stage and pulpit had been. Two men hung from nooses, their corpses bloated and in decay. Cowled hoods draped over their faces hiding their identities.

    Cherry hesitated. Something inside her held a reservation. She did not want to look at their lifeless faces, the masks of death.

    Roy snarled. "Who?"

    She must obey. With determined strides she approached the bodies and lifted the hoods one at a time. Though the faces had swollen, she recognized them and gasped. She knew these men. They were like brothers to her. But just because she held sorrow at seeing them dead, that did not mean that they were innocent. She''d seen their intent. The King showed her plainly what they planned to do in their hearts, even now. Though they had yet to act on their plan, Cherry saw the ruin and destruction they could cause if left unchecked.

    She sighed as she prepared for the immediate ramifications that would take place once she uttered the names. Scratch''s hands squeezed hers, reassuring her that what she was about to do was just, and right.

    Cherry retreated from the vision, descending back into her body, opening her eyes. "The shades are Curly Joe and Tharsis Bill."

    Shocked gasps broke throughout all of those in the inner circle. For it meant the inner circle was broken.

    The two men in question stood in the circle with them. How they had infiltrated this far, Cherry would never know. What she did know was that Scratch would handle this now.

    The two men in question glanced at each other, then made a run for the stairs. An overwhelming amount of hands caught them, dragging them back to kneel before Scratch.

    "What is this you have plotted?"

    "Ain''t true. That witch lies. She didn''t see us?"

    "Are you calling the priestess of the King a liar?"

    Tharsis Bill gulped. Curly Joe scowled. Neither had an answer.

    Himura offered a wise suggestion. "If she''s telling the truth, there should be evidence."

    "Search them."

    Hands invaded the men''s personal space. On Tharsis Bill''s person they found the knife.

    Scratch held it up to his face. "Exactly as Cherry described."

    Curly Joe''s was less apparent at first, until someone got the bright idea to pull out his comm unit and check the cred transactions. They noticed that the church offering box had given several generous donations to Joe.

    "Pilfering from the charity box, eh Joe?"

    Sweat beads rained down his face. "It was just a few hundred creds. Nothing I can''t repay."

    "Oh. You''ll repay."

    Joe fell to his face pleading. Bill followed suit.

    "Do you realize who you plotted against?"

    "Yes, Roy. We transgressed against you."

    "You don''t understand the magnitude of what you''ve done. I''m a prophet of the sultan of sulphur. King of the chasm. I stand at the end of a direct line of prophets stretching back almost five hundred years. From the first scribe Ambrose who penned the words uttered to him by Bayrolles the medium, who himself spoke straight from the spirit of Hoseib, giving us transcendent visions of Carcosa. Then after came the prophet Chambers, granting us hidden knowledge of the King himself. Then, as if that were not enough, the King moved on more prophet scribes to arise, Wagner, Carter, and later even Pizzolatto, crafter of visions. A legacy passed all the way down to me. That same power, the same mysteries, have been granted to me. They flow through my veins."

    "Give me a second chance. I faltered, Roy. I know I done wrong. Let me prove myself."

    "You''ve not just transgressed against me, the mouthpiece for the King, but you''ve transgressed against the King himself. He hates weakness. He demands fealty."

    "I''ll do anything."

    Scratch handed him the knife. "Remove the traitor, Curly Joe."

    Bill grew still as a statue. Joe did not even hesitate to plunge the knife into his co-conspirator. Cherry wanted to look away, but knew she must not show weakness, no matter how grim the situation devolved.

    Bill''s gasps stopped after a time.

    Panting, Joe wiped his stained hands on his tattered cloak.

    "Did you obey Joe?"

    "Yes, Roy. I done what you asked."

    "Did you?"

    Joe gazed at Bill''s body again as if the corpse might get up and make a run for it.

    "I said, remove the traitor."

    Joe eyed the dripping knife, seeing his own reflection painted in scarlet.

    "Can you perform your final act of obedience?"

    Joe''s gaze traced the razor-sharp edge of the crooked knife. He hung his head in shame and defeat.

    "No? Okay then."

    Scratch stormed forward, eyes ablaze with an amber glow piercing from behind the mask, and clasped Curly Joe by the scruff of his neck.

    "Have mercy, Roy. Please."

    Scratch dragged him to a far corner, then pressed a button. A panel on the ground whisked open, revealing an even deeper chamber. Though she could not see it, she knew what lingered in the blackened depths of the pit under the church. She heard the tentacles slap against the walls and each other and the thing grew excited, eager to devour whatever was thrown below.

    With a final heave, Scratch tossed the would-be traitor into the pit. His screams were silenced before his body even thudded against the bottom of the pit. Terrifying wet chomping and cracking sounds echoed in the dark. The panel slid shut, cutting off the noises of terror below.

    Sighing, Scratch returned to the summoning circle.

    A chair was brought for him, which he slid into, lounging.

    The remaining loyalists knelt around him.

    At length he noticed Cherry. He brushed his fingers across her face.

    "You saved my life from certain betrayal."

    She blushed. "Not I, great mouthpiece. I but relayed the vision. The King saved you."

    Scratch nodded. "That he did," he said. Leveling a finger at the remaining cloaked followers he ushered a warning. "Let this night stand as a testament to those of you that might be tempted to turn against the King''s mouthpiece. For lo, the prophetess sees all."

 23 | RUSTLERâ€™S FATE

    The kinetic energy charge gauge dwindled, but not before Tracy and the hover steeder caught up with the cutthroat rustler''s ship.

    With the push of a button, the hovercycle converted into a galloping steeder beneath the marshal''s legs.

    The silhouette of the ship looked familiar to Tracy. It shared an awful lot of similarities with the illegally armed freighter that shot him out of the sky and left him for dead in a crater-grave.

    In fact, it was the same exact ship.

    And now they kidnapped a young woman.

    On Earth, bodycams, laws, and the threat of prison kept Tracy''s wrath in check. But on Mars, it was all fair game.

    A large dock door lowered like a drawbridge. The door doubled as a loading ramp straight into the back of the ship. The rustlers apparently had caught up with the stampeding herd, guided them back to their ship which they''d parked in a secluded area, and were prodding the cattle, forcing them up the ramp door.

    Tracy and Chasm galloped into the fray.

    The rustlers didn''t even bat an eye. As soon as they noticed him they started shooting.

    Tracy palmed the hidden scabbard compartment. The Model X4 lever action carbine shot out as if from a cannon. He caught the weapon and spin-cocked the gun, whirling it around his cyborg hand. The HUD in his goggles defaulted to bipeds, so it only framed the rustlers for him and not the cattle, on top of providing holosights on the end of his carbine.

    Pew. Pew. Pew. Pew. Pew.

    Five shots fired. Five rustlers bit the dust.

    Fear gripped the rest of the outlaws. They stormed up the ramp, leaving their dying buddies and any cattle not already in the ship behind. The ship lifted, hovering as she prepared to take off. Tracy fired shots at the cockpit, but couldn''t pierce the thick exterior. Chasm raced alongside the fleeing ship, matching it speed for speed. Cows slipped and plummeted to their deaths as the pilot took off in a hurry, not waiting for the ramp door to close. He steered Chasm towards the open ramp door.

    Tracy gathered up his long legs and lept from the steeder onto the ramp, then rolled out of the way as a cow slipped off the ramp where he''d just been. Slamming his borg hand into the ramp, Tracy gouged finger holds into the plating as the ship accelerated. He clawed his way up the ramp, then flipped around violently as they raised it. Jury fired, gunning down a suspicious rustler that spotted him, sending the outlaw overboard with a high pitched squeal, just as the ramp door closed.

    The lawman righted himself and strode tall through the ship. Judge and Jury in hand, he blasted any resistance, downing rustler after rustler.

    His ears throbbed, revolver blasts ringing in the close quarters of the metal ship. But his heart throbbed harder.

    Where was the young woman? Had they dropped her in the frenzy? Had she fallen beneath the stampeding herd, trampled to death by the onslaught of endless hooves? He pushed away those dire assumptions. He had to hope.

    As he neared the cockpit, he heard struggling and a female scream.

    His heart beat fast as hope and dread grappled for control.

    A rustler popped out of a hidden side compartment.

    Pew. Pew. Pew.

    Judge''s electromagnetic shots tore through the man, pinging against the closed cockpit panel, as if death himself knocked on the door.

    Tracy stepped over the dying rustler just as the panel whisked open. The lawman came face to face with a gauss barrel.

    Pew.

    The young woman shouldered the pilot, throwing his blast off. Tracy kept his surprise and joy that she lived in check as he returned fire at the pilot trying to kill him.

    The last rustler ducked out of the way. Tracy''s stray shot fried the control board. Sirens and alarms screeched and the ship lurched forward.

    Forsaking all of their lives, the pilot raised his gun at Tracy again instead of regaining control of the ship.

    Tracy anticipated the cold-blooded calculation, and sidestepped into the deck, cocked his smartarm and caught the rustler across the jaw with a metal wallop. The man slumped to sleep on the floor.

    Tracy wanted to check on the girl, see if she was indeed okay. But they''d both be wrapped in an inferno of melting slag if he didn''t take control of the ship. He leapt into the command chair and snatched the controls, pulling back hard. The ship leveled out, but just barely. A shriek pierced his ears as the bottom of the hull scraped along the rough Martian terrain.

    The ship spun around, out of Tracy''s control. A rock wall rushed towards them. A loud boom reverberated throughout the vessel and into Tracy''s bones. The crash threw him up into the windshield, then smashed him into the dashboard. He slipped down to the floor in a heap.

    Groans escaped his lips. He lay still for a few breaths, then helped himself to his feet.

    The ship echoed with a chorus of frightened cattle moos and a few horse neighs.

    Tracy moved over to the girl. She looked to be in her late teens or early twenties. The crash had knocked her unconscious. A line of blood trickled down her head leaking from a small cut. No way to tell if she had a concussion, but if he was a betting man, Tracy could guarantee she''d have a headache and some bruises to go along with it. Her arms were tied together at the wrists, but she breathed. And she was safe now. He let out a short sigh of relief.

    He passed through the ship, searching for a medic kit. Along the way he found some of his belongings on the bunk of one of the rustlers. It was the stuff they''d made off with after shooting him out of the sky, before his ship had gone up in a blaze. They''d obviously mistaken him for a dead man. Left him to shrivel up in the sand.

    He found another couple of IV packs, and swapped his on the spot. A deepfake hologram mask they''d issued him lay among the booty too. He pocketed it with a chuckle. That would come in handy later. He also found his government issued comm. Busted. He had no way of knowing if they did it out of spite, or if the crash broke it. Of course his smartarm had a comm function built into it, but it wasn''t designed for interplanetary communication. Hence the government one. It had been his direct connection to his support team back home, his superiors, and if need be, his link to his wife. And now he knew it was for sure severed.Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

    But the cover was intact and in one piece. With care, he slipped the cover off and found what he wanted to still be tucked inside. A printed photograph of his wife, Hina. She''d razzed him about it. Called him old fashioned. He could easily store a gif of her and pull up a holograph on his smartarm. But there was something romantic about old photography. The trial and error of waiting to capture the perfect moment. Smart tech had all but made true photography a lost artform. But in the moment of her chiding him, laughing at him, he''d caught her smile, captured her warmth, her scent, the luster in her hair. No looping gif could ever capture that.

    In the face of his predicament, he smiled, then tucked the picture away in his breast pocket inside his duster, over his heart.

    A medic kit hung on the wall. He opened it. Everything inside was sealed. Untampered and sanitized. He ripped the entire kit off the wall and got back to the cockpit to check on the girl.

    The cow calls grew frantic behind him as the ramp door sounded again. Someone was still alive and trying to lower the ramp to make a getaway. Tracy''s eyes scanned the control room.

    The girl was there. The pilot was gone.

    ***

    They raced down the jagged channel, the rustler on his horse of flesh, Tracy on his horse of machine. The rustler had a head start on him. But the organic horse was no match for Chasm. The channel grew narrower by the moment, until the immanence of a dead-end looming around the corner became obvious. Still the rustler fled, and Tracy lost sight of him.

    He rounded the channel bend and found the rustler yanking his reins so tight his horse nearly bucked him off. The horse pranced in a circle, an extension of the man''s dithering dread.

    Backed into a corner, the man sent two wild shots at the marshal. Tracy had no time to react. Luckily they hit Chasm, ricocheting off of his chrome exterior. Tracy gaped at the metal horse. For a split second, Trace expected his steeder to be hurt, but wouldn''t you know they built him like a tank. The Mustang pawed the ground, reassuring Tracy he was ready for action.

    Tracy''s hardened voice echoed off the channel walls. "There''s no way out. Drop your weapons, dismount, and walk over to me, slow like."

    Chasm rooted himself in the dead center of the pathway, blocking the only way out. Tracy''s rifle ensured the man wasn''t getting past them. The man yelled incoherent words as he leapt down from his horse and rushed behind a boulder.

    Tracy dismounted and levered his .30-30 Model X4. Sparks spewed from the railgun as he hammered the boulder''s edge with a hailstorm of gauss blasts. The rustler tried to return fire, but the lawman''s lever arm and trigger finger were too quick.

    The rustler clutched his shooting arm and cried out. He fell, rolling in the dirt, then attempted to crawl away. Tracy''s boots crunched over gravel. Quiet clicks ticked away, sounding the outlaw''s remaining time on Mars while Tracy reloaded the carbine.

    The rustler groaned and swore a string of profanity so vile it could have stripped the lacquer finish off of Judge and Jury''s walnut grips. He dragged himself away, looking like a marionette whose strings had all been cut, save for one. But for all his clamoring, he never apologized, never begged for mercy. He was pitiful, but not sorry. Not an ounce of remorse in his bones. Only fiery scorn for getting caught.

    Tracy''s boots filled the outlaw''s vision. He levered the action one last time, putting a round in the chamber. The defenseless rustler craned his neck, looking up to the lawman, but only saw the black silhouette of the lawman framed by blazing sunlight.

    Anger burned in Tracy, almost giving him the shakes. But he maintained an outward calm. He should cuff this man and drag him all the way to New Oklahoma and deposit him to the local authorities. But that would be another burden Tracy had to bear. Plus, who''s to say Martian law understood Earthen justice? No, this man was a rustling thief, a complicit murderer, and would have preyed on that young woman had Tracy not intervened. They were in the wild, on the fringes of society. The only law was man versus man, right versus wrong. Justice would prevail.

    Yet Tracy hesitated. A small voice inside, underneath the grey storm clouds of rage whispered that this was no longer self-defense, rescuing a damsel, or seeking justice. This was punishment. As a U.S. Marshal, Tracy wasn''t to mete out judgement. He could defend himself and others, using force if need be, but he could not take matters into his own hands. He had sworn an oath. If he broke it, even when no one was around, he would be putting himself above the very law he enforced. Wouldn''t that make him just like these rustlers, taking advantage of an opportunity? The bonfire inside subsided, the flame of wrath diminishing.

    The rustler broke his train of thought. A mask of confused recognition warped his Rubrun face.

    "Hey, you''re that Terran we shot down."

    Tracy already knew that, from the specific ship they piloted, not to mention finding his belongings onboard. But hearing the confession roused his emotions again. These were the guys that marooned him on Mars and left him for dead. Just like they done Jorah''s dad. His lips curled back exposing his gnashed teeth. Tracy pummeled that tiny voice inside, drowning it with self-righteous anger, the blazing fire renewed. His finger tightened on the trigger.

    "Yep. And now I''m returning the favor, buddy boy."

    An unearthly roar broke his spell of rage.

    A large shape camouflaged with the rock walls emerged, crawling out of a wide cleft into the channel with Tracy and the rustler, a racing blur, almost too fast for Tracy to register.

    The rustler''s horse neighed and bolted while Chasm bucked but stayed put. The thing prowled on six muscular feline legs towards the wounded rustler, drawn to the open wound. The man screamed in horror as whipping tendrils lashed around him, hoisting him into the air to meet the monster face to face. Scythe-like forelimbs hacked the man, silencing him. It''s hammerhead split sideways revealing rows of spiked teeth that caught the former outlaw like a fluffy rabbit barbed in a thistle thorn briar.

    Tracy stumbled backwards with a yell. He tripped and squeezed the trigger. A coil shot went wild, but the thing knew to fear the shot and backpedaled on muscular, feline-like legs. It regained its composure, sizing up the lawman. After the shock of the blast waned, it no longer felt threatened by Tracy and swooped in close for another kill.

    Shock and confusion froze Tracy.

    But he had one trick up his sleeve. Literally. A weapon he reserved for the direst of situations. A mini pulse-cannon. But several uses of the pulse blast would render his smartarm useless. He''d only have time for one shot to take the alien beast down.

    He raised his cyborg arm, thumb up, pointer finger out, his metal hand making the shape of a finger gun. Panels opened, his finger elongated, forming into a glowing pulse barrel.

    But he wasn''t quick enough.

    Tendrils lashed towards him, seeking to envelope his whole body. They latched onto his transforming smartarm, crushing it like a boa constrictor. Sparks sizzled under the outer layer of the prosthetic. Tracy reeled back, but the suction cups on the underbelly of each tendril held his smartarm fast. Tracy tugged away, but pain laced up his shoulder stump into his mind. The thing''s grip would tear his prosthetic clean off.

    Chasm charged the thing, rearing up, and bucked the tendrils with his hooves. The interruption to his demise snapped Tracy out of his stupor. Muscle memory kicked in, levered the action, and returned revolver fire at the foreign beast. Gauss shots scored the thing''s hide. It hissed and recoiled.

    Tracy fired until his carbine ran dry. Instead of reloading, he pulled out Judge and Jury in fluid reverse draws. The cylinders spun, sparks erupting from the barrels. The beast, though not mortally wounded, retreated up the channel wall, knocking large and small rocks loose in its wake.

    Tracy locked on the edge it disappeared over, lingered with his revolvers aimed. His heart thundered in his chest, matching his breathing. Then his smartarm spewed sparks and collapsed against his side, a cold, deadweight. Luckily his borg hand latched onto Jury in a vice grip. He''d have to pry it out later. Time to get gone.

    With intuitive understanding, Chasm knelt so that Tracy could mount him and together they hightailed it out of the channel.

 24 | CONNIVING

    Roy entered the kitchen whistling a tune. Cooks and kitchen hands started to stop him, but when they recognized him, they let him pass.

    "Where''s Beth?"

    They pointed to a small office in the back of the kitchen.

    Roy sauntered in.

    Beth glanced up from her datapad and did a doubletake. "Why Reverend Roy. You gave me a fright. I was not expecting you here in the back."

    "Sorry to spook you, Beth."

    "What can I help you with?"

    Roy had thought that the night he gave Miss Coraline a ride home that they were off to a great start. Were she any other woman in town, they''d be in the midst of a wild affair. But ever since that night, the flawless beauty gave him the cold shoulder.

    "I came to inquire about Coraline."

    A smirk tugged the edge of Beth''s lips. "You fancy her, don''t you. I''ve seen the way you admire her when she''s not looking. She''s gorgeous isn''t she? Did you want me to arrange a meeting for you two?"

    When Roy did not nod right away, Beth turned a shade pink. "Oh, forgive me Reverend for making assumptions. I''m sorry. I didn''t mean to offend."

    Roy waved away her fears with the flick of his wrist. Beth''s interactions with Roy placed her on a precarious edge of mind, always trying to please him and pander to him, and then retreating fast if she suspected he did not like her response. "Offend me? Please. It''s practically public knowledge that I''m not celibate like a priest, or tied down like a pastor. My love flows free. And yes, you are right. I have taken flight with Miss Coraline. Tell me though, how is her performance here?"

    "Did she make an error on your food?"

    "No. But¡ª"

    "She ordered you the wrong drink from the bar?"

    "No. Nothing of the sort. I''m just curious."

    "Oh. Well, Coraline is one of the best waitresses we got. And I won''t lie. Her natural beauty brings the men back. The fact that she''s hard to get...why she drags those men along on an invisible leash. And that keeps the creds flowing."

    Roy''s face drooped. It was not the news he wanted to hear. He told Beth so.

    "I''m afraid I don''t understand Reverend."

    Roy pursed his lips, tilting his head, seeking the words. "Let''s just say that a woman in her position, who doesn''t realize the stature of a man that I am, or the blessings I have at my disposal, would likely find me a more favorable suitor if she were at risk of losing her livelihood."

    Beth furrowed her eyebrows. "I don''t catch your drift."

    "If Coraline were suddenly to be asked to fill in for more shifts, or given more of a workload than the other waiters and waitresses, and expected to still perform with the same efficiency, then she might find herself more inclined to accept the advances of a man who could offer her an alternative."

    Beth''s face still looked confused. "You want me to make things harder on my best employee?"

    "Not too hard. Just challenging enough. I''m nothing if not a helpless romantic. I want to be able to sweep her off her feet at the end of a hard day''s work. But I can''t do that if the work is too easy."

    "But if I crack down on her too hard, I might lose her, and I''d lose the clientele drawn to this establishment just to see her."

    "Our little ruse only needs to work long enough for her to accept my proposal. After several weeks of bliss, I''ll propose that I come and give a talking to you. I''ll pretend to yell and get fierce with ya, thereby becoming the knight in shining armor for Miss Coraline. It''ll all be an act, see?"

    Beth mouthed a silent exclamation, her slow wit catching up finally. Roy kept his face in check, but he wanted to slap her across the face for wasting so much of his breath and time.

    "Are you sure this is the best way to go about it?"This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

    Roy rolled his eyes. Grabbing Beth''s shoulders, he stepped close, closer than he should and gazed into her pupils. They were actually quite lovely blue eyes. Pity they were locked in such a simple and ugly face. Roy shook those thoughts out of his head and focused on guiding Beth towards the right decision. "Beth. I know you are one of the faithful. I know that you long for the vision of the King. And¡ª" he leaned in, whispering into her large lumpy ear, "I know you seek the yellow sign. You are on the right path."

    Her eyes gleamed, growing damp. "Really Reverend?"

    "Of course. I notice your attendance, faithful every Sunday. One of the few paying attention to my every word." Roy lied through his teeth. They all doted on his every word. These simpletons had such dreary lives, anything he said dazzled their minds with ecstatic wonder.

    Beth smiled as tears streamed down her face. "I knew you could sense my devotion. I have more than the others, I promise. I just don''t know why I haven''t seen the vision yet. I know my faith is strong."

    Roy almost choked on bile, but pushed it down. "Your faith is strong indeed, Beth. And soon you will receive the blessed vision. And later, the sign."

    Beth gasped, clasping both hands together, shaking with an overflow of mixed emotions.

    Roy pressed a finger to her lips. "Shhhh. I know this is a lot to process. But you realize your path to stronger faith can be expedited?"

    "It can?"

    "Of course. If you place your faith in me and help me, a servant and mouthpiece of the King, why, he''ll show favor to you once he sees you display your devotion. This is how he works. He asks you to do something seemingly bad, something that might even seem downright wrong, but in the end the King will turn it into good for all three of us. I''ll get the woman I desire. She''ll have me. And you''ll be blessed. Do you want to miss a blessing? Because if you don''t want this, I could find another way."

    Beth''s jaw clenched as she steeled her resolve. She shook her head. "I don''t want to miss a chance to serve the King. I''ll do it."

    Roy gave her an affectionate pat on the shoulders. "There there. Good girl. Now, you have to play the part so well, that you could convince your own mother. Coraline must believe without a shadow of a doubt that she''s on thin shale with you. But do it gradually. Work up to it. I''d say two or three weeks ought to do. Start small, and pile it on from there. Remember, this is for her good and your blessing."

    Beth smiled. "Okay. Seemed wrong at first, but once you explained it that way, I might be able to do it with a smile on my face just knowing the outcome will benefit all three of us."

    "But I know you''ll play the part. If this works out Beth, I''ll be indebted to you." He leaned in and kissed Beth full on the mouth. She turned shades redder. "Don''t tell your husband now. But I know you won''t. You''re trustworthy."

    And while she was still reeling he winked and strode out with a pep in his step. As he left the kitchen he helped himself to a steaming chicken leg in the middle of a fancy plated spread. He inhaled the meat and dropped the bone on the floor.

    ***

    Dahlia could not take her eyes off Roy. Even though Roy was used to the attention and the impact his sway had over others, her ogling was a little much. She hung on his every word, but not in a flattering way. Somehow in a way even worse than Beth.

    "You''ve seen her? You know the woman I speak of?"

    "Yes. Who doesn''t? Her beauty is incomparable. I don''t even think she wears makeup."

    Roy had noticed that Coraline was matchless, making even the most attractive of women here in New Oklahoma seem drab. "Her job at the resort is difficult. The men are always after her, but that isn''t the right setting. I feel that things are only going to get worse and I worry for her."

    "Oh, Roy. You''re so sweet." She rubbed his shoulder.

    He grinned. "I try to be. Anyways, I''m not good with the women folk. What she really needs is a female friend, someone she can confide in, and also someone to offer her the option of another line of work. She''d do well at the brothel, I''m sure."

    Dahlia batted her eyelids. "Do good? Roy, she''d bring us all kinds of business. Are you sure she''s into that sort of work though?"

    "She acts like she isn''t, but at the end of the day, she''s got to feed that child of hers."

    "Well if you think she''s lonely and needs a friend, I''d be happy to befriend her. That was such a thoughtful thing of you to suggest, Roy."

    He kissed Dahlia on the cheek. "Thanks doll."

    Roy skipped out of the brothel.

    Of course he did not actually want Coraline to work there. He wanted her all for himself. He just needed to force her into a predicament that made himself the most attractive option. With a choice between unemployment or brothel worker, picking Roy was the best option. And who was he kidding? He was a handsome guy.

    She was playing tough to get, but Miss Coraline would be his prize, very soon.

 25 | BOTTOM OF THE CANYON

    The construction lift thrummed as it sank deep into the canyon. Sujin McCrory spread his legs wide, leaning against his cane. Flanking his sides were the former deputy Russ, and the sheriff.

    Russ leaned against the wall of the lift, one leg crossed over the other, hands in his pockets. Leroux stood at the ready, though the lift still had a way to descend.

    Every so often the lift would rattle, creaking like a modular building in a dust storm. Sujin was accustomed with the lift and almost anticipated these, but Leroux seemed to lose his balance each time.

    "So, you say you lost touch with the crew two days ago?"

    "Communication ceased then, yes," confirmed Sujin.

    "Ever lost comms with them before?"

    Sujin licked his lips. "Comms have been a problem throughout the project. Due to the nature of constructing a straight viaduct across a winding canyon, the foundations each plummet to different lengths. Some rest on lower plateaus partially within the canyon, some are built into cascading canyon slopes, and others¡ªlike the one we travel to today¡ªdelve the entire depth of Noctis Labyrinthus, all the way to the bottom."

    Leroux gulped, not even hiding his discomfort. Sujin wondered if the man suffered from claustrophobia. His discomfort brought the tycoon a small level of satisfaction, both because he had suspected the trip would have caused such a reaction in Leroux, and because he enjoyed seeing Leroux squirm. It reminded them both who was in charge.

    Leroux stumbled after an intense rattling of the lift, then righted himself. "How long are the crew''s intervals usually?"

    "There are two crews. Each work twelve-hour shifts. Each man works six days straight and is given the seventh day off, but on a staggered rotation, so that the majority of the crew is ever working to complete the project."

    "Don''t they have to come up to replenish supplies?"

    Sujin shook his head. "This is the man lift. There is an industrial grade freight lift large enough to carry the hover trucks full of supplies which runs parallel to this lift. That lift hasn''t come up in three days now."

    "What about the second crew?"

    "They did not comm in for two-and-a-half¡ªalmost three days ago. The night crew went down to see if they were experiencing some sort of complication. When they failed to establish comms or return after their shift, that is when I grew concerned."

    "And you''re only now just going to see for yourself?"

    "Wrong," barked Sujin. "I''ve sent two of my servants down as well."

    "Let me guess. No word from them either."

    "One static message that was indecipherable."

    Leroux put a hand over his mouth and paced the lift, mumbling to himself.

    "Speak up man."

    "I said, this is crazy. We''re walking into a death trap."

    "Perhaps," agreed Sujin. "But there come times when I must see to things myself. I can''t trust everyone to be as competent as me."

    "Then why in shale did you need me to come along? You''ve got Russ already."

    Sujin let the question hang, unanswered, turning his back on the sheriff.

    The lift slowed, crawling to a halt.

    "Look sharp now you two. Expect anything."

    He outfittted himself with goggles and a respirator. He spoke through the muffled apparatus, his voice came out grainy, amplified by the small speakers. "I suspect that the crews have fallen under an unfortunate avalanche or possibly even contracted some sort of illness while stumbling on a natural gas leak."

    Russ fitted his face with the safety gear in silent obedience, but Leroux had to fill the void.

    "That''s cute. If they had the same gear as us, natural gas wouldn''t make them disappear."

    "Avalanche would quiet them though, for sure," chimed Russ.

    "Speculation does us no good."

    "Something got ''em. And we''re walking right into a death trap."

    "Keep your superstitious ramblings to yourself."

    The double sets of lift doors slid open. Their goggles adjusted offering a lit up internal display, but even then darkness abounded. Though on the surface the afternoon light still shone, they were so far down in the crevasse of Noctis, hardly a ray of light dove down as far as they were, as if dusk had already come and gone.

    The sheriff''s respirator magnified his open mouth breathing, making him sound like a panting cow.

    "Close your mouth."

    "You know what''s down here right? There''s a reason other tycoons think you''re off your rocker, and it ain''t the money this project is costing you."

    "Please. Don''t tell me you believe in those unfounded tales of aliens fit for gullible simpletons?"

    "They say there''s beasts down here¡ª"

    "Stop."

    "Creatures that crawl in the underdark, burrowing in caves. None agree on their appearance, save for the rows and rows of teeth."

    "The more you speak, the less I trust your cognitive capabilities, Leroux. Pull yourself together. Can''t you retain even an ounce of your masculinity?"

    Leroux quieted, keeping his childish notions to himself.

    Russ spoke up. "You know, as a kid I heard lots of tall tales. And everyone knows the tale of Coprates. To this day no one knows what happened to that settlement. Even the Arabs won''t go near it despite having an abandoned oil rig just sitting there for the taking. Nor the drunken wandering nomads. They go out of their way to skirt around it. Everyone knows that bit of Rubrum is resource rich. Yet no one will touch it."

    Sujin could not tell from Russ'' tone if he truly believed the myths and rumors, the superstitious drunken ramblings of saloon patrons, or if he found joy in making more discomfort for Leroux. He assumed it was the latter, so he allowed it. He grew fonder of the man by the minute. Sujin congratulated himself on spotting and hiring the brazen man.

    A revolver hammer clicked into place. Leroux held the gun out in front of him.

    "Oh, please," said Sujin. "Pathetic."

    Sujin noted Leroux stayed behind Russ and himself, using them as cover.

    "Where to?" asked Russ.

    Sujin pointed to a massive foundational support column in the distance. It stretched straight up, scaling the canyon, until it ended abruptly, still under construction.

    After trudging up the uneven pathway, Sujin directed them around the massive column. As soon as they stepped in range, floodlights burst to life, blinding them until their goggles auto adjusted to the overwhelming LED blaze.

    The scaffolding remained empty. Tracks left by the vehicles and steel-toed boots were the only sign anyone had ever been there.

    Sujin pondered what on Rubrum happened to them?

    There were no signs of an avalanche, no bodies buried under thousands of loose rocks and stone. It was as if they were blown away and buried by a Rubrun sandstorm.

    None of it made sense.

    Sujin had no answers. And that nagged at him. But the more he explored, the more answers he would have. He hoped.

    They found an all-terrain jacktruck parked on the far side of the unfinished site. Again Sujin had to wonder why it was just left there.

    "You drive, Sheriff. Mr. Ghelus, keep your eyes peeled."

    Leroux paused, but offered no objection, hopping into the cab. After powering it up, two beams streaming from the truck headlights cut through the dark.

    The sheriff droned. "Where to now?"

    "Let''s head towards the previous column. It was completed months ago, but perhaps the crew became aware of a flaw or oversight."

    "That''s wishful thinking. Your crew is¡ªpoof¡ªgone. We should leave."

    Sujin gripped the head of his cane, tempted to remove the arcblade. "Do as I say, Blaine."

    Leroux huffed, but they carried on, past to the previous column.

    The floodlights there had been removed, leaving them in near total darkness, but not for their goggles and the truck headlights.

    No signs of anything.

    Only one place left to check.

    On the way there, Russ'' hand shot out, finger pointing to the canyon floor. "Look. Heavier crawler track concentration."

    Sujin saw them too. The tracks led to their final destination: the toolshed.

    They pressed onward. The construction crew had bulldozed through the ground at the base of the lift, making a direct pathway along the canyon floor to the temporary toolshed. Toolshed was a misnomer. It spread wide and stood tall, built into the canyon wall. It housed all of the equipment, from the individual tools for each man, to the large backhoes, excavators, dump trucks, and a drillcrane.

    "The floodlights should have detected our movement within this range."

    As if hearing Sujin''s complaint, floodlights burst to life.

    The hangar-wide doors of the toolshed hung ajar, like a massive metal maw. Like the crew had forgotten to close them. The floodlights illuminated the inside of the shed, but cast the back far interior in shadow.

    "The fools. Why did I purchase such expensive precautions if they just left the doors wide open? Anyone could ransack the entire shed and have everything they need for a construction project."

    Russ offered a thought. "Must have been ransacked by your competitors. Know any tycoons with enough gall to do just that?"

    They stepped through the wide doors.

    Large silhouettes of the massive machinery loomed, still parked in the shed, much to Sujin''s surprise.

    "Oh. Now that ain''t right." Leroux''s voice quivered through his respirator. "You didn''t get ransacked. All the equipment is still here."

    Sujin''s brows contorted.

    "Mean''s nobody''s working overtime either," said Russ.

    Baffled, the obvious question ejected out of Sujin''s mouth. "If they''re not working, where are they?"

    "I''ve seen enough. Let''s get out of here and come back with a team of hired mercenaries. We''re not fit to deal with whatever''s down here."

    "Keep your babble to yourself, Sheriff. There is a logical explanation for this, I''m sure."

    "Like what? They all got offered better jobs and left in a hurry? You think they found a precious metal vein and struck it rich overnight?"

    Sujin stepped further into the warehouse looking for some sign of what occurred. A pile of rocks near the far wall caught his eye. It was as if someone had taken an excavator and driven to the back of the shed and dumped it there aimlessly.

    "Look at the mess someone made. Dumping a pile of rocks in here."

    The three men drew nearer.

    But even in the darkness the key feature were the splashes and former puddles staining the floor panels, now dried crimson.

    The sheriff gasped, voicing the reaction that Sujin suppressed.

    A lone light flashed on, but flickered, offering an erratic strobe light illumination.

    From what he made out between strobes, Sujin realized that the lumps he''d taken for rocks weren''t rocks at all. Pieces of his crew sprawled everywhere.This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

    Leroux contorted, groaned, then ripped off his respirator and heaved.

    White hot fury filled Sujin. "Who would have done this?" He rasped. "Who would dare?"

    Someone was trying to send him a message.

    The sheriff wiped his lips. "Who ? What do you mean who?  What did this,  is more accurate."

    Sujin''s lips quivered in silent rage. He''d find out who did this and destroy them. He''d send a message to all of Rubrum. You don''t sabotage Sujin McCrory and live to reap the opportunities.

    He steeled himself against the gruesome scene strobing under his feet. Using his cane to navigate the uneven ground, Sujin marched around the carnage, trying to make sense of it. Russ followed at his side, revolvers drawn and cocked. This time Sujin did not object to the firearms, though he doubted the savages that had massacred his men remained at the scene of the crime.

    Without the lights inside working, they relied on their goggles and the strobing light bursts from the one damaged light. Sujin eyed Russ, waiting for a reaction, but the man remained stoic, ready for action. Small divots ran the length of the metal floor panels, but they were fitted together with precision, meaning none of the ichor had anywhere to seep into. Stagnant puddles of bodily fluid spread about the remains. It was like a scene from a serial killer''s journal.

    The initial rage wearing off, Sujin peeled off his respirator and heaved. At least that coward Leroux did it first.

    The stench struck him full in the face, burning in his nostrils, followed by a chill breeze of stale air that tousled his hair. The stale air blew towards him, not coming from the opening at his back, but in the darkness ahead.

    "Mr. Ghelus, what is that?"

    The man shook his head, unsure.

    What Sujin had taken for a large shadow was actually a hole big enough for the jacktruck to drive through, rent in the back of the shed, leading into the canyon wall, like the entrance of a cave.

    The foul wind leaked from that hole.

    The HUD inside his goggles blipped to life with a warning beep. Sujin gasped, taken aback. Someone crouched in the darkness, just before them in the hole.

    He thought he saw the outline of a tall gaunt figure clothed in a tattered robe. But when he blinked the figure was gone.

    Did he imagine it?

    The hole practically emanated darkness itself.

    "Did you see that?"

    "See what?" asked Russ.

    Leroux''s babbling must have gotten to him. As if the carnage at his feet weren''t bad enough, now he was seeing things.

    A low rumble filled his ears. No. Not a rumble. A growl. The damaged light strobed more, like a thumping heartbeat, fueling his adrenaline and exposing his naked fear.

    The shadow of a man stretched across the floor. Sujin almost gasped, but realized it was the sheriff standing in the opening of the lift door. Anger replaced his fear, anger at himself for letting Leroux''s own fears get to him.

    "Y''all seen enough, right? Let''s go."

    This time Sujin had no objections.

    What of the low rumbling sound he heard? Must have been the toolshed shifting. Yes. That was it.

    Sujin turned to go, but Russ stayed, transfixed on the hole, barrels pointed at it. His body language displayed all of the signs of one in a shootout standoff.

    "Mr. Ghelus. Let''s depart."

    Sujin almost thought the man did not hear him. But then he spun his revolvers around his fingers and slammed them back into his holsters.

    Leroux stepped aside as they reached the exit.

    The growl rumbled again, sending tremors up Sujin''s cane, through his hand, and up the length of his arm.

    Leroux hissed a gutteral curse. "Ah, splintered shale."

    A snake-like thing slithered out of the hole, crawling up to the ceiling, followed by another, and another. In the low light it took longer for Sujin''s mind to register that they were not serpentine. They were tentacles, seeking tendrils belonging to some larger creature. Or creatures.

    Leroux bellowed a wordless cry.

    A tendrilled feeler grazed Sujin''s arm. A spike of stinging pain caused him to reel back and utter a sharp cry.

    He spun, running through the opening and tripped, losing his cane.

    Sharp rocks dug into his chest and ribcage, dust ruining his tailored suit.

    Russ stood guard, his back to Sujin, answered the creeping things with his coilguns. Gunfire erupted, breaking the silence, illuminating the dark. He caught a glimpse of Russ'' best-shot-on-Rubrum claim.

    Tentacles whipped out of the shadow, thick cords seeking to wrap them up and drag them back into the hole. With expert precision, Russ blasted each moving target. The bulbed tendril tips exploded in a firework display of electromagnetic shots and splattering alien gore.

    Sujin expected the sheriff to help him to his feet, but Leroux already climbed into the jacktruck cab and revved the engine.

    The tycoon almost reached for the small blaster in his coat pocket to put a blast between the sheriff''s eyes, but Russ'' arms grabbed him and scooped him off of the ground. Sujin snatched up his cane and the two of them stumbled to the truck.

    Strange predatory snarls and alien moans stalked them, echoing from inside the cave.

    They barely clambered into the truck when Leroux mashed the gas, leaving the lift in a plume of dust. Russ used the headrest of his seat to lay his arm over, eyes looking down his holosights, lobbing gauss blasts into the warehouse opening at the thing.

    "Head for the freight lift," commanded Sujin. "It''s closer. Drive the truck straight onto it."

    The uneven bumps in the road lifted Sujin out of his seat the entire way back to the lift, but Sujin didn''t mind. As long as they escaped.

    The sheriff locked up the brakes, sliding to a stop right in front of the freight lift. He hopped out and mashed the button to open the guardrail gate over and over. "Come on. Open up already."

    Of what they could see of the lift, it lay uneven, knocked off the track. It would not be making any trips back to the top ever again. One rail peeled away from the lift, like a big hand had pried it off.

    A roar pierced the silence, echoing off the canyon walls. Or they weren''t echoes. Could be a call and many answers, predators communicating to each other where to find the prey.

    "Ah shade and shale," said Leroux, cranking the wheel, and hightailing it back to the man lift. Before long Leroux slammed the brakes of the truck. The truck slid to a halt and the three of them hopped out. Pain wracked Sujin''s bum leg, but he clenched his jaw and squeezed his cane, absorbing the pain.

    The doors slid open slowly. The three men barged into the lift.

    Sujin strained his ears, but didn''t hear the thing, or couldn''t hear above the blood beating in his eardrums, or the clicking of Leroux smashing the close and rise buttons of the lift over and over.

    They must have outrun it with the truck.

    Russ posted against the wall of the lift, peering back at the way they''d come. But they''d driven so fast, they''d left their path in a dust cloud.

    After what seemed like ages, the lift doors slid closed and it rose.

    Sujin leaned against the wall, then felt his knees give out. He sank to the floor, ripping off his goggles and respirator, and sighed.

    Russ'' eyes locked onto the lift doors, transfixed. His hands still hefted his revolvers, as if he expected that thing to burst into the lift at any moment.

    The silhouette of the thing burned in Sujin''s mind. Dark it was, and golden eyed.

    Leroux rambled incomplete sentences, switching between swearing at Russ and blaming Sujin for everything. His insults fell on deaf ears.

    What was that thing?

    His crew had not been destroyed by his competitors. They''d been hunted down and slain by a predator.

    Where did it come from?

    The thick shadow hole spread in Sujin''s mind. They came from the canyon wall, from underneath.

    The canyon dug like a wound down to the heart of Rubrum. Like everyone, he''d heard tales of predator aliens on the red planet. But he''d always assumed they were simply that¡ªtales.

    If they fed on man, why did they not attack the settlements? Did they fear humans gathered in large numbers? No. They''d killed a large crew. And they had not devoured the bodies. Sujin saw that himself. They left the dead where they fell. They didn''t kill to satisfy some need for food. They slay trespassers on their territory.

    Sujin snarled. "This is but a hiccup in the plans. A roadblock."

    Leroux eyed him like he had gone insane.

    This was where Sujin shined. Where others would see this as a defeat, he saw an opportunity. He just had to look at it from the right angle, see it in a way that others would never think to consider, and ponder this revelation in a new light.

    A loud boom rocked the lift.

    Leroux yelped.

    Russ flinched.

    The lift strained, groaning, as it fought to climb, but came to a grinding halt. Another blast knocked them all off of their feet. The lift lights sputtered, then gave out, plunging them into darkness.

    This time Sujin wanted to wield his arcblade. What good would it really do though? The thing trapped them in close quarters. He didn''t even know what it was. It could be indestructible compared to human weapons. There were plenty pieces of human evidence back in the toolshed to suggest that.

    He went instead for his comm. It was a luxury model, with a boosted signal, one so strong that it cost more than some lower end hovercraft. Or at least as expensive as the hovercraft rescue he was about to contact.

    "Page. Page, do you hear me?"

