1. I have a very specific target market in mind for this so I have taken one of the POW! Comic characters and transposed them, so to speak.

2. Science-Fiction is not my thing ordinarily, but since this is a narrow sub-genre I am hoping I can stay away from High Concepts and Confusing Plot Devices and keep this on the level of Leigh Bracket (whom I love) and Buck Rogers where the trappings are merely window dressing.

3. Title is working only.

4. I realize that when some people who are not Indians write about Indians they just make up a tribe. This is obviously to avoid offending or to avoid research. I find this vaguely insulting. Why make up a tribe if there are real tribes out there? I chose Comanches because they are Plains Indians par excellance and the Sioux and the Cheyenne get enough attention and the Comanche have just as much a colorful history and are the Indians we had here in Texas and this part of the world. If I can I will try before submission to get someone to vet it.

5. Being mostly unfamiliar with Science-Fiction as a whole (and I realize Serenity fits into this genre but I have never watched it) I will defend any resemblance to other already existing tropes by saying there's nothing new under the sun and any resemblance is accidental. Any glaring resemblances should be pointed out to me, however.

6. I really have no idea where this is going yet and so it may never be finished. Detective and modern Adventure stories aren't my thing either and I may prove incapable of constructing a decent plot.

7. Comments and excoriating critiques are encouraged. Really.

EDITED TO ADD: Such as it is I have come up with a complete plot. And a closer perusal of the rules for submission reveal that there's a definite word limit. And since this was never going to fit into that, I'm going to have to submit it in two parts. They say "serial stories welcome but single stand alones preferred" so we'll see. So here's a complete Part 1:

PART 1

My name, or the only name I’ll give you if we ever meet, is Redbone.

It’s not my real name. My real name is none of your damned business. There are people in this day and age who think that’s a quaint custom, a little Indian superstition. But I know better. There are things that could be called against me, if you could tell those things my real name. They could find me then.

I am a Comanche. Or at least most of me is. There are also people who find this quaint. As if we were all gone years and years ago or we were all still back on Earth, riding horses and hunting the buffalo and the universe spins around and around and we don’t care for life beyond the horizon or we’re just too damned ignorant.

Truth to tell, sometimes I wish I was back there. And I wish I was ignorant.

We had horses when I was a kid. We had a ranch in Texas and we busted horses for a living and followed the rodeo. But I lost all that a long time ago. 350 years ago, in fact.

I lost a lot of things. But, as my sister would say, that was my own fault.

There are also people in the world who have from time to time, wished I was dead. A lot of them have tried to make this wish come true. And I wish they could succeed. But they can’t. Not yet. No, my sister told me I have to “atone”. I have to “make things right”. I have to restore “the balance”. And so, no matter how hard they try, they can’t kill me. I’m stuck here in the world of flesh, still looking about like I did when I was 30. I’ve been “atoning” for a long, long time.

And I’m tired. Very tired.

People live a long time now, provided something doesn’t kill them, like an accident or a war or a rare disease brought in by some careless traveler. People are still trying to get technology to make them immortal. I laugh when I hear about it. Immortality is vastly overrated. I would give it up if I could.

In those first few months I tried. But I quickly learned that while I couldn’t die, I could damn sure still feel pain. So, as you can imagine, I try to avoid that now if I can. I’ve been shot, lasered, disintegrated, drowned, broken up and just plain shot to pieces. One time I was locked up in a fusion reactor. That was the worst. I kept reforming and being burned up til the bastards I was after at the time destroyed the whole complex. If they knew what they was doing they would have just left me there. They sure were surprised to see me later. But I had by then seen that look of surprise many times. The novelty and satisfaction had worn off by then.

I don’t know why I have to “atone”. I mean, I know what I did and I know it was wrong. Knew it at the time. But there’s been plenty of people done as bad as me or worse and as far as I know, they haven’t had to go thru what I been thru. But my sister said there’s always been people like me. At least one at any given time, more after mankind spread its evil beyond our little planet. I don’t know who the others were or are but I feel sorry for the poor bastards. She’s a wise woman, my sister. White Crow Woman is her name, her real name. It don’t matter none if you know it; she’s been dead for 300 years. She’s beyond any harm this world or the next can throw at her. But she still talks to me sometimes. Usually when, every once in a while, I rebel, and try to be my own man again, and say I’m not doing this anymore. I’m done. I don’t care what bad people need hunting down or what they did or how bad the hammer of Justice needs to come down on them, I ain’t doing it no more. It’s never going to end anyway. There’s never any shortage of evil in the universe and what difference does it make what I do? But these spells never last long. I can’t get no rest when I try it.

If I do manage to ignore her, she sends the Little Girl to me. And the Little Girl tells me why I have to go on. And why I will never rest for long until the Great Spirit says I can. And why she can’t ever rest either. Not as long as I’m alive. She don’t ever scream at me or threaten. She’s a sweet thing. Just like she was when she was alive. And she makes me bawl like a baby and I drag myself out into the universe again, her using the guilt like a lash or a yoke around my neck.

A long time ago White Crow Woman put her mark on me or rather the mark of the Great Spirit, she says. The mark of the Crow. It’s always on me, sometimes big and sometimes small. Sometimes here and sometimes there. Sometimes it glows and sometimes it’s black like a tattoo. But it’s always there. On top of my clothes or my armor or on my skin if I’m naked like the end of a light the Spirit shines down on me. Like I’m on a stage and this is a spotlight and I can scurry around and twist and turn on that stage but I can’t get away from it. There’s nowhere to hide.

There’s a few songs and poems about me out there now, but luckily for my line of work, they don’t have many of the details right. Sometimes having a rep makes things easier; most of the time, it only makes it harder.

And so I stood there alone on the observation deck of a rickety freighter in the year of our Lord 2320 and stared down at the planet below me, wondering how easy or difficult things would be this time. I was pretty far out from the civilized worlds of the Republic and that suited me just fine. Things would likely be somewhat more down to a human level, you might say. Less technology makes for less surprises, usually. And a knife is just as likely to settle an argument as a handray. It’s interesting still to me, how much of the dreams of the people of my time came true about the future and how many didn’t and how many became nightmares and how many things happened that no one ever predicted. And of how some things, like a blade or a gun, still survive and are used, especially out here, because their efficiency and simplicity were never improved on. Oh, the technology may have changed their components somewhat, but their basic function? No.

Just like some aspects of human nature never change.

There’s a rumor, a legend, about a planet where humans have evolved into a race of peaceful, benevolent, superior beings, where they have done away with all the desires or genetic mistakes that make people criminals or deviants or just plain no good to anyone. Generation after generation being born into happiness and harmony with themselves and their world.

I don’t believe it exists. If it does the people sure don’t sound human. Perhaps that was the point. It was certainly a fact that people had been using technology to transform themselves into things barely recognizable as human anymore.

Myself, I was armed to the teeth, just then. I’ve had to go into places with no more than the clothes on my back but from what I had learned the world below me didn’t have much of a functioning government and as long as I wasn’t arriving with anything bigger than I could carry, they didn’t much care what weapons you brought with you. I would imagine they would think you a fool if you didn’t show up with any. Of course I could have bought some from a dealer after I arrived. But why invite an attack right off the ship?

So I had my two guns strapped to my hips. They were old and had seen me thru many an encounter. Not much different in appearance or function from old gunpowder-driven weapons, except that these could form bullets out of the elements in the air in most conditions so you always had ammunition provided you didn’t fire too many at once. If you did that then you had to wait a little while for it to catch up. Useful and nothing new in this day and age. The trouble was, they made a distinctive whining sound when they were manufacturing more projectiles, and anyone with ears would know for a fact you were out of ammo.

In a shoulder-holster I carried a newer handray, good for sweeping larger crowds. Along my belt were several popbombs of different kinds. I had a knife in each boot and a larger one in a sheath at my back. I missed my machete but I had lost that a while back and hadn’t replaced it yet. Still light years away and still lodged in that werewoman’s skull, I guess. In the long black coat I was wearing were a variety of other things; some were weapons, like the noornet. Some were just to make travel easier, like the thermblanket. Around my black slouch hat, doubling as a hatband, was a firewhip.

There were a few other passengers on this ship I had hitched a ride on, a small freighter barely holding itself together. The ship’s captain said he was here to trade in weapons and spices supposedly. I didn’t ask. But it was the only ship outbound to this planet at the time. The planet itself didn’t even have an official name yet. Locals called it Daydream. Don’t know why except that it was out of the way and people sometimes dreamed about getting away from it all. Tho usually it was to somewhere a little more pleasant. Perhaps the locals had a sense of humor.