    The assistant came through, muffled, but transmitting fine.

    "Send the hovercraft to my coordinates. Burn all the fuel if you have to."

    The panel nearest Sujin dented inwards.

    "It''s trying to get in," croaked Leroux.

    The sound of metal being torn apart pierced their eyes. Tentacles shot into the opening, like fingers sifting through a can of caviar, looking to scoop out and snack on the three of them.

    Russ'' guns blazed. But with nowhere to run, backed in a corner, even being as good a shot as he was, there wasn''t much he could do. Tentacles latched onto Sujin''s new bodyguard, pinning him down. The thing''s maw breached the hole it made, exposing rows of fangs. It fastened onto Russ'' torso, tearing into him. The man''s shrill screams needled from Sujin''s ears to his soul.

    Sujin hefted his burning arcblade, using it to hack into the predator. His blade passed through the creature''s thick skin with ease. It hissed, retreating, leaving a bloodied Russ and the lingering foul odor of its scorched hide.

    Sujin tossed his arcblade to Leroux and pointed to the lift doors. Then he removed his blazer and attempted to use it to stop the scarlet flow leaking out of Russ.

    "What do you want me to do with this?"

    Sujin yelled above the shots fired. "Quit your shrieking and get the lift doors open."

    "Are you trying to get eaten?

    "A craft is on the way."

    "That thing could come back."

    "We''ll be devoured if you don''t open it."

    The sheriff gave him a sour look, then started hacking and stabbing with the arcblade.

    Sujin shook his head, swearing. "I can''t believe I''ve supported you this long. Really, Leroux. Your true character is on full display here today."

    The chastened man gritted his teeth, wedged the blade between the doors and pried, until they burst open.

    Not a moment later high beams from the hovercraft blinded them. Sujin raised his arm over his eyes.

    Page stepped out of the lift ramp and offered his hand.

    "No. Grab Mr. Ghelus. Gently now. He''s badly injured."

    Behind him he heard Leroux and Page clamber onto the ramp with Russ, but not without much yelling and groaning. Russ had gone into shock.

    The ramp closed and the thing outside roared as if in pain.

    Page navigated the craft up and out of the canyon at top speeds.

    Leroux bounded into the cockpit, falling into two empty chairs and strapping in beside him.

    Sujin hovered over Russ and began a tally in his head. An entire crew lost. Page would have to inform their families. In some cases he''d have to pay out life insurance claims. But he would still have to hire an entire new crew. The recruitment alone would cost him a fortune, not to mention the wages. And then he had to repair the busted lift, or build an all new one.

    Besides all the extra costs, this would cost him life''s most valuable and limited resource. Time.

    "What was that noise? Did you destroy it?"

    Leroux shook his head at Sujin. "No. The closing ramp hacked off a piece."

    With a gloved hand he tossed a thick chunk of severed tentacle over. It landed with a splattering smack before Sujin''s shoes. It writhed on the floor, as if it could squirm back to the rest of its body.

    Sujin recoiled, frowning. "Disgusting."

    Pain stinging in his own arm reminded Sujin he had sustained an injury from the alien.

    His own hand throbbed, matching the twitching member, beat for beat.

 26 | THE GRAVE AND THE CRYPT

    Tracy dabbed Jorah''s forehead with an antiseptic cloth from the ship''s med kit. It took him several tries to prep the bandage. His smartarm fizzled and jerked, having lost all of its former nuance and finesse. Through it all, she''d only given her name and muttered a  thank you mister . Tracy kept quiet, understanding. The girl had just lost her cattle, her livelihood, and her father. If his smartarm felt as bad as it looked, it would be nothing compared to her pain.

    Tracy himself felt like his prosthetic. Numb, rattled, busted, and clunky. Sure, he''d merked the men responsible. But their deaths didn''t bring her father back. Or the cattle for that matter. So, in spite of the dwindling time wasting away, he decided to help her round up the cattle that he could.

    Chasm seemed more than willing to help, as if he understood what needed to be done, and didn''t seem to mind the extra weight Jorah brought to the saddleseat. Which made it easier, since Tracy was one-armed again, for all intents and purposes. The smartarm held on by a circuit, but would break soon. Any time a rebel cow or bull broke away from the herd, Chasm huffed at them with a low rumble from his exhaust pipes, scaring them back in line.

    As they galloped around the remaining cattle, herding them back to Jorah''s home, Tracy''s mind circled around the attack he just escaped.

    That thing wasn''t like any animal he''d ever encountered. It was a creature straight from the depths of nightmare, as if it crawled from the pits of Noctis Labyrinthus itself.

    Up until that point Tracy sided with the Earth rationalists, that the notion of alien life, particularly on Mars, was conspiracy theory cow pie, a crafted narrative to bolster Martian economics with an influx of eager explorers turned laborers. But not so, as he experienced firsthand. More like  firstarm . The aliens were not crafted, but very real. And believing that lie cost him dearly.

    "There are aliens here on Rubrum?"

    "Of course," snapped Jorah.

    "How? This is news to me. Heck, this would be the talk of everyone on Earth were it a known fact. But everyone thinks it''s Rubrum propaganda."

    "Y''all deserted us. Left us hung out to dry. What makes you think we''d want to even think about sending information that trivial back to Terra? Y''all think we''re liars anyways. Wouldn''t help our survival none either. Besides, the aliens weren''t here when we first arrived. We roused ''em I think. Woke ''em up with all our chatter and clatter. Soon as we started mining the caves and aggregating the volcano quarries, then they appeared. Sparse sightings here and there. Townsfolk don''t believe, but us farmers know."

    Jorah quieted after that, and Tracy did not pester her.

    That thing was still out there.

    Chills crawled down his back. If that monstrous alien roamed Mars, what other tales about Mars were true? And what other terrors awaited him? To think, he''d slept under the stars two nights in a row, oblivious to the horrors that lurked in the dark.

    But obviously the alien creatures stayed away from the settlements. Groups of people caused even predatory animals to shy away on Earth. The same must be true for Mars.

    He tightened his flesh hand around the reins. He had to get Jorah home quick and be on his way to Noke''la, for both their sakes. A thing that big would not be satisfied with consuming only one adult male corpse. Lucky for Tracy, there were several of them he''d left back by the downed ship. If that thing had any kind of keen sense of smell, it would be back for more. Tracy shuddered.

    Jorah gripped Tracy''s duster. Her tightened grip made him reach for his blasters on instinct. But then he saw her family''s wrecked speeder and understood why she tensed.

    She offered her father''s still body a blank stare and no words.

    Tracy gave her a few moments of silence, then spoke up. "We can''t leave the body here. Buzzards will get it. If we''re lucky. If not, that  thing  will."

    At first he thought she didn''t hear him. She offered no response. Then, a whisper. "There''s a tarp in the trunk, under the spare parts and tools."

    Tracy retrieved it from the speeder. Jorah pretended to study the landscape basking in a red sunset in the distance as he wrapped the body in the tarp and strapped it to the back of the steeder. It took a while and was cumbersome with only one fully functioning arm, but he dare not ask her to help him. This wasn''t his duty, but she didn''t deserve this.

    Once that was done, they pressed on, herding the cattle back to the farm.

    By the time he got there, nightfall was creeping up the horizon, chasing away the sun. Tracy offered most of the creds he swiped off of the dead rustlers. The criminals didn''t need them anymore. Tracy did, but Jorah''s lack was greater.

    Jorah''s mother met them at the busted wire gate of their farm. The site of the now widowed woman standing amidst a broken fence made Tracy mutter burning curses under his breath. But there was nothing for it. The men responsible for the destruction met their maker.

    Mother and daughter embraced. The dam behind Jorah''s eyes finally broke, gushing a torrent of emotions, wetting her mother''s shoulder. They shared sobs and wails.

    Without waiting to be asked, Tracy helped himself to the tool shed on the side of the barn and found spare posts, an auger, and some wire, as well as a jackshovel. He fixed the fence first, as best he could, so the cattle could not escape the corral and undo his detour. After that was complete, he picked a spot and dug. As he struck the ground, the jackshovel sent tremors into his arms and chest. Sweat covered his body, running into his eyes, the smell of fresh turned soil filled the air. It didn''t smell pleasant like earth. Smelled rotten. Like a festering, moist wound that he could taste on the top of his tongue. He tossed his duster, shirt, and Stetson on the ground. Throughout the excavation, his smartarm spazzed, rebelling against his commands, resulting in a warped tomb, but he kept his momentum anyways.

    He thought of the man he dug the grave for. Didn''t even know his name. The same rustlers who shot this man down shot Tracy down too. That crater should have been his grave. Could have been Tracy who bit the bullet today too, instead of the man he dug for.

    The familiarity of Mars pacified Tracy. From the semi-terraformed desert landscape, to the phase four animals brought in to roam the wild, the fields of rye, and especially the predictable Rubrun habitants¡ªunable to escape the human nature they fled Earth to get away from¡ªall of it lulled him into a false sense of security. Sure there was a risk on any fugitive capture mission. But he had wrongly assumed that he was playing the same game, just not on the home field. But this was not an away-game on the opposing field. This was an alien game on a hostile planet, and one that he did not fully fathom. If he wasn''t careful, Mars would slay him.

    By the time he had the grave ready, the women had stopped crying, noticing the work he''d accomplished. The widow offered him a tin cup of fresh water. The kindness of the gesture warmed his heart for a brief second. The liquid cooled his throat, quenching his thirst. The women asked to see his face one last time, and each kissed his forehead. Tracy, still panting, placed the body into the grave with care. Then Tracy climbed out of the hole filled it back up with dirt.

    The two wept, quiet this time.

    Frigid night wind licked Tracy''s damp skin. He shuddered and pulled his shirt and duster back on.

    Without knowing this man, Tracy''s thoughts turned to the photograph in his pocket, to Hina. He could have died today, mauled and munched on by that nameless alien predator. And his dear wife would be none the wiser, simply finding out one day that he died on duty. His trip was far from over. Plenty of time remained for him to die. He looked at the weeping women. Would this be Hina in a few weeks? A few months? Would she be forced to carry on without him, while she carried his child? Would she even make it through the third trimester this time?

    When he was done patting the grave top, Tracy too shed a few tears for the women who had lost a beloved family man. And, if he was honest, he selfishly shed a few tears for his wife, as he considered the dark future that might be, that seemed far more tangible than it ever had.

    Jorah whispered. "Thanks."

    Tracy''s brows furrowed. "You don''t need to thank me. I just did the right thing."

    "Not many do, around here."

    She drew close, catching his flesh hand in both of hers. "You slew those rustlers. Got most of our cattle back. You avenged my father. And you kept them from...well, girls my age only get kidnapped for one reason. I''m grateful for what you did today, Mr. Marshal."

    Standing on her tiptoes, she gave him a light kiss on the cheek.

    Tracy scratched the back of his head. They lost a father and a husband. He hadn''t expected gratitude from them. He just did what any decent person should have done.Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author.

    Jorah''s mother hugged him. "Why don''t you stay in our guest room for the night and I''ll make you a hearty breakfast in the morning. What do you say?"

    Taking one look at the dark unknown of the wilderness, he decided that was best.

    Chasm, ever his loyal companion, waited nearby the entire time. Tracy directed him into the stable for the night.

    "You done good today, boy," he said, patting the steeder.

    Two notifications from the steeder''s OS pinged through the marshal''s busted smartarm.

    Bonding level increased 89%.

    Bonding 100% achieved.

    Throughout the chaos of the day, he''d missed the notifications altogether. Tracy managed a solemn smile, then turned in for some shut eye. Come sunup, he''d ride into New Oklahoma and be that much closer to capturing Roy Rothspalt. That much closer to getting home.

    ***

    Tracy tossed on the cot, somewhere between half-sleep and a descent into the black of nightmare.

    He found himself striding forward, probing the obsidian desolation.

    Wet weathered walls hewn from pocked slabs erected themselves around Tracy, gleaming in the gloom. He found himself wandering through a mist-filled maze.

    He walked on for time unreckonable, mere minutes, or perhaps eons of eternity. Faint whispers echoed ahead. Silence stalked him. Onward he pressed.

    At some point he looked down and noticed he had two flesh arms. That wasn''t right. A bizarre sensation dug into him, but he couldn''t place why. He should have two flesh arms, right? That''s how it had always been.

    The maze forced him to turn this way, walk down a stretched corridor for a long time, turn that way, climb steps, descend ramps, cross small bridges, and circle around spires, until he was thoroughly lost. Stagnant wind stroked his face, drying his eyes and nostrils.

    Whispers tickled his ears. He halted, coming to a full stop, trying to contemplate the words.

    A feminine voice cut through the silence again, a single word he understood.

    "Marshall..."

    Eyes scanning the black, he locked onto a shadowy female form. But as he strode towards her, she evaporated like mist. Then, silence.

    The silence thickened, so much so that it became a sound itself, like eerie wailing chromatic notes murmured in his ears, echoing in his skull, reverberating in his heart. Always the high walls pressed tight against him, like blinders focusing a horse, keeping him from distraction, pressing him deeper into the web of passages.

    All at once the walls retreated, giving way to a field of tombstones. A lifted rostrum perched in the center of the opening, the focal point in the dead center of the labyrinth.

    Strange etched symbols ran the length of the stone surface, symbols of foreign shapes without structure or a pattern. Tracy abhorred the symbols. As his eyes sought to discern a meaning, a purpose, an unease crept into his gut. For, he found he could understand, though the symbols remained unrecognizable.

    Strange is the night where black stars rise,

    And twin moons circle through the skies,

    But stranger still is

    Lost Carcosa.

    Fear outside himself bore down, crushing, smothering like an anvil placed on his shoulders.

    He strained against the burden of fear, resisting. Something inside him snapped. Anger at the strange signs and a hatred towards the oppressive fear raged inside of him.

    The stone slab he mistook for a raised dais shifted. Low rumbling clashed with the teeth-gnashing scrapping of rock grating on rock. Fetid rot leaked from the cracked sarcophagus lid. A visible putrid gas tumbled out of the eldritch tomb, but the contents of the slate coffin were out of Tracy''s sight. Slender fingers edged over the lip of the tomb. A lithe stretched hand wrested on the rim, then an arm.

    The thing pushed itself up. It arose at a slow pace. Tracy craned his neck to keep it in view as it towered over him. A yellow mantle cloaked an elongated humanoid body, like the thin sheet separating life and death. It hung in the air, narrow as a pillar, gaunt as a cadaver, outstretched beyond healthy human proportions. Yet, the infirmed figure hovering over Tracy emanated a strength that opposed its ailing frame, a strength reinforced by the spiked copper crown resting atop it''s head over the hood.

    A King in Yellow.

    As his eyes traced the decrepit emaciation, the face of the thing arrested his gaze. It rested in the crook of a yellow hood. Sunken shadows for eyes. Hollowed cheeks. Pursed, bitter lips. A mask wrought in a tempered metal, like bronze, caught the reflection of a sourceless, faint sulphurous light.

    A taste of bile crept up Tracy''s throat, a gut reaction for the abhorrence he wielded against this ancient abomination, this daemon of the dark. He stumbled backwards. Terror seized his soul. His hands fumbled for his blasters, but his sides were naked. His palms dampened with slick sweat. The revolvers would have been useless anyways, like fighting a poisonous coiling serpent with a cotton ball.

    Thorn-tipped fingers sought him, as if the eldritch entity remained blind while rousing from it''s epoch slumber.

    The marshal recoiled away from the slender fingers, but he wasn''t swift enough. A dead finger brushed against the back of his hand. A shock of burning pain ran from his hand up his arm. Even as Tracy watched, his hand paled, then turned yellow, corrupting the whole arm. Bruises and cancerous lacerations formed, a sickness spreading, until his arm numbed and withered, hanging limp at his side, disintegrating. His arm was gone.

    What remained of Tracy''s will to live washed away, a sandcastle swept aside by a wave of overwhelming revulsion. He backed into a stone wall, jostling his head, biting his tongue. Blood filled his mouth. Pressure built in his lungs, climbing past his vocal cords. A scream exploded from his mouth as he clawed the wall with his remaining hand until his fingers were raw. He dug his face into the stone, enraptured by the horror.

    Fingers as long as his legs constricted him, yanking him into the air. The bronze face rushed towards him, shadow sockets growing larger, like two eyeless pits that Tracy would plummet into and fall forever.

    Darkness washed over him, a flash flood of obsidian death drowning him in insignificant, blackened obscurity. He writhed as he sank, unable to breathe, to scream. He floundered, thrashing his limbs.

    He crashed into a hard surface. A yelling male voice filled his ears. After a moment he recognized it belonged to himself.

    He opened his eyes and was met by Jorah and her mother holding a lantern.

    Tracy lay sprawled out on the ground next to the cot.

    Across the room his damaged smartarm lay, exactly where he set it after removing it for bed. Early morning light crept at the edges of the window. Sunup was just around the corner and over the horizon.

    He assured them he was alright, but from their stillness and the perspiration gathered in droplets on their faces, the wideness of their eyelids, Tracy knew his night terror outburst disturbed them to the core.

    Tired did not even begin to describe the way he felt. Burned out more like it. They assured him he could stay until late morning, but their quivering hospitality told a different story.

    Tracy gathered his things and saddled up with Chasm.

    In spite of the visceral vividness of the night terror, it faded in his mind with each beat of Chasm''s hooves. By the time dawn cracked the sky, the morning sunlight burned away the memory of the nightmare.

 27 | BOUGHT â€˜N PAID FOR

    Roy brought the glass of white wine up to his nose, savoring the floral aromas. He preferred to surround himself with less intelligent individuals, but he also never turned down opportunities to mingle with those of an elevated class. Compared to the dry outdoors, the hot air inside Sujin McCrory''s double decker bullet train lounge warmed him, uncomfortably so. He resisted the urge to loosen his bow tie.

    Across from him, Sujin the tycoon sat in his wingback chair, legs crossed at the knee, a way that Roy found feminine and loathed, though somehow the tycoon still oozed self-confidence. Sujin managed to have perfect posture and appear comfortable. Roy wanted to call him seven different vulgar names, but held his tongue. He did make it a point to widen his legs before crossing his in a figure four. For all that, he considered Sujin a friend. He had to. The Red Prince paid him handsomely every so often for healing.

    They drank wine in silence. Roy had been invited, so he waited for Sujin to do the talking. As Roy himself studied Sujin, he noted beads of sweat surfacing on the man''s forehead. The tycoon produced a handkerchief and dabbed himself. Roy noted that the color of his skin paled a few shades since they last met.

    "Are you well, Mr. McCrory?"

    In silence, the tycoon examined him as well, as if trying to solve a mystery.

    Roy swirled the glass, then sipped again, happy to draw the meeting out. He reveled in the lush living Sujin enjoyed. Ancient music¡ªa symphony Roy believed was the term¡ªfilled the void between them with a broad, busy sound, which was just a tad too bloated for Roy''s tastes. Roy recognized the pompous display of lavish extravagance. As his sermons were a charismatic performance of showmanship, so too was this rendezvous, an act put on by this robber baron. Roy plastered on a grin so as to not sneer. He would not fall for it. If the tycoon had everything his heart desired, why did he seek an audience with Roy?

    At length Sujin broke the silence.

    "You''re something of an enigma, Mr. Rothspalt."

    "How so?"

    "You appear like a tempest and take New Oklahoma by storm. None know exactly where you came from, or where you are going. But you have followers. And the people, they seem to love you. Or at least they love what you''re selling."

    "I''ve been here four years. Almost two years in Noke''la. Long enough to be a local. And I''m not selling anything. I offer them truth and hope."

    "Hope in what?"

    "Hope in a higher power. Beyond that I can''t say. That is sacred knowledge for those of devout faith, if they have enough belief."

    "Scarcity of knowledge. And leveraging people''s willpower or lack thereof against them. A common power play tactic. The blame is never on you for being a demanding taskmaster, it is on them for their shortcomings. Clever. I must admit, I''m impressed with you Roy. But enough charades. We two men are not so different. We both thrive off of the lives of others. I turn a profit. You reap in dependence and affection."

    "Since we''re speaking bluntly, I''ve not said kind things of your type, nor of the circles you run in, Mr. McCrory. In fact, one could say I''ve made the tycoons out to be enemies of the good people of New Oklahoma, and Rubrum at large. I''ve equated you with Terrans even. Everyone needs someone to hate, you see."

    Sujin nodded, as if he''d been aware of this all along. Sujin arose and limped to the window, leaning heavily on his cane, staring out at Noke''la. "Are you aware that this planet is in the throes of death?"

    "This planet was dead when we got here a hundred years ago."

    "Yes. But for a time, we rejuvenated it, coaxed it back to life. But it seems Rubrum is through, done living. It would rather we pull the plug."

    "What makes you say that, Mr. McCrory?"

    "Every time this planet gets a leg up, an event occurs to bring it groveling to its knees. This planet almost turned green, long ago. Or parts of it at least. My father remembered it. Told me so. But then you know what happened?"

    "Another Terran war."

    "Precisely. That war cut us off from Terra, ending the support and the supply chain. We were left to fend for ourselves, fix anything that broke, learn to do without. Rubrum has never quite recovered from the regression experienced in those days. We''ve made no technological advancements, stuck with the same level of ingenuity as when we got here a hundred plus years ago. And in most cases, we''ve gone backwards, lost ground in the ever-waging conquest of progress. Entire settlements lost in some cases. Like Coprates."

    At the mention of Coprates, Roy made sure to keep his face blank. "Ain''t so bad. We''re surviving."

    "Are we? Or is this a slow death? Punishment in purgatory perhaps, doomed to suffer the consequences, the repercussion of the sins of our fathers."

    "I just carry on and mind my own business. I don''t try to dwell on those things."

    "What if you weren''t immune to the regression, Roy? What if obstacles were about to crop up in your life?" said Sujin. "Because I understand that you have trouble heading your way."

    "Do you now? What have you heard?"Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

    "It''s been brought to my attention that a certain Terran lawman, a U.S. Marshal no less, has been sent to apprehend you on account of your past...activities."

    "I''m fully aware of the marshal. You''re the third person to warn me of him. In fact, the first was a man from Tharsis. The first bum leg I ever healed. In a way you owe your recovering leg to him. He showed me I was capable of helping others with my gifts.

    "But as for the marshal, I''ve not decided what to do." He lied. He''d wanted to request Sujin''s help. He''d come ready to offer a compelling argument. Sujin was indebted to Roy for all of the healing he''d performed. Now it seemed forces were working on the tycoon for Roy already.

    "One can never be too careful. I''m prepared to extend my own personal bodyguard as well as leveraging some other...connections I have made. Just say the word."

    "You''d do that for me?" Roy beamed. "In exchange for what exactly?"

    Sujin raised a gloved hand. He pinched and tugged at each fingertip before removing the entire glove.

    "I''ve taken it upon myself personally, to not see this planet regress any further. I''ve drawn my line in the red sand. Call me superstitious, but since my resolve hardened, I''ve met more obstacles than prior to my decision."

    He held out his hand for Roy to inspect.

    An open wound marred the back of his hand, just in between the knuckle of his thumb and first finger. The skin around it oozed through hairline cracks. Purple and blue veins of corruption spread from the center, webbing their way out at random, stretching away from the focal point. A yellow secretion crusted over in the center of the wound, but Roy could see that even now, a dampness settled into the lesion.

    "How does it feel?"

    "Cold. No, hot. Both. It throbs."

    "Where''d you get this nasty bugger?"

    "Down in the canyon."

    "What were you doing down there?"

    Sujin closed his eyes, gave a sharp inhale, and shuddered. "Never mind that. Page has tried tending it with dressing, but it''s growing worse. Can you tend to this?"

    Roy frowned. It was obvious Sujin didn''t want to speak of the incident. He was holding back some information. Roy had never seen the man so shaken.

    "I can try."

    "I know you can heal this. What do you want? Name your price."

    Roy hesitated, but not because he was trying to string Sujin along. "What about the sheriff and his deputies? Do you have any sway over them? Sheriff Frumt and his lawmen have nothing against me, but they ain''t for me neither. Save for one of the deputies, none of the others are members of my congregation. They could easily side with the marshal. Might see it as duty. And they won''t want to provoke the wrath of Terra if they can help it. The marshal could easily gather them to his cause."

    "Let the marshal recruit them. Even better if they join his cause. Let him feel a false security in the strength of numbers. Even if they side with him, I own the sheriff, and he can turn his hounds against anyone, even a marshal, and especially one so far outside the protection of his jurisdiction. You forget that lawmen of different affiliations often despise each other."

    "Good. That puts my mind at ease." Roy paused, considering if he should allow Sujin to be privy to Cherry''s power. "The King bestowed a vision on one of those in my inner circle. She saw the marshal and warned me. Then another man in Tharsis warned me of the lawman. And now you. My King proves himself ever faithful."

    Sujin waved his good hand dismissively. "But don''t forget who''s providing you with the real protection. Warnings are great, but gunslingers and the creds that buy their loyalty are better. Now can you heal this?"

    Roy jumped to his feet, towering over Sujin, eye''s blazing yellow, hands burning amber. The stench of sulphur filled the lounge and the conditioned air crackled. The white wine boiled in the glass, then evaporated. Glass shattered, raining over the floor. "You think this is a game? Do not blaspheme my King. Without him, you would not be healed these six times before."

    Sujin dropped his glass of wine. It toppled to the floor, staining the velvet carpet. Roy saw himself in the reflection of Sujin''s eyes. For a moment all pretenses of wealth and prestige fell away from the tycoon, and he sat as if naked before Roy, exposed for what he was. A vulture in a place of power, but a vulture and not a man.

    The tycoon gawked at Roy''s undeniable display of power, but his sick hand went to his cane.

    The tycoon regained his composure quicker than Roy would have given him creds for. He extended his hand to Roy, resting it atop the cane head, the wound on full display.

    "Please, Roy. I meant no offense to your pagan deity. Obviously with all my wealth, I can seek out anyone to attempt to heal this, but you''re the only one who''s results I trust."

    Roy''s rage eased, flattery calming his nerves. He straightened his blazer and seated himself, reaching out with his hand and examining Sujin''s again. His other hand clasped his medallion, drawing power from it.

    He knew what made this kind of wound. And he also knew that unlike Sujin''s ailments, the tycoon would never heal from this infection. All Roy could do was prolong the inevitable. The temptation to smile tugged at the corners of his lips.

    "Get comfortable in that chair, Sujin. This is going to hurt."

 28 | FEELING GUILTY

    Leroux paced the New Oklahoman train station deck, wobbling a bit, waiting for the bullet train to arrive. Besides him a borg woman watched him pace. Her metal arm reflected bright sunlight into his face, making him squint and move away. She reminded him of Tracy.

    Tracy. He''d gone and thrown a wrench in the middle of everything. Now because his old former friend appeared, Leroux sat in a heap of trouble.

    And for what? He''d lost five men. Four died at the end of Tracy''s gun barrels. And Sujin snatched up his most reliable man, Russ. That stung.

    Russ himself wasn''t alright. Not after losing his best bud. Leroux realized he had lost Russ then, the moment Trace ended Quynn''s life.

    His head spun a little from all the drinking. Had it really been yesterday that he and Sujin and Russ set foot down in the bowels of the canyon? So dark down there. Seemed like ages ago.

    Then Russ had gone and got himself mauled by that thing. Leroux closed his eyes to ward off the screams. No human should make noises like that.

    According to Sujin, Russ would survive. The Red Prince had access to the best doctors and surgeons creds could buy.

    Leroux couldn''t bear to lose another man. But it was all outside of his control. So he''d spent the rest of the night drinking. Trying to forget what he heard, what he saw. Trying to forget how he''d acted. Shale, he''d been on SWAT back on Terra. But cutting down drug dealers and human traffickers was different than coming face to face with the unknown, a thing beyond comprehension that shouldn''t exist.

    His stomach churned. He''d come here to escape trouble. Terra was trouble. But not Rubrum. Rubrum was new. Rubrum was adventure. Rubrum was retirement. Or it had been, before Trace showed up. Now things between Leroux and Sujin were rocky at best, splintering like shale.

    And he knew Sujin too well. The robber baron reveled in acting cruel. He''d make Leroux sweat it out until he either favored him again or not, just to make Leroux writhe.

    An ache in his chest pressed down on him, making it hard to breathe, hard to walk. He''d fallen out of favor with Sujin, his patron. Or at least that''s how he always understood their relationship until now. Now he realized that Sujin viewed him as less than a slave, a mere object, a tool that he could use or dispose of.

    The sheriff knew Sujin''s history. The man was unforgiving. Mistakes were not tolerated. They were obliterated. Leroux had been fooled by the man''s outer appearance. He wore youth like a costume, a role he assumed, and one that played well. Leroux remembered the day he found out that Sujin¡ªwho appeared vibrant and healthy¡ªwas in fact dying. In desperation he''d begun to see the Reverend Roy for healing in attempts to elongate his life. Apparently it was working.

    Outward appearances led him to believe he and Sujin were peers, albeit separated by class. But Sujin''s superiority complex loomed large in Leroux''s mind now.

    In the far distance, sunlight reflected off of an oval speck moving towards the station at incredible speeds. The train would arrive soon, and Leroux would be back to Tharsis in no time at all. But not back to normal. No Edom. No Milton. No Peter. No Quynn. And no Russ. Just him and Crag.

    Crag, that mindless idiot. His only strength lay in his reputation as having an overeager trigger finger, and a deft shot. It kept most people from breaking laws. But enforcing Law didn''t mean Crag knew how to keep Order. The sheriff would probably return to a Tharsis in shambles. How did that look to the inhabitants? Four men dead. One deputy, Russ, dying, and even if he survived, he worked for Sujin now. And no Trace to pay for it. He''d lose the settlement''s trust, and his reelection as sheriff, come next term or sooner. Especially without Sujin''s support. The tycoon warned him with an implicit threat. Leroux groaned. He was about to lose it all. He''d left his wife for this, jumped planets to start fresh, to make something of himself, to put his good looks to better use, leveraging his charm into a cush position.

    Leroux bit his upper lip, irritation building at the reminder of his missing mustache, no thanks to the velcro-length hairs scratching his lower lip.

    This was all because of Tracy, but the fault was his own.

    The oval bullet train drove towards him at tremendous speeds, growing larger and larger by the second.Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit.

    It reminded him of Tracy. His old pal. That guy had drive. What drove him to keep going? Leroux knew that Trace would pursue Roy with relentless fervor until he captured him, or died trying. The guy took the law too seriously.

    Until he met Tracy, Leroux thought that every person who joined law enforcement joined for one reason. Power. Who didn''t want to be able to pilot speeders fast, take down criminals, and strut down the street knowing everyone either feared or respected you. He''d assumed that guys with some higher sense of justice, law, and order were just a myth. Or they were too young, and the years on the force hadn''t scraped away their romanticism yet. But then Tracy showed him that old school, upright men who tried to walk the straight-n-narrow did exist.

    That always kind of pissed Leroux off. It got under his skin even more because the longer he worked with Tracy, the more he realized the guy wasn''t self-righteous in the slightest. Tracy really strove to make the world a better place, and he managed to remain uncompromised, all these years.

    With whining breaks and a loud whistle, the train stopped at the station.

    Leroux didn''t want to get on the train, didn''t want to face the pile of crap waiting for him to deal with back in Tharsis, but what choice did he have?

    The far-stretching jagged horizon drew his attention. "Good luck out there, Tracy. Wherever you are." he whispered in the wind. "Brought this on yourself, brother. Too rigid."

    He boarded, found his seat, and tried to make himself comfortable for the twelve-hour train ride. Sure it was bullet fast, but it had a long way to navigate, skirting around the edge of Noctis Labyrinthus the whole way.

    His lids drooped shut. He tried to not think of savage murderous alien beasts lurking in the pits of the planet, tried not to think of the fact that he''d lost Russ, nor the fact that Sujin made a fool of him, that the tycoon with all his wealth had not offered to pay his train ticket to send him back to Tharsis.

    But most of all, despite words offered to the wind, he tried not to dwell on Tracy, and failed.

    ***

    Twelve hours later, a groggy, sore sheriff stepped off of the train in the face of a setting sun. He didn''t feel rested. No indeed. He felt covered in filth. He needed a long hot shower in steaming water.

    But first, he visited the office, making sure Crag hadn''t burned the place down.

    Crag nearly jumped out of his skin when Leroux walked through the door.

    "Whatchu doing here, Sheriff? Bout gave me a heart attack."

    Leroux could ask Crag the same thing. It was about two hours after the office had closed. But from the looks of it, the simpleton had leaned back with his filthy boots on Leroux''s desk, enjoying Leroux''s bourbon and Leroux''s cigars for a while now.

    He felt a storm raging, welling up from deep inside.

    "I know this looks bad. I''s just having a few drinks and blowing smoke rings for our fallen brothers. Taking a shot for each man. Processing it is all."

    As much as he wanted to hold onto the anger, that deflated him.

    "Pour two for Russ as well."

    "Why?"

    "Got himself a new job with Mr. McCrory. If he ain''t dead already."

 29 | RESURRECTION

    Pain racked Russ'' body.

    Body?

    He wasn''t dead?

    His limbs ached, his head throbbed, and his breaths rumbled in his chest.

    His chest. It should be leaking air, not holding it in. And losing blood.

    Russ strained his arms, then his legs, but only managed to move his neck. Straps held his body down on top of some sort of table. His arms tried to reach for his chest, even though he knew they were strapped down. A hollowness, an empty void, filled the place where his chest should be. Arms, legs, head, even gut¡ªthey all felt right and in the correct placement. But his chest wasn''t there. No feeling. Nothing but an empty cold, a frigid ice that matched his loss.

    After blinking for minutes on end, his sight came into focus. A bright light greeted his waking stare. Russ tried to find his voice, but it hid behind a gruff scraping growl.

    As his awareness grew, so did the waves of pain washing over him. "Shaledust and squalor," he groaned.

    "Try not to move," said a familiar voice, a voice Russ couldn''t place. "We''re still running tests. We''ll have you up and moving soon."

    Russ grunted an incoherent response.

    "It''s a miracle you''re alive, but you clung onto life by a thread of floss. You should be dead."

    A freckled, tight-eyed man rested hand over hand on a lavish cane, framed by a rose gold tailcoat suit. His gaze bothered Russ. Like he was looking at a piece of property and not a person.

    "Why''m I pinned down?"

    "We had to operate on you. It was a success."

    "I feel numb, and hollow inside. What''d you do to me?"

    "The numbness will pass with time. The hollowness... that might be the new normal for you, Mr. Ghelus."

    Without warning the table lifted and tilted forward. Vertigo spun Russ'' insides. He hurled.

    "A common side effect," said another voice. A squat man with the thickest arms Russ had ever seen stood on a stool and wiped Russ'' mouth with a rag. Flipping the rag inside out, he began rubbing Russ'' chest. Russ didn''t feel it one bit. But he heard it. Sounded like wool on metal.

    Russ snarled. "What have you done?"

    A large mirror descended from the ceiling like a guillotine. Russ stared at his reflection, an image he should recognize, but didn''t. A metal plated torso sat where flesh pecks and abs should be. His heartbeat thundered beneath the metal, reverberating like an analog drum. Cold and lifeless, the chest that now held the upper and lower halves of his body intact, housing his most vital organs, felt as dead as a frozen block of ice from Rubrum''s northern hemisphere.

    Russ screamed.

    ***The author''s narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

    Russ lifted the bulb, the severed piece of tentacle Leroux kept from the ordeal in the canyon. It could not hurt him now that it was severed from the thing.

    The thing felt cold and smooth in his palm. A piece of an alien. Or, really, a true inhabitant of Rubrum. A real Martian, as Terrans might say. Terrans would see this different, he thought. They''d be amazed that life popped up out of nowhere on Rubrum. But to Russ, a native, born and raised on Rubrum, it was nothing more than confirmation of a truth he''d known for most of his adult life.

    Humans were not alone on Rubrum.

    And he didn''t mean the Terran animals they''d brought over from the old world. Even though in his heart he remained a loyal Rubrum through and through, a part of him knew they shouldn''t be here. They were trespassing on Martian native''s territory. Now he held undeniable proof in his hand that at least one form of Martian existed.

    Martian wastes whizzed by in a blur outside the bullet train. His new quarters on the train were even bigger than his home back in Tharsis. He thought he''d made the right decision to accept Sujin''s offer. The hollow numbness in his chest begged to differ.

    Now his life consisted of following the tycoon everywhere, finally getting paid what he was worth. No more handling all of the situations Leroux neglected. Russ smiled at his faint reflection in the window.

    But even as he smiled, it felt hollow.

    Quynn believed in the  tentafang , as he had called it. When they were kids, his best friend had claimed to see one while out roaming the wild beyond the rye fields near the canyon at night. His parents scoffed at first, but as the boy kept insisting, they grew agitated, finally commanding him to never speak of it.

    The settlers weren''t much better either. They ridiculed him. Other kids had bullied him, until Russ beat them up. If Quynn were alive now, he would have been vindicated. He had not hallucinated or lied. The creatures were real. And dangerous. How Quynn would have marveled that Russ had encountered one keen on devouring him and survived. If he could call it that.

    But his friend could do none of that, because Trace had caused his death.

    Russ scanned his lavish room with renewed disdain. A part of him thought he could just move on. Excitement and enthusiasm for a chance to work for a new highfalutin tycoon filled him at first. And his first night on the job had proved exciting and full of wonder. He''d almost died. A part of him had. How''s that for excitement?

    But now, alone with his thoughts, he understood he''d lied to himself. He''d never be able to move on without bringing Tracy to justice and avenging Quynn. Every memory of his best friend was stained, soiled by the fact that the Terran marshal still trod on Rubrum soil.

    Russ watched the dunes below rise and fall like waves of sand as the train flew above them, shooting down the length of the trestle bridge. Sujin had matters to attend to up north, at the arctic water treatment plant. Up north, in the frigid cold, all of Rubrum''s water supply sprawled, the polar cap, a continent''s worth of ice. Crews of workers and bots lived, retired, and died up north, never once even setting foot in the greater settlements like Tharsis or New Oklahoma. They slaved away their whole lives, hacking out slabs of ice, sending them through the distillation plant, and then through over ground pipes, tubes whose diameters were the size of a whole speeder across. Those pipes provided water to all the settlements. Without them mankind on Rubrum would die out.

    In the distance he spotted ancient abandoned domes. The first human colonies from Terra lived under those domes, before the oxygen treatment plants had been constructed. They''d been confined to spaces smaller than Russ'' train quarters, living their whole lives between walls. Even outside, they had to wear special suits in order to survive in the non-existent atmosphere of a Rubrum that had yet to be terraformed.

    As a kid, when old folks explained to him how things were back in their day, Russ hadn''t grasped it. But now he understood. He imagined they felt somewhat like he did. Unable to go back to Terra once they got here, they had to continue on no matter what the outcome, no matter what the hardship, confined to a narrow space of existence. Russ felt like the walls of his life hedged around him, forcing him to walk a narrow path, a straight shot to meet Trace the Ace, face to face. Time would prove Russell''s ally. He knew where the Ace was going to appear. If he didn''t die out in the wild wastes, he''d pop up wherever Roy was.

    Tracy was dead set on capturing Roy Rothspalt. But soon, after Russ confronted him, Tracy would be just plain ole'' dead.

    Russ didn''t know much about the fugitive, other than that he was a preacher and had some sort of business relationship with Sujin, but as to exactly the nature of their relationship, he couldn''t say. It was a mystery. But they were friends. And Russ knew enough to know that Sujin did not want to lose Roy to some Terran lawman, U.S. Marshal or not.

    So even though Russ was currently moving hundreds of kilometers an hour in the exact opposite direction of where Roy was, and thereby where Tracy would show up, he knew this trip was short, and the train could travel just as fast backwards as it could forwards.

    As Quynn had known that true Martians existed, so too he knew he''d bring Trace a reckoning. All he had to do was wait patiently, collect his new weekly creds, and bide his time.

 30 | NEW OKLAHOMA

    The crowds of people surged together, crossing paths, but never colliding. Every biped, from bots, borgs, brothel beauties, bums, and banditos bustled about. Each individual had his or her own business to attend to, and each minded their own business like the next.

    Two types of union worker jumpsuits sprung out at Tracy. Those sporting navy blue and goggles he took to be water treatment plant workers, while those in cloud grey jumpsuits with respirators hanging from their necks had to be those of the oxygen treatment plant. They weren''t working hard enough, by Tracy''s standards. The bubble of bodies bolstered the natural odor of Mars, making the thick stench downright unbearable. How did these people ever get used to breathing it?

    They''d never bothered to pave the freeway-wide streets either, since most vehicular transportation floated anyways.

    Two seat speeders, hovercycles, and hovercoaches cruised at low speeds over the dirt broadway, passing modular buildings to park in front of more permanent fixtures like casino hotels, saloons, one of the many brothels, or the super Mars-mart, which boasted the driest of dry goods¡ªpowdered milk, powdered potatoes, powdered pancakes, powdered everything.

    The bot run bank teemed with constant flow of foot traffic. But the jail? Not so much. Although, as Tracy watched, a speeder glided up to the front, blue and red lights pulsing, parking underneath the shadow of the hangman''s gallows occupied by elongated corpses left in their noose neckties to fester in the sun. A sheriff''s deputy exited the speeder with a bot in cuffs.

    Tracy spat. Too many bipeds, all with their own desires, and too many trigger fingers. He kept his head low.

    A bellowing public transport ship hovered over a heptagonal landing pad before resting on its tripod feet, exhaust steaming from its metal underbelly. No sooner had the boarding ramp drop lowered did a hoard of new people offload, eager for a fresh start in New Oklahoma.

    The wail of an incoming bullet train drowned out all other sounds for a few moments as the train slowed to a crawl, then stopped at the station.

    And this was all just the Main Street. The city sprawled out in all four directions, not to mention the network of interconnected buildings and passageways underground.

    Roy Rothspalt could lurk around any corner, or reside in any building. It was all a bit overwhelming to Tracy, especially given his present state.

    He dismounted Chasm and lowered the brim of his Stetson over his eyes, assuming the slouched shoulder gait of a dejected prospector. Wasn''t too hard to be convincing. The deepfake holomask projected the face of a gaunt older man with a hook nose and greying five-o''clock shadow. The wear and tear on his body over the past few days was no act though. Thirst and hunger gnawed at his insides. And he needed a cool bath to shake the dust off and rest his bones. But his smartarm came first.

    Tracy kept his duster draped over his shoulder, hiding his armless side. The smartarm lay wrapped in his bedroll until he could find an honest technosmith. In a city as big as New Oklahoma, Mars had to have a decent craftsman that melded the fine arts of metallurgy with the problem solving of operating system analytics and repair. Even now, underneath the noises of the hustling bodies, he could hear the sizzling sparks of his fractured prosthetic.

    First, Tracy had to get his smartarm fixed, then find Roy. There was no way he could reverse the order of those tasks. He bit his lip, not knowing who to ask for directions. Who could he trust? Smartarms weren''t a dime a dozen. They could rack up some sweet creds on the black market. And with the features his had¡ªone in particular skirting the edge of legality¡ªhis smartarm was seated at the high end of market value, even with the damages. And who was more tempting to strongarm for a smartarm than a one-armed arm of the law?