Something moved alongside me.

“The shuttle is ready to depart, sir.”

I knew from the metallic voice, as well as the smell of old oil and the sound of gears, that it was a robot, without looking. But even if that didn’t tell me, the polite tone would have.

I looked at it. Like the ship it served on, it was a rickety contraption, its surface marked and its joints showing the signs of much repair work. And none too careful either. It was humanoid in shape but inhuman in detail. It would never be mistaken for a human being, unlike some of the androids you saw the closer to civilization you came. Its limbs were relatively smooth except for the signs of wear and various dents. Its face was featureless except for a mouth slit and a pair a circular eyes. It was a dull grey in color and wore no distinctive clothes. A great number 4 had been painted sloppily on its chest.
“If you would care to gather your articles?” it said. Its voice sounded new, the newest thing about it.
“I’ve got my things,” I replied. “Lead the way.”

It turned unsteadily and walked away. There was a catch in its hip joint I noticed.

“New voice?” I asked it. It didn’t reply.

“Nice weather we’re having,” I commented. Nothing.

It was not above a Level ll, then, which was pretty much evident by its appearance. It didn’t have the higher functions necessary to engage in a conversation. It was a mere slave, suitable for only certain tasks. I had seen the evolution of mechanical men come a long way. In the last 50 years soldiers had been developed, Combators, they were called. Deadly and fast and very hard to destroy. Sometimes the Republic used them against rebel worlds. Other times private corporations used them against each other in their private little conflicts. Illegally, of course. I had fought them several times. I had a great wish not to have to do so again. Luckily, as I said earlier, anything like that should be far from here.

I settled into a seat in the back of the little shuttle, the coverings split and worn, shifting a little until I found a position that didn’t involve me getting poked in the ass by whatever was broke underneath the cushion. The four other passengers came in and took seats in front of me. I had already decided they were no threat and bore no relation to what I was here for. One was a white-haired man carrying a small case. A courier maybe or even an agent of a business looking to expand its operations. He’d had a look every time I’d seen him that said he would rather be somewhere else. Perhaps he was at the end of his career and his climb hadn’t quite worked out the way he thought it should. He had a bodyguard with him, a young woman, very capable looking, her black hair short, no make-up, no jewelry, wearing a plain black bodysuit. She had the handle of a shamssword strapped to her arm and doubtless other weapons on her somewhere. She swept the shuttle with a practiced eye. She had questioned me before. I, being in an expansive mood at the time, answered her questions politely. She had only been interested in whether or not I might be a threat to her charge. Now, she barely spared me a glance. The other two passengers were men, dressed in the rugged coveralls of laborers of some kind. I took them for mechs, looking for work, perhaps. Or looking to disappear. I ignored them, as I had this whole short trip.

The door of the shuttle hissed shut.

I took off my sunglasses and pushed up the sleeve of my coat. The portacomp was there strapped to my wrist. I removed part of it and expanded it and called up the info I had been studying for the past few weeks, going over everything one more time. I looked at the woman’s face in the little hologram and the picture of the dog she had with her. It was a handsome dog, golden-haired and with the expressive face all hounds had.

Then I deleted the info. The shuttle trembled and dropped away from the freighter.

A memory came back to me. My cousin and I, when we were both 6 years old, riding our horses faster and faster across the dusty, flat land near our ranch, racing my uncle’s red truck rattling down the highway.


It didn’t always involve just killing someone. Sometimes it involved saving someone.

Course this usually led to killing someone somewhere along the line. But of the two I’d rather start out with the saving. I had the hope that one day I could do the saving without the killing. Not that I had a problem with killing those that needed it. But conflict tended to make for a longer day. And sometimes a painful one.

Anyway, it wouldn’t matter if I had a problem with it or not.

My first close view of Daydream was obscured by a thunderstorm. Terraforming was an inexact science and most times the engineers where happy if they could arrive at something just close to Earth conditions. The fact that Daydream was having a storm meant that here, at least, they had succeeded in getting atmospheric conditions at least close enough. Some terraformed planets never developed enough rainfall. As for life, well, sometimes you got what you wanted and sometimes not. Some animals and plants ended up recognizable and some only vaguely resembled the genes they had come from. There was one planet, close to the center of the Republic’s domains, that had produced a kind of beetle that was fond of eating metal. The quarantine around there, needless to say, was tighter than anywhere else. They had been discussing destroying it for a hundred years and could never agree. Since the bugs were known to survive in space, some thought that wouldn’t guarantee the bugs wouldn’t somehow spread. Some thought the metal-eating capacity might come in handy one day as a weapon. Several times in the early days, some of the bugs had hitched a ride to other spaceports. They had been quickly destroyed before infestation became rampant. Or so they believed. Hoped.

But stepping off the shuttle I learned first-hand what I had read, that Daydream’s air was thin. All of us started gasping it in by effort and the short trot from the shuttle to the port left us all short of breath, the older man especially, even tho we were well below sea level here. His bodyguard fished a portatank from somewhere and strapped it to his head.

I hoped I wasn’t going to have to do too much running while I was here. But then I was always hoping for one thing or another. I was pretty much an optimist, believe it or not. Despite being constantly disappointed, it was the only way I could keep from going insane.

I never prayed. I was reliably informed the Great Spirit had long ago turned his face from me. Sometimes White Crow Woman could help me, especially when it came to dealing with something that came from the Other Side, but most often, I was on my own. That was OK. Unlike some Indians I could name, the Comanche had always been independent sorts. Hell, in the really old days, we only obeyed our own chiefs half the time. And we were never slaves to religion or anything else. My great-grandma had told me when I was a boy, that when the Ghost Dance Cult swept the plains and had a lot of Indians running off to do fool things, the Comanche said, “No, thanks”. The Navajo, otherwise suspect in many things to my great-grandmother, had said the same.

A strong people were my ancestors, and we got used to having every hand turned against us. It became a matter of pride.

The port terminal was empty except for us passengers. It was mainly plastics and a little metal inside, an abandoned desk, a little bench on either side. It probably looked good a hundred years or so ago when it was new. Now it had been patched and repaired with whatever material was handy, including wood. The shuttle pilot stomped in behind us out of the rain. At that moment double doors directly in front of us swung open and a fat, bearded man taller than me, came out, wiping his hands on a towel at his waist. Behind him came another, smaller man with a rat face. Beyond them came the noise of a tavern, crowded by the sound of it, voices lifted in shouts and laughter. Various smells preceded our host, liquor and piss and smoke. But most tantalizing of all came the smell of cooking meat. Real meat.

I couldn’t tell what it was and I didn’t care; short of human, I was eating it.

The Republic had banned the eating of real meat decades ago. Inhumane and unnecessary, they said, what with all the delicious substitutes out there now. But such a law was hard enough to enforce on Old Earth much less way out here. The Republic was good at banning things for our own good. Which was why a lot of people left and kept on going. And a lot of them had managed to take the DNA of pigs and chickens and sheep and cattle with them. Cloning stock was a thriving business during the expansion years of the Republic. The bureaucrats looked the other way for a long time, more interested in the pioneers establishing viable colonies. But slowly and surely civilization, with all its benefits, caught up to them. A lot of them, or their children or grandchildren, had pulled up stakes and headed out again.

To places like Daydream, for instance.

Our proprietor looked us over, sparing most of his attention on me. I guess he thought I looked like trouble. Or he was trying to figure out what I was. Or both.

He introduced himself as Barton, no first name, unless that was it. Then he ran down the rules and the prices per room per night if we were considering staying. Said if we didn’t like them there was another spacesport on Daydream and about 50 little settlements worldwide we could visit. There was also another hotel further into town. He grinned and said none of these places were better than here and considerably less safe. The name of this little town was Cloudsafe, which we all knew already. He said he didn’t care what our business was but if we caused trouble, then he expected, if we lived thru it, that we would pay for any damages done to his establishment. There was transportation available for those who wished to go into town; those who wished a meal or a room should follow his assistant.

Me and the white-haired man and his bodyguard followed. The mechs walked to a side door which led into town. Barton remained as he and the pilot greeted each other.