    At least he had no shortage of ammunition. Jorah and her mother had turned down all the ammunition he''d gathered from the rustler corpses, which, honestly, made him feel better. He needed plenty of firepower and no longer needed to visit an armory here in the city.

    After squeezing his way through the crowds of the Main Street, he crossed several blocks until he saw a sign for  SmitHuri''s Technoforge . Under the sign, a caption blipped.  All manner of smart tools, gadgets, and prosthetics.  He told Chasm to stay and took the bedroll with him into the smithy.

    Hanging jackshovels and drillpicks lined the walls. At that moment the technosmith himself hefted a smarthammer, striking a plate of metal, shaping it. A holoscreen floated above and to the side of a battered e-anvil displaying all kinds of readings. Tracy waited several minutes before clearing his throat. The technosmith noted him. "Howdy. Welcome to SmitHuri''s. I''m SmitHuri. How may I serve you?"

    Unlike most Rubruns, this man''s shoulders were as wide as he was tall. Which wasn''t saying much. He was only half as tall as Tracy, if that. His stocky arms hung at his sides like two starship cannons. And his legs resembled the tiny landing gear that propped up entire ships.

    "Can you fix smartarms?"

    "Depends on the damage level. But I certainly can take a whack at it."

    Tracy peered out the front doorway of the smithy. No one approached. He opened the bedroll, exposing the dented and dinged alloyed arm.

    SmitHuri flicked an optic oculus over one of his eyes to get a closer look at the intricate details and the damage done, particularly the exposed obtuse lines of the circuit board nodes. Then he transferred it over to the e-anvil. Several popup holoscreens enlarged displaying serial numbers, blueprint schematics, and highlighting internal damage. "Oh. I see. Hmmm."

    "What are we looking like?"

    "A fair amount of external damage, which I can bang out. Parts of it have been crunched, and those will need to be hammered flat. But it''s these frayed wires and microboards. I''ll have to double check my inventory and see what I have. Not sure I got the right components. This is top of the line. How''d you manage to bash it up this bad?"

    "Got attacked by some kind of tendrilled feline."

    "You mean, them tentafangs? Thems are nasty predators. You''re lucky to be alive. And lucky this arm is salvageable."

    Tracy gawked at the casual admittance of alien life. "You seen ''em too?"

    "Nope. Hear about ''em. But, you saw it in person, didn''t ya? Gnawed up your smartarm. What''s not to believe?"

    "I thought those were a myth. Or Rubrum propaganda to get Terrans here."

    "That''s what too many Rubrums think. Ask around and most city settlers here don''t believe it none neither. But you ask a homesteader, they''ll tell you. Just ''cause them creatures don''t come around often don''t mean they ain''t real."

    Tracy wanted to learn more, but his worn mind begged for rest. "You think you can fix it?"

    "Sure. Give me a day or two. Should have it back in the clear."

    "A day or two? That''s no good."

    "Well, if you want it done right."

    "It''s just that..." Tracy leaned his head towards his vacant shoulder.

    "Oh, well I can lend you a temporary prosthetic of course. All part of the service fees, my man. You''ll pay no extra charge for it."Stolen story; please report.

    SmitHuri gathered several prosthetic arms. One was the exact size and length Tracy needed, but had a claw instead of a hand. Made of cheap material too. Very light. Even though he intended to lay low, he still needed to be able to draw his revolver and fire it.

    The other arm was a stubby excuse of a limb, made for a much smaller person.

    But the only other choice that came with a full five-digit hand was a lumbering club of an arm. It was lighter than it appeared, but it still hung past Tracy''s knee and the fist was as big as his head.

    So it came down to choosing an arm that was too big, versus an arm that was too small.

    He tested his quick draw with both arms. He also tested SmitHuri''s patience. With the short arm it was hard to draw his gun at all. But the thick hand of the other almost dropped his gun.

    And at the end of the day, Tracy needed to be able to draw both revolvers. He went with the log. He''d have hated it no matter what he settled on. While SmitHuri had the smartarm hooked up to the e-anvil, Tracy tried to pull Roy''s wanted hologram poster. He managed to get that, and the subpoena for the courts both transferred via bluetooth over to his temporary arm.

    "Good choice. It''s only temporary anyways. So who cares, right?"

    Tracy pursed his lips, holding back the explanation that it could very well be life and death if he ran into Roy too early.

    "Oh, one more thing. Could you fix this?"

    He withdrew the gov issued comm, placing it under the scrutiny of the technosmith.

    "Nope," he said, after a few moments. "This thing is fried beyond repair."

    Tracy shrugged and nodded. Figured.

    SmitHuri didn''t expect payment until the job was complete of course, which gave Tracy plenty of creds to find a place to rest his head.

    ***

    Chasm knickered when he saw Tracy, as if laughing at his lopsided gate. "You keep that opinion to yourself, steeder. I don''t like this oversized arm any more than you."

    Knowing the casino hotel to be the best bargain, he and Chasm dragged their feet to the nearest one off the main strip. Several lights of the sign had burned out long ago, never replaced. Smoke fumes, sounds of glass shattering, much swearing, hollering, and guffaws spilled out of the entrance. The perfect place to lay low.

    "You done good boy." Tracy patted the steeder with genuine affection. A greasy valet member took Chasm off of Tracy''s hands and parked him in the underground speeder port.

    He strode through a swarm of men in the middle of a drunken brawl to the counter and checked in. They assigned him a small room with thin walls, complete with a bath designed for a much smaller person. The water shut off automatically, long before he''d have turned it off if it weren''t regulated. Bending his legs with his knees straight up was the only way he fit, but the water boiled away the soreness and cleansed his pores. Back home his waterproof smartarm almost never came off, so it proved challenging to wash himself one-armed, but the borrowed arm wouldn''t have even fit in the tub.

    He rested in the tub for a long time until the steam dissipated and the water turned cold.

    Slipping into a robe, he hit the bed. The pillows were too soft for his liking, and the bed too stiff, but how could he complain after sleeping under the twin moons for most of his time on Mars so far. Turning on his side he realized that it was a bed for two. The empty space void of a warm curvy body saddened him.

    Hina. He sighed from deep in his chest.

    On the far side of the bed a comm unit sat on the nightstand along with a miniature  HotThrusters  toy dropship. Tracy closed his eyes. He was tired. He could call her tomorrow. It probably could not even make calls to Terra. And he didn''t know what time it was back on Earth. But all the reasons racing through his mind only proved the other part of his conscience that knew he needed to call her. Even if it was painful. For her, yes. But for his own sanity.

    Placing the call was less complicated than he anticipated. He did have to wait several extra minutes. Even with advanced tech, the distance between the astral bodies was great.

    "Hello?" Her voice came through, grainy, but undeniable.

    "Hey babe."

    She breathed heavy on the other end. Choked up already. Or so he guessed. He had no way of knowing until she spoke.

    "Complications came up. Wanted to comm earlier. Honest."

    "You had me worried. It''s been six days. Six, since I last heard your voice."

    "This will be over soon. I''m close. I know it. I''ll find my target and be back in no time."

    Silence on the other end.

    "You still there?"

    "It''ll take you months to get back. Or did you forget the warp hole is only one way?"

    "I know. You know what I mean. Once I have him in cuffs, I''ll be off of this hellfire planet, safe on a government starship, heading back to Earth. Nothing can harm me there."

    "Anything can happen."

    Tracy exhaled long through his nostrils. She wasn''t having it. Nothing he said would convince her. She was still hurt that he left. "This wasn''t my choice, Hina. I didn''t want this."

    Her sobbing filled his ears. The audio comm crackled, cutting out.

    "You''re breaking up. What?"

    Her strained voice cried through the comm. "How am I supposed to do this by myself?"

    Tracy could not find an answer. Any offering he had was wishful thinking at best, and lies otherwise. "I love you. Both of you."

    Whether his time was up, or Hina had enough, he did not know, but the comm cut off completely. An automated voice informed him of the charge being added to his room bill. He wanted to smash the comm. But that would have just cost more.

    Tracy palmed the  HotThrusters  dropship, imagining himself flying off of Mars, heading home.

    Eventually he drifted into a fitful sleep devoid of nightmares, instead full of anguish, apprehension, and longing.

 31 | SEATED IN THE PEWS

    Tracy seated himself in the pews in plain sight. He arrived early to the church. You could always tell something about a town by their church. Episcopalian. Post-Lutheran. Protestant. Reformed Baptist. Southern Baptist. NeoMethodist. Osteenian. He''d know once the church service started. The electric organ and lack of a drum set or other musicians told him quite a bit. Some sort of Baptist. He was sure.

    The congregants sang their hearts out. Though the town teemed with detestables, this church boasted a semblance of unity. All manner of low class, middle, and even a few high-class citizens of New Oklahoma filled the church. Mostly natural born Rubruns, but others too. Even a few bots. There was little distinction to be made. No groups stood out. They all intermingled. Like friends. Family. Comparable to his own church back home on Earth.

    The worship leader shouted more than sang. The organ player made use of tasteful chord extensions, utilizing all ten fingers expertly, elevating the choruses of each song to new heights. The congregation swayed with the tempo. A woman on stage with a rich soprano voice belted the anthem with all her heart. Her mouth opened so wide, she might eat the microphone.

    Tracy tried to mouth the words, so as not to stick out. But his true goal lay in warming up to the good people of Noke''la. If this town had a lick of honesty, he''d find it in the church. Or one would hope. If Roy made any kind of impression here, someone in the congregation would know. And hopefully they''d seen through Roy''s guile and would have no qualms ratting him out to Tracy, or at least slipping him some information as to his whereabouts. For all he knew, Roy could have moved on already.

    Tracy scanned the crowd for friendly faces, socialites whom he could offer casual questions after service without raising eyebrows. A small boy in the pew in front of Tracy turned around, resting his face on his small hands on the top of the pew so that only his big saucer eyes regarded the marshal with curious intensity. Almost as if the boy saw through his disguise. Tracy winked at him and offered a smile. The boy''s mother turned to regard Tracy as well. The woman''s beautiful flawless face framed by thick luscious hair struck him with a warm smile. She tugged on her son''s arms, forcing him to turn back around, legs dangling on the edge of the pew, rocking back and forth in boredom.

    For his part, Tracy wasn''t worried about being spotted. He''d snatched a Mexican style poncho off of a drunk in an alley in the early morning, which draped over his torso, ending just over his thighs. The inconsistency of the hologram restricted him to precise, slow movements. The deepfake hologram altered his face beyond recognition. The deepfake tech wasn''t perfect though, and any sudden movements would cause his holomask to flicker, spasm, or even strobe through various emotive expressions.

    Even as they sang, the church filled to the brim with late comers, and ushers motioned to Tracy along with everyone else on his row to scoot down and get comfortable with their neighbors as more people squeezed into the pews. And when those were all maxed out, people stood on the outer walls, from the front all the way to the back.

    Although the air outside was cold, the building grew uncomfortably humid. Still, the members sang with much gusto. To remain unmoved by their joyous exuberance would have been impossible. Tracy found himself smiling and filled with anticipation. Surely uplifting choruses from a packed and uncomfortable crowd such as that were some indication of the level of preaching he was about to digest.

    As the music came to a crescendo, a man in the front pew made his way to the pulpit. With his back turned, Tracy could only tell that he wore a tailored saffron suit of straight edges and sharp angles. Even from the middle of the room, the reverend''s ecstatic clapping cut through the wall of sound as he applauded the worship portion of the service along with everyone else in the room.

    They seated themselves, as did Tracy, careful not to butt elbows or knock knees with the folks on either side of him, but it was hard with his oversized log of an arm. The back of the pew in front of him held mounted Bible tablets. He almost reached for it, but none along his row did. His eyebrows furrowed. What kind of church didn''t start with a Bible reading? He eased back and shrugged internally, fixing his attention on the Reverend.

    His heart almost stopped. His eyelids blinked several times.

    No. It couldn''t be. But then the reverend opened his maw, perfect sharp teeth gleaming, and his charismatic growler of a voice reverberated in Tracy''s chest, burrowing into his heart, staining his soul.

    Sweat beads gathered on his skin, which grew cold.

    Tracy scanned the crowd anew. Everyone still wore smiles, eyes twinkling, brows lifted, necks straining to get a better look. They lapped up each word like fiends hooked on a regulated fix, whose delivery was not snorted, inhaled, or injected, but digested in the form of warm words that wormed through the earholes, weaseling down into the heart, corrupting it from the inside, rotting it to the core.

    The reverend''s debonair demeanor was convincing, authentic even. But he had fooled before. And now it seemed he fooled again.

    Tracy could not believe his ringing ears, but the man commanding the attention of hundreds of Noke''lans was none other than Rip-Roaring Roy, wanted in four American states, fugitive at large.

    The reactions of every person he had asked, the inquiries about Roy which resulted in hostile cold shoulders replayed in the lawman''s mind. The puzzle pieces fell into place, completing the picture. His stomach churned. He felt boxed in. The humidity grew worse, the thickness of the hot air choking him. He did not know why, but he needed to get out, get away. His tongue dried up, demanding a drink. He wanted to scream, to holler, to interrupt the raving of a madman, to tell the people to flee. But he couldn''t. He''d make a scene, and Roy would escape. Again.

    So Tracy sat, stiff as a board, all his aches resurfacing, squeezed in the pew with the ridiculous oversized arm draped over his lap, trapped by the slick sermon assaulting his ears, echoing from every corner of the church.

    The irony wasn''t lost on Tracy, that he wore a mask in the audience to capture Roy, but Roy wore a mask to hold the audience captive. Well played, Rothspalt. Well played. Tracy had to admire the gall, the stones that man carried, to not hide amongst the people, but to stand up and lead them. A chuckle of unbelief at the absurd nature of it all brought a painful grin to Tracy''s lips.

    Until then, Tracy hadn''t realized how much the dossier of information he''d been given on Roy was outdated. At least by two years, and based mostly on his modus operandi and actions back on Earth. It had read, quote:  The last positive visual ID put Royce in Coprates two years ago. Our sources confirm he is currently alive and well, operating in or around Coprates. Target is to be captured alive and returned to Earth to appear in the court of law.

    The hammers of Judge and Jury jabbed into his sides, hidden underneath the poncho, reminding him of his calling. Every time he shifted away from one side, the other revolver dug through his shirt into his skin like a hawk''s talon, as if prodding him, urging him to rise, draw, and deliver a fatal shot to the charlatan performing on the platform.

    But Roy wasn''t wanted dead. Tracy had to bring him back alive. Otherwise this whole mission was a waste, from the thousands upon thousands of tax creds spent to retrieve Roy, to the summons and selection of a future grand jury, and to the parents and loved ones of those whom through Roy had performed heinous deeds and then butchered them to hide the truth. All of that ruined, a miscarriage of Justice, lost forever.

    Tracy knew the stakes. This wasn''t his first fugitive apprehension. But if he wasn''t careful, it would be his last. He gritted his teeth, filled his ears with stoppers of hardened resolve, and formulated his next move.Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website.

    Throughout the sermon¡ªif you could even call it that¡ªthe heat threatened to wither Tracy. He fought the urge to squirm and shift, but his height made his long legs difficult to manage in the narrow pews, pressed in on either side by congregants. And if he got up and left, he''d leave a distinct impression on Roy and all the attentive listeners. That was quite the opposite of anonymity. Notoriety was a no-go. Not until he had Roy cuffed and on a ship heading back to Earth.

    Unlike Tracy, the boy seated in the pew before him squirmed, unable to sit still. The mother tried her hardest to control him, but Tracy noted she was alone. There was only so much a single mother could do. Tracy reached into his pocket and withdrew the  HotThrusters,  handing the mini dropship to the boy. The boy''s brows shot up, and a smile spread across his round face. The woman acknowledged the gift with a backwards glance and a nod. Tracy felt more than happy to distract the boy from the warped utterances pouring forth from the pulpit.

    By the time the sermon ended, Tracy''s buttocks tingled with numbness, and his joints ached from the awkward angles he forced them to hold.

    Congregants stayed after the last song to mingle, most hoping to catch talking time with Roy, even if for just a moment. A crowd formed around the reverend. Tracy noticed that for his part, the acting reverend did not initiate conversations, only reacted to those who stopped to converse with him. He appeared to wear a plastered smile, but his eyes burned with contempt. Why didn''t they notice, Tracy wondered? Couldn''t they feel the twinge in their gut? Didn''t they sense the lingering wretchedness, the odor of abomination crawling all over Roy?

    But then something changed. Roy stepped lighter, less rigid. His shoulders and back released their tension. Tracy followed his gaze to the gorgeous woman with the small boy. The fugitive''s lips cracked into a grin, like he was hungry and in heat at the same time. Tracy shuddered, remembering the alleged body count in Roy''s wake. The look he ravaged the woman with was one of pure, starving lust. In that moment Roy seemed more animal than man, a predator about to pounce on his prey, close his jaws around the catch, and feast on the poor living soul.

    If premeditated intentions were under his authority to judge, Tracy would have ripped his revolver from its holster at his hip and sent all seven blasts ricocheting through Roy''s perverted heart and mind, severing his filth sodden soul from his body.

    But as Roy spoke to the woman, Tracy noticed that unlike the others, she exhibited none of the admiration they did. She spoke with him, courteous, but guarded.

    Tracy caught her name,  Coraline . She turned her hips and shoulders away from Roy, as if ready to retreat at the opportune time, a graceful doe at the mercy of a famished wolf. If she did not feel comfortable around him, why was she here? Obviously she and Roy had been acquainted for some time. Another older plump woman and her scrawny husband cut into the conversation between Roy and this Coraline. Tracy learned her name was Beth. The plastered smile returned to mask Roy''s face. He didn''t like Beth.

    Coraline''s son got antsy, and she picked him up to keep him from wandering off. For a moment as she held the boy, Tracy saw a disdain creep onto Roy''s face. It was there for a breath, and then gone in a flash.

    So, Roy liked the woman, but not the squirming responsibility she came with. Interesting.

    All of these things Tracy gathered from body language, vocal tone, word choice, and the dossier of foreknowledge on Roy that he studied.

    A realization sparked, blooming into a flame of an idea. This woman that held Roy''s attention, but so obviously rejected his advances, she was the one Tracy sought.

    Roy had other business to attend to, but promised to see Coraline soon. She nodded without comment and left, her and her son walking with Beth and her husband.

    The fugitive spun on his heels and caught Tracy staring.

    Tracy threw on a broad smile and strode towards Roy as if he''d been waiting all afternoon to meet the preacher.

    "Mighty fine preachin'' Rev," said Tracy. He raised his voice a few notes and adopted a more Rubrun accent. "I didn''t want to barge in on you talkin'' to that sweet lady."

    Tracy held out his gloved hand. Roy grasped it and he gave him a firm handshake. Their eyes met, and for the briefest second, Roy seemed suspicious, as if able to see under the deepfake mirage, behind his eyes, and to the man beneath the badge, the man that only Tracy''s wife knew. Tracy''s heart leapt into his throat. But, his holomask was still intact and he checked himself.

    The flash of intuition came and left Roy''s face, so quick, Tracy was sure he imagined it.

    "I didn''t catch your name brother, and I don''t believe we''ve met."

    Tracy rattled off the first name that ran through his mind. "Credence Cleanpool. I''s new to New Oklahoma. Just got off the dropship yesterday. Came here to start fresh and stake my claim, like an honest man. Had me a good look around town and noticed the church. Figured, why not?"

    Roy fixed his attention on the smartarm.

    Tracy adopted the character of a talkative simpleton. "Ugly ain''t it? But a used cyberarm was all I could afford. What was the word the technosmith used? Aha. Refurbished. That sounds a lot nicer than some second hand scrap."

    Roy nodded with a smirk and no comment.

    Both men wore masks and played characters now.

    "Nice to meet you, Credence. You''ll have to excuse me. I have matters to attend to, but I''ll be seeing you around town."

    Tracy returned the nod, watching Roy walk away, letting an open scowl overtake his expression.

    Tailored suits and passionate words might fool some, but Tracy saw through the guise. He could not believe Roy''d pulled the wool over the whole town''s eyes. His hands sought his gun and handcuff on instinct, but his mind pulled them back.

    He couldn''t catch Roy. Not here. Not today.

    Smiling congregants moved past Tracy. Most if not all were armed. And the ushers moving about on the perimeters of the room were armed and instructed to protect Roy, no doubt. They''d gun Tracy down in a heartbeat.

    His only chance lay with that woman. With reluctance, he rushed out of the church to catch Miss Coraline''s trail.

 32 | A GAME OF FARO

    Edgar Howard Lewis leaned on the bar, holding his nose high. His high-button sack coat¡ªa Victorian era replica¡ªsquared his shoulders nicely and complimented his tweed vest and top hat. A pocket watch hung from the vest, the loop chain longer than necessary. He ordered a cocktail, complained about the mix, and requested another¡ª demanding this time it be made correctly. It wasn''t anything Tracy would have complained about, but his deepfake persona¡ªMister Edgar Howard Lewis¡ªwould make a huge fuss about such things.

    He was a wealthy entrepreneur from Earth, visiting Mars to seek out investment opportunities ripe for the taking. At least that''s how he got himself invited into the exclusive club casino resort, the Taj Diwan. He could not help but be enraptured by the view of Noctis Labyrinthus. Even with the window tinting activated, the vibrant varicolored sedimentary layers inspired awe in him. But Edgar wouldn''t be enamored by such things. He was concerned with people. A curious fellow. And would naturally be drawn to the charismatic likes of the dapper reverend, Roy Rothspalt.

    Tracy had set out to seek an audience with the single mother Coraline. But he''d overheard her decline an invitation to attend a luncheon with a friend because she had work at the Taj Diwan.

    Even after Tracy spent time obtaining clothes befitting his persona, he had already been there for over an hour, but still had not spotted Coraline.

    But, then like a hawk, he sighted the target.

    Roy lounged in a long amber leather chaise, a young woman pressed close against him, an uncomfortable public display of affection. Uncomfortable because the woman was obviously employed at the brothel¡ªno matter how stunning her dress¡ªand also awkward because Roy did not return the affection, but seemed to demand it be given to him with his aloof posture.

    The urge to whip out his revolvers and force Roy to his knees then handcuff him came on strong. But Tracy had counted the armed bouncers and bruisers stationed on the fringes of the game floor, watching the night''s proceedings like vultures. Tracy knew from their no-nonsense posture, they would shoot first, and ask questions later.

    And even if they let him live, but dragged him to a soundproof room reserved for beatdowns, the scene he caused would be enough to scare his prey.

    Without an acquaintance to introduce him, Tracy did the next best thing. He stared at Roy, while sipping on his drink.

    After a short while, Tracy''s gaze burned up Roy''s patience.

    "Can I help you? If you stare at me any longer, I might consider it an affront."

    "Sorry, forgive me. I was lost in thought." Tracy adopted an American Southern accent, or his best attempt at one. Edgar was the kind of man to fake an accent he didn''t actually possess to impress others¡ªnot realizing it was a terrible impression at best.

    "I''m looking to play a game of Faro, but I''m afraid I''ve never been privy to play the game before. I''d be obliged if you''d let me watch and learn."

    Roy spread his hands wide. "Well why didn''t you just say so? I''d be obliged to train a fellow new to the game. First time here in New Oklahoma?"

    "Sure am. I suppose I stand out like a sore thumb."

    "Nonsense. I''ve just never seen ya is all."

    "Edgar Lewis is the name. But my friends call me Ed."

    Together the three of them approached a Faro table.

    Tracy suppressed an internal smile. He was going to mosey up to Roy without the fugitive being none the wiser. He''d offer the man drinks, play the part of a good ole'' boy trying to make friends through the shrewd means of monetary persuasion, and try to get Roy good and drunk before the night was over. If everything went according to plan, he could have an inebriated Roy in handcuffs ready to ship back to Earth this very evening.

    He strode to the table with pep in his step.

    "Mr. Rothspalt." The raised voice cut through the lo-fi neo jazz band and their scat lead singer.

    Roy answered with a warm smile. "Sujin McCrory, the Red Prince himself. A pleasure to see you again. And in good health." Roy winked. "How fare the viaducts?"

    Tracy caught the hint of a Korean accent, turned and saw the tycoon it belonged to. His back stiffened. The marshal had to force himself to keep walking and not come to an abrupt stop. He hoped his face didn''t give away his shock. He did not recognize this Sujin. But the deputy with him, he knew all to well. Russ.

    An odd feeling struck Tracy as he watched Russ move. Something about him just wasn''t right. The man set off Tracy''s internal alarms like a viper. Tracy''s gut churned the last meal he''d eaten.

    A sour look crossed the tycoon''s face. "Let''s not discuss business or politics tonight. Mr. Ghelus and I have just returned from a quick trip up to the arctic, and now I''m here to gamble."

    "Well you''re in luck. We''re about to play Faro. You game?"

    "Absolutely. You know Leroux, the sheriff of Tharsis, yes? This is his former deputy, Russell Ghelus."

    "Former?"

    "He works for me now, Reverend. You might say I converted him."

    Roy belted a hollow laugh. "You''re hilarious, Sujin." He turned to Tracy. "This is my new acquaintance and friend, Mister..." Roy snapped his fingers, trying to conjure up Tracy''s phoney name.

    "That''s fine my good man," said Tracy, attempting to thicken the accent and raise his voice an octave. "We''ve only just met. I''m Edgar Lewis. Please call me Ed."

    Tracy shook hands with Sujin and Russ, greeting each with a, "How-do-ya-do," that rolled off his tongue. Thank goodness he wore a pair of leather gloves or Russ might have recognized his hands.

    "Shall we?" Sujin moved towards the Faro table and the rest followed. "How''s your hand by the way, Sujin?"

    "Better."

    Tracy stayed put. To play this game with these men was hedging his bets, and he could potentially waste all of the creds he had left. Russ and he had a history, albeit brief. If he slipped up even once for a moment, Russell might catch on, even with his deepfake disguise and new fancy clothes. Then all hell would break loose. Forget that the former deputy Russ might attempt to kill him, again. Roy would escape.

    Luckily with the windows tinted against the setting sun, the low light on the casino floor, the ringing slot machines, the lo-fi tunes, and the haze from all of the tobacco smoke, there was noise pollution and sensory overload aplenty to keep Tracy''s performance as Edgar Lewis from too much scrutiny.

    "You going to stand and stare all night, Lewis? Don''t worry. It''s an easy, fast game. You''ll pick it up quick. Plus, I''m dying to learn more about you. Right, Cherry?"

    "Mmmm. Yes." The woman leered at him, batting her long lashes. Evidently Tracy had selected a deepfake mask that tickled her fancy.

    "Well if you insist."

    Tracy parted a thick cloud of hookah smoke billowing from another table and joined Roy''s group. He stood behind a seated Roy and Cherry, across from the seated Russ and Sujin.

    The dealer clarified who was playing and who was spectating, then shuffled the cards, tearing the deck in half, squaring the two bricks of cards, touched the corners of the split deck, and wove them together, finishing with a one-handed bridge shuffle¡ªsmooth perfection only achieved by a person who took card mastery seriously.

    Tracy breathed a sigh of relief. It was good that he declined to play under the guise of ignorance. While Edgar Lewis would have plenty of funds to buy into the game, he himself did not. He''d failed to remember that he''d faked his way into a top-notch club and the house expected clientele to be high rollers with disposable income to spare.

    Come to think of it though, Tracy couldn''t figure how a reverend could afford to play. He shouldn''t have the salary needed to play this game often. But he seemed to want to be seen with and impress Mr. McCrory. Then again, Roy was ready to show Tracy how to play before his tycoon companion arrived. Was the reverend spending his money earned from the charity of his congregants on gambling? What a shark.

    The dealer explained the game to Tracy as they played. Each turn the players placed bets on or around the thirteen face up cards that represented all of the cards available in the deck, dropping chips on whichever cards they thought might be drawn from the spring-loaded deck box next. The first card the dealer flipped was the losing card for that round. The next card was the winning card. The players only won or lost if they placed bets on the exact cards, so the game was relatively risk free at first. But after every fourth card of a given number or face card was flipped, the remaining cards to bet on dwindled, heightening the odds of both winning or losing.

    "Curious. Must you mentally track the cards drawn from the deck while also trying to make educated bets?"

    Russ, who was losing, barked. "Yep. Or next go around we could snatch up a passerby and pay ''em to be our case keeper."

    "Next round, I''ll cover the cost," said Sujin, eyeing the dealer. "Can''t trust everyone to remember the cards that have been played when substantial stakes are on the line."

    The dealer remained quiet, but stiffened at the implied poke at his integrity.

    "Some dealers cheat. There''s no beating around the bush," said Roy. "Helps the house. Helps the dealer. But not our dealer, Thorton. He''s an honest man, ain''t you Thorton?"

    He nodded.

    "Thorton cheats on his wife," said Cherry with a tipsy giggle. "I don''t see why he wouldn''t cheat at this game."Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

    Roy hooted, elbowing Thorton in the ribs. "Careful around Cherry, men. She''s a looker, but she''s fierce. Get a few drinks in her and that liquid courage is liable to make her say or do anything."

    Thorton turned red in the face, tugging at his bow tie, which looked too tight around his large neck. "Me and my wife''s only bonded legally. Everyone knows that we been separated forever."

    Roy slapped the man on the shoulder. "Oh she''s just yanking yer chain. Come on dealer. New cards. Next round."

    "What business are you in, Lewis?" asked Sujin

    All eyes turned to him. Tracy inhaled sharp through his nose, remembering to point it up. "I''ve come into a rather large inheritance thanks to a late family member. I''m looking to invest in several business opportunities here on Rubrum."

    They all placed their bets. Russ gazed at him with a funny look.

    Did he notice the fake accent? Did the deepfake mask falter? Tracy had been taking deliberate slow movements, but technology no matter how advanced was never foolproof. But if the former deputy suspected anything, he did not act on it.

    "What kind of business venture are you considering?" asked Sujin.

    "Oh I don''t know. I''m new here from Terra. I''ve heard that ever since the Clean Slate Bill passed, many Terran criminals fled here for refuge, hoping to start over without a criminal record, but bringing their rough and tumble ways with them. I reckon that makes this wild country. I want to outfit a private agency to work alongside local law enforcement. Help them, for a price of course."

    Russ lost the bet, upper lip twitching. He scowled, and turned it on Tracy. "We do just fine here on Rubrum, Ed. So thanks, but no thanks."

    "On the contrary, this idea intrigues me," Roy said. "So they''d be pseudo-military?"

    "No. They''d be agents working for my company, but available for hire to those that can afford our rates. They could work as security, gather intel, spies, almost anything Rubrum needs."

    "So mercenaries then?"

    "No, Reverend. I''d not be associated with killers for hire, or that disgusting term. The only difference between mercenaries and hitmen is that hitmen work alone."

    "Ed''s venture would be more like the Pinkertons of old," said Sujin, "I think that''s a fantastic idea. I don''t understand why no one''s ever proposed that before."

    Tracy tipped his top hat to Sujin. "A student of history I see."

    "I''d be doomed to repeat it if I didn''t study and respect the past."

    Russ hawked spit into a nearby spittoon. "Privatized cops? I don''t like it. Rubrum already has enough trouble as it is."

    "All the more reason to bring more order to it," said Sujin.

    "Ha. That won''t bring order to Rubrum. Just those who can afford the services. Did you know Terra sent a U.S. Marshal here to retrieve someone, Mr. Lewis? You think they''ll stop at just one marshal? Nope. They''ll send more. And pretty soon our freedom won''t be so free anymore."

    Tracy fell into character, adopting an argument Edgar would hold. "If you hate Terra so much, why are you so keen on adopting it''s practices? Governmental authority is outdated. It''s time we privatized at least a sector of law enforcement. It will encourage competition, which is always healthy, and that drives excellence."

    "You know," said Roy, "He''s got a point."

    Russ scoffed.

    The reverend held up a finger. "Still, I don''t know if I like the idea of more law enforcers on Rubrum. We''ve been like this for a hundred years. Yet we''ve regressed. How did ancient kingdoms rise?" Roy tapped his finger on the board. "Pharaoh. One all authoritative king figure with a vision called the shots. And constructed a kingdom still remembered to this day."

    "Built on the backs of slaves," said Tracy.

    "Exactly, Ed. Sheeple who''s meaningless lives would not have mattered otherwise. But now history remembers them as the hands that erected an empire. Without guidance, they''d have rotted into oblivion, wasting pointless lives. We could really make something out of Rubrum, if we united under one Pharaoh, one King."

    "Nobody would go for that," said Russ.

    Roy shrugged. "You never know. But until then, I''d say, live and let live. Let Rubruns continue to govern themselves, free from more lawmen. Anyone can own a gun. Our God-given right. Let the right of coilguns prevail."

    "If we have God-given rights, we must have God-given laws to protect them."

    Roy shriveled his nose and pretended to pull out a gun and jabbed Tracy with a finger pistol. "Bang," he said with a tipsy chuckle. Cherry joined in with a boisterous laugh. Sujin snickered. Russ looked irked.

    Without thinking, Tracy snatched his revolver from it''s holster. It spun several revolutions around his finger. He leveled it at Roy''s face. "Bang." It twirled around his finger, landing back in the holster before anyone at the table could blink.

    "Ho, ho, good show," said Sujin. "You didn''t say you were a gunslinger, Ed."

    Tracy knew he''d made a mistake. Roy didn''t laugh. He looked offended. But Russ gawked at him openly.

    "I practice marksmanship. I enjoy the sport of it."

    Stupid Tracy , he chided himself. He''d only had one drink to maintain the persona, but it got to him. No. He let Roy get to him.

    The dealer brought everyone''s attention back to the game, announcing the next two cards. Everyone at the table had hedged bets on the Ace and lost. Except Roy, who bet on the king. The dealer doubled his chips.

    "Look at that Cherry. We''re lucky tonight. Always bet on the King." They shared a knowing look, as if Roy had uttered a profound truth.

    "You know Roy, it only took one man following a God-given quest to upset all of Egypt. By the time that man left, the Pharaoh was reduced to an effete worm, forced to return home, his army destroyed, his firstborn son dead, and his land ravaged."

    A puzzled look constricted Roy''s face. "What are you talking about?"

    "The epic of Moses. You are a reverend, are you not?"

    Roy blinked, his expression now neutral. He cocked back a shot. "I might''ve read it once."

    The rest of the table laughed, except Tracy, who forced a chuckle.

    Out of the corner of his eye Tracy spotted Coraline. Outfitted in a gorgeous dress and high heels, she whisked by the table in a hurry, but Roy spotted her as well and snagged her by the arm.

    "Coraline, my girl, I was just thinking of you. Why don''t you take a moment and join us at the table?"

    Coraline wore apprehension on her face. She spoke low. "I''m working Roy."

    "Ain''t providing customer service part of your job? Come on. Just a quick game of Faro. We need a case keeper, and Mr. McCrory here has agreed to pay you handsomely. Isn''t that right?"

    Sujin came around the table and took Cora''s hand and brought it to his lips. She blushed. "You are a crown jewel among women, if I may say. I''m Sujin McCrory, owner of the SMC railway line. No doubt you''ve heard of my viaduct project that will one day run straight through Noctis Labyrinthus. I''ll pay you a day''s salary to case keep if you''d grace us with your presence."

    Cherry scoffed, her face contorting. She pulled out a fan to hide her resentment, no doubt. For the first time Tracy noted her skin appeared to have the faintest hint of yellow. He wondered if she was falling ill, or had some condition. Tracy almost felt bad for her. Roy hadn''t even introduced Cherry to the rest of the men. He reminded Tracy of his father. He had to fight to keep a grimace intended for Roy in check.

    The others were no better. Russ ogled openly, licking his fingertips to slick his hair back. Cora''s lips tightened. Tracy could almost see her mind racing, not wanting to appear overeager to take Sujin''s creds, but knowing fullwell a day''s worth of pay for scoring a simple game was a boon for anyone, let alone a single mother.

    Tracy offered Cora his phony name and a light nod, trying to encourage her to stay. Not every man at the game table slithered like a snake.

    After much pressure from the men, she agreed to stay, but only for one game. They all offered her their chairs, but she insisted on standing.

    Tracy''s heartbeat sped up, but not for the same reason as the other men. While the other two men ruined his shot of capturing Roy, this woman here could change that. If only he could have a private conversation with her, pull her aside for just a few minutes.

    As they played the next game, Tracy formulated a way to talk to her.

    Luck favored Roy that game. He won nearly every round. Each time the dealer turned the winning card he laughed harder than the last time, and each time he found some way to brush up against Cora, as if she shared his enthusiasm.

    Cherry folded her arms, chewing on a piece of gum, stewing in silence. At some point near the game''s end, Cherry got up and left. Roy didn''t even notice. Neither did the other men. Tracy almost thought about seeking an audience with her instead of Cora, but he didn''t trust the woman. She was too desperate, and women in her line of work who had no scruples about their bodies surely wouldn''t bat an eye at double crossing a U.S. Marshal. No, Cora was his best bet.

    A few rounds later everyone at the table won with an explosion of cheering, much to Thorton''s dismay.

    The tycoon decided to quit while luck was in his favor, explaining, "My viaduct project has run into an unfortunate challenge that requires me to hire a new team of professionals. Any recommendations, Reverend?"

    Grinning, Roy pointed out a man laden with muscle at a craps table.

    Sujin left, taking Russ with him.

    Tracy used the moment to bow out of the game and slip away.

 33 | INFORMANT

    "I believe you have a new admirer."

    "Another man gawking. You know that doesn''t bother me like it used to," said Coraline with a sigh.

    Sandy held up a note. "This man wrote you the sweetest poem. The things he said about you would make a camel blush."

    Coraline''s hand shot for the note, but Sandy yanked it back out of reach. "Ah, ah."

    "You did not read the note."

    "I did."

    Coraline gripped the other woman''s wrist and wrestled the note from her, almost tearing it. They both shared a giggle. Coraline caught her breath. She realized she was blushing, and not from the exertion. Like a silly grade schoolgirl.

    "Is it really that steamy of a poem?"

    No one had ever written her a poem before. She didn''t know that romantics existed on Mars, or at all anymore.

    "I didn''t really read it, Cora. You know I wouldn''t do that to you."

    A small part of her heart sank. Why? Was she actually hoping that a stranger had written her a poem? What was becoming of her? She promised herself she would not, could not let all of the attention get to her head. She had Ashton to care for. She didn''t have time to dote on every man that tripped over his own jaw hitting the floor as she walked by. Except for Roy. But Roy was...different. She made an exception for him.

    She turned the note over in her hand. She didn''t know what the note held. For all she knew, it could be a poem. Or something worse.

    "Well? You gonna read it?"

    Coraline flipped the note open and stared. The rigid handwriting shouted from the crinkled paper.

    I HAVE QUESTIONS ABOUT YOUR FRIEND. WILL PAY HANDSOMELY FOR HONEST ANSWERS. MEET IN SPEEDER PORT ASAP.

    She read and reread the note. Who could possibly want to question her? And which friend did they mean?

    Moving to the edge of the kitchen doorway she peeked out. Sandy moved to stand behind, looking over her shoulder.

    "That man over there. He was with that group at the Faro table with you earlier."

    The tall man¡ªEdgar she believed he called himself¡ªleaned against the bar on his elbows, his borg arm so much bigger than his natural arm it was ridiculous. His gaunt face drooped, covered in thick grey mutton chops.

    "He''s kinda handsome, don''t ya think. For an older man anyways. Seems nice enough too."

    The man wasn''t drunk, hooting at any of the other women, or doing much of anything. He drank by himself now while smoking a cigar, staring off into the distance as if lost in memory. Compared to the other men at the table, who made no effort to hide their lust, this man had been a complete gentleman.

    And now that man wanted to speak with her about one of her friends. Coraline thought it odd that he wanted to talk to her, a fairly new resident of Mars, of all people.

    But maybe that wasn''t a coincidence. A chill ran down her neck. What if Bron sent someone to fetch her? Would he be wild enough to do something like that? Who was she kidding? She wasn''t that important to him. Besides, Bron had no money. How could he have persuaded anyone to come looking for her?

    Unless their debt was the persuasion. Towards the end of their relationship, Bron had spiraled into depression hard. On top of heavy drinking he had given into desperate means of making creds. And he owed a lot of people a lot of creds. Any number of Bron''s shady acquaintances could have sent this man to fetch the creds by any means necessary. She had no real idea how powerful the low lives Bron pissed off were. They could have the resources to track her down and make her pay.

    Coraline stopped her runaway imagination before it got the better of her. She escaped Bron, started life over, and had created a chance for Ashton to be someone. Old habits die hard, but she must silence the paranoia.

    She shoved those foolish, wary thoughts out of her head, all except the cautious voice telling her to be careful.

    She stepped into the women''s restroom, taking refuge in a stall.

    Out of her dress she drew her coil pistol. It rested in her palm. A tiny thing. But it would get the job done. Coraline wasn''t na?ve. She knew men desired to be close to her. That same desire pulled their guard down. She could play their unwanted advances on her against them if she needed to. The gun only had five shots. Each one had to count. She spun the cylinder, double checking it was loaded, even though she knew it was.

    Leaving the stall, she motioned to Sandy. "Going on break. Cover for me, and let him know."

    ***

    The hover vehicles sat still, lined in neat rows between thick slate grey concrete support beams. There were no flashing casino lights, no jovial ragtime tunes, no thick clouds of cigar or cigarette smoke. Yet as quiet as it was, anything could happen to her in here, in the underground parking garage, and none would know for a considerable amount of time. Doubt stormed back into her mind. Maybe her pistol wasn''t enough. She should have brought Sandy with her.

    Coraline walked for several paces, head turning, searching between the rows for the man. Perhaps he wasn''t out here yet. She waited for a few more minutes, but the man never showed. Oh well. Anything he wanted to say, he could say to her face upstairs on the floor.

    She spun around to go back and stopped dead in her tracks. The man appeared from behind a concrete column, then leaned casually against it, as if to offset the weight of his massive metal arm. She stifled a scream. Her fear was replaced by anger. Her hand gripped the pistol grip hidden in the folds of her dress.

    "What do you want, huh? Out with it man."

    Looking left and right, he beckoned her forward with the wave of his hand. She stood her ground. "Whatever you have to say to me, you can say from over there."

    The man shrugged. "Fair enough."

    His voice caught her off guard. It did not match his face. It came from a much younger soul than the gaunt face looking back at her.

    "I''ve been looking for a man named Royce Rothspalt."A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

    "You were just playing Faro with him. And everyone knows when he''s not here you can find him in the church. What''s this really about?" The hardened edge in her voice surprised Coraline, giving herself a bit of confidence.

    "Did you know Roy before he became a minister?"

    "No."

    "Years ago, under an alias, Roy gathered a group of people under the guise of religion, and most of those people are dead today as a direct result of listening to him."

    "Are you saying Roy is a murderer, some kind of serial killer?"

    "Oh, he''s much worse than that."

    "What do you want with him?"

    "To bring him back to Earth to face charges."

    "How do I know that you''re not some swindler trying to get info on Roy so you can pilfer from his church donations?"

    "I believe you and your son are in grave danger. It''s paramount that you give me the information I need."

    A spark of rage ignited in her head. This secretive man stood in front of her making demands and now he threatened her son. The pistol jumped out of her dress, aiming straight between the man''s eyes. Her thumb primed the hammer.