The warm air of the tavern was like a slap. I gave the room a quick once over before we turned to walk upstairs. About a hundred people were in it, dressed in all manner of outfits. I saw ex-soldiers and a pilot and crew from one of the larger corporations, their uniforms clean and distinct. I saw men in what looked like real leather talking to women in cotton or wool outfits or dresses. I saw a cyborg warrior, towering over the folks next to him at the bar. I saw a man from the Muslim planet Jahara, recognizable from his dress and the jewel he wore in his forehead; renegade or not I couldn’t tell. I saw members of every race known to mankind. All of them, men and women, looked hard, and most of them were armed. It was easy to tell the predators among them; they had a look in their eyes that was more than curiosity as they watched us climb the stairs. I didn’t worry about them. I looked like far from an easy mark. No, the time for worry would be when I began asking questions. Of course there were always those who would want to challenge anyone new, anyone who looked like he thought he was tough or handy with a gun. At least one of the people below would be the local fast-draw. Probably not too far into his reign since rulers of that type never lasted long. I didn’t worry about that either.

We handed over our credit IDs to the rat-faced assistant. He scanned them and returned them and we entered our rooms, the other two shown to quarters further down the hall from mine. The door slid open reluctantly, it seemed. Nothing special inside. A glowlight in the ceiling, another on a small desk, a single bed not looking too broken down. Plastic walls and furniture. A small computer on the desk. I took off my coat and hat. I activated the scanner in my sunglasses and surveyed the room. A microphone hidden inside the desk. No cameras. And surprisingly, no vermin. I took off the glasses and settled at the computer. It had limited information about the tavern and the surroundings, including a map of the town. There was a history of Daydream. I already knew most of that. I ordered food and in a little while the little chamber built into the wall next to the desk chimed and I opened it and removed the contents. Real ground beef smothered in gravy with a variety of vegetables only some of which I recognized. It wasn’t the best meal I had ever had but far from the worst, especially in this day and age. After the meal I took advantage of my locale and ordered cigarettes with a tiny lighter. Tobacco was another banned item only available to the Fringers.

After a quiet little while I put on my coat and hat and sunglasses and went down into the nest of snakes.

I planted myself next to whoever at the bar looked the drunkest. In this case it was a man and a woman, about middle-aged, dressed plainly, seemingly only interested in getting drunk and staying that way. The man only had one gun visible. I allowed myself to be drawn into their little conversation. I didn’t have to say much. Eventually I managed to draw the talk around to dogs. Specifically, a dog I used to have when I was kid. A good dog. I missed him.

“Dog?” said the man, leaning across his woman, almost resting his chin between her ample breasts. “Not too many around here. Most of ‘em are ‘cross town. Fightin’ dogs. People bet big money.”

“Yeah, we used to do that too,” I lied.

“But we saw a dog in here the other day, remember, hon?” his woman said. “Funny looking dog. Had that big head, ‘member?”

He mumbled something in reply.

“Big head?” I asked.

“Yeah. Funny lookin’ I said at the time...”

“Belong to someone around here?” I asked.

“Nah,” she slurred. “Some girl, passin’ thru.” Then she looked at me, suddenly suspicious. “Why you wanna know?”

I gave her my most charming smile. “I dunno. Just curious. You brought it up.”

She thought on that for a moment. “Yeah. Just some girl passin’ thru. Don’t know where she went. Didn’t talk to her. She wasn’t staying here, tho.” She took another drink. “Pretty dog. But funny lookin’. Had a biiiig ol’ head.”

Well, I thought to myself. She was here. Or had been. But I knew that. She would know other people might be on her trail. She wouldn’t stay in one place for long if she was smart. I only hoped I had gotten here first.

Someone bumped into me from behind. Hard. I turned slowly—perhaps it was an accident—to find myself staring into nothing but the back of the cyborg. He blotted out a large part of my field of vision.

Ah, well, then. Things are going to move at a fast pace, I see.

I left the bar. Across the room was an exit. The storm had stopped. If there was going to be a confrontation, I wanted more room and a better view.

I walked outside and proceeded to amble unhurriedly down the street. It was paved with stone I noticed. The buildings here rose to two stories. Some of them looked fairly old, constructed of plasteel and concrete.

A rise in the noise of the tavern behind me told me someone had just exited. Then the sounds were muffled again. I turned into the first alley that offered itself. Either the cyborg was merely looking for a fight or he didn’t like my line of conversation. The alley was empty. Trash blew in the wind. When I had moved far enough down into the shadows I turned and waited.

The mouth of the alley became filled with a huge form. The cyborg was doubtless a large man to begin with but stretching his form to make him almost 8 ft. tall made his silhouette distorted. He looked awkward but I knew from experience this wouldn’t translate into an awkward opponent. Behind him I good see two more shadows. Normal sized-guys but any details were lost in the dark. I heard them whispering to each other. The alley opened up behind me to both right and left; useful to keep in mind.

When they drew close enough I stepped out into the middle. They stopped, the cyborg throwing out his huge arms to either side. The other two didn’t waste time on preliminaries or talking. They went for their guns.

I flicked the noornet at them.

Instantly the little ball made a sharp popping noise and expanded. Tendrils of light reached out. The men shouted as the net grew to fill the alley and then fell over them. And then it squeezed. One of them got a shot off. It struck the wall next to me and ricocheted away.

I strolled up. The net clumped them all together and they fell over as one. It pinned all their limbs together. I made sure none of them had a weapon they could still aim at me. The cyborg growled and tried to snap the lit up strands which only made it tighten more. They were helpless. I reached out and touched the top half of the ball that had contained it.

“All I have to do,” I said amiably, “is turn this little knob here and this thing will keep on getting tighter til it slices you all into cubesteak.” I was pleased to use the term “cubesteak” amongst people who would know what it was. The two whose faces I could see glared up at me. One was young, close-cropped blonde hair, a few brave sprouts of hair on his chin. His eyes were wide and frightened. The cyborg looked up with his artificial eyes in a hard-planed smooth face, his head bald, his eyebrows black where the hair grew around old scars. Another livid scar ran across his forehead. “So talk,” I said. “What do you want with me?”

“We’re not talkin’!” said the blond kid. Not very smart. He could’ve just said they were out to rob me. Or just looking for some amusement.

“OK,” I replied. I turned the little knob. The noornet hummed a little louder, drew a little tighter. Blood started out on the arms of the cyborg.

“Wait!” he barked. “She told us! She gave us money! She said people were comin’ for her! She wanted us to stop them.”

“Who?”

“We don’t know. She didn’t give us a name. She had a dog with her. But you knew that.”

“Where is she?”

“We don’t know! We...” His voice trailed off. He looked at me. Specifically, he looked at my chest. My coat had fallen away and he seemed transfixed by the angular straight lines of the Indian crow on my white shirt.

“You...you’re...” He trailed off and looked in the general direction of the man laying half underneath him. “Dallas,” he said. “You see that?”

Dallas, the young blond, looked at the crow with widening eyes. “Yeah, I see it. You’re an Injun!”

It’d been a while since I’d heard anyone say that and I had to stifle a laugh. It reminded me, that in the old days I had a white friend. One of his favorite things to do was, whenever a news report came on about say, a plane having to land because of engine trouble, he’d sit up and say, “Injuns!” He’d laugh til he cried at his own joke. I would too, but then, I loved him at the time.

“Well?” I asked, holding back my inapposite humor.

“She told us about you. We were supposed to watch for you, too. We’re supposed to take you to her.”

Really, I thought. Well, that would make things simpler. But how could she know I was coming?

“That’s all I need to hear.” said a voice behind me. “Don’t go for your guns. Turn around real slow.”

I turned and didn’t go for my guns, mainly out of curiosity. But before that I turned another little knob on the noornet.

As I caught sight of those behind me I thought, well, never let it be said that living for hundreds of years doesn’t mean you don’t make stupid mistakes.

Four men stood behind me. The two laborers, the mechs, the two I had ignored, were in front. One had a gun drawn, a handray. He smiled. The other simply stood there. He was very still, very erect. He held no weapon and no emotion showed on his face.

A robot, I thought. A Combator.

I had, of course, used the scanners in my sunglasses when I had first seen them as we boarded the freighter, but they had both registered as humans. Someone had figured out a new way to disguise the damned things.

On either side of these two were two men I didn’t recognize. Locals, I guess. One with a bushy beard and long greasy-looking hair streaming out from under his hat. The other looked like he could’ve been his younger brother except he was lacking the beard. They also had their guns drawn.