    "Are you fixing to harm my boy, mister? Because I''ll knock your brain loose, right here and now."

    The end of the gun shook, wobbling with the hot rage coursing through her arms.

    The man held up his hands. "Okay, lady. I didn''t want to do this. Can I trust you?"

    "Can you trust me? You''re the one asking questions, making threats, and calling the reverend a murderer."

    His hand twitched. Coraline stepped forward, edging the gun closer.

    "Easy now. Don''t freak out. I''m going to touch a button behind my ear. Don''t waste me. Hear me out. Then decide."

    The man did so. His face flickered, shifting. He was wearing a holomask.

    "I seen you before," said Coraline. She racked her mind. Where though? He''d been the man that gave Ashton the spaceship toy, preoccupying her son so he wasn''t restless in church. The man and she had shared a smile after that. Yes, now she remembered. He lingered in her mind because of his eyes. She was wary of almost anyone interacting with Ashton, even at church. But though the man was a stranger in a city full of downtrodden cynics, this man did not raise any of the hairs on her arms. On the contrary, he seemed innocent, sweet even. She wasn''t sure exactly how she knew, but it was something in his eyes, a sullen sadness as he watched her son sit next to her in the pew, as if he had children long ago, or had wanted them. Perhaps he''d never had the opportunity.

    At the moment he touched behind his ear again and the mask dissolved altogether, replaced with the handsome thick-mustached, caramel face of a younger man in his prime, of mixed black and white American descent. Why, he wasn''t Rubrun at all. He was from Earth, like her.

    Without realizing it, she lowered the gun a bit.

    His hand went for the edge of his coat, slow like, but Coraline caught the movement and raised her gun again.

    "Just give me a moment. Don''t shoot."

    He peeled his high-button sack coat back, revealing a shining star badge, the emblem of a lawman. Under the badge in all capital letters read the name  Irving . "Miss Coraline, forgive the disguise. I''m U.S. Marshal Tracy Douglas Irving. The Department of Justice sent me here, all the way to Mars to retrieve Roy Rothspalt for a laundry list of crimes, mostly for the deaths of several hundred people tied to cult activity."

    The sound of his voice, the look in his eyes, his real face, the badge, it all started to make more sense now.

    "You know where the reverend spends his time. Why not detain him yesterday?"

    "In front of his loyal and heavily armed congregation? I''m just one filthy Terran lawman. I''ve got no pretenses that anyone here respects my authority or gives two hoots about gunning me down in broad daylight. What I need is to apprehend Roy somewhere quiet, somewhere he won''t expect. A place where the fewer eyes the better."

    "Why do you need to drag me into this?"

    "He''s got eyes for you. He wouldn''t bat them twice if you wanted to speak with him at a private location."

    "If Roy is as bad as you say he is, you want me to lure a murderer with my...charms, and then what?"

    "I''ll lie in wait. Once he''s got his guard down, I''ll apprehend him and be on my merry way. He need not even know that we''re working together."

    "How will I be compensated?"

    Tracy grinned. "With the warm satisfaction of knowing that you helped a lawman detain a crazed criminal at large."

    Coraline scoffed, shaking her head. "Not good enough, pal. Your note said compensation."

    "That was the only way to ensure you''d listen to me before I revealed my badge."

    "I''m being put at risk, which means you''re putting my son at risk. I could shoot you now. Like you said, no one would even care. My son is everything to me."

    A different emotion tugged at the lawman''s lips, softened his eyes. Had she struck a nerve?

    He shifted his weight from foot to foot, as if he was wrestling with information he didn''t want to give up.

    "You don''t want to shoot me. And I don''t want to do anything to put your boy at risk either, Ma''am. I can try to secure a reasonable amount of compensation for you. But my ship was shot down, and I haven''t had the ability to contact my support back home on Earth. When I get a chance, I can make sure they wire you enough to make this worth your while."

    "How much we talking?"

    He told her the amount and her ears buzzed. Coraline caught a gasp as it tried to leave her mouth.

    That many creds? With that kind of money she could buy a house for her and Ashton. She could start a ranch, with all kinds of livestock. She could buy seed to grow crops for herself and sell the excess. She could hire honest farmhands to do the work for her, while she managed the business. She wouldn''t have to work at the saloon, no longer enduring the catcalls and unwanted attention of drunken scum. She would be a woman of higher class, respected in the community. Ashton could get an honest education. She could multiply the creds over time, so that she''d have something to give Ashton when he reached adulthood.

    Coraline lowered the gun, easing her grip. Her hand ached from the tension she held during the conversation, but her heart soared. The question of trusting this Tracy was settled. He seemed honest enough, and his story seemed true. The only questions remaining was if she would comply and if this Tracy would keep his end of the bargain.

    "How can I be assured you or your government won''t bail on me? Terra''s known for that."

    Tracy pursed his lips. "You get me a decent comm unit and help me set this thing up, and we''ll contact them together. I can even get you a percentage of it upfront."

    Coraline stuck her hand out. Tracy shook it. "Mister Irving, you got yourself a deal."

 34 | EAVESDROPPING

    Roy leaned back against the chaise, his usual spot, counting the creds he won. He thanked Sandy for the ale and the appetizer she brought, a post Faro treat to himself. As he sipped his drink, he looked for Cherry, but was disappointed to see that she was nowhere in sight. More importantly, where''d that girl Cora run off to? He knew she was working, but he should still see her now and again.

    She had fire in her. That''s what drew Roy to her like a winged critter drawn to open flame. That, and her gorgeous good looks. There were few that even came close to her natural beauty, even with all the frills and makeup layered on top.

    He finished his appetizer, licking his fingers clean, sipped his drink dry, and still he had seen no sight of the beautiful doll anywhere.

    The next time Sandy strode by, he caught her elbow. "Sandy, darling. Cora''s still here right?"

    Sandy giggled. "Yes."

    She appeared to find his confusion amusing. Roy''s grip on her arm tightened, wiping the airheaded smile right off Sandy''s face.

    "What''s so funny?"

    Sandy pulled away from his grip, the faintest hint of a smile touching the corners of her mouth. "I think you may have some competition for Miss Coraline''s affections."

    "Oh is that so? Did some handsome man prance in here and sweep her off her feet to some romantic location?"

    "She just stepped out to talk to him down in the garage. I thought he was handsome. Cora didn''t seem to think so. But he seems nice. Must be awfully shy to need to speak to her in private. We''re all grown men and women here. We all know what attracts us to each other."

    "Who is he?"

    "Your friend, from the Faro game."

    Roy scowled. Sandy could be so daft. "Which one?"

    She described his new acquaintance, Edgar.

    Why did Ed need to talk to Cora alone? Come to think of it, Ed hadn''t been in the last few rounds. That bothered him. Roy assumed he was relieving himself in the restroom. He clenched his fist, lips pointing up to touch the bottom of his nose. Odd. The whole thing was odd. Perhaps the man was a creep and wanted to lure her to an obscure location to have his way with her. New Oklahoma had it''s fair share of dopers and degenerates.

    Roy rose from the table, shoulders and back tensing, patting his breast coat pocket to make sure his revolver was there, then running his palm over the bump under his button up shirt, the medallion of power.

    "If you would show me the quickest way out back, my dear Sandy. I believe our Miss Coraline is in trouble."

    Surprise and then fear splayed across her face. She hiked up her dress skirts and escorted him through the back out to the garage. They rode the lift down a level, crossing paths with two tipsy valet workers, neither of whom were getting much work done, oblivious to anything going on in the garage.

    Sandy made to follow him off the lift, but he held up a hand. "Thank you, Sandy. I''ll take it from here. This could get messy, but I''ll make sure our friend is safe. Besides, I wouldn''t want Beth to be mad at you on account of me."Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel.

    Sandy, the simpleton, nodded, confused, but obeyed, not one to argue. She was the kind of woman Roy loved and loathed all at the same time; a docile sheep that needed a firm shepherd to tell her how to behave.

    He decided to walk through the rows of hovercraft, staying out of the line of sight while wading through a field of mechanical transportation.

    Aside from the knuckleheads in charge of parking the craft guffawing at their own crass jokes, Roy heard no one else. Sandy. That complete fool. She''d misunderstood the entire situation. Coraline might not even be on this level of the garage. He turned to get back onto the lift when a hushed conversation reached his ears. With great caution he moved close enough to decipher the words.

    Roy had stumbled upon his sweet Cora. And wouldn''t you know, she was talking about him with another man. From his angle, Roy could not get a look at the man to confirm it was Edgar, not without exposing that he was a part of the conversation. He palmed his gun, ready to splatter this man if need be.

    It seemed that Cora wrestled with trusting the man she spoke with, but her apprehension was waning.

    The man did not sound like Edgar. The accent was different. The voice of a younger. American Terran.

    Several times Roy fought the urge to rise up and waste both of them. But he listened long enough to realize that Cora spoke to Trace the Ace, a man known for little besides his strict enforcement of the law and having the smoothest draw that anyone ever witnessed. So Roy satisfied himself with the knowledge that his greatest weapon was his access to this very candid conversation.

    He listened to it all, and pondered everything he heard well after they were done.

    So Trace the Ace was going to use Cora against him? Huh. Who knew the Ace was so shrewd? Well, not shrewd enough. Roy would show him the error of his ways. And he''d make a lesson out of Cora.

    A wall of flame raged inside of him at the thought of her betrayal. Why did it have to be sweet, beautiful, perfect Cora? Right when things between him and her were getting good. He ran his hands through his hair, clenching fistfuls of it when he reached the end. The shakes made Roy''s whole body tremble. His bundled wrath was so strong, he could kill somebody. Needed to kill somebody.

    He couldn''t kill Cora. That would teach her nothing.

    But her son?

    A grin spread across Roy''s face. He remembered the growl in her voice when Tracy brought up her son. She''d turned wild in a moment.

    Yes, her son was the key to teaching her a lesson.

    Tingles jumped in Roy''s stomach. This was better. It was actually an opportunity to draw her closer to him, and make her more submissive. Once he broke her she would be his to reshape and control. And to have. He giggled at the thought.

    His giggles grew to laughter. The sensation overwhelmed him, taking a hold of his whole being. He had to let it out. Forming fists, he smashed them into the fender of the nearest hovercoach. He bashed the sides, denting it, then climbed atop it and smashed in the windows. Shattered glass rained everywhere. All the while Roy''s laughter echoed through the concrete garage, melding with the alarm of the hovercoach.

    By the time the two valet boys responded to the alarm and the sounds of shattering glass, Roy was too far gone.

    When the laughter subsided, two crumpled valet corpses lay in a heap at Roy''s feet. He dragged their bodies between the rows of cars. Blood stained his split hands, but none of it had gotten on his suit. He wiped his hands clean on the clothes of the dead men, then straightened his blazer and left.

    Every step now would have to be carefully timed, directed in such a way that he thwarted Tracy''s plans without the lawman realizing it. Until it was too late.

 35 | THWARTED

    A sliver of the red sun announced the dawn like a blinding slash across the sky.

    Tracy strode towards the back side of the property. Coraline had explained her living situation, how she was renting a room for her and her son until they saved up enough creds to move out on their own.

    Together, after her shift, they had formed a plan to get Roy over to her place where Tracy would take him by surprise, cuff him, and drag him back to Earth to face the judge.

    It pleased him that he''d be able to supplement her aid with financial support. As a single mother on a harsh planet in an unforgiving settlement, she needed all the help she could get. But this wasn''t a handout. His argument with the Justice Department back on Earth had been an uphill battle, especially when he dropped the atom bomb that he''d need a new ship to get him off the planet, but it was a small price to pay for the capture of Royce Rothspalt. They had already wired Cora a percentage of the creds upfront, as Tracy had promised her.

    Now all he had to do was capture Roy.

    Judge weighed heavy in one hand. The cuffs in the other. The mismatched temporary arm still bothered him, but he stepped a little lighter knowing this would soon be over.

    The plan involved using Roy''s vices against him. The man had no self-control when it came to women. With Coraline rejecting his advances, her sudden change of opinion would make Roy seem like he''d worn her down, dispelled her objections, and finally would be getting what he was after.

    Except Roy wouldn''t find steaming passion in the sheets, but the cold barrel of a gun pressed against the back of his head, and painful restraints locked around his wrists.

    The poetic justice pleased Tracy. He had to fight to keep his smirk in check. For him, it didn''t just mean that a psychotic killer was going to pay his dues, or that a single mother would now have a better life for her and her son, but that Tracy''s journey was now coming to an end. Sooner than later, he''d be walking up the front porch of his suburban home in Phoenix Arizona, and draw Hina into a tight embrace. And if he made it in time, he''d be there before she needed to go to the hospital.

    His heart skipped a beat, just considering that there was a very real possibility that he''d be a father shortly after he returned home. Was he ready? Worthy? With each miscarriage Hina had, a part of him wondered if he just wasn''t father material.  Like father like son  was a saying for a reason. Tracy lived his whole life making the opposite choices his dad would have made. But even now, he''d still left his wife to fend for herself, just as his dad had left his own wife, Tracy''s mother. Of course Tracy intended to come back. Maybe his father had intended to come back, but life swept him further and further away.

    It seemed that no matter how hard he strove to not become his father, Tracy mirrored him in ways too close for comfort.

    He''d not leave Hina to strive alone forever.This book is hosted on another platform. Read the official version and support the author''s work.

    By the point he returned to Earth, Hina would look different. Plump pregnancy weight gained while he was away could only serve to make her more beautiful in his eyes. Tracy longed for her gentle touch, the smell of her hair, the way she laughed.

    The doorway loomed ahead. On the other side of Cora''s door lay guilt, murder, and madness in the form of a cult leader. But also hope, and joy once that man was in shackles.

    The door latch was unlocked as Cora said it would be. No sounds of anything, whether false seduction, muffled voices, or scuffling could be heard. The walls must be thick.

    He primed Judge and pressed onward through the door into a dark hall. Her door stood ajar, low light spilling from the crack. The soft aroma of fabric detergent and perfume leaked from the small makeshift studio room. Again, he heard nothing, good or bad. But the lack of any sound at all worried him. His chest heaved, expanding as he took one more full breath before rushing into the room.

    The room remained empty.

    No Coraline. No son. No Roy.

    His mind raced through possibilities.

    Struggle? The contents of the room were splayed about, showing possible signs of conflict. Or Cora did not have an ounce of cleanliness. Tracy doubted that.

    Murdered? A small void hollowed a hole in his chest, growing larger by the second. Tracy''s flesh hand trembled. He couldn''t help it. His one relief was that he spotted no blood.

    Foiled?

    He waited for a time, lingering in the stillness. Then he searched the rest of the house. No one was home.

    He returned to Cora''s room, lifting a teddy bear who was smothered beneath a heap of clothes. Tracy recalled the boy''s face. He could be no older than three or four years old. Old enough to be about the same age as Tracy''s own child, if things hadn''t gone south a few years back.

    Cora trusted Tracy, put her wellbeing and the life of her little boy in his hands.

    Tracy had to assume the worst.

    Roy had somehow learned of their plan and acted first. He squeezed the teddy bear, then slammed the bottom of his fist down on a dresser.

    Time to pull rank and throw some U.S. Marshal authority around.

 36 | GATHERINâ€™ THE POSSE

    A towering man burst through the door so fast, it gave Sheriff Frumt a start, nearly knocking him out of his chair, making him drop his glazed rye muffin and reach for his gun. The man scolded Frumt with a mere gaze, a look that could stop a heartbeat, and at the very least give him pause. Frumt pulled his hand away from his gun slowly.

    "Easy, Sheriff," he said, not hiding his disdain, focusing it on Frumt''s bulging paunch held up by a large belt buckle. He flashed Frumt a badge. "I''m U.S. Marshal Tracy Irving. I''ve come all the way from Earth on official business. A fugitive and murderer has found refuge in your fine city of New Oklahoma, a certain Roy Rothspalt. Yeah, you heard that right. The reverend. He''s got a laundry list of crimes, some of which include murdering a slew of innocent victims. You wouldn''t want to harbor a murdering fugitive, now would you, mister...?"

    The sheriff brushed muffin crumbs out of his mustache. "Frumt. Sheriff George Frumt." He nodded.

    "I''ll take your nod to mean that you do not want to harbor a murdering criminal from the US government. We all know how unforgiving they can be towards those that aid fugitives. Now, we don''t have much time, and no room for error. So as a representative of the United States Justice System, I have the authority to gather and deputize a taskforce. And seeing that Mars is a colony of Earth, America in particular, that would put you at the mercy of my request. You following me?"

    The Terran lawman gripped the desk with an oversized ham fisted smartarm, splintering the wood of Frumt''s desk with little more than a pinch.

    Frumt swallowed and managed to get out an, "Uh huh."

    "Good. Since I''m not familiar with the men in these parts, I''m going to need you to help me gather a posse. Can you handle that?"

    Frumt stuttered.

    "What was that?"

    "H¡ªhow many men do ya need, Marshal?"Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

    The marshal''s chin tugged to one side. "I''d say no less than fifteen would do. Roy''s a sly bugger. Got the whole town fooled. Pulled the wool over everyone''s eyes. There''s also a chance he''s got a woman hostage."

    "That''s terrible. I''ll pick a handful of men I can trust."

    "Once you''re done, meet me out front."

    "Where will you be?"

    "I''m going to figure out Roy''s current whereabouts and keep tabs on him. You just worry about that posse. And believe me, the US will reward you handsomely, but only if we see this thing done right."

    The marshal nodded, coaxing a nod from Frumt.

    "Thirty minutes, Sheriff. Thirty. See you out front."

    As soon as the door shut and the marshal moved past the windows, Frumt retrieved the muffin from the ground, dusting it off before stuffing the rest of it in his mouth.

    He waited until finishing the muffin before sending a comm to Sujin McCrory.

    "Hi. Yes. Guess who I just spoke with. The U.S. Marshal you warned me about. No. I did what you required. He wants to take action this afternoon. Less than thirty minutes. I will offer him assistance, until the time comes. Guess how many men he asked me for. No. More. Yeah, fifteen. Haha. I''ll bring twenty, and have ten more waiting in the alleys and rooftops. He won''t get Roy. And he won''t escape."

    No sooner had he ended the comm conversation did he get a ping. It was a notification from his cred account. He''d just acquired a hefty sum. Frumt grinned.

 37 | SUBPOENA

    "Roy Rothspalt."

    His name was hollered, not in reverence, fear, or admiration, but in a commanding declaration. He turned his head and saw a man garbed in black from head to boot. He stood tall and cocky, at ease with his two coil revolvers. His caramel complexion betrayed his Terran citizenship. At his back he''d amassed a sizable posse of deputized local law enforcement, a wall of Order closing in.

    Except they were all fellers that Roy recognized.

    With the touch of a button a hologram projected to life, hovering over the lawman''s borg arm. Two images cycled like a highway billboard. A younger likeness of Roy flickered in the center of a wanted poster, followed by a Federal citation.

    "I have a subpoena issued by the United State Attorney General, summoning you to appear in Federal Court to testify of crimes committed against the good states of South California, West Nevada, Colorado, and my own home state of Arizona. As a fugitive of the law, I suggest you come quietly. As a representative of the United States Marshals Service, I have the authority to use any force necessary, should the need arise."

    The bold voice of the lawman and his large posse caused everyday citizens of New Oklahoma to stop and stare.

    The city street came to a halt. It had never been quieter than before settlers colonized it. The only thing souring the silence was the faint but haunting synth harmonica melody drifting from inside the saloon, a wailing tune from times long gone by. Vultures alighted on a nearby fa?ade roof overhead. Their scarlet bald heads appeared as if they''d dipped their beaks into wet corpses already.

    Roy shifted so his body faced the lawman. The two women doting on each of his arms shifted with him. Roy made a point to study the man with a toothy smile, as if observing an interesting animal caged in a zoo.

    "Trace the Ace. As I live and breathe. They didn''t tell me you had such an abysmally long prosthetic. It makes you appear lopsided. Did no one tell you, good man? I can see why they call you Traipsing Ape behind your back."Unauthorized use of content: if you find this story on Amazon, report the violation.

    The lawman did not skip a beat, but responded by swiping the holodocs away and cocking the hammers of his oversized gauss revolvers. "Remove any weapons you have and step towards me slowly with your hands up high."

    "My, my. You waste no time getting down to brass tacks. But I''m afraid you are far beyond the bounds of your jurisdiction."

    "Justice knows no bounds. Get to stepping, Roy. I''d hate to dishevel you in front of your lady friends."

    "Yes. I would hate to be embarrassed in front of my friends too." He slipped away from the women, placed his hands on his hips with carefree ease, and moseyed over to Tracy. He stopped three paces from the lawman, squaring off with him, dragging his sunglasses down so that the spheres of his yellow eyes sat like glinting half-moons above the circle-framed spectacles.

    "The problem here, Marshal? You seem to think my friends are your friends." He gazed past Tracy, yellow eyes running over the posse the man brought. "I have many friends in this town, Marshal. Too many to count."

    Roy grinned and winked at Tracy. The lawman''s jaw shifted, betraying the doubt rising in his gut, now seeping through his widening nostrils.

    "Boys. Would you mind showing this Terran marshal our brand of Rubrun hospitality?"

    The air filled with the sound of bolt handles and hammers cocking.

    All gun barrels leveled at Tracy.

 38 | IN A DILEMMA

    Leroux splashed some water on Jeb Couch''s face. Went and got himself another black eye. How Couch managed to offend a bot and get himself knocked out, Leroux might never know.

    "Wake up, Couch." He slapped his face a few times until the man blinked.

    He groaned, holding his face.

    "Come on. On your feet now. Got a cell with your name on it."

    Leroux dragged him over to the speeder, then drove him back to the office.

    As he put Jeb behind bars and slammed ''em shut, the act he''d repeated so many times smothered him, like a boot pressed on his chest.

    "This stupid town never changes."

    Not a week ago and Leroux thought he was still on the up-n-up. Going places. Or at least, that he''d arrived. Now he realized he''d been fooling himself. Hoping for the best. Hope was a four letter swear word on Rubrum.

    Crag strolled into the office, whistling.

    "You find that bot?"

    Crag looked confused. "The bot? Oh. Hehe. Not a sign of it anywhere. Knocked Jeb out cold and split. Musta realized it went against its programming. Might have even snuck off to some corner and rebooted itself. That''s my guess."

    Just as Leroux was about to rail into the deputy for not finding the bot, his comm pinged with a notification.

    Incoming comm from Terra.

    Identity unknown.

    Terra? Who could be trying to contact him from Earth? Had his wife''s ears burned as he thought of her? No, that was foolish. They''d been through for years.

    "Hello?"

    "Am I speaking with Sheriff Blaine Leroux?"

    "Speaking."

    "This is Doctor Payne. I am trying to reach a certain Tracy D. Irving. It''s my understanding that you worked with this man in the past and that he is currently on Mars?"

    Hundreds of questions sprang up in Leroux''s mind. Like how did a doctor looking for Irving even know to contact Leroux at all?

    "Yes. He and I are old friends. I spoke with him just recently."

    "I''d say I''m glad to hear that, but unfortunately I''m the bearer of ill tidings. We need you to relay a message to Mr. Irving. Can you do that for me?"

    A lump formed in Leroux''s throat. "I''ll try."

    "Good. We''re contacting you at the request of Tracy''s wife, Hina Irving. I''m afraid things are not looking good for Mrs. Irving. She''s been ushered into the hospital. She''s had complications with childbirth in the past that ended poorly, and this time is no different, except that his wife has a heightened risk of not surviving this pregnancy. But I need Tracy to know that per his wife''s request, if there''s any way for him to contact her, those are her wishes at this time."

    Leroux nodded, forgetting that the doctor could not see him.

    "Are you still there?"

    "Uh, yes. I''ll make sure to relay the message to him. Doctor, I know Tracy will ask. What''s so risky that you''d go to the trouble of tracking me down?"Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation.

    The doctor sighed. "Cardiomyopathy. It''s a condition where the heart is, for lack of a better term, too stiff." Here he lowered his voice. "It adds stress to the heart which can cause pre-labor or post-labor maternal death to occur. In a circumstance like this, I''d urge Mister Irving to forget what he is doing and leave Mars immediately."

    The comm ended.

    Leroux stared at the piece of tech that allowed others to reach across space and time and make contact with him all the way from Earth.

    "Who was that, Sheriff?"

    Leroux ignored Crag, lost in thought.

    They must have done some serious digging to find out who on all of Rubrum might know Tracy, who could then also find him and relay the message. Tracy was in upper law enforcement, working directly for the Attorney General, so it wasn''t impossible. Why him though?

    Easy. On tablet, they''d worked together for years, had a good working relationship. No one knew of the disagreement that took place here on Rubrum. Why some might think they were still friends. But things had changed.

    No, Leroux realized, he had changed. Tracy was still the same lawman, sporting a new badge and a lot more authority, sure, but the same standup guy, through and through.

    But, poor woman. Tracy''s wife must be desperate, afraid, hopeless if she requested for that message to get to her husband by any means. She must think she wasn''t making it out of this one.

    Tracy. Poor sap. He had no clue he might be losing his wife and unborn child while he roamed across a hostile planet, prodding the yellowjacket nest, stirring up trouble for himself everywhere he turned.

    How was he going to find Tracy? Forget finding him. How would he relay that type of message? How was he supposed to tell a former friend¡ªwho he''d sent his deputies to stop¡ªthat his wife was in critical condition and he better contact her ASAP.

    Leroux leered at the train outside, a few hundred steps away, and started moving towards it.

    "Sheriff?"

    "Heading back to Noke''la."

    "Didn''t you just get back the other day?"

    "Going on vacation, Crag. You''re acting sheriff until I get back."

    "But I¡ª"

    The door shut behind him and Leroux jogged over to the bullet train, stopping in front of it, hesitating.

    Despite the thin layer of dust that covered the exterior shell and the dark of night coming on quickly in the dusk, Leroux''s reflection on the train still stared back at him. The sensible thing to do was forget he got the message, get home to his warm shower and bourbon, and let things unfold as they may. Tracy being able to contact his wife in time was a pipe-dream. Even as he thought it, his reflection scowled at him. How could he even think that? What kind of man had Rubrum turned him into? Why, just several years prior, Leroux would have considered Tracy a good friend. If he hadn''t made the jump to Rubrum already, Tracy and Hina might have even invited him to their wedding.

    The comm he heard was the echo of a plea, the desperate cry for help from a woman who just wanted her other half at her side during her final moments, and if not that, to at least be able to hear his voice, and maybe see him on video comm. And what of Tracy? He''d want to know. No one wanted to leave home and return only to find it empty, their loved ones gone for good.

    Bodies surged on and off the train, trading spaces.

    The mechanical voice of a bot conductor called out like a megaphone. "All aboard."

    The doors started closing.

    "I gotta tell him," Leroux growled.

    He ran and lunged through the closing doors, just making it. The train waited a few more moments for everyone to be seated, then shot off like a rocket.

    His mind spun like a dryer, tumbling the news over and over.

    He''d made the right decision. Now he just had to locate Tracy. Shouldn''t be too hard. The man caused an uproar everywhere his boots tread.

    But was he ready to get tangled up with Tracy? He didn''t know. Right then, he was just the messenger. He''d deal with the mess when he crossed that bridge.

 39 | SWAPPED AND DROPPED

    Tracy eyed each man in turn. None met his gaze. They let their gun barrels do the staring. The backstabbing cowards.

    None met his gaze, except for Roy. A sharp-toothed grin spread across the fugitive''s face.

    "See boy, I run this town. You think you''re the Law. But in town, I''m the Law. Don''t push it. I''ll give you a clash you won''t believe."

    More gunners popped up over the top of nearby buildings. This wasn''t a simple switching of sides, from Tracy''s to Roy''s.

    This was premeditated. An ambush. He''d been set up. And he''d swallowed the hook, letting it scrape its way down and catch in his throat.

    Tracy chuckled, calculated the odds in his head, but no matter how many he could outgun, there would still be enough turncoats and outlaws left to make him as hollow as his acoustic guitar. He lowered his revolvers with slow precision.

    Roy whispered, "As you''ve likely guessed by now, I''ve got Miss Coraline and her little runt hostage. If you want them to live, I suggest you comply. Drop them fancy revolvers on the ground."

    Tracy grimaced. Letting Judge and Jury fall to the ground would fill every crevice with grime. It would take hours to clean. Multiple times. And they might never work the same again. He would have had one trick up his sleeve, but he left it back with SmitHuri.

    "I said drop ''em, Edgar¡ª," Roy sneered. "Er, I mean, Tracy. Ain''t going to repeat myself."

    So the gig was up. Roy not only had Cora and the boy, but he knew he''d been fooled during Faro. Which meant he''d had time to prepare all this.

    Tracy let his JC Maxwell''s drop to the ground in a plume of red dust. "Piss and pestilence, Royce. You''re a real cactus in my crotch, you know that?" He spat in Roy''s direction.

    Roy just laughed. "Detain him boys. Haven''t decided what to do with him yet."

    To those nearest him, Tracy smelled like electric humidity, the thick tension that boiled the air before a coming storm. They hesitated to obey Roy, but only for a moment.

    The sun blazed high in the Martian sky, glinting off of his U.S. Marshal''s badge.

    Outnumbered? Yep.

    Backstabbed? But of course.

    Was he, an extension the Law, about to bend down and lick Corruption''s boot? Never.

    After all he''d been through, Tracy wasn''t going to be taken down by these putrid pieces of gutter feces. Hina and his unborn child waited for him to return to be the husband and father they needed.

    Trace the Ace wasn''t without any preparation.

    The wailing harmonica tune from yesteryear cut the silence again, an omen for the present, a dirge from the future.

    Two men approached the lawman, one with guns drawn, the other with cuffs ready to subdue Tracy.

    The first man snapped a handcuff into place around Tracy''s flesh arm. But as he adjusted the cuff to fit the oversized borrowed prosthetic, Tracy let out a sharp whistle like the piercing screech of a bald eagle.

    Thunderous galloping answered as the metal Mustang stormed into the fray. With roaring exhaust pipes rumbling, Chasm reared up, pawing the sky, causing the perfect heart-stopping distraction.

    Tracy twisted, clasped the man''s wrist and squeezed hard. He felt bone break and heard it snap, then disintegrate under the crushing clamp of the beefy borrowed arm. The man doubled over, howling in pain.

    Tracy spun on his heel and grabbed the man, using him as a human shield, while his metal hand stole the man''s revolver.

    Roy''s friends didn''t even hesitate. They showered their compadre in friendly fire, reducing him to meatloaf. Most shots grazed Tracy''s duster, but some dug close enough to sting.

    Tracy fired on the second man, the one closest to him. They shot to kill him, a man of the law, and they outnumber him. Tracy shot to survive.

    Pew. Pew. Pew. Pew.

    The Ace fired as he seized the opportunity to draw back, finding cover between two modular buildings and dropped the deadweight meat shield. By the time he found cover, his four shots nestled into new homes. They might as well have been nails in coffins. Three of Roy''s cronies slunk to the dust. A fourth doubled over, in the throes of death.

    For his part, Chasm charged the group of men nearest him like a boulder tumbling towards clay bowling pins. He bucked and donkey-kicked men, shattering bone under his alloyed hooves. Shots ricocheted off of his chrome hide, burrowing into unintended victims.

    Deafening blasts rang in Tracy''s ears. Shots chipped away at the edge of the wall Tracy had his back against. Debris filled the air, threatening to choke Tracy. He blinked away the sawdust blinding him.Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

    He could not stay put.

    The dying forth man finally collapsed, his flailing arm dropping a revolver just within Tracy''s reach. The lawman snatched it up and retreated further back between the two buildings to the end, and ran along the backside of the buildings, firing into the gaps like spaces between a picket fence.

    Tracy sprinted far enough to end up behind Roy and his crew. If they stayed put. Doubtful. He came up to the corner of a covered deck, the shadow of the roof giving him visual cover.

    He peaked out just enough with a single eye.

    Roy''s men aimed guns in every direction but his current position, some still slinging shots where Tracy had been, most trying in vain to down the steeder. Roy himself was nowhere to be seen, but his cackle cut through the gunshots.

    Judge and Jury lay in the dirt. The guns he snagged felt strange, foreign. Inadequate tools. No intimacy existed between him and them. One bulky arm weighed too much, and a pair of handcuffs dangled from the other, throwing his balance off, and possibly his aim. They may as well have cut Tracy''s hands off and left him with bloody stumps. But he had to make due.

    He checked the cylinders. Basically empty. He refilled them with rounds from the belt strapped across his chest. His lips tightened. Hina''s face filled his mind. He envisioned her, clear as day, hands resting on her rounding stomach, hoping against all odds that this time it would come to full term.

    He sniffed, drawing in a long breath, still loathing the stench of Mars. The stink was like an odorous symptom of the turn of events, like trying to quench his thirst with spoiled milk.

    Tracy''s fists tightened around the strange gun grips.

    This would not be his end. He was Law. Roy would face justice.

    Tracy nodded to himself and turned the corner. His onyx duster trailed behind him like a reaper''s cloak. He raised the barrels in front of his piercing eyes so that to his enemies there seemed four barrels, not two.

    Faces turned his direction, masks of confusion, mouths agape. Electromagnetic flares exploding from the revolvers were the last things they saw. Pain erupting, tearing through their vitals was the final sensation they felt before the end.

    Tracy cracked the revolvers and reloaded. Shell casings pitter-pattered on the wood deck like metal raindrops, while his enemies fell from rooftops or collapsed where they stood, drowning in red pools.

    Chaos was cut short.

    Only Law and Order remained.

    Silence followed. Then a sharp wind carried the smoke from Tracy''s gun barrels up and away like whiffed out vigil candles.

    Tracy''s boots were the only ones still standing.

    Roy was nowhere to be found, but somewhere close. "Well played, Marshal," he yelled. "Doubt we''ll meet again."

    A speeder thrummed to life and shot off down the road.

    Without hesitation Tracy raked the speeder with coilgun fire. Smoke vomited from the fender and the speeder swerved, out of Roy''s control, crashing into a nearby building.

    Roy hacked on the smoke as Tracy approached, his watered eyes blinded.

    Tracy let a bit of his anger seep through into his actions. The marshal grabbed the fugitive by the scruff of his neck and dragged him out of the speeder, then slammed his face up against the side of the building.

    Roy huffed, the wind knocked out of him, but Tracy didn''t care. He only had to bring Roy in alive, not uninjured, or even whole.

    Tracy took a moment for himself. He''d caught Roy. Seized him, against all odds. Warmth filled his chest. He siphoned a satisfying breath of Martian air. It almost smelled fresh.

    The hint of a fouled whiff reminded him something was still amiss. A single mother and her son were held hostage, somewhere. Technically all Tracy had to do now was secure Roy on a ship back to Earth and his mission would be complete for all intents and purposes. But he could never live with himself knowing that something ill had befallen Coraline and Ashton.

    Tracy intended to find out exactly where they were, by almost any means. Even if that meant getting his hands dirty.

    No sooner was Roy bound with Tracy''s own pair of handcuffs when a notification pinged on Tracy''s borg arm. It was SmitHuri. His smartarm was ready, and payment of a steep sum was expected.

    Tracy eyed the stiff ragdolls littering the dusty street, suddenly seeing cred symbols. A bitter taste crept over his tongue. But what choice did he have? Mars had marooned him, stole his money, left him for dead, and now betrayed him. They drew a line in the dust first. What could he do, but return the favor?

    Moving from man to man, he swiped just enough creds to call it even with SmitHuri.

    The last corpse he came to was none other than Noke''la''s own, Sheriff Frumt. The man lay face down in the dirt, blood pooling from a wound where his neck should be, if he were skinny enough to have a neck.

    He grabbed the sheriff''s jail keys, unlocked the handcuffs from his own arm, and jingled them in front of Roy''s bruised face.

    "Looks like I''m the Law in Noke''la now."

    Chasm surprised Tracy, nuzzling his neck. He patted the steeder, then draped Roy over the back.

    Tracy mounted the Mustang and left a buffet for the winged buzzards in his wake.

 40 | CHURCH BELLS

    The dead lay strewn in the street, and the bloodied buzzards circled the sky above. They had not gotten their fill, but the gauss blasts scared them off for now.

    The living hovered over the dead, sobbing.

    Cherry stood hugging a post on the porch of a store. She understood their loss, losing loved ones. It must have felt similar to losing her dignity once she became a brothel worker. She could never get it back.

    Moving from body to body looking for Scratch, she recognized many of the men, not just as familiar faces, but as clients who visited her frequently.

    Dead fathers, dead husbands, dead brothers, dead friends; the corpses littering the street were all of that and more. They were pillars in Noke''la. Now it seemed the settlement they built was falling down around them, and the crushing weight of it would soon squash them.

    Unless they took action. Course corrected before it was too late.

    Roy''s body was not amongst the carnage.

    Cherry ran from the horrific scene to find Roy. He''d know how to handle this, what to say.

    It wasn''t supposed to end up like this. Scratch had shared briefly with her, just that morning that the U.S. Marshal from her vision had come into town, but that she needn''t worry. The King had seen fit to warn Roy, revealing the lawman''s plan to him through the most unlikely source. Cherry had felt fear and doubt at first. She trusted Roy, but the lawman from her vision seemed like the embodiment of death itself. But when Roy informed her that the source was the betrayal of Cora, the woman who Roy had taken a fancy to, Cherry couldn''t be happier.

    But now this.

    They''d thrown almost every able-bodied man at the U.S. Marshal, and he''d gunned every last one of them down.

    The wind wailed, drawing her attention to the edge of town. On the horizon a fierce dust storm kicked up. She needed to find shelter. But she needed to find Roy before that.

    She ran to the saloon, then to the brothel, stopping anyone she recognized. Roy wasn''t anywhere to be found. That he was involved in the shooting, she was sure. A man had come for him, the man in her vision, her nightmare. She shuddered at the dark the memory of him. Had he caught her Scratch? Had he hurt him? Or worse?

    She found herself climbing up the steps of the church, bursting through its front doors, sprinting past the pews. The church swam in shadow, the lights off, as the dust storm swept over Noke''la, invaded the sky overhead, covering the sun. Flickering candlelight caught her attention. She moved into the hall behind the pulpit, down a hallway that led to the parsonage, Scratch''s living quarters. Inside, Himura rushed to and fro, gathering things and stowing them in a travel bag.

    "Where''s Scratch?"

    Himura gasped, so concentrated, he hadn''t heard Cherry enter the parsonage. "The Terran lawman¡ª"

    "I seen what he did. Is Scratch okay?"

    "For now. But that marshal..." Himura hissed the title like a curse, visibly shaken.

    "He''s the man from my vision."

    Himura''s gaze locked on her. "Yes. I seen him slay all the men that Roy sent after him. Even Sheriff Frumt. He had no qualms robbing the dead either. Just swiped the creds right off of them."

    Himura was obviously shaken, but Cherry needed him to focus. "What did he do with Roy?"

    "I watched him snatch Sheriff''s keys. I think he''s gone and locked Roy up in the jail."

    "How can we help Scratch? There''s got to be something we can do."

    Himura shook his head. "Those bars can''t hold Roy for long. He''ll escape. But I know my master. He won''t stay here. Roy will go to the King." He paused, shuddering. "That Terran though, he and his guns are one. Unstoppable. They all had him dead to rights. Yet he cut them all down, like a threshing bot with a scythe. He''ll follow Roy to the ends of Rubrum."

    Cherry hugged her stomach, feeling sick. Everything Scratch erected was falling apart so fast. Who would guide them? Those survivors of the fallen, who would console them? Who would run their funeral services? Who would redirect them? Why would the King do this to them? Had they angered him, incurred his wrath?Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

    Her vision came to mind. Her lips quivered.

    No. The King had given her the vision. He''d seen fit to warn her. Why warn her and not Roy? Was it for this very moment?

    Yes.

    The King had shown  her  the future. Her vision was not only vindicated, it was reality. The sultan of sulphur knew this would happen. Which meant he''d given Cherry all she needed. She just had to act. The vision of the lawman in black haunted her mind, and the carnage he caused made her want to spew. But this time her back straightened. She stood tall, imbued with righteous anger.

    Himura closed the travel bag, content with the articles he''d packed and moved into the hall.

    "Himura, sound the bell."

    "But Cherry, we¡ª"

    "Dare you question the prophetess? Sound it."

    ***

    Quite a crowd had gathered as word spread of the carnage in the street, of those they''d lost to the man in black. The bell drew the broken, a beacon of a last shred of hope. Those entering the church looked for Roy, confusion openly displayed on their faces at seeing the pulpit empty, but took their seats in the pews anyways.

    A dust storm outside smothered the sunlight. Candelabras provided the only source of light in an otherwise uncharacteristically darkened day.

    The bell continued to ring, drawing in the entire congregation. Curiosity and loss brought them. The church bells had not wrung out on a weekday in some time. It could only mean something important had happened, something everyone needed to be made aware of.

    Groups formed around those mourning. Cherry waited a few moments, respecting their time, but also long enough to let Roy''s absence bother them. All the while she knelt next to the pulpit, robed in yellow, the garment she''d worn during her first prophecy.

    Someone finally worked up the courage. "Where''s Roy? What''s going on?"

    Cherry rose, and as she did she felt foreign strength flood her, rising from her toes up into her beating heart, running along her arms, and filling her mind.

    "A man tried to attack our reverend," her words silenced the congregants. "The truth Roy heralds is too dangerous for some to hear, or for some to let it be heard. They tried to silence our shepherd. And because of that, our men defended our beloved reverend. Their lives were stolen from us, because they defended the truth. They are heroes, men of valor. And that is why we cannot let their deaths be in vain."

    She paused, letting the statement hang in the air. As she continued, her voice rang strong and true. The King filled her with power to proclaim. "Even as we gather, our reverend departs. The murderer who sought Roy''s life seeks to take it still. Will we let our fallen brothers die, forgotten?"

    Vehement shouts of "No," and, "Never," rang out.

    Cherry''s chest heaved as the weight of the situation mingled with her love of Scratch, and her passion for vengeance. "I''ve been given a vision. Though pursued by a man that would murder him, Roy does not flee. No. He answers the King''s call.

    "In the night visions, I''ve seen a city laid waste, forgotten. A city once majestic, regal, prepared for us in eons past, lying dormant. Carcosa is her name. And in the center of the desolate city, all the twisted streets lead to the castle, to his throne."

    Cherry''s voice grew frantic, every breath used to shout the words.

    "The barren city fell to ruin. But we can reclaim it once more.

    "Brothers and Sisters. The time has come for all the chosen children to answer the call of the King. Only those loyal will heed his beckoning. And may all who forsake it be accursed. Will you aid your reverend, the man who healed your sick and led your stray? Will you heed the King in Yellow?"

    A shout arose from the people.

    "Go now. Gather only what you need for the exodus. Then, we make haste and harken unto Roy our reverend, and to meet the King."

 41 | XENOWOMB

    The heavily armed hovercopter dove into Noctis Labyrinthus, descending parallel to a viaduct support pillar. Jagged rock walls as tall as Terran skyscrapers arose around them.

    Sujin McCrory grinned with hunger, clutching his arcblade cane.