“Thanks a lot, Indian,” said the human mech, who wasn’t really a mech. “Saved us some trouble.”

“Who are you and what do you want with the girl?” I asked. I didn’t really care about his answer. I was counting.

“Oh, it doesn’t matter about names does it?” said the mech. “Let’s just say me and my partner here have been employed to bring her back. Her and her dog. She stole something that belongs to them.”

What is it about this dog? I wondered. Carrier of some valuable virus? Some special clone? The info I had tracked down said the girl wasn’t even employed by the company I figured had hired these two. Her father had been but he was dead. What, did she steal the CEO’s pet?

“But don’t worry,” he continued, “we aren’t going to hurt her. We just want what she stole.” He said out of the side of his mouth to his companions, “Kill them but save one of those guys in the net.”

The Combator strode forward.

The noornet, the primary source for light in the alley, shut down.

I drew and fired as the alley was plunged into darkness.

I spared one shot for the robot, striking it in the head, just wanting to slow it down. With the gun in my left I fired at his partner and saw him go down. His handray sliced the air over our heads with red heat. The alley was filled with shouts and gunfire. In the intermittent light from the guns I managed to fire one more shot at one of the locals before the robot was on me.

I sidestepped away from it, brought my left hand gun up to its temple and fired point blank. The bullet ricocheted off its metal skull and knocked it off balance. I tried to sweep its legs out from under it but it was too strong and too fast. One hand clamped on my thigh and the other on my coat and it hurled me into the wall. I felt my head crack against the old concrete and I dropped my guns, almost blacking out. I felt a metal hand clamp around my neck and I thought, this is going to hurt. I heard a roar behind me and the hand was pulled away, half-dragging me back and down to the ground. I climbed to my feet and saw the cyborg struggling with the robot, trying to rip the thing’s head from its shoulders as if he were fighting a human opponent. The robot extended its right arm and I saw a long blade snap out of its hand. It tried to cut the cyborg’s hands away but it wasn’t dealing with a human either. The metal in the cyborg’s arms stopped the blade. The robot lowered the blade and then I saw its body light up as electricity arced around it. The cyborg roared again and was knocked away by the discharge. He fell to his knees. Dizzy, I ran up, taking a popbomb from my belt. I flicked the arming switch. “Stay down!” I shouted to the cyborg.

The Combator heard me as I came. It turned with inhuman speed and I saw one hand come up and a nasty looking muzzle protrude out from under its wrist. The gun fired, the bullets taking me in the chest. But before I fell I threw the little bomb. Magnetized, it stuck to the metal underneath the robot’s coveralls.

There was a loud crump as the bomb went off. I rolled over groaning.

The robot, its lower body and one arm mangled by the explosion, stood encased in ice up to its neck. I rose to my hands and knees, panting and cursing, trying to suck in oxygen from the thin air and past the holes in my lungs. I hadn’t even been sure which bomb I had grabbed. All I knew was I couldn’t risk a big explosion. I didn’t want to harm the cyborg. Not if he was telling the truth about the girl.

He was struggling to rise, breaking ice from his legs as he did. He spared a look at the robot and then came to me. He helped me up.

“I thought you was dead...” he began to say. Then he stopped as he saw the blood on me. Then he backed away as he saw my mangled chest closing up before his eyes. He would be able to see that in the dark. The shirt remained torn and bloody but the crow was still there, going uninterrupted across the shirt and my skin.

“What in the hell are you?” he rasped out.

For some reason I felt like being honest. “I’m a man accursed,” I replied, choking. I spat out blood and staggered away.

I picked up my hat and my guns. The elder of the two locals was down, a neat hole in his forehead. There was no sign of the other. The cyborg looked around. Both of his companions were gone. I walked over to the mech. He was laying on his back, trying to reach his fallen handray. I picked it up and tossed it to the cyborg. I crouched down. The mech’s chest was black with blood.

“How many of you are here?” I asked.

He looked up, tried to focus on me. “You’ll find out,” he said in a whisper. “And more are coming. A lot more. They got my message...”. He tried to laugh and then he died.

I searched him. Found a little communicator, an ID card, probably fake, with just enough credits on it for the job. No more weapons. I guess he figured the Combator was enough.