    Several days had passed since his last trip to Noctis. His trip to the arctic north could not have been avoided. But by delegating to Page, he''d made good use of the time.

    Rubrum regressed. Though he never would have said it aloud, Sujin sometimes felt as if the planet and the ecosystem were an actively aggressive force, consciously holding the colonizers back from their full potential, as surely as it held them down with gravity.

    But now Sujin had confirmed that at least in part, that was true. The presence of the Martian predator beasts that slaughtered his construction crew¡ªseemingly to mark their territory¡ªscreamed that Rubrum was actively fighting against him. And since Sujin was one of the elite few of the entrepreneur class on Rubrum who''s every decision actually impacted hundreds, if not thousands of lives, he took the attack personally.

    His eyes danced over to his new personal security guard, Russell. The man stood as a living testament to the Rubrum force that opposed Sujin. And the man had paid dearly for it. Luckily, Sujin hired the best cyborg technosurgeon on Rubrum to reshape the dying man into someone that could live to fight another day, saving his life in return for Russell defending his.

    Based on their interaction with the tentacled beasts, he''d assigned rounding up a team of mercenaries and trappers to Page. He wanted folks rough around the edges, ready to get their hands dirty. What he ended up with were no less than five hovecopters equipped with gauss gatling railguns, and one freighter full of large cages. This way they could capture the beast alive, to sell back to Terran scientists to study. Or, if things went to shale, they could slay them all and be done with the nuisance.

    Aside from the lives of his slain employees, Sujin was glad that the Martian creatures revealed themselves. Now he had a face to put to the opposition, one that he could combat with equal and opposing force. Once they won this skirmish, he''d root out the hive of the beasts, learn their habits and destroy their home, exterminating all threats to his future viaduct project.

    They reached the bottom and grouped near the abandoned toolshed. A team of preassigned men exited the ramps and one by one hopped in the cabs of the construction equipment, removing all of the expensive vehicles out of the way.

    As that was happening, a mercenary made of pure muscle led a group of similarly muscled mutts on leashes into the structure. He affixed their leashes to a support beam held in place by a magnetic lock near the gaping hole where the bodies of his former crew still lay. No doubt decomposition already set in, which in turn set off the dogs.

    The canines were to act as bait. Since dogs were territorial by nature, Sujin was betting that the territorial nature of the Martian terrors would kick in, and they would reveal themselves.

    The muscled merc retreated back to a hovercopter. Everyone donned goggles displaying the heat signatures of the dogs. Then they waited.

    Russ spoke up, his cryptic voice breaking his stoic silence. "Here it comes."

    Sujin felt it too.

    Not long after, a new signature popped up. Even at this distance the yips, howls, and snarls of the mutts reached Sujin''s ears above the thrusters echoing off the Noctis walls. The mercenary who planted the dogs pushed a button, releasing the mutts from their leashes. As one the group rushed the beast.

    The jaded mercs broke comm discipline with chatter, aghast at the surreal monster.

    "Look at the size of that thing."

    "Six legs. You boys seeing that? Six."

    "Size of a speeder. If not bigger."

    "Tentacles. It really has tentacles."

    "The maw is the most dangerous," added Russ. "They''ll get you good, if you''re not careful."

    After a glare from Sujin the merc commander shouted obscenities over the comm, reeling the men back in.

    The thing crouched low, then sprang on the dogs. Tentacles lashed out like living leashes, entangling each dog, splitting up the pack, ripping them off of their legs. It held them in the air by their necks, the tentacles acting as nooses. One by one it ate each dog alive.

    Sujin''s own revulsion was mirrored by the merc point. "Oh man. That''s crazy. It''s tearing them apart like they''re pups."

    On Sujin''s mark, they riddled the area above the hole where the beast emerged, causing a cave in, trapping the beast.

    The merc commander yelled, "Hit it with a tracer."

    A sniper perched on the edge of an open side door fired a shot. "Tracer embedded. Link to target established."

    Sujin gave the second signal, and they hit the toolshed itself with railgun blasts that penetrated the walls, shredding them to bits. The walls collapsed, forcing the Martian to flee and find another route back home.

    The tycoon raised a hand putting a halt to the gatling gunfire. The massive cylinders clicked as their spinning slowed to a stop. The smell of burning electrocharged metal filled the hovercopter. Below them the beast bolted, running along the canyon''s floor.

    "Maintain a good distance," ordered the merc point.

    The hovercopters lurched onward. Sujin''s weight pressed against the safety harnesses as they tilted forward in pursuit.

    The six-legged creature bounded through the winding labyrinths of Noctis. The pilots navigated with expert precision, at one point forced to all draw in tight, flying in a straight line so as to not collide with the narrowing crevasse walls.

    At that point, the beast pulled away from them, aided by its six strong legs.

    "Don''t lose it," yelled Sujin.

    "You heard him boys. Reestablish visual."

    But the walls pressed in closer, forcing them to rise to a higher elevation.

    They lost visual altogether. Coming to a juncture, they were presented with six branching labyrinths, each veering off in different directions.

    "Split up," barked the commander.

    They scoured the various pathways.

    After almost an hour of garbled communication back and forth, one of the other units caught sight of it.

    "Visual reestablished," said a grainy, gruff male voice. "Hey what''s it running through?"

    Another voice chimed in. "Some kind of man-made looking canal system."

    "What did you say? Repeat," commanded Sujin.

    "It''s running along a canal. This thing ain''t a natural occurrence. It cuts right through the bottom of the canyon."

    The hovercopters all reconvened with Unit 2, who had found the canal.

    Had one of his competitors beat him to the punch and begun constructing this canal? Had they discovered some hidden resource at the bottom of Noctis? No. He''d have heard gossip of it. Surely. It was more likely that this was the failed experiment of a forgotten early Rubrum colony during the early terraforming phases. They''d tried a lot of failed experimentation back then. The abandoned dome Musk structures came to mind.

    The hovercopters caught up with the beast as it followed the carved pathway.

    "Look. It joins another canal."

    Sure enough, another structured canal joined the one they were following. They moved downhill so it made sense that had these been flowing with water, or some other liquid, the system would continue to add additional canals as they delved further and further in.

    The merc point silenced the speculation. "Let''s keep our focus on the target. Let the archeologists worry about the canal."This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

    Ahead, the base of the valley widened, but up higher, it narrowed, forcing them to drop elevation, almost skirting the canal, losing sight of the sky above. The labyrinth took a sharp turn. They rounded the corner and beheld something none of them expected.

    "What is that?"

    Before them the canyon opened into a wider basin. A web of canals joined a larger network, running together into a sprawling ancient city. Towers clawed upwards like skyscraping thorns. Dark pores covered every surface that was not smooth, like multitudes of shadow eyes leering at the trespassing humans.

    Sujin''s breath caught in his throat. He whispered, as if his mere breath might cause the eldritch ruins to crumble.

    "A lost Martian city."

    The pilots in the copters flew onward, drawn to the rediscovered edifices in stunned silence.

    Russ leaned close to Sujin, speaking low in his ear. "We shouldn''t be here. We need to flee while we still can."

    Anger coursing through Sujin surprised him. He wanted to flash on Russ. And why? Because the man voiced his gut feeling, the intuition he was trying to suppress. Sujin wanted to rebuke Russ, but the commander spoke up.

    "Target at our ten o''clock."

    Sure enough the beast bounded towards the elder city with an undeniable familiarity. They lost sight of it as it passed into the maze of clustered stone briars.

    The mercenary point eyed Sujin. "How do you want us to proceed?"

    "Turn back," said Russ.

    Sujin scowled at him. Sometimes intuition was wrong. He spoke to the commander, "Fly low and get after it."

    The man paused. "We weren''t prepared for this. We should come back at a later time. We can''t fly these through there," he pointed at the towering city. "We''ll have to go in on foot. We''d have brought different equipment if I knew about this."

    "If anyone knew about this, it could spark a second-wave Terran exodus. No one could be prepared for this. Proceed. I paid you to capture the target, and any other of its kind."

    "What you paid us doesn''t cover this scenario. I don''t want to put my team in jeopardy."

    "I''ll pay you double."

    "You''ll waste your creds," said Russ.

    Sujin ignored him, and the rising unease creeping up from his gut. Against his will he scratched his hand, the one still healing from the sting.

    The commander relayed the info to his team. "How''s that sound boys?"

    After a whoop of agreement, they set the hovercopters and freighter down.

    "Alrighty boys. Let''s get after it."

    Sujin caught the uncertainty in the man''s voice. If doubt filled the captain, it trickled down to the remainder of the team as well. Sujin could not blame them. This was a historic discovery that would change the course of Rubrum and Terra forever. But he wasn''t paying them to gawk at the structures, or to question how they got there. He was paying them to get a job done. Now more than ever, he needed a live sample. This would prove without a doubt the existence of the lost city.

    In addition to paying the men double what he intended, he''d have to have them sign a non-disclosure agreement. He and he alone would find out everything there was to know about his city. It was his claim by the universal law of finders keepers. Who knew what wonders lay in the ruins? The fact that intelligent life existed anywhere besides Earth opened a whole new universe of possibilities. The knowledge they might gain from a place like this. Lost language, culture, and possibly even lost technology. All of it lay at his fingertips.  Red Prince , they called him. Prophetic. For one day soon, he''d sit on a Martian throne.

    The squadron moved into the city on foot. Sujin remained behind with Page, Russ, and a pilot. They listened to the chatter on the comms. After several minutes passed, Sujin noted that the comms became infrequent.

    "Commander, do you copy?"

    After a drawn-out silent moment, a whisper came through. "Yes."

    "What''s going on?"

    "Following target. We may be closing in on the¡ªoh shalemerda¡ª"

    The comms cut off. Static feedback buzzed instead.

    Sujin struck the comms in frustration, but the static persisted.

    The pilot fidgeted with the settings, but to no avail.

    Russ pulled his gauss revolvers from their holsters, priming each hammer. "We should have left."

    Suddenly the comms blared back to life with screams of pain and torment.

    But Sujin didn''t have time to understand what was happening. Heat signatures cropped up all around them, emerging from the ruins, surrounding their hovercopter.

    Sujin''s blood ran cold.

    "Pull up. Get out of here."

    The pilot hesitated. "My brothers¡ª"

    "We''ll die too. Now, pull up."

    The pilot hesitated. Until Russell pressed a cold barrel against his head.

    "Okay. Okay, pulling up."

    But it was too late. The fanged beasts charged the ship, tentacles lashing at the metal hide, fangs gnawing at the exterior. Scraping and crunching sounds grated on Sujin''s ears. He gripped his cane hard, all the blood fleeing from his knuckles. The pilot tried to pull up, but the thrusters strained under the weight of the massive beasts piling atop of it. The low thrum of the thrusters climbed to a high wail as the pilot pushed the throttle to its maximum limit.

    "We''re not moving up. They''re too heavy."

    Blood curdling sounds of the hull torn open like canned food made Sujin recognize the mistake he''d made. Underneath his skin, his wounded hand throbbed, then pulsed. He dropped his cane, clutching his hand. It burned. Molten pain spread up his arm as he fell, balling up into the fetal position. He screamed in agony.

    "Mr. McCroy!"

    Page knelt at his side, trying to help, but not knowing what to do. Sujin was not even aware of his presence, no longer aware of where he was. There was only the burning, throbbing pain, until every fiber of his being existed only for the purpose of pain.

    The hovercopter spun out of control, falling from the little height it gained, crashing into the ground. The pilot rebounded, manning a gatling gun, adamant to go down with his boots on. Russ stood, guns leveled over the merc''s shoulders.

    When the beasts finally shredded the exterior enough to breach the ship, they were met with a relentless wave of gauss fire. But not for long. The gatling gun downed three of them before they snatched up the pilot and ate him whole.

    Russ downed another three by himself, before they nabbed him, and Page next.

    By the time the tendrils coiled around Sujin and yanked him off of the metal floor, he was weeping, begging for the pain to simply end.

    Mummified from head to toe in a seaweed-like tentacle, the Martian predator carried Sujin away from the wreckage and into the city. He was only semi-conscious of this fact, knowing deep down. In the moment his pain ebbed, diminishing.

    The padded footfalls of the monster''s six legs comforted him in his state of shock, like a child being rocked to sleep. Waves of pain morphed into waves of pleasure.

    Without warning he was thrown down upon a hard stone surface. He gasped as the tentacle that had wrapped him now loosed, giving his lungs room to fully expand.

    The thing''s maw hovered over him.

    Sujin felt neither pain nor fear. He simply was.

    The maw opened wide, rows of fangs pointed towards Sujin.

    But, instead of devouring him, it''s throat ballooned, like a toad, then convulsed. Sticky yellow bile erupted like a fountain, spewing from the Martian''s mouth, covering Sujin in a liquid coffin.

    The ichor bubbled, expanding like foam, encasing him in an alien cocoon. The fumes and odors emanating from the fluid nauseated Sujin at first. But as it enveloped him from head to toe, the smell changed, soothing him, lulling him into a safe and secure rest. He closed his eyes, curled up into the fetal position, and fell into a dream.

 42 | TELL ME

    "Tell me where they are, or so help me God..."

    Tracy''s duster lay folded over the edge of the late Sheriff Frumt''s chair. As for Tracy he''d rolled up the sleeve of his good arm to get down to business.

    Blood stained Roy''s teeth, but still he grinned in silence.

    If there was one thing Tracy''s borrowed hunk of an arm was good for, it was dirty interrogation. It packed a wallop behind it. Or so he thought. Roy remained impervious to the infliction of pain though.

    As Tracy brought his makeshift cudgel raining down on Roy''s face and torso, a quiet voice in the back of his head nagged at him. The more Roy evaded answering his questions, the more questions Tracy had.

    How had it come to this? How had he, a U.S. Marshal, stooped so low?

    Tracy scowled against his inner accuser. Rubrum forced his hand, all of them.

    The local law enforcement showed that they were not only untrustworthy, they would kill him if they had a chance. Law on Mars didn''t exist. Tracy acted alone, trying to enforce law and order in a reckless, untamed land. He just needed one man, and they couldn''t even give him that.

    One thing baffled him. They''d been alerted of his presence. New Oklahoma had been more than ready for the marshal, resolved not to hand Roy over.

    There was no way anyone in New Oklahoma knew him from the next cyborg.

    Unless¡ªhad Leroux ratted him out? Must''ve. His former friend had taken a huge fall from grace so he could rest on his laurels.

    And now an innocent woman and child were tied up in it. By taking the mother and son hostage, Roy''d backed him into a corner.

    The situation unraveled faster than a ball of yarn in a cat''s paws, leaving Tracy wound up.

    So the only answer was to counterattack, switch up the game, get Roy caught with his back up against the ropes.

    His metal balled fist pummeled into the deceptive reverend, drawing many wheezing breaths, sharp cries, and gasps, but no admission.

    By the time Tracy finished, Roy could not even hold his head up straight. Tracy dropped him in a cell and slammed the door with a satisfying click of the lock.

    After wiping his hands clean, he slipped into his duster.

    "I''ll find her," he growled at Roy''s semiconscious form on the cell floor. "We''re not leaving until I do." He pressed his face against the bars. "And you better pray she''s alive."

    ***

    Tracy was a little surprised SmitHuri was still open for business after the mayhem.

    Either the technoforge owner had no idea what happened, or he wasn''t going to be the one to tell a marshal  no  after that marshal wiped out an entire posse.

    SmitHuri charged an arm and a leg, for well, his smartarm. But as soon as Tracy reinstalled it and booted it back up, he recognized the work of a master technocraftsman.

    "Recalibrated it. Hammered out the dings and dents. Replaced microchips and boards that were fried. And gave it a system update while I was at it. Not to toot my own horn, but it should be good as new, if not better."

    Tracy swiped him the creds and threw in a tip.

    "Thankya kindly."This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

    After tipping his hat, Tracy exited the forge. Chasm waited for him, pawing the ground, as if sensing the turmoil raging inside of the lawman.

    "Not now, boy. I know you''ve been cooped up here in town. You want to run free. Like we did to get here. I may need you yet, so I''ll hold onto for the time being. But I''m afraid our journey is coming to an end."

    ***

    Tracy couldn''t draw Cora''s whereabouts out of Roy. So he started at Cora''s place of work, the Taj Diwan. Her concerned coworker Sandy pointed him to a prostitute named Dahlia.

    Dahlia acted like she wouldn''t squeal, but word of what Tracy did in the middle of town made its way around by then. The marshal reiterated the scene to her anyways, adopting his cocky persona, living up to his coldhearted larger than life reputation. Without the local law enforcement alive to take action against the marshal, and many of the town''s toughest son-of-a-guns dead in the street, she realized there was nothing holding Tracy back. Of course he wouldn''t have hurt her, but she didn''t need to know that.

    She pointed Tracy to a gossiping bot, who agreed to talk if Tracy would loan him some creds so he could get electro-high. After a few overjolts of power, the bot spilled the beans on who''d likely be holding Cora, and where they could be found, and continued to divulge much more information than the marshal needed. It was still spewing information as it collapsed, experiencing a system reboot from the electric overload.

    The bot led him to the church.

    The bot let him know that the church was one of the oldest buildings in the settlement. The significance being that they''d designed it with an underground storm shelter, because back when they''d first terraformed Mars wild storms prevailed more than they did at the present.

    Turned out, Roy''d been granted a residency there in a parsonage and lived off of the charitable donations of his deceived congregation. He wondered how they''d feel if they knew that Roy was a murdering fugitive.

    A loud outpouring of voices filled his ears as he neared the religious building. Now that he thought about it, he had heard the bell ringing, but had dismissed it to concentrate on the task at hand.

    He crept up to an open window, crouching outside.

    As he tried to figure out how in the world he was going to locate the entrance to the underground residency, he overheard a woman speaking to the congregants. He recognized the voice. He stole a glance. It was Cherry, Roy''s brothel fling that had been hanging on his arm during their Faro game.

    Currently she was working the townsfolk up into a frenzy.

    The people gathered here after the massacre that happened in the street.

    They were confused, in agony, and they needed someone to blame for all of the pain.

    And there was only one man standing to direct their misguided rage at. Tracy himself.

    An ache burned in his chest. He didn''t want to kill any of those men. They''d ambushed him. Roy hadn''t given him an option. What could he have done? Let Roy take him, a marshal into custody, and let Roy have his way with him?

    Didn''t mean he felt ecstatic about giving the town coffin maker a surplus of business. Tracy scowled. They made their bed with a murderous fugitive. These were the ramifications.

    Tracy heard enough. They''d form a mob soon, try to bust Roy out of the jail, and hang Tracy. If he was lucky. You never knew with angry mobs.

    Roy remained his leverage, and his only ticket off this dried up hunk of worthless planet. He needed to get back to his hotel, gather his belongings, commandeer a ship out of here, and drag Roy out at gunpoint. But his conscience would not stop screaming at him without confirming Cora and Ashton were safe.

    After gathering his few belongings from his room he wrapped them up in his bedroll and moved outside, affixing them to Chasm''s back.

    An explosion shattered the silence on the otherwise quiet street, knocking Tracy to the ground. His ears rang. He inspected himself. Other than a new layer of dust covering him along with a few nicks and scratches, he was alright.

    Down the street, a cloud of smoke billowed from the only building in New Oklahoma that held the fugitive behind bars. Roy doing. He knew it in his bones.

    He and Chasm rushed to the smoking former sheriff''s office. He scoured the wreckage, wasting precious many minutes, looking for a charred body, but found nothing. He thought he might have found footprints leading away, but just as he was about to follow them, movement on the edge of town caught Tracy''s eye. He threw on his goggles to catch a better glimpse.

    He recognized the outline of the fugitive''s sharp frame. Roy was skipping town in a speeder. And the fugitive wasn''t alone. He had two hostages with him. A mother and her son.

 43 | BAGGED

    The burlap sack scratched Cora''s face and made it hard to breathe. At her side Ashton whimpered, but did not cry.

    "It''s okay," she whispered, over and over, comforting herself as much as her son. The barrel of a gun pressed into her back. Sometimes it left, but it returned every time she shifted.

    She didn''t know where she was. They had not taken her far. Still inside New Oklahoma. Nor did she know why they''d taken her. But she could surmise. Not a day after that marshal came to her, seeking her help to capture Roy, and now this.

    It did not surprise her to learn Roy was a fugitive. His strangeness struck her the first moment they met, and not just because he fancied her. It was in the way the town''s folk flocked to him, hung on his every word. Sure he was handsome, and charming in his own way. But not any more than any other handsome and charming man. He held a certain sway over them, and she could not put her finger on it.

    But was he responsible for taking her and her son hostage? Coldness and darkness surrounded them. Even if she were to remove the mask, she suspected they were being kept in a room of near pitch black. It meant they were underground. Some buildings in New Oklahoma had underground tunnels and chambers. They''d been designed that way during the early colonization because of the severe windstorms, to her understanding, places of refuge against the onslaught of unforgiving dust torrents.

    She sweat in spite of the cold, loathing her clammy palms. Ashton did not know why they were there. His only comfort aside from his mother''s hand lay in the cast miniature model dropship he carried with him everywhere, a source of constant imagination. He did not make  vroom  sounds now, but he clutched it within his hand tight.

    Her knees hurt, but when she moved the gun pressed into her back.

    "Easy. Don''t get smart now," the voice would say. The gruff voice grated on her ears. The man sounded like he was speaking to a filthy stray dog and not a woman and her child. She knew he''d be true to his word and lose no sleep after blasting a hole right in her.

    But why? Their captor had offered no explanation other than the gun barrel motivation and the calloused hand covering her mouth and a hiss of a whisper. "Quiet. No sudden screams. Come with me or I blast the boy."

    She almost couldn''t believe this was Roy''s doing. But the fact that it happened immediately after the marshal and her formed a plan to lure Roy to her rented room. Her captor appeared in the dead dark, the stillness before dawn.

    How long did they sit, held hostage in the dark? She did not know. Long enough for Ashton to need to pee. The captor groaned, but tugged them along in the dark, leading them to a sour smelling room that echoed his terse directions to Ashton from its tiled walls. He did not know how to speak to children. He''d gotten furious when she slipped on a loose piece of tile when leaving the restroom.

    "What do you want with me?" she asked. But the captor remained silent. Her voice quivered with both rage and fear. Thoughts raced through her mind, trying to formulate an escape plan. But her ignorance of her surroundings and the stuffy bag over her head made thinking and planning all but impossible. She had no weapons, not anything she could fashion into a sharp edge or utilize its blunt force. Nothing but the dulled flat edge of the toy dropship''s wings. But being a toy intended for children, every possible harmful edge had been softened.

    Roy must have learned of her plan. There was no other explanation. That meant they were being held hostage as leverage against the U.S. Marshal. Would he even care? He was a long way from home. To her understanding, all he had to do was retrieve Roy. If he let her and her son die, no one back on Earth would know. She pondered his face, replaying their meeting in her mind a hundred times.

    No. He was an honest man. A good man. His hardened exterior guarded a gentleman underneath. She remembered his face when she mentioned she''d do anything for her son, when she had leveled the gun at him. His eyes told a silent story, a buried pain, one that had to do with a child in his own past. Perhaps he''d lost a child, or had a loved one back home that he longed to get back to. He seemed to understand her desperation, her drive to protect Ashton above all else.

    He would come for her. If he could find her. If tragedy had not befallen him already. It could not have, now that she considered it. Otherwise she would not still be a captive.

    Time eluded her. All sense of its passage evaded her senses. Each second with her captor lingering behind her pointing a lethal weapon at her vitals felt like an eternity. Ashton''s small hand comforted her, and hers comforted him.

    The thick fingers that clenched her arm stopped her from trying anything foolhardy. They belonged to a big, strong arm corded with thick muscles. In the dark, blinded, her other senses latched onto any tidbit of information she could glean. She knew her captor''s hand stretched big enough to hold her down and choke her if she resisted or tried to escape, and the other hand''s twin would still be free to pull the trigger of the blaster it held, ending Ashton''s life in a moment.

    She''d fled Earth to escape situations like this. In a way this man reflected her ex, Bron. He was the natural extension, the evolution of what Bron would have become, had she and Ashton stayed.  Ash , she heard Bron''s correcting tone in her head. She fought so hard to forget it. But here in the dark with her and her son''s lives hanging by a thread, Bron''s overbearing voice filled her mind.

    "His name''s Ash."

    "I don''t like that name."

    "Why not? It''s a good name."

    "It suggests the charred ruins of things destroyed by fire. It''s what you call a dead person''s remains. It''s those toxic burned butts that you smoke and leave in the tray on the porch when you''re stressed."

    "That''s the stupidest thing I''ve ever heard, Cora. You know what your problem is? You think too much. Read too much. Why can''t you be like every other pretty wife and binge the stream? Every time we fight, I find out later it''s because you read something somewhere and got some idiotic idea planted in your head."

    "Ashton is a nice name," she continued, refocusing the argument. "And that''s what we agreed to name him. You signed the birth certificate."

    "Yeah, well I hated the name. I always wanted to call him Ash. And I didn''t think anything of it because it''s not a big deal."

    "Well it matters to me. Our son is a living, breathing little person, not charred debris scattered in the wind."

    "Why are you so hung up on some stupid old name? You know what happens when he goes to school right? He''ll get to know the other kids and he''ll earn a nickname. And guess a million creds what they''re going to call him? Take a wild guess."

    Ashton was the type of tree her and her father planted in their backyard when she was a little girl. Her memory delved further into the past, hearing her father''s voice.

    "This tree will grow with you, you know. One day when you have kids of your own, you can bring them back to this tree and tell them you planted it with your old man. I''ll be a grandpa then."

    It was one of the stronger memories of her father. Before the fire burned down her childhood house and took the sapling Ashton tree with it. In a way Ashton''s name was a nod to her father, and the pain she felt that he''d never know his grandson. In a sad sense, she was glad. He''d have been ashamed that his daughter had a kid with a man like Bron. He''d be ashamed at the predicament she landed herself in now too.

    "Mommy," said Ashton, breaking her guilty thoughts.

    "Yes, honey?"

    "I''ve got to go pee."

    The captor barked at them. "Again? Stupid kid just went."

    "Don''t call my son stupid, unless you want to clean up a puddle on the floor."

    A backhanded blow struck her across the face, dropping her to the ground. Ashton''s hand still gripped hers. She accidentally tugged her small son to the ground with her as she had no way to anticipate the blow.

    Pain and rage flooded her. The man could have caused her to hurt Ashton. He might be injured.

    Forsaking her own pain, she sat up and reached out and pulled Ashton close, cradling him against her breast. Her mind repeated the phrase she''d said over and over during those days she''d endured Bron''s mistreatment and abuse while saving up for the one-way trip for Mars in secret.  I will not die. I cannot die. Ashton needs me. If I die, Ashton dies too.

    "Don''t you ever," snarled the man, "ever tell me what to do, you little slut."

    She wanted to give up then and there. But in the back of her mind, she held onto a foolish hope. If she could just survive long enough to get Ashton out of this situation, then the lawman would eventually find her. He had to. And then she''d get the creds. Even more now because she''d demand more for her life being put in danger. Creds meant a real future for Ashton, and a home.

    Oh, she could see it, exactly what it looked like in her mind''s eye. They''d have their own rooms, and the home was surrounded by a barbed wire fence to keep in the livestock. And Ashton would run and play with the animals and in time learn to care for them. All of that waited for her and Ashton on the other side of this nightmare. All she had to do was endure.If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.

    After a time Ashton quieted.

    "Do you still have to go?"

    She felt him shake his head, "No."

    "Yes you do. It''s okay," she lied. "Come on. Lead us to the restroom please."

    The man sighed at the inconvenience she caused.

    The anger inside her sparked an idea, one that fear would not have considered.

    As she came to the restroom again, she pretended to slip again on the loose tile, this time letting go of Ashton to fall.

    He began to cry.

    The man laughed.

    "I''m okay," she said in hushed tones to her son, as she scoured the ground with her hand until¡ªaha¡ªshe found it. A shard of tile. She palmed the sharpened triangular splinter.

    She only had one shot at this. If she messed up her chance, her captor had seven gunshots.

    I will not die.

    "Get up you clumsy bi¡ª"

    "I can''t." She cradled her ankle with a groan, hiding the shard. "I think my ankle is sprained."

    I cannot die.

    "Mommy?"

    Ashton needs me.

    "I''ll be okay, Ashton. If the man gives me a hand up."

    The man grumbled, but did not object.

    Now was her chance. Her heartbeat accelerated, hurting her chest. She offered her empty hand.

    His sausage sized fingers closed around her wrist.

    If I die, Ashton dies too.

    With the speed of a king cobra she stung, plunging the shard deep into the hand that held her.

    The man bellowed a wordless scream, yanking away from her. Cora ripped the bag from her head. Her vision need not adjust much. The room basked in low light.

    Just a few feet from her the captor stumbled back.

    She imagined he stood tall. Her imagination did not do the man justice. He towered over her. But at the moment his free hand clasped his injured one.

    Where did his gun fall?

    A metal object gleamed on the floor between them.

    They both eyed the gun, then lunged for it at the same time.

    Her hands wrapped around the gun first, but it was upside down. As she tried to spin it, the man''s bear claws crushed hers, trying to wrestle the gun out of her grip.

    She was vaguely aware that Ashton was crying. But she couldn''t comfort him now. Not until she was free from this kidnapping bulk of muscle.

    No matter what, Cora was not going to let go. She knew the odds were against her. The man had to have at least three hundred pounds on her, and not an ounce of it was fat.

    "Ashton, run!"

    Confused, unsure of what to do, Ashton wailed.

    The man yanked hard, but Cora bit down on his good hand. He yelled again.

    She used the opportunity to turn over. Using all of her weight to snatch the gun away from him was her only chance. She rolled over, but his arms came with her, so that he lay on top of her, holding her in a bear hug.

    But she had the gun.

    He pinned her arms under her, smashed by their combined weight.

    Ashton''s screams climbed octaves and became eardrum shattering.

    "Shut up, you stupid Terran brat."

    Cora strained with everything in her, but she felt her veins in her neck and head bulging. If she fought any harder against him, she''d black out.

    The man squeezed her like a chiropractor, then squeezed tighter still. Her spine popped, then a rib broke. All the air rushed out of her lungs. She didn''t even have the breath to scream.

    A dizzy spell overtook her. She collapsed.

    It seemed like only a second, but when she turned over on her back, the man stood, legs spread on either side of her. The barrel of the gun pointed straight at her head.

    Ashton threw himself at the man.

    Both Cora and the captor paused, stunned that a child so young would have any other reaction than hysteria. Using the only weapon he had, he followed his mother''s lead, chomping the man''s hand.

    The gun went off, deafening everyone, but hitting no one.

    The man swore, shoving the kid. Aston fell into his mother''s arms. She cradled him. Stroking his hair.

    The man''s eyes burned with rage.

    "Please, don''t."

    The man snarled and raised the gun.

    A door burst open, and light spilled in, basking the captor, blinding him for the moment.

    Another gun barrel erupted.

    A wet hole opened up in the muscled maniac. He peered at the hole in disbelief before crashing to the hard floor, dead.

    Cora sighed with relief. Tears streamed down her face. She didn''t know how he did it, but the marshal found her and saved them both. She''d done it. She''d survived long enough. She''d saved herself and her son.

    He walked into the dark room, his attention on the corpse. "You ask a guy to hold hostage one harmless woman and child for you, and he can''t even get that right. He deserved to die. Right, sonny boy?"

    That voice? It wasn''t the marshal.

    Roy spun and faced mother and child.

    His saffron blazer hung in tatters from his frame, covered in dust, like he''d burst through a stone wall. A pair of broken handcuffs hung from each wrist, a devilish grin strung across his face.

    "Cora, girl. We''re going for a ride. And I guess we can bring the nuisance third wheel along too."

 44 | CHASE

    The fugitive in yellow fled across the Martian desert, and the marshal followed.

    Towering massive metal structures bobbed up and down on the surface of the sand, casting shadows as long as the width of Noke''la. They whizzed by Tracy so fast, his mind had little time to register them for what they were; cranking pumpjacks on revolving pistons drawing oil from deep below the Martian surface. Their low rumble reverberated so deep, Tracy felt the tremors throughout his whole body.

    Chasm followed the dust wake that Roy''s speeder left behind. Only Tracy''s goggles and respirator kept him from blinding suffocation. Herds of startled camels bolted, leaving the sparse cactus they munched on, running away from the fleeing speeder and the chrome steed that followed. Madness must have gripped Roy to trespass on Arab oil country.

    Anger, frustration, despair, all swirled around within the lawman, muddled¡ªas hard to comprehend as seeing Roy through the sand he kicked up. How could he be so stupid to let Roy escape? Why did he let Roy get away with Cora and her son? How desperate was Roy? There was no telling what he would do now. This wasn''t going to end pretty.

    Roy swerved, changing his trajectory every few hundred meters, making more daring choices with each passing moment. He sped under the downward plunging pumpjack between two dropship-sized pistons. Even on his nimble steeder, the lawman couldn''t anticipate the reckless navigating and had to race around the pumpjack, letting Roy break away.

    Cora''s words echoed in his mind.

    I''m being put at risk, which means you''re putting my son at risk.

    My son is everything to me.

    Guilt bore down on Tracy. He''d promised Cora that nothing would befall her, and implied that nothing would harm her son.

    Roy made a liar of him.

    Roy would pay.

    Except Tracy could not make him pay. He had to capture him alive, and bring him back to Earth. Otherwise his whole mission was a bust.

    Two streaking blurs cut across the sand, racing after Tracy. Security for the oil rigs. And they weren''t carrying tasers. Perfect.

    The single-thruster, single-rider sandboards surfed the dust dunes with precision, able to travel much faster even than Chasm. Gun blasts scored the path in front of the galloping steeder. Tracy ducked low in the saddle. He had no qualms with these men just doing their jobs. But if he didn''t return fire, they''d slay him, no questions asked.

    His goggle HUD locked onto the sandboarders, even when his steeder crested a high dune and descended on the other side. The holosights projected at the end of Jury. He exhaled, waiting to see his pursuers crest the dune. Their silhouettes popped up. He pulled the trigger twice, shifting his aim once between shots.

    The armed security pulled their triggers too. One shot pinged off of Chasm''s flank, going astray. The other grazed Tracy''s leg. Stinging pain ran along his calf, but it was only exterior.

    The guards had no opportunity to return fire though. The marshal''s magnetic projectiles found new homes in the thrusters of each sandboard. Two bursts of light proved Tracy hit his marks. The guards were flung from each exploding board, tumbling headlong in the sand.

    Tracy allowed himself a short chuckle, but it was suffocated by the weight of the task that lay ahead.

    Roy cut a hard turn, almost doubling back from the direction they came. Closer and closer Roy drew nearer to Noctis Labyrinthus. The great cracks scoring the planet reached out in all directions, like tendrils seeking prey to ensnare. Roy followed a downward path, one that descended into a narrow valley. As when he''d left Tharsis, rugged bedrock walls rose on either side of Tracy. This time, firing his revolvers was not an option. A mother and child held fast aboard the speeder, hostages of a madman.

    Try as he might, Tracy could not get thoughts of Hina out of his mind. Images of Hina cradling her round belly overwhelmed him. He cherished them, but did not need the distraction at the moment. Like his wife and unborn child, Cora and her Ashton had trusted him to do his job, but he''d not just failed to complete his duty. He''d failed  them .

    Lower they descended into the rugged crevasse, the gradient array of colors in sedimentary bedrock layers shifted to darker shades of gloom as they delved deeper still. Light seemed to retreat, not able to seep this far down, as if nightfall came swiftly.

    Roy came to a fork and took the direction that penetrated further still into the maze of gorges, valleys, and canyons. Massive support pillars sprung from the ground floor shot up and overhead, supporting a man-made viaduct, stretching back to Noke''la, cutting a straight line through the natural maze. In the back of Tracy''s mind he recalled his Faro game. This must be the bullet railway the tycoon was constructing. He caught glimpses of its scope as the fugitive braided between the support beams in attempts to lose Tracy or cause him to crash.

    How could he stop Roy without bringing harm to the fugitive or Cora and her son? Trailing eternally behind Roy wouldn''t cut it. He mashed the button, morphing Chasm into a hovercycle. The exhaust pipes roared as he throttled the steeder, lurching forward with greater speed. The wind howled, deafening his ears.

    They came to the end of the railway, passing a construction site. Roy ran out of obstacles by which to lose the lawman, and so grew desperate.Unauthorized usage: this tale is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings.

    As he neared Roy, the crazed criminal turned and fired out of the open-top cockpit, lobbing lazy shots at Tracy from his own coilgun. They were mere warning shots fired at random in Tracy''s general direction. Even Roy knew that he had to keep his focus on driving the speeder.

    Tracy''s only option was to get close enough to board the hovercraft and force Roy to a complete stop. Ducking beneath Roy''s wild shots, Trace did just that.

    At the same time the walls of the canyon grew narrower, and the pathway wound sharp, weaving through the Martian layers. The labyrinth''s sharp turns forced Roy to navigate the canyon at dangerous and reckless speeds if he wanted to escape.

    The walls fell away as they shot over a natural rock bridge. A lethal gulf hung on either side of them, a bottomless trench reaching down to the planet''s core. Tracy forced himself to think only of capturing Roy, but the thought of falling to his death over the edge compressed his heart in a vice of terror. He turned his thoughts to Hina, combatting the fear with hope.

    Tracy opened Chasm''s menu, thanking the Maker he''d had the foresight to assign a quick command. Locking onto Roy with his goggle HUD, he aimed the hooklasso and fired. The line shot out like a chameleon tongue, wrapping around Roy''s torso. Tracy pushed another button, and the line retracted, zipping back into the steeder until it grew taut, catching on Roy''s weight.

    Tracy''s heart thumped in his chest. He had one chance at this.

    Rising in the saddleseat, arms outstretched for balance, he waited for the right timing, and leapt from Chasm. For a brief, terrible moment he thought he would bite the dust, tumble over the ledge and be lost forever. Weightlessness made his stomach sink as he flew through the gap between Chasm and the hovercraft.

    Then his chest hit the back of the speeder, knocking the wind out of him, but his hands latched onto the headrests of the back seats. A wild shot scorched the speeder in front of his face, blackening the paint job. Though the lasso entangled him, Roy managed to hold onto the gun and point his wrist out, firing from the hip through the thick hooklasso. Tracy held on for dear life, legs dangling off the back of the speeder, like flags flapping in a strong wind. Seeing that they could crash and die, Cora reached across the dash, snatching the controls. Roy spun to kick her.

    "Whoa, boy," yelled Tracy.

    Chasm''s throttles reversed, arch flames spewing out of the front thrusters of the steeder. Roy''s eyes widened, his pupils dilating. The retracting line and the slowing steeder ripped him clean out of the driver''s seat. One moment he was there, and a blink later, the fugitive flew over the lawman''s head. A booted foot caught Tracy''s mouth, smacking the grin of triumph off his face.

    He shook off the pain and clawed his way to the front, wrestling the throttles for control of the speeder.

    Cora screamed in his ear. Ashton''s hysterical cries reached shrieking decibels. The natural rock bridge veered off in a new direction. They had no time to match the turn. Tracy pulled the throttles back as far as they would go, as if straining on the oars of a boat, throwing his back into it. He gritted his teeth, eyelids squeezed shut so tight, stars sparkled behind them.

    The reverse thrusters burned, slowing the speeder dramatically, but tilted the nose forward. They''d come to rest, balancing on the edge of the stone bridge, playing seesaw with death itself.

    Tracy did not even want to exhale. Cora quieted herself, but Ashton remained inconsolable.

    "On the count of three," whispered Tracy, "I''m going to climb out of the back. Grab my hand, okay?"

    Cora''s face paled several shades as the speeder tilted forward still. The lightest breeze could have puffed it over the edge. Without waiting for her reply, Tracy hopped atop the speeder, thankful the foolhardy fugitive had snagged an open-top hovercraft. Even with his tall stature and weight, he only tipped the scales ever so slightly. A single misstep and the speeder would plunge over the edge.

    "Give me your hand."

    Cora grasped her son, frozen in place.

    The next moment the speeder''s hover thrusters gave out. Tracy had burned them up, pushing them to their limit to come to a complete stop. They needed a few moments to recalibrate, but those precious moments were going to cost Cora and Ashton their lives. The speeder groaned an ear-piercing wail as it grinded against the edge, sparks flying as rock scored metal.

    "Grab hold," he commanded, yelling above the scraping.

    Cora thrust her arm up and Tracy latched on with his flesh hand. The speeder tilted completely, nosediving, Tracy had to trust his muscles had the strength to hold himself and two other souls while his alloyed fingers ripped into the speeder exterior, crumpling it like paper under his borg grasp. With every ounce of strength he had left, Tracy jumped off the end of the speeder, yanking Cora with him.

    His body collided with stone. All wind fled from his lungs.

    He swam in a sea of lightheaded brain funk.

    Panting, chest burning, arms and legs limp as noodles, the lawman lay gathering his breath.

    He couldn''t open his eyelids. Didn''t want to know if anyone besides him survived. But Cora''s panting tickled his ear. He blinked. She cradled Ashton, both mother and son experiencing waves of adrenaline, even as Tracy himself did.

    Tracy got to his knees, helping Cora to hers, and checked to see if the boy was alright. Aside from the scare and a few scratches, they''d be fine. Chasm trotted up to greet them with his snorting exhaust pipe. He tugged a hysterical dust-covered Roy behind him.

    The reverend''s maniacal howls echoed off the canyon walls, sending shivers down Tracy''s spine.

    The lawman quieted him with a steel-toed boot to the ribs. Then a few more for good measure. And several more, just because.

 45 | SAVING FACE

    An entire day and night spent huddling in the cave, and still the dust storm showed no signs of letting up.

    Tracy had been warned about this sector of Mars. If the storm didn''t let up, they could very well be trapped in here for several more days.

    Roy slumped, sitting awkward, hands cuffed behind his back. His busted lip bled a little through a fine crack. The soft glow of the warm crackling fire lit up his bruised eye socket, showing a mosaic of deep purples, dark blues, and sickly yellows.

    Some of the damage was from getting tugged out of the speeder and dragged behind Chasm for a time. The rest was from Tracy''s limbs.

    Outside the mouth of the cave, a veil of darkness hovered over the sky, even though they still had several Martian hours of daylight yet.

    Inside, fire light flickered against the walls of the cave, dancing across a strange mask¡ªchief among the small pile of things Tracy had removed from Roy''s person after patting him down.

    The marshal checked on Cora and Ashton, who used his duster as a blanket while sleeping in a small adjacent cavern, exhausted from the earlier excitement. When he came back, he found Roy watching his every move.

    "You''re not out of this Rothspalt. When this dust storm blows over, we''ll take our first steps back home. To Earth. It''s time you faced justice, don''t you think?"

    Roy remained silent, finding more interest in the strange patches of yellow mushrooms scattered throughout the cave that were native to Mars. They sprang from the smallest purchase of soil.

    As for his part, Roy looked sick. A pallid yellow tint covered his face and hands, as if overtaken by jaundice.

    "Hungry Roy?"

    Roy grunted.

    Starvation raked Tracy''s innards himself. But for the time being, Tracy was stuck. As reliable as Chasm proved himself, with Roy''s hovercraft lost in the canyon depths, he and Roy would be walking while Cora and her son rode. But until the violent sand clouds passed, there was nothing for them to do but wait it out. He pulled out a quality cigar from his portable humidor, one he''d been waiting for a while to smoke, a celebration cigar for a special occasion.

    He was plumb out of matches. Sending a command to his cyberhand, his pointer fingertip opened, morphing into a makeshift torch. A cobalt blue tongue of flame kissed the edge of the cigar, toasting the end.

    Roy watched Tracy, eyebrows furrowing. "I don''t understand the allure of those."

    Tracy lit the cigar, took a long measured draw, then spun the cigar and blew smoke into the cherry. The end shone blood-orange. "Ever enjoyed one?"

    "Sure. One of those e-cigars. The taste was okay. Made me feel queasier than a dog lapping its own vomit."

    "Well that''s where you messed up. You did not take the time to savor an authentic cigar. And even most people that smoke an authentic cigar go about it all wrong."

    "Maybe you could teach me the right way."

    Tracy studied Roy, frowning. Was Roy fixing to trick him in some way?

    "What? Too high-n-mighty to light tobacco with me? I see how it is."

    He should be enraged at Roy. But he was too tired, too burned out to care anymore. He''d captured Roy. Again. This time he''d watch his every move so Roy wouldn''t escape. As soon as the storm blew over, they''d be returning to the settlement, then to Earth.

    The lawman leered at the obscured landscape outside. There was nothing around for kilometers. Nowhere for Roy to flee. Perhaps he really just was curious. Why not?

    Tracy motioned for Roy to turn around. He unclasped one handcuff, then had Roy face him and cuffed his hands in front of the fugitive. He pulled out a twin of the cigar in his mouth, clipped the cap off with a cutter and toasted the end, then held it out to Roy. Roy squinted, trying to see through the ruse.

    "You changed your mind so fast, not sure if I want to now."

    "Take it man. Ain''t poison, like those mushrooms."

    Roy shrugged and took the offering. Tracy held up his torchfinger. "Tilt it towards me slightly. Right. Now, take a slow draw. No quick puffs. You''ll overheat all the oils inside before you can pull them out of the cigar. Good. It''s nice and lit. Now count to forty-five and then take another slow draw. And whatever you do don''t take it into your lungs. It''s not a cigarette."

    "Then what''s the point?"

    "Point is, relax and enjoy the taste and the slow pace. Pause. Rest a moment. Be in the moment. Reflect."

    Roy did.

    "Hey, that''s not half bad. I''ve heard these were real bitter."

    "Only if you overheat. That scorches the cigar before you even really begin. The turning point, right when you burn through the foot¡ªthe first third¡ªthen you hit the body. That''s where the notes start to sing."

    Roy followed his instructions. The two drew in silence for a while.

    "How do I get the most out of this thing? Don''t want to miss an opportunity, since you seem to be a connoisseur."

    Tracy nodded. "Draw in. Puff out your cheeks like a birthday balloon. Push the flavor profiles out, expanding to every corner of your mouth. Now blow out slow, and tilt your tongue up, slightly."

    Roy followed the instructions.

    "Now close your eyes."

    Roy glared.

    "Trust me. Okay, now taste the roof of your mouth. What kinds of notes sing to you?"

    Roy''s eyeballs twitched under his closed eyelids. "Mmm. Wow. Ain''t that something."

    "See how that opened up the profiles?"

    "Yeah. I''m getting kind of a fresh floral mingled with a caramel aftertaste. And a pinch of zest."

    "Interesting. Your palette is different than mine."

    "You ain''t tasting that? Aren''t these the same cigar?"

    Tracy closed his eyes. The scents emanating from the fumes, the notes in his mouth, they called up a different memory. "I''ve got earthy notes of leather, nuts, and cocoa bean."

    "How are we getting different vibes from the same cigar? Bad quality control?"

    Tracy eased back, stretching his legs. "Not at all. The blend you taste has everything to do with your palette, and your past." Tracy closed his eyes again. "This conjures up a Saturday afternoon. I''m at grandpa''s ranch. I''m helping him saddle up the horse. It''s early morning. We''ve had our coffee, the air is fresh, the perfect morning for a trot around the ranch."

    He opened his eyes. Roy studied his cigar. "This reminds me of my parent''s floral shop. Sat right next to an ice cream parlor. Used to get sea salt and caramel. Back when times was good. That didn''t last long." Shadows gathered under Roy''s eyes. He gazed at the mask, the one sitting on top of his pile of things.

    "What happened?"

    Roy chuckled. "My old man couldn''t keep his hands tending the flowers. He was too much man for one woman, my mother used to say. Like a rose, he was, she used to say. A real looker, but his thorns always cut deep."

    "How so?"

    "Kept cheating on her. Always would beg for forgiveness after she found out. Ma always forgave him. But Dad grew worse. Mother grew bitter. Couldn''t run the business together when Pops was always running off."

    Tracy grunted, puffing a cloud of smoke.

    "Finances got caught in a bind. Ma wasn''t good with money. Pops was, but he didn''t pay attention to the bills. Things piled up. Debt collectors came around. He took a dive off the deep end. Eventually, had to close up shop. They split. And I had to choose. They were so busy fighting with each other, they forgot to parent me."

    Tracy nodded, noting that the entire time Roy spoke, his gaze never left the mask.

    "My dad was a deadbeat. When things got hard, he''d throw in the towel, just give up. Eventually abandoned my mom. No side fling. No other woman. Just didn''t want nothing to do with us."

    "Really? How does a lawman like you come from a childhood like that?"This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

    "I hated my dad. It was impotent rage at best. Couldn''t fight him. Couldn''t change him. So I vowed to never be like my father. Whatever he was, I was gonna be the opposite."

    "To make something of yourself?"

    Tracy frowned. "I guess. Mostly just to spite him. Just to show him, after all his failures, I still turned out the better man."

    Roy''s eyes widened. "Still bothers you? Gets you where it hurts, don''t it?"

    Tracy spit with the wind. "One of the last things I did a few weeks before coming here was visit him in jail. He''s still the same. Blaming everyone else. Never owning up to anything."

    Tracy huffed on his cigar. "That man wasn''t my father. Grandpa ended up raising me."

    "Better than me. I''s raised by the foster system."

    "Better individuals have come from that system. Downright shame you had to stain it."

    Roy flashed on Tracy. "Those people were family. But they had their hands full. There''s always another foster kid coming into the system, right behind you. And another right behind her. Too many to devote too, too many to care for completely. They gotta spread their love. And lots of them kids ain''t loveable. Like impounded mutts. Been hurt too many times. All they know how to do is snarl and bite. They damage all their own chances at settling down with a real, good family. Then they think something must be wrong with them, and there is, but they think there''s something wrong on a fundamental level. At the core."

    Tracy squinted, reflecting on Roy''s meaning. "So you admit, life in and of itself, has intrinsic value?"

    "Well sure."

    "Well, you sure don''t act like it."

    Roy didn''t answer. He worked on the cigar some more.

    "You need to be center stage, huh? All eyes on you. Others may have a spark of value, but you, you''re special. You''re a blazing bonfire of worth. What are you trying to do? Make up for all the affection you missed as a kid? How''d you go from clipping flowers, to cutting lives short, Roy?"

    Roy ignored the question, changing the focus from himself to the marshal. "You think you''re the Law, man. But you ain''t. You''re the Law''s hound dog. Sure they''ve let you off the leash while the hunt is on. But after the hunt ends, back on the leash you go. And eventually when they run out of use for you... well, I don''t want to be crass, but they''ll do you in like Ole'' Yeller."

    Roy''s cuffed hands reached for the pile of his belongings.

    Before Roy moved another inch, the lawman had Judge and Jury cocked and ready.

    "Easy, Marshal. It''s just a trinket."

    He held up the pallid bronze mask for Tracy to see.

    Copper light reflected off the facial fa?ade. Tracy had seen it somewhere before, but he knew that wasn''t possible. An uneasy feeling of dread clawed up his gut into his chest, but he gripped Judge and Jury all the more, drawing strength from them.

    "In foster care, I delved into books. They were the only things I had. Whole worlds existed inside those pages, places full of wonder. And hidden power. I once read an old book, penned by an old dead Terran writer," Roy began. "I read a conversation between two characters and the words have always stuck with me, even if I did not grasp the depth of their meaning."

    He paused, but Tracy stayed silent.

    "In the story, one man said, ''You''ve forgotten the face of your father.''"

    If the words were supposed to hold a weight of value, they meant nothing to Tracy on the surface.

    Roy''s eyebrows furrowed, sensing the ignorance in Tracy. "My dad was the reason I got thrown into the foster system. So when I got out I tracked him down. Thought it would be hard, you know. He must be far away, never able to come visit me. But no, found out I''d lived just on the other side of town from him. He never visited me. Not once did he contact me.

    "I pummeled him, breaking his ribs, until it was too hard for him to breathe. But those words echoed in my mind, the words from the book. I did not harm his face. After he fell still, I gazed upon the man that brought me into the world, the man who shaped me. I still loved him, and longed for his love in return. But I''d ended him.

    "Okay. I''ve heard enough," said Tracy.

    Roy grinned. "I''m almost to the best part. As I gazed upon my father, the words rang out in my mind so clear, that I knew I must never forget the face of my father. Before the body could decompose, I made a cast, a perfect likeness of his death mask."

    Roy brought the mask up, covering his own face. From behind it he whispered. "Now I never have to forget the face of my father. I wear it."

    Numbness washed over Tracy''s own face. Lips tingling, he scowled to fight back the unease.

    "You''re sick."

    Tracy leaned in to snatch the mask, but Roy tucked it away.

    The lawman removed Jury from the holster and gave the cylinder a spin. The clicks ticked off from fast to slow. In a wink, Tracy flipped the revolver around his finger and pressed the barrel against Roy''s forehead.

    "You almost had me fooled with that sob story. I forgot that you''re little more than an animal acting out his base instinct. I''d do the world a favor right now blowing your head clean off."

    Tracy edged the barrel deeper, wrinkling Roy''s skin.

    Roy smirked. "Do it already. Why don''tcha?"

    Heavy breaths pumped Tracy''s ribs in and out. His heart thumped in his chest, blood pounding in his ears.

    He gritted his teeth. "I should turn your head into a strainer, huh."

    Roy wiggled his eyebrows. "Come on. Give me a good jolt."

    Surprising even himself, Tracy''s grip tightened on the gun, testing the trigger pull. His finger pulled back, ever so slowly, until he knew he reached the end of the give, and even the slightest twinge of his index would cause a blast that at this range would warp Roy''s face beyond recognition, leaving him an unidentifiable smoking corpse.

    He could end it all. Right then. All the tracking, running, and chasing would be over. And every life Roy ever took would be avenged. He could go home to Hina, and his unborn child.

    But would he return the same man?

    No.

    Did he even care anymore?

    Roy sickened him, revolting him to the core, bubbling his insides.

    Staring down the sight of the blaster, the name Jury popped out at him.

    Judge. Jury. Court of Law.

    Tracy eased off of the trigger with a slow sigh and holstered the gun. He thanked himself for etching those reminders in his revolvers. They kept him from taking the law into his own hands.

    "I knew you couldn''t do it. Pathetic."

    "Yeah. I''m not a sick murderer like you."

    Roy spat at Tracy, but missed.

    He looked pitiful now. His silly saffron suit torn to shreds, covered in dirt and dust, battered and bruised. His air of dignity fled.

    "Why the reverend ruse, Roy? Why deceive the lost and lowly? Why abuse your good looks?"

    Roy scoffed. "Why? Because it''s fun, duping the masses. I hold them in the palm of my hand. Once I have their trust, they''ll do almost anything I ask or order. And in exchange, the King gives me more power."

    "The King? Part of your made-up religion?"

    Roy''s face contorted. "My intentions for the sheep are simple. Lead them to sheering, so all their imperfections can be stripped away. Or, if they are weak, to the slaughter. But the King¡ªhe''s real. Don''t believe me? Every man serves a master. You serve your feeble Law. I serve the King in Yellow."

    Tracy wanted to brush it off as the raving of a madman, but he recalled his dream, the nightmare that occurred after he''d saved the homesteader Jorah from the clutches of the rustlers.

    He''d seen an immense figure, cloaked in yellow, wearing a crown. He shuddered as the image entered his mind. Something beyond the decrepit figure''s elongated disproportionate figure disturbed him. The being emanated a roiling sense of wrong, feelings of vengeful hate, famished hunger, and cold indifference, all drowning in a sea of terror.

    Outside, the dust storm blew across the mouth of the cave, howling.

    Tracy fought back a shiver.

    Roy whispered. "I recognize that faraway look. You''ve seen him too, huh?"

    Tracy gulped, wanting to deny it, but unable to lie.

    The mad fugitive continued in a joyous whisper. "If you''ve seen the King, then you know why I must obey his will. I alone was chosen for this task, to lead the sheep."

    "Well good luck with that, leading them cuffed up while in a cave during a sandstorm."

    Then he tied Roy to Chasm and checked on Cora and Ashton again. She stirred, but still slept in spite of he and the fugitive''s scuffle. The loud wind must have muffled most of their clamor. He sat down and tried to get comfortable on the cave floor.

    "Shuddup now, Rothspalt. I''m needing some peace and quiet. Soon you''ll be heading back to face justice."

    Roy lay his head down and closed his eyes with a grin. Soon he snored like a man asleep in a feather bed.

 46 | WITHIN THE CAVERN

    Tracy roused with a start.

    He had not intended to sleep. Must''ve dozed off due to exhaustion.

    Dying embers were all that remained of the small fire. The dust storm outside pressed against the mouth of the cave, sounding like a high wail. In their own small room, Cora and her boy slept, wrapped in each other''s arms.

    Movement deeper in the cave caught Tracy''s attention. He blinked. A dark figure moved again.

    Tracy scowled. Roy must''ve gotten loose from his cuffs somehow. That snake. Trying to get away by delving deeper into the cave while the storm''s wailing outside covered his escape.

    Getting to his feet slow like, so as to not alert the fugitive, Tracy drew Judge from the holster and followed, lowering the goggles so he could see better in the near black of the back of the cavern.

    The uneven cave took a steep decline, weaving through the solid canyon wall.

    Always, Roy stayed ahead of him.

    Tracy picked up his pace. He carried on for a time until they went so deep that the howling of storm stopped echoing. Or the storm subsided.

    How Roy stepped so quickly without making much noise, he did not know. It was like the fugitive knew this cave intimately. For all Tracy knew, this cave was a secret secluded haven for Roy. In which case, he might be following the fugitive into a trap.

    At one point the walls closed in so that Tracy had to turn sideways and shimmy through two jagged walls to get to the path on the other side. He found himself stuck. He could not budge. Tracy threw his arms and head and front foot forward, but only managed to wedge himself tighter. Panic threatened to overwhelm him. But then he stopped, gathered his strength, exhaled completely, deflated his torso and threw himself forward.

    He broke through, crashing to the floor of the cave. He hit a patch of gravel, and slipped down a steep slope. He tumbled head over heels several times until bashing his body against a stone wall at the bottom.

    Pain laced his body, but no serious injuries. He hoped. Dusting himself off best he could, Tracy braced himself against the wall and climbed to his feet. Eyeing the spot his hand rested on, he let out a gasp.

    An inscription or symbol was etched into the wall right where he placed his hand. That it was made with intention and intelligence was obvious. It''s meaning eluded Tracy. Its strangeness bothered him, but he could not understand why. Perhaps because it was a shape with no name, a symbol unknown that no human would ever think to scrawl. It was, in a word, alien. It sent shivers up his spine.

    But the main reason it worried Tracy to the core was not its unsettling, irrational, mysterious design, but the fact that Tracy had seen it before.

    "No. Can''t be real," he whispered.

    The symbol scratched at his brain, nagging on memory of a memory. Tracy had seen this sign before. But he knew not where, or how. It felt at the same time recent, and eons ago.

    He knew from experience that Mars was not just the home to Earth colonizers, but that an alien predator existed. But that thing that consumed the rustler seemed to him an unintelligent beast guided only by urges and not a being capable of an inscribed language.

    He pressed on, turning a corner, and approached an ancient archway not carved by human hands. He stepped through into the chamber beyond. The ceiling fled, ascending to unknown heights, lost in the black. Every cautious step echoed off of symmetrical pillars. Cut from solid stone, it was as if the walls, pillars, and archway had been shaped in impossible intricate shapes before the rock hardened, then solidified after artisan master craftsmanship was complete.

    His jaw dropped. His breath caught in his throat.

    This structure suggested intelligent design. More than that, it suggested ancient life on Mars, rich history, culture, lives lead and lost, long, long before mankind ever set foot on the dead planet.This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.

    But he didn''t have time to wonder. A shifting shadow darting between pillars stole his attention.

    Tracy snarled. "Surrender, Rothspalt."

    Tracy was done playing hide and seek.

    "Come out Roy. Don''t make me shoot you."

    He expected laughter, or a snide remark. He did not expect hissing that morphed into a moan. His stomach roiled like he''d eaten spoiled food. His grip on Judge and Jury tightened.

    A strange sensation strangled his courage, but he couldn''t put a name to what he felt.

    Wait? Which direction was out?

    He understood the strange sensation. He''d lost his sense of direction. Tracy never lost his way. Never.

    He spun, peering every which direction, but only darkness abounded, even with the goggles on.

    Small rocks clattered in the distance. A cold wind blew over the backs of his ears.

    Something watched him. The gloom thickened.

    The hairs on his neck stood on end.

    He adjusted the goggles for the sudden lack of light. But the goggles stopped working.

    Footsteps prowled around him, but every step he took near them, they vanished.

    He closed his eyes, listening. A pitter patter of feet sounded to his left.

    Pew.

    The sparking blaze at the end of his gun strobed, cutting through the dark.

    A tatterdemalion hunched over, reeling from the shot.

    No. It couldn''t be. Even though he caught a faint glimpse of it, the silhouette of a slender figure draped in flowing robes struck a chord in his mind. It resembled the thing from the nightmare he''d forgotten, an eldritch apparition from the darkest recesses of his psyche. Terror tried to throttle the marshal, but he tore away from its grasp.

    "Die," yelled Tracy.

    Judge and Jury roared as his fingers plucked the triggers, unleashing a fusillade, riddling the cloaked specter. The first few shots pierced the target, but the last shots hit nothing but the tendrilled wisps of a xanthos mist. The thing evaporated, vanished right in front of Tracy, melding with the shadows, as if it stepped behind a veil of darkness.

    He blinked, mouth ajar.

    What was that thing? Where did it go?

    A woman''s shriek echoed through the cave into the ancient ruins.

    "Cora. Aston."

    Tracy bolted through the archway, barreling up and out of the passageways, slipping and clawing on craggy handholds, scraping his way up the sloped cave floor. By the time he arrived at the mouth of the cave, everyone including his steeder was gone.

 47 | CULT FOLLOWING

    The sandstorm chafed at Cherry''s exposed skin. They were close now. She could feel it. Scratch''s heart, his soul, cried out to her, aided by the guiding slender hand of the King in Yellow.

    Like a guiding star, the yellow sign burned in the sky, ever before her, a symbol she alone could see.

    "That way," she yelled while pointing, braving to open her mouth in spite of the flying dust. Himura piloted the speeder like an expert considering the blinding storm whirling around them. But they had the wind at their backs, as if coaxed on by the invisible gentle touch of the King.

    A cry of surprise escaped from Himura, who slammed on the reverse thrusters. And not a breath too soon. The dust cleared just enough for him to see an incoming canyon wall.

    With the surprise come and gone, Himura swore, spattering the dashboard with spittle. "It''s no use, Cherry. We''ve lost him. We''ll run right into a wall or off a cliff if we keep up this madness."

    Cherry''s heart sank. But the King had never steered her wrong yet. He would not let her down now. A hunger gnawed in her chest, a longing as she drew nearer to Scratch, and nearer to the sultan of sulphur.

    She hacked up sand, spitting with gusto, wiping her mouth on the back of her hand. "Trust the King, Himura. Don''t let your faith waiver."

    Himura scowled.

    Cherry closed her eyes, resting her head on the dashboard, sensing, feeling. After an eternity of waiting, she felt a pulse.

    "There," Cherry said, aiming her finger off to the right.

    Himura groaned, but even as the doubt bubbled out of his mouth, the sand cleared, giving way to the mouth of a cave. Cherry leered at Himura, burning away his doubt, replacing it with guilt.

    At their backs, just below the wailing wind, rumbling thrusters burned, subsonic sounds resonating in her gut. The exodus that followed her were locked onto Himura''s speeder, so that even though the sands separated them, they would find their way back to her, just as the King had led her here.

    A tattered figure emerged from the cave. It took Cherry a moment to recognize her Scratch. That name fit now more than ever. His skin peeked through shreds in his once immaculate tailored suit. Dust covered him from head to toe. But the fire in his pupils still burned. Each strong hand grasped a person. In his left hand he gripped that traitorous slut Coraline by the scruff of her neck. And in his right, he clasped her stupid son''s hand in a vice grip. Broken handcuffs dangled from his bleeding wrists. And yet he smiled.

    Cherry ran to him. Himura followed behind, training his guns on the mother and son duo so that she and Scratch could share a warm embrace. He lifted her off the sand and spun her around in the air, locking his lips on hers. By the time they broke their passionate embrace, panting for breath, the speeders carrying the loyal true believers congregated around their shepherd, like a herd of metal hovering cattle.

    Scratch led her hand in hand back to the speeder. As they passed through the hovering speeders, the loyalists crowed a shout of victory. A cloud of doubt nagged at Cherry''s mind.

    "But Scratch," she whispered. "What of the marshal?"

    He put a bloody finger to her lips. "Shhh. The King sent a messenger to loosen my bonds and to lead the marshal astray. He''s not coming back."

    But as they seated themselves in the speeder, Cherry gazed back at the mouth of the cave and her face paled.

    Eerie chills of d¨¦j¨¤ vu crawled over her skin, piercing her chest into her soul. Her premonition, her vision of a harbinger of death striding out of a skull''s empty socket played out in her mind''s eye, as it was personified before her. She screamed.

    Quick as a stroke, Scratch snatched the guns from Himura''s holster and wrapped his arms around the boy, constricting him. Both barrels aimed at the boy. Cora yelled, clawing at Scratch, but Himura pinned her arms against her sides.

    "Stay back, Marshal. Or I hurt the boy."Love this story? Find the genuine version on the author''s preferred platform and support their work!

    The marshal scowled. Cherry felt the rage boiling in the lawman''s eyes, even as far away as she stood. He clenched his jaw, determination set in. His large hands hovered over his holsters. While Cherry had not witnessed his shootout in person, she knew many people that did who hadn''t lived to tell the tale. Even with their numbers, he might be able to hold his own against them. He was that good.

    "You wouldn''t dare."

    The words echoed off the cave wall, laden with conviction.

    His boots crunched grit underneath as he edged forward, calling Scratch''s bluff.

    Scratch cocked the gun. "Don''t test me, Marshal. I hate kids. Wouldn''t lose a wink of sleep."

    Tears streamed down the boy''s face. "Mommy."

    He tossed a gun to Cherry and directed her to train it on Cora.

    "If you harm my Ashton I''ll¡ª"

    Scratch silenced her with a rough slap. "You won''t do nothing girl."

    Cora wailed now, incoherent words devolving into raw emotion. She tried to wrestle her way out, but could not break free of Himura''s grasp.

    "Let ''em go, Roy," said the marshal. "You don''t want to kill them."

    Scratch nodded in agreement. "It''s wrong to kill the boy, I know. You''re right. But how can I ensure you won''t try to keep following me? There''s only a few ways to settle this, and none of them are pretty. The sands demand an offering, paid in blood."

    The marshal''s brows drew together so tight, they touched just above the bridge of his nose.

    "Me for them. Let''s trade."

    "I''d take that bargain, if not for that stunt you pulled back in town. I''ve seen what you''re capable of. In fact, it''s because you''re so dangerous, you''ve forced my hand, Tracy. I''ve got no choice. Now, drop them guns."

    "Too much dust in the guns from the last time you asked me to do that. I ain''t dropping ''em again. Not until you lower your guns and give Cora and her son a speeder back to town."

    Scratch spoke low, with just as much conviction. "Ain''t gonna happen. Drop your weapons or the boy drops dead."

    The marshal and Cora fought for Cherry''s gaze. But Scratch threw her the gun, trusted her with it, so she mustn''t take her eye off Cora. Tears streamed down the woman''s face.

    A smirk pulled Cherry''s lips up. Oh how she''d waited for this, when Scratch forgot Miss Coraline and returned his attention to her. Now her moment had come. Her ascension drew near. Without Cora distracting Scratch, he''d remember Cherry''s worth, her value, even as the King recognized her and trusted her with the precious visions that had saved Scratch''s life now, more than once.

    Scratch yelled, snapping the tension. "Enough." He cocked the hammer of the gun, and pressed it against the boy''s head.

    In Cherry''s peripheral, the marshal raised his revolvers, aiming straight for her precious Scratch. She knew he''d not miss. At her side, Cora screamed, and blessed with unreal maternal strength, burst free from Himura''s hold. She threw herself on Roy.

    Cherry''s heartbeat stretched out. The blood pumping in her arteries slowed to a drip. She blinked and it lasted an eternity.

    If Cora reached Scratch, and the reverend lowered his guns even for a breath, Tracy would have his opening.

    Cherry didn''t even consider it.

    She acted.

    With the gun aimed at Cora''s back, she pulled the trigger.

 48 | A DRAWN OUT MOMENT

    Roy held the kid at gunpoint, wrapped in his arms. The standstill with the marshal might only last seconds, mere breaths. But in another sense, Roy had eons of time to consider his actions.

    The first thing Roy had done after the King''s avatar shade spooked that metal horse and set him free, was pluck one of the Martian mushroom-like bulbs and eat it.

    Unbeknownst to most ignorant Rubruns, the bulb held special properties, able to open the mind of the consumer, lengthening the brain''s capacity, so that Roy was both very much a part of himself, but also able to expand his awareness, and experience everything to its fullness.

    Time became meaningless. Each moment, drawn out eternally, giving him plenty of time for deep contemplation. Plenty of time to thwart the marshal. And surely enough time to decide about the little boy.

    He hated kids. Mostly because he had hated being one. So vulnerable, without agency, unable to change or do anything for himself. Unable to keep his mother and father together. Unable to mend their relationship. Which was why he swore off relationships. Better to have an open-door policy, then to be tied down to one spouse, one lover.

    But now he understood something new. Even with an open door, some lovers could not be trusted, did not deserve his affections. Take Cora for example, they were not even lovers, but Roy had seen their potential. But Cora didn''t share his vision. Because of her kid. The kid clouded her foresight, prohibited her from understanding the love she could have gotten from Roy, not to mention the power and connection she''d have to the King.

    But the part that stung most of all, was that Cora herself had clouded his foresight. He was so entranced with her, and for what? In his higher state of being, he saw what a great fool he''d been. He''d let Cora drag his affections through the dust, and he had nothing to show for it. All because she had some snot-nosed kid. Kids ruined everything.

    And yet, as Roy held the cold barrel of the gun up to the kid''s head, he understood, he wasn''t really going to pull the trigger.

    Or was he?

    Even he wasn''t quite sure himself.

    He didn''t want to. But, a small part of him wondered if he could, if he had the strength to. Tracy forced his hand after all, and Cora betrayed him. She betrayed him for this kid he held. Kids made people weird. They embraced a rigid duality, only seeing the world in black and white, instead of seeing all of the buffet of options before them. Suddenly their worldview narrowed, boxed in to keeping their kid alive, making sure no harm befell it.

    Roy tightened his grip, applying just the barest bit of pressure on the trigger. Tracy was fast, but he couldn''t stop a blast with only seven inches of play. The kid for his part surprised Roy. Sure, tears wetted his eyes, but he didn''t scream, didn''t beg, didn''t squirm. It was as if the presence of a strong male hugging him close comforted him. But the kid''s lack of fear revealed his young ignorance. He should be afraid. Roy was.

    Deep down he was always a little afraid of what he was capable of when he got backed into a corner. And this was new territory for him. He''d never used a kid as leverage over others before. It twisted his gut, but livened his heart, and pumped fire through his veins. It excited and terrified him. He held life itself in his arms, and it was within his power to grant life or to take it. The choice was his. No one could stop him. And in that way, Roy was like God. Or at least a god.

    The medallion hanging from his neck slipped out of his button up.Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

    Roy was the mouthpiece of an ancient, elder nature. Unto him had been granted revelation. He alone had been bestowed the gift of herald, gathering a herd for his famished deity.

    A cry of anguish behind him broke his train of thought.

    From the corner of his view, Cora lunged at him. But Roy kept his gaze on the lawman. It was now or never. Roy only had a moment to decide. Take life, or grant life?

    The blast of a gunshot rang in his ears, somewhere behind him.

    Cora crashed into him, knocking him down.

    Still Roy stayed locked on the marshal. As he fell under the weight of Cora, he twisted the gun and shot not the marshal, but the roof of the mouth of the cave. An avalanche of rocks showered Tracy, a particularly large one smacking him in the back of the head. The downpour of rocks left the lawman unconscious, burying most of his lower body.

    Roy climbed to his feet to see for himself. Tracy wasn''t dead, just unconscious. But he could die, half buried there. Roy contemplated putting a blast right through his skull then. But he didn''t. He wanted the lawman to know he''d failed. He needed that self-righteous marshal to suffer.

    "Scratch."

    He spun around as Cherry called his name.

    The kid knelt by his mother. Face down in the sand, she didn''t move. The sand beneath her stained scarlet.

    So beautiful, even in death. What a waste. Roy hadn''t even had his way with her.

    He shifted his attention to his herd.

    A deep thrumming pulsed from the medallion hanging from his neck and echoed in his mind, stopping all of his thoughts. The thrumming of the medal matched the beat of Cherry''s heart. Of the herd''s heart. All their precious vitals beat as one. A vast power weighed down on him, causing his eyes to roll into the back of his head.

    Raising his voice, he bellowed. "The King in Yellow calls us to draw close to his throne. The time is near."

    A cheer rose up from the herd. He loved it when the sheep anticipated the sheering with eagerness. It made things easier.

    He strode towards his speeder, Himura flanking him, ready to pilot.

    "But what about the kid, Scratch?"

    Roy looked down his nose at the stupid kid, still patting it''s mother''s head, expecting her to wake up.

    "Leave it. It''s the marshal''s problem now."

 49 | SOARING HOOVES

    Soaring Hooves galloped, fleeing from Yellow Shadow. Tall rock walls towered all around him. Sand and Wind rolled together, mating, giving birth to Blinding Gust. Soaring Hooves hated Blinding Gust, so he galloped faster.

    He knew he headed the right way when Red Mother tilted up, forcing him to climb. His pistons pumped harder, his gears ground into overdrive. His chest rumbled. He let out a mighty snort through his exhaust pipes.

    He beat his four hooves against Red Mother, always trying to leave her, to join Skywind, but Red Mother held him close, only letting his four legs leave her for short beats between bursts of speed.

    But where was his saddle brother, Houndstorm? Yellow Shadow had roused Houndstorm, drew him back into rockmouth, down rockthroat. Without Houndstorm at his side or upon his back, Soaring Hooves knew fear. So he did the only thing he knew best. Run.

    After many hoofbeats, Skywind Day darkened to Skywind Dusk. Firelife didn''t shine as bright as it sank down, half in Skywind and half in Red Mother, many many hoofbeats away.

    Guilt stabbed Soaring Hooves. He left Mare and Young Colt alone with Fever Tongue. He longed to get back to Houndstorm. But Yellow Shadow was there. He could not go back. Houndstorm would find him. Houndstorm was good and kind. He always uttered a word of affection,  Chasm . Soaring Hooves did not know what  Chasm  meant, but it was always spoken with warmth and trust. Houndstorm loved galloping as much as Soaring Hooves. When Houndstorm hugged his back, leaning forward into Skywind, they were one. Together they could run forever. Perhaps even catch up to Firelife many beats later, at the end of Red Mother.

    He missed Houndstorm''s voice though, missed his reassuring pats. Even when Houndstorm used his thundersticks, even then he knew Houndstorm only did it to protect others.

    Soaring Hooves ran until he felt the bursting speed inside him fill up. He could drink no more bursting speed. He was full. He liked when Houndstorm used bursting speed too, for in those beats, he became like Singsong feather, able to fly, just above Red Mother.

    He slowed to a canter, then to a trot. He lay down beside some big boulder brothers, tucking his legs under his body, and resting his head in the soft, cool sand. Bursting speed was full, and he felt goodwarm. He closed his eyes to dreamtrot.

    After a time, Soaring Hooves'' metal ears twitched, turning this way and that. They picked up a hiss in the Darkwind, out beyond. He raised his head, eyes wide. The hiss sounded again, and this time was accompanied by padded feet under strong legs. It was Creeping Slitherfang. It should have filled him with fear. But Slitherfang only filled him with rage.

    Climbing to his rubber horseshoes, Soaring Hooves answered Creeping Slitherfang''s challenge with a roaring rumble from his exhaust. He pawed the ground with his front hoof, digging in, preparing to charge his hated enemy. A Slitherfang had tried to hurt Houndstorm after he saved the young mare from the many bad stallions trying to steal her away in the flying metalrock. He would have felt stronger now if his saddle brother sat atop his back, leading him into the charge. But the fire inside made up for his missing brother.

    Rearing up on his hind legs, Soaring Hooves bucked at Slitherfang, offering one final warning.

    Slitherfang hissed, crouching low, its back legs primed to launch upon him. He knew it would try to trap him, tie him up with its many serpent arms sprouting from its mane. He''d have to watch out, run away so he could circle back if they came too close.This book''s true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.

    Without warning Soaring Hooves broke into a gallop, charging his challenger. The two clashed, mangling metal and tendrils. The tentacles tried to slither into the steeder, intending to weave behind panels, over cogs, and under pistons. But Soaring Hooves kicked, using bursting speed to empower his attacks. He felt Slitherfang quiver under his strikes and he knew he would reign. Still, Slitherfang threw its writhing cords all about him, fettering him down.

    Soaring Hooves strained against the tethers, pistons pumping, gears grinding, until he ripped free, tearing most of the tentacles from his enemy''s body. They wriggled on the ground, severed from their host. He circled around, gaining speed, dipped his head and charged again. This time he crashed into the abomination, knocking it down and stayed on top. He hammered all four hooves into the thing, beating it until Slitherfang stayed still.

    Soaring Hooves had trampled Slitherfang to death. He reared up again, triumphant, loosing a great rumbling roar. Out of instinct, he shook out a mane that was not there, and pranced about in victory.

    Twin whitefires burned, catching him by surprise. But he held his ground as they drew near.

    He heard a voice though he did not understand the words, save one.

    "By golly, it''s Tracy''s steeder. Whoa boy."

    A man approached. The man bore a small shiny metal on his chest, as did Houndstorm. And he called Houndstorm by the word all others did.  Tracy .

    "Hey boy. You Tracy''s steeder huh? Yep. Only steeder around. Nobody else wants to ride these things."

    Soaring Hooves felt unsure. He backed up a few paces, shaking his head.

    The man carried on in soothing tones. "Whoa, boy. It''s okay. I''ve been looking hard for my old pal, Tracy. Got some bad news for him, I''m afraid. But news he needs to hear, just the same."

    The voice sounded sincere to Soaring Hooves. And held hints of sorrow. The man kept saying that word.  Tracy.  He must want to find Houndstorm.

    Coming up alongside him, the man proceeded to pat Soaring Hooves. He could feel the sorrow in the man''s touch.

    "You think you can bring me to Tracy, boy?"

    Soaring Hooves wanted to get back to Houndstorm. This man held the same desire. But Soaring Hooves did not want to aid someone who would press Houndstorm down with deep sorrow. That was the last thing Houndstorm needed. What his saddle brother needed was him. Even if it meant facing Yellow Shadow. He could do it though. He''d just gained a victory over Slitherfang.

    Without warning he bolted, soaring off, back the direction he''d come to reunite with his saddle brother.

 50 | BURIAL

    Rocks shifted and tumbled as Tracy pulled himself out from under the pile of stones. Bruises and soreness scored his body. But that was nothing compared to his soul when he realized he was not alone.

    At first he''d thought the boy was dead too, lying next to his mother. But as Tracy drew near, he startled the child so that he sat up. Then Tracy realized that this boy, all alone, had done the only natural thing he knew to do to hide himself from the dust blowing on the frigid wind. Laid down with his stiffened mother.

    Tracy scoured the horizon, squinting. No sign of Roy or his followers.

    Chasm? Nowhere to be found.

    He''d chased Roy hundreds of kilometers, if not thousands. They were stuck smack dab in the middle of uncharted territory. And if they headed back, they''d be forced to go through unfriendly Arab-owned sand, whom Tracy had already shot at.

    Press on? He eyed the kid, who stared back at him with big saucer eyes.

    The rocks that had buried him still left his mind dizzy and disoriented. Besides being clubbed on the head, he''d awoken suppressed, not able to draw a full breath in his lungs, unconscious for who knew how long. One simple, gut-wrenching task lay before him. Once he buried her, he could think clearer.

    Taking the boy by the hand, he led him to the mouth of the cave, retrieved his duster, wrapped it around the child, and instructed him to sit. He made sure he had a few choice stones to play with, ones with interesting textures and vibrant colors.

    Without a shovel, Tracy was forced to dig a shallow grave with his hands. After that, he picked up Cora and gently laid her in the depression. He didn''t have the time or the means to make the hole big enough. The sand kept falling back into it. In the end it resembled a large teardrop. He curled her legs up in the fetal position so that no part of her body lay exposed to the elements. One by one he gathered the large and small rocks, smooth and rough, the ones that he crawled out of, and piled them atop her. They ranged in different hues of red, from rust, vermilion, cerise, cinnabar, wine, to scab maroon, creating a mosaic of crimson.

    Each stone placed knocked against the previous, a tally against Roy, a strike on his record. He''d amassed a debt he could never repay.

    But Tracy could not collect. That was not his duty. His job was to collect Roy himself to be brought into a public gathering and face the pronouncement of the Law against him.

    Tracy did not cry or even shed a tear. He wrestled with the torrent inside, channeling it into the actions he must take. Even had the tears run free, they''d have boiled and evaporated into hot steam under the immense heat his inner blaze gave off.

    When he finally returned to the cave, he found little Ashton tucked against the wall. When the little boy saw the lawman return alone, he stood up, eyes growing wide.

    He looked beyond Tracy.

    "Mommy?"

    The wind died.

    "Mommy?"

    A rare thick cloud passed in front of the sun, casting a rarer blackened shadow across the land under their feet, eclipsing them in a moment of darkness.

    When the bleak nothingness answered, the boy cried out with fervor.

    "Mommy!"

    "Kid."

    The child didn''t hear him.

    "Boy."

    The boy''s eyes grew wide and watery.

    Tracy knelt down beside the little boy, leaning in close, speaking low, just above a whisper.

    "Ashton."

    The boy saw him as if for the first time.If you come across this story on Amazon, it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it.

    "Mommy gone."

    He hugged the boy, holding him tight.

    The boy was unsure at first, but accepted the hug. Then returned it.

    A gust kicked up sand in the little tike''s face. The boy squinted, trying to keep grains out of his eyes and mouth.

    "That won''t do. Here you go lil'' buddy."

    Tracy strapped the respirator and goggles on the kid. They didn''t fit exactly, weighing his head down on his little neck, but it would have to do. Large round eyes peered at him through the lenses, striking Tracy like a spike through his chest. Tracy chuckled in spite of the circumstances, then tousled his hair.

    Standing, holding Aston''s hand in his flesh one, he scoured the horizon, from one side to the other.

    White hot wrath met frigid, heart-rending bitterness, forming a gale storm within Tracy, threatening to cause destruction whichever direction it decided to blow.

    But how to proceed?

    Backtrack?

    Cora reared the child singlehandedly. He doubted anyone here on the entire planet had any relation or obligation to the orphaned boy. Who would Tracy give him to? Not a good option.

    Press on?

    That meant putting the boy in grave danger. Roy had no scruples ending anyone''s life. He''d demonstrated how deep his depraved soul delved, diving well beyond decency, dabbling in deranged deviance, and delighting in debasement.

    Roy didn''t deserve death.

    Death deserved Roy.

    Some souls Death stole, like Cora, robbing the world of dear loved ones. But others Death earned, was rewarded even, with the likes of Royce Rothspalt.

    Tracy feared that if he pressed on, he''d do things that denounced the star of authority gleaming on his chest.

    Without Chasm, he and Ashton were goners. Although, from what he could determine of the tracks that hadn''t yet blown away, Roy and his followers had pressed on, deeper into the wild, as if Roy knew of some hidden oasis, just out of sight. Tracy recalled what he''d found in the cave, the evidence of ancient structures crafted by intelligent design. From where he stood, Tracy must be at the edge of some elder civilization. If he pressed on, tracing Roy''s tracks, moving around the mountain that housed the cave, he might find a forgotten settlement, or even a lost city. Even then, he''d be pressing his odds, with him and the child and no food or water to share between them.

    Raising his smartarm, he tried to locate Chasm.

    No luck.

    But he could ping the horse with a homing beacon, a summoning to return to Tracy''s location. He sent the ping. There was a slim chance Chasm would get the signal and return, if he was able.

    They waited, first standing, then sitting.

    In that time Tracy decided that if Chasm reappeared, it was a sign to press on, to brave the odds and capture Roy for good. With the steeder to ride, they could always turn back at any time and make it back to civilization.

    After a while, he decided staying put was more dangerous than moving in any direction. The man and the boy walked hand in hand. Tracy tried to keep solid stone underneath their feet. The sand slowed the boy''s already small steps. Every so often, the boy would stop and tug on his arm, looking back the way they''d come with confusion written on his face.

    They''d never survive at that rate. Pressed for time, he picked the boy up and carried him for a while. He thought the boy rested, his small head laid in the crook of Tracy''s neck, but all of a sudden he shouted in Tracy''s ear with excitement.

    "Horsey."

    Chasm slowed from gallup to a trot as he approached. Together they patted the Mustang, speaking words of admiration and affection to the stallion. The chrome steeder brought a weathered smile to the lawman''s lips, especially since it meant Ashton had a healthy distraction from the heart-wrenching reality they''d left buried in a shallow grave. The boy wanted nothing more than to ride the horsey, as he had yesterday after the speeder crash, when they sought refuge in the cave.

    The marshal sat the boy in the saddle seat, strapping him in with a safety harness, then mounted, taking his place behind the boy on Chasm.

    Thinking of the task ahead, Tracy growled into the wind. The decision to follow Roy was made.

    "So be it.¡±

 51 | EVER ONWARD

    Chasm navigated the gorge. Erosion weathered the rock walls for thousands of years. Maybe more. The gradient colors between the basaltic layers faded from rusty vermilions up top, with rich ambers seated in the middle, and shades of pale sulphur at the bottom.

    They passed through wide valleys and narrow dried up ravines. On more than one occasion Tracy was duped into climbing the gentle slope of a cuesta, only to reach the top ridge and find the violently steep drop on the other side. For as much progress as Chasm made, the marshal had to double him back twice as often. Hardly ideal.

    At one point a rumbling vibration rattled up Chasm''s legs, causing Tracy to clench his bottom in a startled reflex.

    A former cliffside gave way and collapsed. Loud crashing reverberated in his skull. Massive boulders stampeded down, tumbling over each other in a race to the ground floor. The lawman kicked the stallion into gear, pressing the morph button, shifting him into a hover chopper to flee the natural disaster. He wasted a precious amount of the KEC bar, but hey, they were alive.

    Once well in the clear, he slowed Chasm and shifted him back into a Mustang to check on the boy. He found Ashton giggling with anxious glee. This kid was either made of tougher stuff, or deathly ignorant. Here he was, afraid the kid would be scarred for life. But the kid thought the falling rocks were all fun and games. The absurdity of it made Tracy chuckle. Until he realized that''s exactly why kids needed parents. They had no awareness of danger until after the damage was done. It was a parent''s job to instruct a child how to navigate the dangers of life. Except this terrain, this scenario itself, was all new to Tracy too. In the wake of the towering natural superstructures, he was less than a child, a pebble of a man. And the child Ashton had no parents any longer.

    They made more progress, then had to stop. The kid had to go potty. And not number one. Tracy stammered as he tried to coach himself how to handle the situation. These were the things you didn''t realize would happen when you became a guardian of a kid in the span of a life-altering moment.

    Tracy led the kid into the shadow of a large boulder, stacked some medium sized rocks to form a toilet of sorts, and instructed the kid to do his business. The kid stared at him with a blank face.

    "What, kid? Don''t you know how to go by yourself?"

    The kid nodded.

    "So go."

    "I can''t."

    "But you said you have to go. You do, right?

    Ashton nodded, dancing in place.

    "Then have at it."

    The kid''s face shriveled in a desperate look. "There''s nothing to use. After..."

    Tracy facepalmed. With the strength of his smartarm, he tore a large corner off of the bottom of his duster, handing it to the boy.

    "Don''t look."

    Tracy blushed. "Oh. Duh." He cleared his throat and stepped around the corner of the boulder, figuring now was as good a time as ever to handle his own business.

    After a time the kid bounded around the corner with pep in his step.

    "All good?"

    "Mmhmm."

    "Here. Found this in the horsey. Forgot I had it."

    He squeezed a dollop of hand sanitizer on the kid''s hand.

    "Good. Let''s get going. Lost some time there."

    As soon as they were situated on Chasm and started off on their way, the kid spoke up.

    "I''m hungry."

    The marshal grunted. "Just a little bit further."

    "Where are we going?"

    Tracy pointed ahead.

    "Why?"

    "Uhhh..." he rolled the words over in his mind, trying to steer clear of sensitive topics, and yet still tell the truth in a way Ashton understood. "Remember the bad yellow man in the cave?"

    The kid''s face blanked, void of emotion, eyes big as the twin moons, lost in memory. "Yes," he whispered.

    "The yellow bad man has done a lot of bad things to a lot of people. I''m going to catch him and bring him back to Terra."

    "Where''s that?"

    "Earth."

    "I used to be on Earth.

    "Me too, kid."

    "Are you a policeman?"

    "Sorta. Yeah."

    "You get to catch bad guys?"

    "Yep. Most of the time."

    The kid scowled, in thought. "How come the bad man hurt mommy?"

    Tracy''s breath caught in his throat. He tried his hardest to ward off the lump lodged there. "He''s a yeller bellied coward, that''s why. I''m going to catch him though."

    "And bring him to jail?"

    Tracy grinned, latching onto a flash of optimism. "Uh huh."

    "Where will you bring me?"

    The question hit the marshal harder than if he''d been caught under the wake of the landslide they narrowly escaped. He lay bare before the innocent child, unable to lie, but without answers. He removed his hat and scratched his head, then ran his hands over his thick mustache.

    "We''ll cross that bridge when we get to it, Okay?"

    Ashton nodded. Then he scowled, peering ahead. "What bridge?"

    Tracy winced. "Never mind, kid. No more questions. I might lose the bad man. And we can''t let him get away, right?"

    "No."

    Tracy tussled the kid''s hair. "That''s my boy." Then he cleared his throat. The saying rolled off his tongue so easily. But the kid took idioms at face value. He didn''t mean to imply a future with the kid. He gulped, but Ashton didn''t seem to react, one way or another. After a time, the lawman realized he was holding his breath. He let it out in a long sigh.

    The kid''s hard questions were put to rest a short while later however. The canyon floor was nothing if not teeming with a visual feast of various natural shapes and sights few human eyes ever beheld. Like the blackened stain on the ground that Tracy took for a dark shadow, but soon understood it to be the bottomless pit of a gargantuan sinkhole. Given that the cliffs here were fragile at best, and ready to break away at any moment, he didn''t like how close he''d brought them to the edge while lost in thoughts, blinded by tunnel vision. With great caution, he backed Chasm away from the edge. The steeder''s hooves caught on some loose rocks, sending the stones over the side. Tracy never heard them hit the bottom.The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.

    They pressed on. The kid remembered he was hungry. Tracy only had one option, that he didn''t like. His only source of nourishment left was the IV backpack strapped under his duster. This was almost worse than potty training because it involved a needle. Kids hated needles, Terran and Rubrum alike. It was an unwritten rule of the universe.

    A memory flashed in his head, and he smirked. He had an idea that just might work. First he prepped the IV, removing it from his shoulder and sterilizing the end with the cobalt blue flame of his smartarm finger. Then, ripping off a strip from the other corner of his duster so it matched, he made a quick tourniquet on the boy''s arm.

    "Ow that hurts. Why are you making a knot?"

    "You want a drink, buddy boy?"

    He nodded, wiggling his eyebrows.

    "Then stop asking questions," he snapped, but made a face so Ashton knew he was being playful.

    He readied the needle, then said, "Watch my hand."

    With the flick of his wrist he sent his metal smarthand falling into the sand, then waited. Timing was everything. Then, just as the kid was going to get bored, he made the hand scuttle away like a metal crab.

    The kid''s mouth hung aghast.

    He thrust the needle in while the kid''s brain swam in amazement.

    "Ouch," he said. But the hand crab-walking was too interesting to see what caused the pain.

    Tracy held the tube in place, watching the pack deplete, making sure it pumped vital fluids into the young boy.

    After a time, the kid''s skin and face looked refreshed. As Tracy removed and sterilized the needle again, a thrumming noise offered a low hum. Rising from his feet to his knees, he listened. This sound wasn''t natural, but mechanical. Man-made. The thrusters of a speeder. And coming not from up ahead, but from behind.

    "Up boy. On the steeder."

    Instead of getting on himself, he led Chasm behind a group of boulders, making sure Ashton himself was tucked away in a small cleft, safe and out of sight.

    "Are we hiding?"

    Tracy held a finger to his lips, encouraging the boy to whisper. "Yes. We''re playing hide-n-be-quiet. Do not move from this spot until I come find you again."

    The boy gave him a tiny thumbs up and a smile that melted Tracy''s heart, which the marshal returned.

    Then he told Chasm to stay, in a place that someone following would find the steeder, but only if they were tracking him, looking for the chrome stallion in the cluster of massive rocks.

    With the Model X4 railgun rifle slung over his back, Tracy climbed the backside of a boulder, away from the approaching speeder, and fell into position. Tapping out a few options on his smartarm, he activated a setting that made him almost invisible to heat signature detection. The kid wore the goggles, so he''d be at a disadvantage, but that wouldn''t hinder him too much.

    From his vantage point he couldn''t see the speeder or who was in it. Only if they came into the cluster of boulders looking for him. Seeing as they were out in the wastes, he figured it was a straggler of Roy''s crazed cult, or someone from Noke''la with a personal vendetta against the marshal. Only the Maker knew the lawman had put down enough Rubrums in the city to have made any number of new enemies.

    The speeder came and went.

    He let out a sigh of relief. They weren''t after him. Who knew why they were out here. He was tired of confrontations that started with his trigger fingers and ended at the end of his barrels.

    But then the speeder thrusters shifted, turned back.

    The noise moved towards their position again. If they were tracking his steeder, they''d have just lost the hoofprint tracks, and would have to double back and find them again, leading them right into the cluster of boulders. Speeders could carry anywhere from one to eight people. Tracy double checked his Model X4, noting that he had plenty of bullets for the worst-case scenario, as long as he was on target every time.

    With Ashton down there in the mix counting on him, there was no way Tracy could miss.

    A pair of heavy boots crunched gravel underfoot as they drew near the body of boulders. Tracy primed the railgun, his gaze running down the length of the gun, ready to shoot first and ask questions later, aiming at the space between two close boulders where the tracker would have to pass between if they spotted his steeder.

    He drew a full breath, exhaling a measured sigh, relaxing. This was the secret to being a crackshot. Calm, smooth trigger pulls backed with confidence.

    The figure shuffled between the rocks, coming into sight. From the size and gait in his steps, Tracy knew it was a man. A wide brimmed hat covered his head, obscuring his identity. When he saw Chasm, he made sounds of relief and his tone of voice shifted in attempts to not scare the steeder off. His gauss guns were tucked away in his holsters. Still, he was getting mighty close to Ashton''s position.

    Tracy exhaled and pulled the trigger.

    A warning shot grazed the man''s jacket, leaving a scorch mark on the outside of his covered arm, but not harming him in the slightest. The man froze, putting his hands up.

    "Don''t shoot, Trace."

    Tracy stood up, exposing his position, keeping the railgun trained on the man, though he recognized the voice.

    His own voice cut through the tension, resonating off of the clustered boulders. "What you doing way out here, Sheriff Leroux? If you''re not careful you might soil them clean boots of yours."

    "I come to talk, Trace."

    The marshal didn''t move, nor did he lower the gun.

    "Irving. Come on man. I''ve been tracking you for almost two days now."

    Tracy could hear something of the man he knew back on Terra in that voice, back when they worked holster to holster, not the voice of the scumbag he''d been reunited with in Tharsis. Still didn''t trust him one hundred percent though.

    "Drop your guns and put your hands up against that wall."

    "Irving. Why would I go to all this trouble to¡ª"

    Tracy exploded. "Do it Blaine. Or so help me God I''ll paint these boulders with your brain matter."

    Leroux rolled his eyes, but obeyed.

    "Okay. Don''t even flinch your glutes."

    Leroux let out a weak chuckle.

    Tracy came down, eyed Ashton, who he could tell was getting antsy, gave him the thumbs up, then slung the railgun strap over his shoulder and patted down Leroux with one hand, the other never leaving Judge.

    Leroux spoke as he did that. "Got something to tell you Trace. Something bad."

    Tracy guffawed. "Don''t lie Blaine. You and I know you didn''t come all the way out here just to talk to me. What kind of game are you playing?"

    Leroux turned, eyes full of sorrow, cutting Tracy to the quick. Leroux was about to speak when Ashton popped up, taking his place besides the marshal.

    "My, my. Who''s this little feller?"

    Shyness silenced the kid, but only for a moment. "Ashton."

    "Hi Ashton. I''m Sheriff Leroux. What you doing all the way out here with the marshal?"

    Tracy stepped in, speaking in hushed tones. "Roy''s woman put little Ashton''s mom in the ground. Roy left him alone to die. I''m all the kid has now."

    Even as he spoke, renewed anger boiled in his veins, for Roy, whose fault it was, and for his woman Cherry, who did the deed.

    Leroux winced, offering the kid a pained smile. The wince didn''t leave his face as he faced Tracy again.

    "Listen. I got a comm all the way from Earth..."

    Leroux''s neck constricted, unable to get more words out.

    Even before the sheriff relayed the message, the marshal knew what it was about. He could see it in Leoux''s eyes.

    "It was from your wife...trying to get a message to you."

    Tracy''s face maintained composure, but inside his blood turned to ice.

 52 | ILL TIDINGS

    Tracy stumbled through the sand, away from Leroux, Ashton, Chasm, and from reality. The news shattered his anger, quieted his wrath, and tripped up his resolve.

    The comm Leroux offered him weighed heavy in his hand. He brought it up to his face several times to call Hina, but couldn''t bring himself to initiate the contact.

    She needed him, needed to hear his voice. And he needed to hear hers.

    He brought the comm up to his ear as it established contact.

    In the distance, the wind kicked up dust, until it swelled into an expanding tempest.

    Garbled noise rang in his ear, the storm interfering with the connection. A distorted voice answered the comm on the other end, but it was so broken, he could not even tell if it were Hina, or someone else answering in her stead. He swore and peered at the storm, gauging if it were heading towards him.

    Spying a tall dune, he jogged towards it, up to the base, and then leaned into the steep trek.

    He hiked up for a time, not aware of anything but his own failed attempts to reestablish contact again and again. Leroux''s words echoing in his mind over and over.

    Doctor said Hina''s not doing good. She might not make it this time.

    And that message was almost two days old.

    They were still early in the pregnancy. He''d known there were risks, but Tracy assumed he had more time.

    All the while, the howling wind grew louder, even as the turbulence inside his mind grew overwhelming.

    He crested the top of the dune. Sharp stone bodies littered his surroundings, massive rough claws rising from the sand. His boot caught on a piece of shale, plunging him down the other side of the steep dune, falling on his face. Somewhere along his fall, the comm unit jumped out of his hand. Rising to his hands and knees, he scoured the shifting sand underfoot, seeking possibly his last opportunity to hear Hina''s voice in this lifetime.

    A glint of light caught his attention. He scrambled towards it and retrieved the comm.

    The howling vortex crashed into him, ripping the comm from his hand, and dashed him into rough sand and sharp shale.

    Pain wracked his body. Agony pummeled his soul.

    His Hina. Alone. Millions of miles away. And there was nothing he could do to comfort her. He couldn''t hold her hand, console her in a warm embrace, so close that their hearts beat as one. He couldn''t even speak with her, try to ease her fears with the sound of his voice. Tracy was supposed to be her best friend, her soul mate. He''d failed to get back to her in time.

    Tracy reared his head back and roared into the eye of the storm. "Why''d you force my hand? You made it so I had to come here. You allowed her to get pregnant. You knew how many we''d lost. Why God?"

    He climbed to his knees, but a gust knocked him down again. His fingers clawed at the sand, and as it did, Jury dropped out of his holster.

    As he reached for it, he stubbed his finger, smashing it on a stone hidden by the dust. Gnashing his teeth, he cursed and dug at the rock, uncovering it with the fervor of an archeologist discovering a dinosaur bone. The rock turned out to be bigger than his hat.

    Squatting, he wrenched it free and hefted it overhead.

    His glare burned into the revolver, his tool of defense. No, his instrument of death.

    "Is that all I am to you? A grim reaper? A harbinger of death and ruin?" Spittle flew from his lips. "Is that why I only seed stillborns?"

    He brought the rock down hard, smashing the gun. Tracy bashed the revolver until sand invaded Jury''s every crevice, until the cylinder was warped beyond repair.

    "I should be there with her. It''s my fault."You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

    Tears mingled with the drool pooling in the corners of his mouth.

    "I could be comforting her. Now she''s alone, bearing the weight by herself. Is this what you wanted?"

    Sobs shook his entire body. The guilt crushed him. A fierce gale blasted him, knocking his head back so he bashed it on the rock he had held. He sprawled in the sand stunned, each limb pointing in a different direction, like a fallen angel.

    The wind groaned, kicking up sand.

    Tracy lay as if dead, desiring nothing more than to be buried in a tomb of dust. He prayed the weight of the silt and soil would quash him quickly, and bury his burden with him.

    The air above the ground wobbled, a mirage distorting reality.

    Then he saw her, his wife. She strode towards him in a gorgeous dress, her high heels highlighting her strong legs, her hips swaying like a pendulum. Hypnotic. Made his mouth salivate. The mirage came so close, he could have reached out and brushed her long hair, ran his fingers over the soft, delicate skin of her arms and face.

    Her eyes pierced his soul. She didn''t say anything. Her existence, the life they shared said it all. Tracy didn''t deserve her. She was a gift from above. He knew that if he gave up now, it would be too soon.

    Her mirage belly swelled, and she cradled it. Then Hina held open arms to him, bidding him to get to his feet and fall into her embrace.

    He found his way to his feet, hands outstretched, seeking to intertwine with her. As soon as his hands touched hers, she faded. Molecule by molecule she blew away¡ªred grains of sand cast to the wind.

    Tracy looked at his hands in disbelief that hers vanished. She''d been so real. Was he losing his mind? His head throbbed and his eyes stung. But he wasn''t giving up. Not yet.

    "Forgive me God, for doubting. Please, strengthen me to carry on. Show me the way."

    The storm passed him, continuing on, racing across the horizon. Beneath his boots, the wind had uncovered a long forgotten trapezoidal canal fashioned of smoothed rock like yellow sandstone.

    He followed it for a while as it grew steeper and steeper until it plunged into a blackened tunnel. This could only be one part of a larger irrigation system that directed a once flowing water source into an ancient city or settlement. The signs of a forgotten civilization in the cavern filled his mind. Roy could be at the end of this canal, wherever it led. He had to be.

    "Tracy."

    His name reached his ears, this time a real call and not some hallucination from within his crumbling mind. Looking back he saw Leroux and Ashton upon Chasm, trotting down to him.

    His former friend studied him. "Do you get to make contact? That storm came out of nowhere. I thought it buried you for a second. Would have buried us if we didn''t hide in that cleft of boulders."

    Tracy heard the sheriff''s rambling, but didn''t process the words. He motioned with his hand for Leroux to step down. As soon as his boots hit the sand, Tracy slugged him twice, dropping the man to the ground. "The first is for having your men try to kill me, a few days back. The second was for bringing me a message of which I can do nothing to change."

    Leroux rubbed his jaw, staring back in bewilderment. A line of blood trailed down his lip.

    The marshal mounted his steeder, taking his place behind the boy. He pointed at the dark tunnel entrance. "We''re heading in there, and when I come out, I''ll have Roy hogtied and ready to ship back to Earth."

    Rubbing his jaw, Leroux got to his feet, squinting at Tracy. "Let me take the boy back to town. My speeder''s close."

    Tracy scowled, eyes penetrating the horizon. "He''s in my care now. I''m his guardian. Can''t trust anyone else with him."

    "Trace¡ªshale, your head is bleeding. Did you hit it during that gust? You''re not thinking straight, man."

    "You''re just like everyone else, Blaine. Trying to deter me from my mission, because you''re snuggled up in bed with people who need Roy. If you care about me at all, you''ll head back to Noke''la and arrange a flight off this rock for me and this orphaned boy."

    The sheriff tried to press the argument, drawing near to take the boy out of the saddle seat.

    Tracy clasped Leroux''s collar and tugged him close, grunting in his face. "Follow me, and I''ll gun you down. Now, just get me a shuttle out of here. Go."

    He shoved Leroux so that the sheriff stumbled over loose shale.

    Leroux got to his feet in time to see the darkness of the tunnel envelop Tracy and the steeder.

 53 | ROUSED FROM SLUMBER

    Tingling pain roused Russell. Cold, he emerged from a sticky cocoon like a hatching larva. He''d awoken in damp darkness, encased in a foul-smelling substance that reminded him of stomach bile.

    He felt disjointed, his mind separated from his body, but somehow still in control of his limbs. His hands smacked on cold stone, an uneven and rounded floor. Though the residue that held him captive was sticky, it broke into brittle dust.

    Russ looked about. He crouched in a crude tunnel, hewn out by some unknown means. Ambient notes floated on the wind, strange noises haunting his ears, coming from outside and above the tunnel.

    Where was he?

    He scratched his chin trying to remember. Short beard stubble covered his face. He didn''t have a beard. He seemed to recall having just shaved his chin clean. Yes. He''d gotten his mustache trimmed too, by a barber. Mr. McCrory''s barber.

    How long had he been encased in that cocoon? Must have been at least a few days, maybe more, given his facial hair growth.

    How had he even gotten here? Where was here?

    His mind struggled to remember, as the stench like infection and puss assaulted his nose.

    Russ rubbed his eyes until he saw flashing stars inside his mind, trying hard to remember. He''d taken an uneventful trip up to the arctic north. It was his first assignment with his new employer, the Red Prince tycoon. Then they had rounded up a team of soldiers for something. No, not soldiers. Trappers. Mercenaries.

    They were hunting a beast. No, an alien. A tendrilled feline creature. Images of a maw opening wide full of massive fangs chomping down on him flooded his mind. He reeled back, swatting his arms as if that would drive the nightmare memory away.

    Then it all came back to him. The dive into the canyon. Revisiting the place he almost got eaten alive. The dogs offered as sacrificial bait. The beast emerging. The tracer planted, allowing them to follow until they found that cursed city.

    The city.

    Carcosa.

    The name echoed in his head, unbidden, like another being spoke into his mind.

    At the thought of the long dead city, Russ clutched his chest. The cold hollow metal reverberated as his knuckles struck it.

    In Carcosa.

    That was where he was. Somewhere beneath the city. He didn''t know how or why he knew. He just knew.

    Lost Carcosa.

    And he had not wanted to find it. In fact, he remembered warning Sujin, on the verge of pleading with his new employer that they needed to leave, to flee. But the Red Prince had been intent on laying claim to the discovery. Russ had seen it in his eyes, heard the wonder in his voice, like a fly drawn to a charged light trap.

    Trapped. Russ was trapped now because of Sujin''s selfish, childish ambition to make everything his. He had no ship, no speeder, and no one. His breathing thickened, the air becoming harder to draw. Panic set in.This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

    He backed into a rounded wall, crashing into more of the sticky substance.

    He broke the fragile shell of another cocoon. A body tucked into the fetal position slid out onto the stone floor. It was Mr. Sujin McCrory, his employer. Russ almost didn''t recognize him under the film of phlegm that covered his body, not to mention the fact that his hair was noticeably longer. His skin had turned a sickly yellow, as if covered in jaundice. Even through his clothing, Russ could see lumps protruding from the man''s back and neck. One of his hands curled up, the whole arm contorted in an awkward angle. The hand itself appeared shrunken and mangled.

    Unexplained revulsion gripped Russ. He backed away, eyes dancing between the tainted man on the floor, and the numerous other sacks of sticky substance affixed to the walls of the dark place, all around him.

    Russ ran his hands over his neck and his back as far as he could reach, practically clawing himself. No foreign lumps to be found. And his skin appeared its normal color, as much as he could tell in the dim light that emanated from everywhere and nowhere all at once.

    He stepped close to the man again, but could not muster up the courage to touch him. Was Sujin living or dead? Or something in between? Russ shuddered.

    Why didn''t his own body look like Sujin''s?

    Only one way to find out.

    He moved down the tunnel to the next sack on the wall. Each was the same. This one was as good as any other. He drew his revolver and flipped it around so that he held the barrel, wielding it like a hammer. With a quick thrust he hammered the sticky sack. The cocoon shattered, and another body slipped out, sinking to the floor, a mercenary wrapped in the fetal position as well. All of the ailments that plagued Sujin''s body showed upon the mercenary too, minus the mangled hand.

    Why then did his own skin not reflect the sickly change that theirs did?

    He clutched a fist to his chest, feeling the cool metal.

    Russ was part machine now. A cyborg. Much of his upper half had been replaced by mechanical substitutes.

    Curious, he dug through the translucent layer of phlegm covering the merc, ripped open the man''s vest and shirt, inspecting his bare torso. A blackened lesion marred his chest, just above where his heart would be, inside his chest cavity. Dark blue veins webbed over yellow skin. Russ used the barrel of his gun to prod the spot. His gun caught on something. With careful precision he reached in and pulled out a barb with his fingertips. A scowl twisted his face as he checked the razor-edged thorn. Inspection revealed it had pierced through the body armor vest and the shirt too, before sinking into the merc''s chest.

    A groan behind him caused him to spin around, guns raised, heart pounding in his ice cold chest.

    Sujin was trying to claw out of the phlegm and climb to his feet. A terrified gaze haunted the man''s glowing amber eyes. He stood and fell, as if walking caused him great pain. All the while his groaning grew louder, escalating into a squeal of agony and despair. He writhed on the floor, and his back wriggled beneath his clothing, beneath the skin.

    Russ stood frozen in place, unsure if he should run or try to help the man. The thing that had been Sujin crawled towards him on hands and knees, further damaging the once hand-tailored clothing. Its back contorted, until it let out a long howl. Tentacles exploded from the back and neck.

    Russ opened fire out of pure reflex, showering the atrocity before him with gun blast after gun blast. With each fire, he backpedaled, almost running in reverse.

    The Sujin that was not Sujin fell forward in a stumbling lunge, breaking open more cocoons in the process, setting the warped bodies inside free.

    Russ himself backed into another sack, recoiled from it, and accidentally shattered yet another.

    All around him bodies groaned on the floor as they underwent an abominable metamorphosis. He didn''t have enough ammunition to blast them all.

    Then without waiting to see if he killed any of the things, he spun on his heels and ran uphill, out of the tunnel, to try and lose the monsters in the sprawling city.

 54 | IN THE LOST CITY

    Steeder, man, and boy emerged from the long dark tunnel. The dried canal bore them along to a strange sight.

    The nameless city nestled in a cleft of two great canyon walls joining at the bottom of Noctis Labyrinthus, like a spindle-legged thirsty spider curled up in a shadowy corner.

    Spiked porous towers pierced the sky at odd angles, like sharp thorns made of yellow coral reef. Not a single wall stood straight. Each wound around the center of the city, carving a crooked path, each tilted as if on the verge of falling over. Though somewhat smooth surfaces, most design elements ended in a rigid edge or sharp point.

    The many edifices bothered Tracy. It took him some time to determine why. Then he knew. While it was obvious none of the structures were natural occurrences, none of them held shapes he could name, as if intended to be forms of pure chaos, ruins of a lost aeon. The narrow alien apertures stood tall and slender, as if designed for creatures much taller and much thinner than a normal human. As Tracy pondered how these types of creatures might appear, his mind could only conjure images of decrepit beings elongated past the point of recognition of anything he was familiar with.

    The various irregular holes in every surface seemed designed to catch even the faintest of breezes so that ambient dissonant notes sighed from them like thistled organ pipes.

    Intricate details, symbols, and patterns were etched into every surface, overwhelming the eye. The small, thin-lined designs failed to feature focal points¡ªeverything stood distinct and yet ran together in a staggering way. The level of detail to craft each line was apparent, and that left Tracy disturbed as his mind grasped for meaning and found none. The contortions left him feeling twisted up inside, sick to his stomach.

    Darkness eclipsed light. Dusk and dawn merged, locking the city in an eternal stillness of strange and alien illumination. His perceptions of depth and degree fled, so that he was never quite sure how near or far objects stood. This in turn bent his sense of time and place. And yet for all the ignorance, for all the things he did not know about this place, he knew it by name. It stroked his mind, like a phantom''s whisper.

    Carcosa.

    He patted the boy, to comfort Ashton, and they both relied on the stalwart steed beneath them as a firm support, a source of comfort. Chasm was too simple of a beast and too noble of a stallion to be bothered by the likes of an eldritch city not built by human hands. Though even he trotted in with caution.

    Together the three of them braved the city. Soon the distant mumbling of incoherent voices reached Tracy''s ears. They were not alone. Roy and his followers roamed the city too. If Tracy were a betting man, he''d wager Roy would find some immense chamber, a place where he could revel in the echoes of his own mad voice. Tracy delved deeper still.

    They trotted through the crumbled walls, teetering towers, and under the shadow of a gaunt citadel until they stopped in front of a building shaped like an octahedron, a massive crown diamond set in the center of Carcosa, the alien epicenter. They entered the elongated archway between two twisted obelisks. Dirge-like chanting and elated cries bounced off of the old stone walls. Roy and his followers lurked inside.

    The slanted walls of the tall corridors met in a point at the top, so high up, that had Chasm been three times bigger, he still would have fit. In fact, Tracy imagined Roy and his cultic followers might have piloted their speeders right inside the antechamber if they wanted.This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

    The corridor ended at a balcony with no rails, overlooking a vast chamber, the center of the three-dimensional diamond temple. The four slanted walls met at the top of the ceiling, like the inside of a hollow pyramid, while below Tracy, the walls descended, drawing closer together, meeting at a central point at the bottom, a mirrored upside down inversion of the top half of the echoing room.

    Steps hewn in solid rock trailed down the sides of the slanted walls, like a stadium. In the exact center of the lower half of the chamber, all stairways joined from the four sides of the room, meeting at a four-sided plateau, as it were.

    Roy stood tall at the pinnacle of the platform, now hooded in a sacrilegious tattered cloak, arms raised high, yelling blasphemous proclamations in a shrill voice, looking down the steps on the followers, those abasing themselves as they chanted on and on.

    Tracy observed for a time, an arm thrown across Ashton, as if to ward off the mad echoes streaming from the fugitive. Strange moonlight from Phobos and Deimos beamed in from apertures cut into the ceiling overhead, casting odd shadows on the rostrum.

    From the other three walls, tentacled feline monstrosities prowled, leaping down from similar ledges like the one Tracy perched on. This time their tentacles didn''t wriggle, but were coiled around thick shapes they carried on their backs. As they neared Roy and the cult, Roy stroked their muscled flanks, like they were familiar loyal pets. Their tendrils uncoiled, disposing the fresh victims.

    At first the lawman thought they were worshipping Roy, but as he watched, Roy seemed more and more like a choir director, leading some crazed shrieking song, directed not at himself, but the massive centerpiece of the dais, the long narrow rostrum.

    And then it hit Tracy like a pallet of bricks falling off of a dropship ramp. He''d seen the rostrum before. In a dream. No, a nightmare.

    Waves of d¨¦j¨¤ vu bathed his senses as the choir song reached a crescendo. The top of the rostrum shifted, revealing that it was in fact a shuttle-sized coffin.

    Fire and ice roiled through Tracy''s veins. He pulled Ashton close, burying the boy''s face against his torso, shielding him from the abominable horror. Weird sensations of both trembling and admiration filled him, quickening his breath.

    Slowly, a slender eldritch emaciated giant rose from the open sarcophagi. Instead of screaming in shared terror, Roy''s followers fell at the feet of the decrepit titan, paying blasphemous homage to an alien daemon.

    Why didn''t they run? Why didn''t they flee?

    Then Tracy understood. Just as he was drowning in unseen waves of tangible fear emanating from the thing, the servants were basking in that same aura, but for them it was a numbing sensation of awe and wonder. Pure, misguided ecstasy.

    Roy wasn''t the shepherd they assumed him to be. He was the sacrificial pagan priest, making a mass offering on the altar of his god. He''d led the sheep straight into the slaughterhouse.

    And they adored him for it.

 55 | BEFORE THE THRONE

    Cherry followed Scratch into the city, the throng of true believers trailing behind them like a royal procession.

    Carcosa.

    The infectious name awakened an awe in her, a longing to live in this ancient city, to hide in its lengthened shadows, to climb every spiraled tower, to delve down every stairwell, to run through the empty halls of regal gargantuan chambers whose function and purpose were long forgotten by the annals of time.

    Lost Carcosa.  Lost no longer. Found. Rediscovered. Soon she would plummet its libraries, inspect its dusty tomes, learn truths withheld from mankind for aeons.

    Dim Carcosa.  Dim, only to the dimwitted and ignorant, of which she was. But not for long. Soon a privilege would be granted to her, an opportunity that few humans ever had while living. She would meet the King in Yellow.

    Excitement bubbled within her chest, threatening to burst out. She felt overwhelmed by the mixed emotions filling her to the brim. Awe, wonder, elation, mystery, and joy. But no fear. She need not fear here. The sultan of sulphur bestowed visions into her mind, granted her glimpses of his hidden truths. And now her time had come, her chance to show her king that loyalty and devotion flowed through her veins.

    They entered a dark passageway made of cold pale stone the color of puss. She ran her hand across the chilled porous walls, tracing the thin running lines of intricate designs with her fingertips, sending shivers along her arm and up her spine.

    She had so many questions for Scratch, now that Coraline wasn''t distracting him. When Cherry thought of how she''d shot the woman in the back, she was amazed that she herself felt nothing. But why would she? That woman had tried to come between her and her Scratch, between Cherry, power, and purpose. Coraline had been beautiful without trying, winning the affections of men around her without having to earn it. Cherry gave herself over completely, and still no one respected her, or gave her affection even after they paid her.

    But all of that changed. She was no longer the cute little brothel worker, easily dismissed. She was the prophetess, the chosen lady. And the King showed her visions of anyone threatening her Scratch. Those traitors had fallen. Even the lawman from Terra¡ªwho had disturbed her to the core¡ªeven  he  was stopped, thanks to her visions. She pictured him the way they left him, mostly buried under a pile of rocks, alone, and unconscious. He''d suffocate. And even if he lived, he''d have that filthy offspring of Cora''s to take care of.

    The child''s voice screamed in her memory, echoing in her mind. His big eyes staring at his fallen mother.Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit.

    No. Cherry pushed that memory down, deep down in the bottom of her mind. Scratch said leave it, so she must sever even the thoughts of the child. Instead she turned her mind to the sights in front of her.

    Gasps of awe and wonder escaped the mouths of those trailing behind her and Scratch. She''d been so lost in thought she hadn''t even realized they had stepped into a vast hallowed chamber, shaped like the inside of a gutted pyramid from Terran''s ancient past. Strange symbols etched in the slanted walls captured her gaze, drawing her to the focal point of the room. As a group, they stood at the base of a stairway that met other stairways, all joining in the center of the room. And there lay a massive flat and long stone, shaped like a casket made of solid rock.

    Scratch raised his hands, hushing the group to complete silence. He spoke soft and quiet, but with excitement that he could barely contain. His brows raised, mouth breaking wide in a huge smile.

    "Children. You alone are the true believers. You alone of all the other forsaken on this red planet have the privilege of entering the King''s court. Your journey has been a long one. Some of you have been here loyal since the beginning, when I joined your congregation several years ago. But all of you are the faithful. This is the end of the journey. Children, inside this very great hall, our King rests, awaiting to be roused from his eternal slumber to greet and reward your devotion."

    He paused, letting the words sink in. Cherry''s chest moved up and down to a steady rhythm as she took deeper breaths, trying to control the strong emotions building within her. Behind her she heard others'' breaths grow deeper and stronger too.

    Scratch placed his fingertips together, growing pensive. "You all have a special purpose for the King, though I must admit I do not know how you will serve him. For some, he will ask much. He will ask that you give him your all. For others, he will ask the seemingly impossible of you. But all, regardless of stature, will serve him in some fashion. You will never have to leave the safety of these halls again. Remember the words of the holy texts, transcribed long ago by the prophet Chambers. You my children will behold what he saw in a vision, but you will see it with your own eyes. Now, steel your hearts and your minds for what will unfold."

    He nodded to Himura, who produced a yellow sack. From it he handed out tattered yellow robes for all to don over their Rubrum garments and so hide their faces in the crooks of deep hoods.

    After that was complete, he approached Cherry, holding out another sack. She peered inside. It was more of the delicious bulbous mushroom-like native Rubrum plants. She reached in and took a bulb, placing it in her mouth and began to chew. The rest of the followers did likewise.

    After a few moments time slowed, and Cherry expanded outside of herself. But this time, unlike every other time, she became aware of a new foreign presence. Strange it was, and yet familiar. And vast. An elder nature, lying dormant, long forgotten. She stumbled, bracing herself against the wall of the antechamber, but still felt like she was falling. She managed to glance about, noting that everyone but Scratch was having a similar experience.

    "You feel it, don''t you, my children. A strange notion. Dreadful. Terrible even. That is his aura. Yes, you are feeling him, the very King you''ve heard of. Now follow my steps, heed my every command, act as you feel compelled to. Prepare your hearts for worship. Give your heart to him completely and he will consume all dread and terror. Come, my children. Let us tread softly unto the throne of the Yellow King. We must rouse him with song."

 56 | OLEâ€™ BUDDY

    The closer Leroux sped towards New Oklahoma, the more he felt a tug in his heart pulling him the opposite direction, like a rebellious cow trying to fight the farmer and the yoke, trying to go its own direction, instead of plowing a straight line.

    With one hand on the speeder levers, his other hand scratched his upper lip. It wouldn''t stop itching. If he had his thick mustache he would have tugged on it.

    There was a time when he and Tracy would have braved danger together, shoulder to shoulder, moving through tight corridors, exploring all manner of criminal-controlled property, turning every corner, expecting to come face to face with the barrel of a gun. Any moment could have been their last. And they reveled in that excitement. Because they had each other''s backs.

    Then the United States Marshal Service scoped out Tracy. He applied, got the job, and left Leroux for bigger and better things. Leroux had never found a brother quite like Tracy, an irreplaceable part of him gone. He''d buried that void for a long time. Forgotten it. Tried to fill it with other men, like Russ and Crag, who could never match up. Recent events brought that void to the forefront.

    The little light that shone grew dim down in Noctis Labyrinthus. Phobos and Deimos emerged from the horizon. He had a rough idea of how to escape it''s winding paths. His best bet was finding the unfinished viaduct. It''d be hard to miss, due to the sheer size and the man-made structure contrasted against the raw shapes of the canyon.

    But passing by meant he chanced running into those... things. Images of writhing tendrils behind a razor-toothed maw made him shudder. He turned the heater up in the speeder to ward off the shivers.

    Those things lived down here. This was their territory. He was surprised Tracy didn''t run into one yet. Maybe he did and didn''t mention it to Leroux. The sheriff found that hard to believe. Facing one of those things was a life-altering experience. In fact, if Tracy knew they were down here, he might not have turned Leroux away.

    A thought nagged at the sheriff''s mind.

    He should not have left the child. Tracy couldn''t care for a kid in the wilderness.

    Tracy. That sentimental sap. Gone and got his heartstrings attached to the boy, just because of some self-imposed guilt over the death of the child''s mother. In the heated moment of the argument, passion had won out and Leroux departed. Neither of them were thinking clearly. As for Tracy, he was so determined to capture Roy, that one and only thought consumed him and clouded his reasoning. He couldn''t feed the kid. Couldn''t shelter the boy. And when the time came to take action, he couldn''t both protect the child and nab Roy. Just wasn''t possible to have your heart divided like that.

    Plus those alien predators were still out there.

    Against every instinct telling him to hightail it out of Noctis and push the thrusters to the max, Leroux slowed the speeder to a complete stop.

    Those things slaughtered a whole construction crew. Still around somewhere. Prowling in blackened caverns. That meant that sooner or later, the marshal and the kid were going to come face to face with those sharp-tooth tentacle aliens. He''d seen what it did to Russ. And Russ was an amazing shot. Sure Russ had survived thanks to Sujin''s wealth and resources. But Tracy didn''t have any of that. And he was so far out, that if he or the kid got hurt, there''d be no one to help them.

    No one, but Leroux.

    He turned the speeder around, gunned it, and raced back to find Tracy and the boy.

    ***Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings.

    The unnatural superstructure came into view, a megalithic abomination.

    Leroux had no other words for it. But as best he could tell, the Mustang hoof tracks led into the alien fortress. A place that should not be.

    The metallic sheen of light catching an object at just the right angle pierced his gaze. He raised a hand to shield his eyes and drove towards it for a closer look.

    It was a downed hovercopter.

    Leroux got out of his speeder and inspected it.

    Scorch marks marred the exterior next to the thrusters, indicating a crash landing. The side had been torn open, ripped into, like a cardboard box or a can of food. Blood stains splattered the interior.

    The wreckage had not just occurred. The thrusters were cold to the touch, and the blood inside dried. The boxy, no-nonsense design and the mounted gatling gun suggested it was a military vessel. But the gold knobbed cane Leroux found inside suggested otherwise.

    The sheriff whispered the name. "Sujin."

    The signature cane belonged to the Red Prince, no doubt.

    Leroux''s mind raced, trying to piece together what might have happened.

    Why would the tycoon return back to the canyon so soon after finding his crew obliterated by alien monsters?

    Revenge. Plain and simple. Sujin was a highly competitive man. And everything was like a grand chess game to him. The fool had probably taken the attack of those savage beasts on his construction crew as a personal affront. As if the aliens wanted to sabotage his viaduct. He''d hired a crew of mercs to track down and slaughter the aliens. They failed.

    Unlike the remains found at the construction site, nothing else survived except the crimson stains, the cane, and the slagged hovercopter itself. He peered towards the city from his new vantage point. Sure enough, he noted more downed copters.

    "Dust and shaleslag." Leroux swore at the thought of having to enter this place, where a whole slew of armed mercs got wiped out already.

    A frigid wind whistled through the desolate pocked towers, causing eerie, jarring notes to his grate against his ears. He despised the sound as much as the sight of the place.

    And it reviled him in return.

    Instinct caused Leroux to reach for his coilgun. To shoot at what though? A teetering tower? An eroded archway? A pitch-black alcove?

    The slender edifices wrapped in warped spiral staircases with their many darkened openings seemed to house phantoms leering down at him, a small insignificant mortal man, trespassing on unhallowed ground. He couldn''t shake the feeling of being naked, exposed, and vulnerable.

    But somewhere in this place that should not be, a boy and Leroux''s ole'' buddy braved the odds. As did that enigma, Roy. No, he corrected himself, thinking of the orphaned boy. Roy, the cold-blooded murderer.

    He eased the throttle forward, entering the strange city as quietly as possible, as if he did not want to agitate it and so incur its wrath.

 57 | SERVICE RENDERED

    Cherry sang with all her might as she flattened herself against the steps.

    She could feel him, rousing. Tossing. Turning.

    The King in Yellow.

    The stone steps rolled in waves beneath her body, seeming to lose their solidification. Strange light patterns swam in her vision. Every smell heightened. Every sound held a color. Time and space ebbed and flowed, spilling together into a fluid stasis. New emotions toiled within her, feelings without name. They crushed her spirit within her, suppressed her being, until she was naught but an insignificant speck kneeling before a casket throne.

    Stone grinding on stone clawed at her ears. Dust clouded the stale air. The lid shifted open. Then a hand breached the lip, and the stone fell away. The weight of it dropping to the temple floor rocked the very foundations of the chamber. Had she been standing the jolt would have dashed her to the floor.

    She wrestled to keep her gaze down, but the wonder of beholding the King wrenched her entire being, like a shuttle sucked into a black hole, until she succumbed to the irresistible temptation.

    There towered the King in Yellow, slenderer than a dried corpse. Terror gripped her then, but she railed against it. No, need to fear. This was her king. The one that bestowed her visions of this place, the one who''d given her fits of unexplainable euphoria.

    Pride swelled in her. She''d been found worthy. Others had thought her insignificant, her worth only defined by her looks. But no longer. She wasn''t a cute brothel girl to be swept by the wayside, forgotten, she was the prophetess now. She served the King in Yellow. She would sit at his right hand, petitioning her eldritch king to dish out punishment and retribution on the weak, the unbelievers of Noke''la. And after that pathetic settlement was laid waste, together they''d conquer all of Mars.This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

    She dared to meet her King''s face, to see herself reflected in his eyes, his pride for her, his faithful prophetess.

    But his face held no compassion, no gratitude, nor affection for the small loyal troupe who ventured so far into the forsaken alien catacombs.

    A bone-chilling face of wrathful contempt burned into Cherry''s eyes. She knew not whether she sang or screamed in terror. The longer he leered down at her, the less she was. Doubt cracked her brittle soul. Her breath caught in her throat. Her ribs expanded and retracted, but she wasn''t drawing air.

    What have I done?

    Frigid sweat beads spilled from her pores.

    In horror, she watched as her friends rushed towards the frail king with open arms, offering all they had in spite of that malignant distaste that emanated from the tattered eldritch entity.

    She realized their folly but a moment before their fates were sealed.

    They would all perish here. None would be spared.

    The daemon reached out and plucked up several willing sacrifices. He drained their bodies of all vitality before they crumbled to dust.

    She screamed and tried to run, but her willpower dissolved. No sooner had she thought to flee, a strong compulsion beckoned her to draw near to the king against her will. Cherry was caught now. There was no fighting it. The more she resisted, the faster she ran towards her doom. With each step her fear faded, slipping through her inner grasp, instead encompassed by crazed, hysterical laughter.

    She tripped on the final step.

    Her body dashed against the solid floor.

    A spike of pain offered a moment of clarity.

    The final thing Cherry noticed as the massive fingers wrapped around her body was that Roy had abandoned her.

 58 | CORNERED

    Tracy shielded his own gaze as the towering King draped in a tattered mantle reached out and plucked up a handful of worshipers. The moment his dead fingers touched them, a sulphurous cancer spread, riddling their bodies with gaping pock marks. Soon the yellow King siphoned all life and vitality from their flesh and bones. They crumbled into piles of hoary yellow ash.

    The remaining followers dogpiled atop one another, clawing and scraping ahead, fighting for the opportunity to nourish their dying King with their last heartbeat.

    Tracy shuddered at the surreal vision he beheld, images that would burrow into his mind forever.

    The boy kept tugging at Tracy''s arm, trying to see, to understand the exciting noises echoing around them, but the marshal held him close, shielding his innocent mind from the horrors that could break him. Even Chasm began to prance in place, made skittish from the auditory overload.

    Amidst the chaos, Roy retreated away from the slaughter, making his way towards a corridor, his unholy work complete.

    Tracy had witnessed enough. This had evolved from a simple fugitive capture mission into a scene that unsettled him to the core. And this was no place for a child. What had he been thinking? He hadn''t. He''d let his passions get the best of him. And falling headfirst on that rock probably didn''t help.

    He directed Chasm back around the way they''d come, but he found the corridor barred by two crouching creatures, each held up by six muscular feline legs. They lurked in the shadows, waiting to pounce on him.

    With a holler he slapped the scabbard compartment within Chasm. The railgun launched out and he caught it as he lept off of Chasm''s back. He cocked the lever and pulled the trigger again and again, sending blast after blast into the tendrilled beasts. Cords exploded under the rifle fire, splattering the walls and the floor with oozing ichor. Still the feeling fibers wove and wrapped about his arms, flinging him into a slanted wall, and sending his Model X4 sliding across the floor out of reach.

    He shook off the dizzy spell only to find one of the beasts edging toward Chasm and Ashton. With a roar he pulled Judge from his holster, clasped a waving tentacle and shot it at the base. The tentacle recoiled, ripping Tracy off his feet, launching him towards the thing''s body as he intended. As he flew through the air in an arc, he willed his smartarm finger to shift into a plasma cannon. Tracy landed on the thing''s back even as it opened it''s maw exposing rows of fangs. Throwing all his might behind his shifting metal hand, he punched it into the back of the creature''s sleek head. The force plunged his arm inside, puncturing oil-slick skin, down to his elbow. His arm glowed as a muffled plasma blast scorched the beast from the inside.This book''s true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.

    The alien monster uttered a final hiss before collapsing and dying on the floor.

    Tracy rose, his back to the other beast, alien gunk evaporating in sickening fumes rising from his cannon hand. He spun on the remaining threat, green pupils burning, putting himself between the beast and the boy. It wouldn''t touch a hair on Ashton''s head. Not on Trace''s watch.

    The fanged thing hissed, but shrank away, tentacles folding in, like a beaten mutt hiding its tail between its legs. Tracy stood his ground and leveled the hand cannon. The glowing end pulsed as it gathered charge for the next shot.

    But as he held his arm still, the thick thumping of many footfalls echoed through the antechamber. The floor shook, almost making Tracy''s knees knock.

    A whole pack of the tentacled beasts emerged from the shadows, amber eyes aglow, fangs dripping, barreling towards him.

    He hefted Judge in addition to his finger canon. The Model X4 lay way out of reach. A pang of self-loathing gnawed at his insides. Shouldn''t have destroyed Jury. His jaw clenched tight.

    Was he seeing things? Tracy squinted. The new aliens looked odd. Almost as if they had shriveled humanoid limbs in addition to the tendrils and powerful legs. Ragged tattered garments draped over their warped forms.

    It only made the marshal desire to shoot the abominations even more.

    Tracy''s well-placed shots hit all of their intended targets. But there were too many in a confined space.

    He couldn''t ground them all.

    "Git, Chasm," he commanded, hoping the steeder would understand to flee with haste and transport the boy to safety. But he knew deep down that wish was a pipe dream. The steeder was smart, but not that smart.

    A torrent of glistening flesh, living whips, and muscled legs overpowered him.

    He was yanked up as fast as he went down, wrapped up in the vine-like appendages of the monsters and carried into the throne room.

    Tracy strained against the living cords. Shot a few off too. But not before the creature flung him to the slate stone floor. Waves of pain spread over his body as he attempted to claw his way to his feet.

    As his eyes trailed up the infirmed frame, the bronze-masked face hiding in the crook of a yellow hood made bile creep up Tracy''s throat.

    Tracy reeled away. Terror seized his soul.

    The nightmare that haunted him in the black before dawn, that early morn'' on Jorah''s homestead, unfolded before him.

    But unlike his night terror, Tracy realized he was not alone. Ashton was beside him, just standing there. Frozen in place. Discarded by the beasts as an offering of innocence.

    Thorn-tipped fingers reached for the boy.

    A guttural yell exploded from Tracy''s throat. "No."

    The marshal lunged between the child and the oncoming touch of death.

    He felt the hand catch him in a cold iron grip. Then darkness overcame him.

 59 | TOMBSTONES

    Cryptic mist cast a haze, clinging to Tracy''s skin like a blood-sucking leech. Putrid stench reminiscent of fermented puss seeped into his nostrils, worse than the odor of Mars magnified a hundredfold. He gagged trying to keep the burning stomach acid down, but the churning fluid stung his tongue, forcing him to hack and hawk spittle.

    He was both still on Mars, still within Carcosa, and also somewhere else entirely. A nowhere place.

    Tendrils of mist licked him before parting underfoot. A jagged pathway emerged leading between uneven rows of tombstones.

    The names on the headstones were not in focus, obscured by the haze. He pressed forward. Each step felt as if he dragged his feet through sucking muck and mire.

    The light of Phobos cut through the mist, a beam of revelation, splaying across the tombstones, unmasking the names etched there. He expected the words to be made of unreadable alien symbols, but Tracy discovered he could not only read them clear as a scream, but knew the names with more intimacy than he knew any living person.

    Leo Irving.

    Persephone Irving.

    Tristan Irving.

    Gabriella Irving.

    Names he''d considered. Chosen. Forgotten.

    All names for the children he and Hina lost, stolen before they ever had a chance to draw breath.

    Chills clawed his skin, cutting down to the bone, puncturing deep into his heart and his soul. The King in Yellow sought to rip open his old scars, create fresh wounds that would never heal again by recalling haunting visions from Tracy''s past.

    Women''s screams echoed in the dark from beyond the mist. To his horror he realized they were not many women, but one woman''s tormented cries and sobs replaying over and over. The dormant nightmares were withdrawn from the recesses of his mind, forgotten but never erased.

    They were Hina. Every time she held a cold child. Every time a memory became too strong. Every loss, every burden, every push towards the edge, every time her soul was torn, severed again.

    A sudden thought flashed. A dread overcame him. What if these screams, these cries of woe were happening now? Though he and Hina were worlds apart, couldn''t a daemon who tore down reality with his mere presence tear the very fabric of spacetime to afflict Tracy with his wife''s tormented agony?

    "Hina!"

    He strove after her, braving the dark, but it retracted, moving further away, always out of reach, so that he could not comfort and cradle her in his arms.

    Hot tears spilled down Tracy''s face, blinding him, even as he gnashed his teeth, blood boiling inside with flaming rage. He stumbled and fell into an open shallow grave. The headstone read Ashton. And a parallel grave had a tombstone that read Coraline.

    Tracy fell to his knees grabbing fistfuls of grave soil, snarling, screaming with all his might.

    Cackles split the air, seeking to oppress him in his impotence.

    Tracy dragged the back of his arm across his leaking nose and palmed his soaked eyes. His brows furrowed, teeth grinding even as he sniffled, eyes piercing the dark.Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

    The King in Yellow loomed in the amber mist, tattered robes lilting in a frigid breeze, a stagnant phantom, like a festering wound that refused to heal.

    The sultan of sulphur sought to silence Tracy, to stumble him, to strike him down as he relived all of his darkest moments in a single breath. But the King failed to realize one thing.

    Those were the moments that stripped him bare, then hardened Tracy, steeled his heart, pushed him to the brink of sanity, where by the grace of God he found his drive, the will to become more than a mere man.

    Scarred? Sure.

    Battered? You bet.

    Thirsting for unbridled retribution? Undoubtedly.

    Tracy withdrew inside, took the back seat, dying as it were, a different man rising from the open grave to confront the tattered terror.

    Trace the Ace crawled out of the grave, got to his knees, then drew up to his full height. Dead ahead of him, the King''s yellow mantel billowed in the wind, the tattered cloak smothering his slender form.

    The marshal pushed forward. Gravel ground underfoot with each step of his boots. He tugged the brim of his diamond shaped hat further down, almost resting it atop his eyebrows. His revolver Judge sprang from the holster.

    Tracy growled at the eldritch form. "You decrepit maggot corpse. You think those visions can whittle me down?"

    The King straightened, rising to meet the challenge.

    Tracy bellowed, the words trumpeted like a battle cry. "Those moments killed Tracy, but they forged me."

    An almost forgotten rubric, a seed of truth whispered in his mind.

    Perfect love casts out fear.

    If the King could fight with visions of terror then Tracy could fight with unbridled, sacrificial love.

    His cracked revolver echoed in the black as he split the gun in half. The hollow chambers held no bullets, and if they did, electromagnetic ammunition could not kill a cosmic entity like the King in Yellow.

    Tracy closed his eyes and thought of Hina, his partner, his best friend, his soul mate. They were knit together, their spirits bound by shared trauma and free flowing love.

    He remembered their wedding day. How beautiful she looked in her ivory gown. He chambered that memory with all of the excitement and passion it brought.

    The King recoiled.

    He thought of the photograph in his pocket, the vibrant life it captured, in spite of years of pain. He chambered that.

    Trace recalled his lost arm, a piece of him stolen, but how Hina loved him still, even if he was never made whole again. He stuffed that in the chamber.

    Even in the loss, friends had come by their side, people like Hal, providing a meal, sending a card with bouquets of flowers, showing them kindness even as they wept. He filled several more chambers.

    The tatterdemalion raised his skeletal arms as if to ward off the lawman''s memories.

    The marshal meditated on the child that might be, bound inside his pregnant wife, both of them teetering on the edge of eternity, but possibly still holding onto life. He chambered that.

    The lord of the labyrinth convulsed.

    Tracy thought of little Ashton, thrust into the marshal''s life, alone and afraid. Even though they barely knew each other, he grabbed ahold of that spark, drew out their bond which formed in a bullet of light, filling the seventh chamber.

    Trace the Ace flicked his wrist, slamming the revolver shut like the massive doors to a grand jury courtroom. Doors which would never be opened again until justice was met. The revolver now glowed, with the light of life itself. Court was in session.

    He strode forward, tall, shoulders squared, chin held high.

    He edged towards the elder pagan god, the daemon of defilement, and drew his gun up to eye level. The marshal primed the hammer with his thumb. The cocked click rang like a gavel pronouncing a life sentence, like striking nail heads into a coffin.

    A giant hand shot out to choke the life out of Tracy.

    He squeezed the trigger. A hole erupted in the dead hand. Beams of light poured from the wound.

    Hunching over like a maimed animal, the King in Yellow cradled his pierced hand and hissed.

    Tracy fired five more blasts. Each ray of light drilled gashes into the tattered cloak, slicing open the worn skin beneath with scorching pain.

    The thing fell on hands and knees. Then, in the throes of undead demise, it raised up, lifting off of the ground entirely, hovering over Tracy like a wraith.

    It flew at him, spitting venom.

    Tracy stood his ground, firing the final shot, right between its seared sockets.

 60 | THE RIGHT CHOICE

    Leroux wandered through the crazed alien city, never stopping, always moving, revolvers held in front of him, at the ready. If he stayed still for too long, the noises got under his skin, tickling his mind.

    Finding Tracy and the child was his one guiding thought. He focused on that thought alone to shut out all the other voices in his head, voices screaming for him to flee. It was not safe. This place was wrongness in physical form. He should turn heel and forget the two of them. They were likely dead already. He heard the objections as if through muffled ears. Leroux stifled the voices as best as he could. But the further he pressed into the disturbing place, the more doubt crept into his mind, so that the questions grew almost as loud as the wailing wind.

    He knew by instinct that he moved the right direction, even if his sense of direction vanished the moment he set foot in the lost city. He knew because the biting fear and trepidation threatening to swallow him whole became palpable, as if terror itself might sneak up behind him and throttle his neck.

    When he could no longer ignore the doubt, he threw accusations back at his own mind. He''d already lost Edom, Milton, Pete, and Quynn. And then Russ. Did he want to lose the one true friend he still had left? Would he ever sleep right knowing that he could have aided his pal? And the child. How could he ever live with himself knowing he''d send the bright-eyed boy off to his destruction.

    The revolvers he crushed between his grip never felt so inadequate. Whatever resided in a place like this could not be killed or even harmed by his puny electromagnetic ammunition.

    Mixed screams of agony and elation interrupted Leroux''s thoughts. At first he assumed he''d finally cracked, that this place had driven him mad. That was still on the table, but the cries were very real. He became very aware of the frigid cold, as evidenced by the clouds of fog he blew from his mouth and nostrils. The hairs on his neck stood upright and goosebumps sleeved his arms.

    Lost in tunnel vision, he didn''t remember entering the corridor he found himself in, but the high architecture of the antechamber suggested he traversed through a regal, if not cryptic palace or temple. Tremors rolled underfoot. Gunshots, screams, hisses, and a terrible roar all reached Leroux''s ears.

    Cold sweat dripped down his back. Still he pressed on, moving faster now, breaking into a jog, then a steady run. Lumps of torn flesh littered the hall up ahead. Leroux recognized the beasts.

    Dead they were, and still yellow eyed. But dead just the same. By some miracle. No, not a miracle. A lever action Model X4 lay discarded on the floor, not too far from the rotting alien corpses.

    Tracy had stood his ground and conquered these. But he lost his rifle. Leroux knew how seriously Tracy cared for his arms. As if they were part of him. He''d not so easily leave this behind. Not while in the thick of it.

    A sharp pain tugged on Leroux''s chest. He hoped he wasn''t too late.

    His inspection and revelation took mere seconds, but each moment mattered now.

    He holstered his own guns, scooped up the Model X4, and bolted to the end of the hall and passed under an archway into a large chamber.

    Moonlight from above spilled in from outside, illuminating some sort of centerpiece to the room, but clouded in haze. Leroux''s eyes scanned the room for Tracy, but could not spot him. Instead he saw the boy.

    Ashton crouched near a stairway in the center of the vast room, surrounded by those freakish monsters. The prowlers circled the young one, and would have snatched him up if not for Tracy''s chrome steeder. Like a true noble stallion, the Mustang marched around the boy, pistons pumping, exhaust pipes roaring. Any time a tentacle lashed out to trap the child, the steeder bucked and reared on its hind legs, batting the attacks away. But he could not hold off for long. More of the alien beasts poured in from adjacent corridors.You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

    Fear gripped Leroux. Not for himself, but for little Ashton. He could not allow the boy to fall victim to the vile predators.

    His legs pumped as he descended the steps, charging into the fray. He leveled the X4 at the beasts, firing sparingly into the horde. Fist-sized chunks of alien meat exploded with each blast. They recoiled with grating hisses.

    If he could make it to the stallion, he could nab the child and ride the steeder out of the cursed citadel.

    The spectacle at the center of the chamber threatened to distract and stop him entirely. Eerie flashes of fluorescent amber light coruscated in the unnatural tumbling mist. Tremors pulsed, matching the peals of thunderous claps.

    With each flash, two silhouettes materialized in the mist. The outline of Tracy was unmistakable. Leroux would recognize his friend anywhere. The other being overshadowed the marshal without comparison, an ominous slender colossus towering in the gloom.

    Fierce venomous malice radiating from the battle happening in the center jeopardized Leroux''s burst of courage, desiring to strangle him with bitter despair. He could only wonder how Tracy was still standing in the midst of that brutal force.

    But he knew what his friend would want. He''d want to protect this kid.

    Leroux swooped up the child in his arms and mounted the steeder.

    A sea of tentacles twitched wildly, blocking every pathway in which Leroux and the boy might escape. He fired into the fray and commanded the stallion to giddy up. The steeder obeyed, charging the things, trampling its own path through the horde.

    Cords latched onto Leroux and the child, but the sheriff shot and battered them away. The steeder cleared a path to the stairway and began its ascent out of the madness.

    The predators followed in their wake, hungry howls erupting from their fanged maws. With six legs each, Leroux understood there was no way the stallion could gallop fast enough, especially given the fact that Leroux barely had even the vaguest sense of how to escape the city.

    The steeder crested the top step, and Leroux was fully committed to blasting every last one of them until their bodies piled high enough to blockade the hall. He pulled the steeder to a halt and leveled the Model X4 at the incoming onslaught. Two shots and two beasts bit the dust, huge holes gaping in their heads.

    Leroux cocked the lever action again and again. The bodies began to pile up. He couldn''t believe his plan was actually working. Then he cocked the lever and dry fired the railgun.

    Out of ammo.

    A gut punch hit him with sickening force. He wielded his revolvers, but the smaller guns were not nearly as effective.

    Time to make a break for it. But as he thought it, he knew in his heart of hearts, he and the boy wouldn''t make it.

    As he considered running, a mounting pressure from inside the chamber built up. Leroux felt physically tugged towards the epicenter. And then, just as quick, an explosive force rolled over him. The steeder backpedaled a few steps, but stayed upright.

    A weight lifted from Leroux''s soul. After a moment he realized all of the oppressive energy that permeated the chamber had diminished, almost vanishing entirely.

    Whatever happened inside the chamber had a profound effect on the beasts. As one they hissed, their cry converging into a single howl of pain. Their thick muscles and vibrant vines shrank, as if eaten away from the inside. Their sick skeletal structures became visible as their frames hunched over in pain. Scattering in every direction, the withered freaks scuttled away, crawling into remote dark corners to curl up and suffer.

    Leroux couldn''t believe what he witnessed. What caused this? The steeder, feeling his curiosity, passed through the archway.

    Down in the epicenter, the clouded haze melted away. The slender abomination was no more. The sheriff half expected to see the marshal strewn out on the altar, having sacrificed his life so the boy could live. What Leroux saw defied all reason.

    Trace the Ace stood tall in the parting mist, towering over a cowering figure that could only be Roy Rothspalt.

 61 | WORTHLESS

    Roy ran from the throne room, delving into a passage that burrowed under the city, a secret escape. His work was done. He''d fed his god, and a portion of the vitality that the King in Yellow leached from those he''d offered would be bestowed to Roy, divvied out over time, lengthening his life, and giving him power as well. He''d done it before in Coprates, several years before. That time had been easier. He didn''t have a marshal hunting him down.

    He''d tried to serve his King back on Terra. But the extreme distance between planets meant that the sacrificial offerings he performed there transferred little vitality to his King. But he had proved his fealty. So the King had summoned him, reaching out in darkened drug-induced dreams, bestowing on him the great task of gathering sustenance for him to be ready at the advent of his waking from his millennium of slumber.

    The King destroyed all remnants of life on this planet, thousands upon thousands of years prior. And when all life forms were destroyed, he siphoned from the red planet itself, until it was but a dried and cracked scab of its former glory. The Great Ancient One checked him though, held him in place, affixed him to the red planet for all time. Thus he needed souls to be brought to him in between the intervals of his millesimal hibernation.

    He had spoken through men''s dreaming minds, whispered lofty aspirations of planetary conquest, incepting the seeds of pursuit that inspired them to pull all their resources together to brave the black of space and colonize the red planet. Then the King waited patiently, reveling in the depths of his own mysterious reveries as mankind took the steps necessary to colonize and rejuvenate the dried planet. Unwittingly they sowed the seeds of their own destruction. All so the King could consume them.

    But the Ancient One interfered again, allowing the war to break out upon the face of Terra, preventing the exodus en masse from Terra to Rubrum, and eventually Carcosa, cutting off the King''s supply of eager sacrifices. Thus the withered King summoned Roy, filling him with his purpose in exchange for power and near eternal longevity.

    An inhuman cry sounded like a shrill siren, blaring in Roy''s ears. Then a pang bit into Roy''s chest.

    The medallion hanging about his neck cracked. He felt a tugging, then a tearing. He cried out in pain, falling to the temple floor. Weak and trembling, he braced himself against a wall. He felt as if one of his limbs had been torn off, leaving a useless bloodied stump.A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

    His work was done. Why did it now feel incomplete?

    With all his willpower he stumbled back into the alter chamber.

    A thick haze hung in the air of the massive room obscuring everything. Where was the King? Roy crept closer to the altar, confused.

    Slowly, the haze melted. The King''s sarcophagus lay closed, sealed once more. An empty void weighed down on Roy. He realized the ever-present weight of his eldritch god had vanished. No, not vanished, diminished. As if all of the toil Roy underwent to bring the sacrifices here amounted to nothing, even less than nothing.

    How had his King''s power been depleted?

    Roy heard boots stepping towards him.

    There, striding tall through the ash and soot remnants of the sacrifices came the lawman, from the far side of the altar, green eyes piercing Roy. The marshal looked unscathed, rejuvenated even, as if somehow he had taken all of the vitality meant for Roy''s King.

    Roy bared his teeth at Tracy, hissing. He raised his hands to throw putrid pestilence at him, to set his bones to rot and decay from the inside out, but his previous power vanished.

    As he tried to draw power, a backlash pummeled him, dropping him to the ground. A groan of woe leaked out of Roy''s mouth. No power filled him, only painful, agonizing emptiness. With great effort he climbed to his knees. Vile obscenities dripped from his mouth, curses he hurled at the lawman.

    "Go ahead, Marshal. Blast me. Put a hole in my soul."

    The marshal pointed his smartarm at Roy. The metal fist dislocated and launched, shooting right at Roy like a bullet. The blow to Roy''s gut knocked all the wind out of him. As he stumbled, the detached cyborg hand scuttled up his robe and clamped down on his throat, cutting off the oxygen to his lungs and severed the flow of blood to his mind.

    He clawed at the alloyed hand, trying to rip it off his convulsing throat, but every effort expended more and more energy. He sank to the floor in a limp heap. The last thing he saw was the darkened silhouette of the lawman towering over him, triumphant.

    Roy fought to keep his eyelids open, but the weight of defeat plunged him into unending darkness and despair. Down, down, down he spiraled, lost in his own conquered ego, his mind drowning in the realization of his worthless irrelevance.

 62 | STARLIGHT STANDOFF

    After emerging from the tunnel, Russ hiked up spiral stairs, scaled broken walls, and ducked through humid passageways. Strange noises filled the stale air, drilling into his mind. Echoes of creaking, hissing, screaming, and roaring burrowed in his brain. And always the ever-present wailing of the winds of Rubrum shrieked.

    They should have sent chills down his spine, but they didn''t.

    The twin moons, Phobos and Deimos cast elongated shadows that crossed one another, clashing with Russ'' depth perception and sense of directions. The longer he moved through the beautifully tangled corridors, the more he realized he''d come home.

    At one point he climbed too high, finding himself on the broken balcony of a leaning spire. A terrible rumbling coursed up the tower, shaking him to the core with mirth. The epicenter came from within the spectral city, which he knew instinctively. Tremors rolled in waves, sending cracks along the spire walls. It seemed Carcosa was on the verge of collapsing.

    No. Not his city. It could not fall. It might recede, to another place and time, neither here nor there, but it could never be razed. He threw his head back and laughed in the breeze. If only Quynn could join them now.

    But if she would vanish this night, then he would sing her song. His voice joined the wailing winds as he called out from the tower.

    Along the shore the cloud waves break,

    The red sun sinks behind the lake,

    The shadows lengthen

    In Carcosa.

    Strange is the night where black stars rise,

    And twin moons circle through the skies,

    But stranger still is

    Lost Carcosa.

    Songs that the Hyades shall sing,

    Where flap the tatters of the King,

    Must die unheard in

    Dim Carcosa.

    Song of my soul, my voice is dead,

    Die thou, unsung, as tears unshed

    Shall dry and die in

    Lost Carcosa.

    Ending the song, he closed his eyes, breathing in the city one final time. Even now he could feel her retreating, preparing for her astral voyage.

    He longed to go with her, but the faint memory of an incomplete task held him on Rubrum.

    He had to escape.

    Russ doubled back. At every corner, bend, and intersection he fully expected to run headlong into more of those freakish deformities. While he no longer feared the city, he did have a healthy fear of the inhabitants of Rubrum, those warped and outfitted for Carcosa.

    He snuck along for what could have been minutes, hours, or one eternal unending night. His heart thundered in his borg chest, a reminder that he should be dead already.

    After time immeasurable he escaped the bounds of the dead city, rising out of it like a materialized spirit of the deceased.

    He found a downed hovercopter on the outskirts of the city, one of the mercenary vessels. His heart skipped a beat at the find, then sank. It likely wouldn''t work. But he had to try.

    As his hands worked the controls trying to get the machine to start, a final tremor rocked Carcosa. Something like an electromagnetic pulse hit him, smashing into his body, and passing through his soul, continuing on further into Noctis Labyrinthus.

    An internal weight seemed to lift from Russ. Emotions he hadn''t even realized were plaguing him, emanating from the city, just melted away. All of the elated frivolity ceased.

    His mind paused in a moment of clarity.

    Why had he been singing?

    Where had those words come from?

    Unease and fear of his own bizarre actions gripped him.

    The city seemed now to watch him with the hungry eyes of a predator. It stood hollow. Almost, but not quite empty. He scanned the walls and spires. They were simply the ruins of a lost civilization now. Odd. He did not know why he''d felt at home, moments before.

    He reveled in the stillness, the somber quiet, admiring the strange beauty of the lost Carcosa who rested against the backdrop of a host of heavenly bodies, myriads of stars twinkling in the great black above, gleaming under the twin moons of Phobos and Deimos. A dead burden stung within. The stars reminded him again of Quynn, his spirit drifting in the great beyond.

    Movement on the outskirts of the city caught Russell''s attention. Outlines shaped like two men walking alongside a steeder appeared, exiting the city with a confident gait.Support the creativity of authors by visiting the original site for this novel and more.

    He recognized both of them, even in the dead of night from afar.

    His mind should have questioned¡ªof all the places to be on the red planet¡ªwhy was his former sheriff, Blaine Leroux here, braving a lost alien city, just as he himself awoke inside it''s catacombs? But when his mind identified the other man as none other than Trace the Ace, cold bitterness seeped into his heart.

    They were marching straight for him. No, not for Russ. For the hovercopter. They didn''t realize he sat in the cockpit already, trying to take off.

    Russ thumbed the heptagonal cylinder of his .38 Special Oersted revolver, loading each empty chamber, waiting for the Terran marshal to close the gap.

    He could retreat into the shadows of the rear of the craft. Russ could time it just right so that he caught Tracy unaware, the barrel of his gun pressed against the back of the filthy Terran''s head, nowhere to run, no way to dodge.

    But that wasn''t Russell''s way. Quynn would have wanted to be avenged honorably.

    Tracy deserved to look Russ in the eyes when his heart bled out.

    D¨¦ja vu from their first meeting flashed in Russ'' mind, spreading the frigid, ice-cold bitterness out from his chest, down his arms, to his hands.

    Russ stepped off the copter, emerging from the shadow of the craft cast by the twin moons overhead.

    Leroux spotted him first with a sharp cry. To the sheriff''s credit, his reflexes reacted by snatching his revolver from his holster.

    But Russ had always been the better shot.

    Pew.

    Leroux was still raising the gun when Russ'' shot ripped the revolver from his hands. The sheriff eyed his empty hand. It was fine. His revolver lay in the dust, toasted.

    "Russell?"

    "Aye, Sheriff. Fancy seeing you here. My beef isn''t with you, but Trace the Ace."

    The lawman peered at Russ from under the brim of his Stetson, then turned back to the steeder. For the first time Russ noted a grown man strewn over the back of the steeder, tied down, and a young child riding the stallion, small enough to hide behind the metal horse''s head. The steeder bucked and pawed the dust with a hoof, anticipating the upcoming conflict.

    "Let us pass, Russ. I''ve captured the fugitive. And this child is under my care now."

    Moonlight reflected within Russ'' crazed eyes. "You went and made a mess of things, Marshal. My friend Quynn''s spirit cries out for blood. Rubrum and Carcosa, they cry out for your blood too."

    "Revenge won''t appease you. And it won''t bring your pal back."

    Seething rage stopped any coherent words that Russ might have said. He stammered, before getting out, "Shale. Choke on sand and dust, Irving. You killed my best friend. Sent him to the grave in flames."

    "He one of the guys that took a dive over the cliff''s edge?"

    Russ couldn''t keep his lips from quivering in cold hatred.

    "Or was he in the speeder that got buried?"

    Russ'' soul burned like dry ice. "Think you''re so slick, Trace the Ace?"

    "Shouldn''t have hunted me down like a wild animal."

    Russ cracked open his gun, dumping out all the rounds in the dust but one, then spun the cylinder to line it up so that one shot was his next.

    "Let''s duel it out. Only one shot each."

    "Russ. This is crazy. We need to get back to¡ª"

    "Can it, Sheriff, or you''re next. You''re partially to blame. Sending us after the Ace, when you wouldn''t go yourself."

    Leroux recoiled, cowed into silence. Then a scowl spread across his mouth and he yelled at his former deputy. "In front of a child, Russ? At least let us move out of the line of fire."

    The sheriff directed the steeder holding the child and the unconscious man out of the line of fire.

    Tracy scowled but squared up to Russ without comment.

    Russ loathed his smug demeanor. He''d blast off the lawman''s face with one perfectly placed shot, then reload and riddle Tracy''s body with every round he had, to ensure the buzzards had nothing left to pick from the corpse.

    Russ took a wide stance, digging his boot into the dust, hand hovering over his holstered revolver. Tracy mirrored his movement, but eased one foot forward, resting his weight on it.

    The stars above gathered, incalculable glimmering astral witnesses to Russell''s loss avenged.

    With his flesh hand, Tracy formed a finger gun shape, pretended his thumb was the hammer, cocked it, and took aim. He yelled into the night. "Bang!" He raised his finger to his lips, blowing away imaginary smoke, mocking Russ.

    Russ gnashed his teeth so hard, one of them cracked. His eyes saw stars.

    The lawman squinted, then opened his eyes wide, feigning amazement. "Still standing? Well I have another."

    He raised his smartarm, mimicking the finger gun shape again. This time the metallic arm gleamed in the twin moonbeams. "Too scared to draw, Russell? I''m warning you. Won''t give you another chance."

    Russ had enough of being made a fool. All of the time in the haunted Carcosa must have broken the Terran, shale-splintered his mind. He''d show Trace who was the real ace.

    Quick as a wink, Russ'' hand traveled across his torso. He''d practiced and used the cross draw until his muscle memory performed the swift action without thought. But as he peered down the sight of his revolving gauss gun, a ball of light glowing from Tracy''s smarthand distracted him.

    As he squinted, trying to understand what he was witnessing, a barrel flash erupted at the end of the lawman''s alloyed finger, preventing Russ from seeing the machinations of the mechanical appendage.

    He pulled his trigger, but his shot went wide, only grazing Tracy''s duster.

    A strange sensation burned in him, then a slow, tormenting pain, like the gradual driving of a cold spike piercing his skin, penetrating the deeper layers, down to his vitals.

    Confusion wracked his mind. Russ could no longer hold a thought straight, nor stand. The dust laden ground rushed up to his face. He crumpled in a heap before sprawling out on his back.

    He drew breaths in short bursts. Each time it became more burdensome, causing him more grief. Darkness passed over him, but he could still see. It was the lawman standing over him, clutching his side, but still standing.

    Russ expected to see a face of smug triumph, but instead he caught something unexpected in Tracy''s expression. It looked like pity. No. Regret? Sorrow? Russ didn''t understand that look, but he did understand how Tracy bested him.

    "I gave you plenty warning," said Tracy, voice thick with regret.

    Plasma fumes rose from the tip of Tracy''s now oversized smartfinger, which had morphed into a one-shot mini cannon. Exposed wires, cogs, pistons, and open panels revealed that Trace the Ace had held a literal trick up his sleeve. That dirty cankershale.

    Russ tried to curse the man, but spewed only blood, hacking on his own life liquid.

    Metallic whooshing and zipping sounds filled Russ'' ears as he watched the mini finger cannon transform, shrinking, metal panels folding into place. The weapon concealed itself back into a cyborg hand form once more.

    Beneath him, Russ could feel his life liquid pooling, and under that, Rubrum drank freely.

    Russ drowned in dizziness, feeling lighter with each breath. The growing weightlessness lifted the burdens of life from Russ, then his life itself. He and Quynn would be reunited soon, friends through the end. He hoped Quynn would understand that he''d tried his hardest to avenge him.

    He blinked, but couldn''t find the strength to open his eyelids. He plummeted through darkness, until one by one, the stars above winked out and faded altogether.

 63 | KENTUCKY

    With Leroux''s borrowed handcuffs, Tracy shackled the muttering Roy to a seat in the hovercopter. Once he was sure Roy was secure and could not escape, he took Ashton off of Chasm and held him in his arms.

    "You okay, lil'' buddy?"

    It was a rhetorical question. Of course the boy was not okay. Not after what his young eyes had seen. Tracy looked the boy over, making sure he was alright physically. To his amazement the boy suffered no injuries aside from a few scrapes and a bruise where the tentacles had gripped him too tight.

    Ashton yawned. "My tummy hurts."

    Pity filled Tracy, but sympathy wouldn''t feed the child.

    "Hold up now." Leroux dug into his duster. "Yep. Still got it." He held up a leather flagon on a lanyard. "Might not be cold. But water is water."

    Tracy got settled into the shotgun seat of the cockpit first, then popped the cap off of the flagon and held it up to the child''s parched lips. Ashton gulped down the water with fervor.

    Leroux took the pilot''s position after getting Chasm up the hovercopter ramp and settled inside the craft. The steeder lay down, rested his head on the metal-plated floor between the two seats of the cockpit, between the sheriff and the marshal. After several false starts, the thrusters fired to life and the operating system illuminated the dashboard. A yip of triumph escaped the sheriff''s lips.

    The sheriff pulled up on the levers, shooting up and away from the labyrinthian gorge.

    Tracy was peering down at Ashton when Leroux let out a sharp gasp.

    "What?" he asked, head swiveling.

    The sheriff pointed out of the hovercopter. "The ancient city. It''s gone."

    Everything from the eroded walls to the teetering spires had vanished, as if it had all been one big mirage, a city made of sand, blown away by the raging winds of Mars. All that remained were the canals and the shadowy cleft where the two canyon walls met.

    Lost Carcosa. The name echoed in Tracy''s mind. Tingles crawled over Tracy''s skin in waves.

    Chasm made sound like a snort.

    "Yeah," Tracy snarled. "Good riddance."

    A groan sounded from behind them, reminding Tracy that he still had unfinished business. He''d captured Roy, but he still had to see to it that the fugitive was returned to Earth in one piece.

    "What happened to all of Roy''s followers?"

    Tracy scowled back at Roy, making sure he was still cuffed to the chair, then leered at Leroux. "That tall being. It dusted ''em."

    "Dusted?"

    "I don''t know how to describe it. They threw themselves at that slender thing, and it absorbed them, until only ash remained."You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

    A faraway gaze captured Leroux''s face. "What was that thing?"

    The King in Yellow, Tracy thought. But instead he said, "Don''t know. Something old. Older than Mars. Older than Earth."

    "Well, it''s dead now."

    "No. It was dead to begin with. It''s just dormant now."

    The sheriff shuddered. "What about those beasts? And that city? You think those were ancient Martian ruins?"

    Tracy''s eyes shot towards the kid.

    Leroux''s brows shot up, understanding this wasn''t a conversation to have now.

    Roy groaned again.

    "You shut up back there, or I''ll give you something to groan about, you useless bag of bones."

    Tracy grinned at his old pal. "I told you not to follow me."

    "You threatened to shoot me, actually."

    "Sorry."

    "Well, good thing I came back."

    Tracy nodded, a silent thank you.

    After a pause he asked, "Why did you come back?"

    "Because reasons." Leroux gulped. "I was thinking about your wife...and the little one she carries, and you. What we shared back in the day. And this little guy."

    Leroux reached over to tousle the kid''s hair.

    "Shhhh," said Tracy, recoiling. "He fell asleep."

    Ashton''s little head rested against Tracy''s badge in spite of the cool touch of the metal star against his skin.

    "Poor fella. Too much trauma for a kid to witness."

    Tracy nodded.

    "But it''s over now."

    Tracy stole a glance back at Roy. "Not quite." He glanced back at the kid again. "I don''t think he''s got any family or guardians here. Cora was a single mother."

    Leroux''s lips puckered in thought. "Shale, that''s a shame. When we get back to Noke''la, I''ll look into the local records first thing in the morning after some shuteye. See if there''s anyone who wants to take him."

    Ashton stirred on Tracy''s lap, mouth opening in a deep yawn. The boy adjusted, weaving an arm around Tracy''s torso. The marshal imagined he would have slept on Cora this way, holding her tight as he dreamed of HotThrusters dropships and model bullet trains.

    Now the boy had no one, thanks to Roy.

    But Roy would never break apart another family again.

    Tracy had done it. He''d finally caught Roy Rothspalt, despite braving a maddening alien crypt, and almost dying at the maws of those beasts, or the hands of the King in Yellow. He expected a shiver to run up his spine, at the thought of that slender tattered figure, but he''d conquered the alien daemon, thanks to Hina and his love for one another. And his concern for Ashton.

    The tension in Tracy''s chest finally released.

    Tracy caught Leroux reaching into his duster and producing a flask.

    "You''re supposed to be manning the craft."

    Leroux shook his head. "Thanks to the newer operating system, much of the flight controls are automated and dummy proof. I''ve got this thing set for Noke''la. We can sit back and relax. Celebrate the win. Like old times. You first."

    He handed Tracy the flask.

    "To the capture of Rip-Roaring Roy."

    The marshal hesitated for a moment, then cocked his head back. Kentucky Bourbon bit his tongue and burned his throat as it went down. He let out a satisfied sigh.

    Leroux took the flask back and did the same. "Hits the spot, huh."

    "Uh huh."

    Chasm lifted his noble stallion head staring at Leroux.

    "What?" asked the sheriff.

    "I believe he feels left out. This is his victory as much as ours."

    Leroux laughed, patting the steeder on the head. "You done good, steeder. We all would''ve died if not for you."

    Tracy patted the steeder too, offering the Mustang a warm smile.

    Soon Noctis Labyrinthus was nothing more than a web of cracks and crevasses far beneath them. The craft flew straight for Noke''la, putting the mysterious cursed city far behind them.

 64 | THE MARTIAN SKY

    "Hey, lady."

    "Hey honey."

    In just those two words, just the sound of her voice, relief flooded Tracy.

    "I got your message. I tried to contact you. Honest I did."

    "I know. I heard you. You couldn''t hear me though."

    "Got caught in a sandstorm." Tracy paused. Hina stayed quiet. "I''m okay now. It''s all over. My old buddy Leroux is helping us secure a ship home."

    Silence on the other end. Then sniffling.

    He had no words, no way to comfort her in their loss.

    "I''m sorry I couldn''t be there. I know you need me now more than ever. I know we both knew this loss was likely. But it still hurts. I¡ª"

    She cut him off. "Trace. She''s fine."

    "She?"

    "The baby. She''s fine."

    The words echoed in his ears. He fumbled over words, stammering.

    "W¡ªwe''re having a little girl? What about you?"

    "I gave the doctor a scare. Had an irregularity crop up. But now that they''ve identified it they can put precautions in place. They monitored me for a few days, but had me go home. Things turned back around."

    Tracy realized that her sniffles weren''t tears of sorrow, but tears of joy. Just like his.

    "I don''t know if it will work, but do you want to try video comm for a moment?"This book is hosted on another platform. Read the official version and support the author''s work.

    "Yes."

    They tried. Against all odds it established a connection.

    Though grainy and appearing out of focus, Tracy could see Hina plain as day. Oh, how he''d missed that face. It felt like eternity.

    "Hey babe. There''s someone I want you to meet."

    Tracy squatted, bringing the comm down to Ashton''s eye level.

    ***

    Tracy lowered Ashton into the padded cryo chamber. The shot administered to the boy wore him out quick, inducing a drowsy state that curbed any fear of entering a claustrophobic chamber that would seal vacuum tight, a mechanical womb designed to keep him alive for the not quite three month journey home, back to Earth.

    After the chamber sealed itself, Tracy watched Ashton''s innocent face through the display window. Though he''d been through more than any small child should ever have to endure, peace masked his face.

    Tracy couldn''t say the same for Roy. Hollow eyes had stared up at him, as Tracy lowered Roy into the cryo tube. The once jabbering fugitive complied now in docile obedience, mumbling incoherent utterances under his breath. As Tracy had sealed the tube, Roy''s eyes stared not at him, but past him, unable to see what lay in front of him, unaware of anything at all.

    Whether an act the fugitive put on, or a real mental condition, Roy would face the courts, he would stand trial for his deeds. Justice would be met.

    Tracy then removed his clothes and donned his own cryo jumpsuit. He laid his head back as the nursebot administered him with the drowsy adult dosage. Even before the medication kicked in, he felt at peace. He''d captured Roy. That was all finally behind him. He could rest now, satisfied. Almost.

    Hina tugged at his mind. Would she make it? Would she survive? Anything could happen while he was under ice. For him it would be a few blinks later, but for Hina, she still had a large chunk of time, months without Tracy. Only time would tell.

    As he closed his eyes, he offered up prayers and supplications to God, that his poor wife would be taken care of while he journeyed across the great empty black of starless space.

    He had a daughter to meet, a son to introduce, and a wife to embrace.

    ***

    From the ground below, Sheriff Blaine Leroux watched as the ship streaked across the evening heavens, shrinking into ball of light, until it broke away from the horizon joining the stars in the Martian sky.

    He smiled, sad to see Tracy go, but happy for his friend all the same.

    With a loose grip on the reins, Leroux gave Chasm a light kick with his dirty boots, steering him into the sunset.

    "Giddyup boy. We got us a long ride back to Tharsis."

    END

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