I rose up. The cyborg was still staring at me.

I reached for a cigarette, offered him one. He declined. I lit up. When I was done coughing I asked, “You got a name?”

His expression remained the same as he answered me. “Gath,” he said. “Mr. Gath.”

“Mr. Gath,” I repeated. “Well, Mr. Gath, you can call me Redbone.”

A cracking sound drew our attention to the robot. It was still functioning, trying to break free of the ice. A warm glow began to spread from its middle. Even the older models, which this one obviously wasn’t, were resourceful bastards.

“I think you better come with me,” I told Mr. Gath. I held up another popbomb. He nodded slowly. I walked over to the robot and delicately dropped the bomb on its exposed head.

We were a block away when it exploded, the impact this time shaking the street underneath our feet. The light from it threw our shadows out before us.

Bumped for update.

Well, good, bad or indifferent, at least it's done. I'm fairly happy with it.

Still need an actual title.

Have decided against trying to get it vetted. In addition to tracking someone down and the delay this would cause, I've done plenty of research and I've decided there's nothing in here inaccurate or offensive. I've decided to take my chances.

I will submit it later today and I will let you share in my crushing disappointment later.

PART TWO

There were different ways I would come to know which “missions” I was to take. Sometimes I would see a news report and I would know.

I also had contacts within the government and the military. Saving someone’s life or the life of a loved one tended to make people grateful. Or eliminating some embarrassing situation, like those bloodthirsty rebels on New France. On rare occasions I would be so incensed by something I would take it upon myself.

Sometimes it came to me in dreams and White Crow Woman would talk to me, tho I had found out the hard way that in assuming that I had to be careful.

And sometimes, very rarely, it came from the Little Girl.

In the case of the girl (and the dog) that’s how I came to be on Daydream. The Little Girl didn’t say much but I tend to put great stock in what little she says. And so I did some legwork, some research, asked some questions, all of which seemed to irritate some people mightily. I found out the girl (and the dog) had disappeared and that some people, apparently employed by the worst, most underhanded company in the known universe, wanted her bad, and that in her wake, several bodies had begun to pile up. I couldn’t find out much about what she had done or why they wanted her but the Little Girl said she must be found and protected and that was good enough for me.

And so I stood there in the untamed countryside outside of Cloudsafe on the Fringer planet Daydream standing next to an 8 ft. tall cyborg who claimed he was to lead me to her, and wondered, what next. I didn’t say it out loud. I remembered one of my dad’s favorites sayings: “Never ask, ‘what next?’, boy. Somethin’ might be listenin’.”

Mr. Gath was not altogether comfortable around me. I could see him eyeing me sidelong every once in a while. Well, you could hardly blame him. It’s not every day that you see evidence that, not only does the supernatural exist, it’s standing right next to you. He was a man of this age, a man who was used to being in a world ruled by technology. Hell, he was a product of technology. He had been a soldier he said, and volunteered for the cyborg augmentation process when he was injured beyond repair. He had gone on to fight in more little wars and then, all of his comrades dead, he had finally had enough, retired with his pension and gone to the farthest reaches of the known universe. Which was here.

I knew there were horses on Daydream and I had been looking forward to riding, but, no. Mr. Gath was too big for one, of course, but I had thought with his augmented systems he could have just run beside us but he said some of his systems were starting to break down, the joints in his artificial legs particularly. He didn’t know what he would do if they failed. There wasn’t anyone remotely qualified to work on them here on Daydream.

“I didn’t expect to live this long,” he said with a laugh.

I smiled crookedly at that. Neither did I, I thought.

I didn’t explain much about what I was. But he was curious about what an Indian was, and I talked about that, and what it meant to be a Comanche. He was a warrior at heart and some of the history I told him spoke to his spirit. He had known Indians before, he said, from different tribes, he thought, but he had never managed to talk to one.

So we whiled away the time as we walked in the thin air and the dust toward the bare hills miles outside of Cloudsafe. There was no sign it had rained the night before.

“This is the spot,” Mr. Gath said finally.

I looked around. Nothing to see but low rolling hills, treeless, only stacks of rocks of varying size to break up the monotony.
I wasn’t happy with this announcement. “Here?” I asked. “You said you were supposed to take me to her. I don’t see her.”

“She said to bring you here,” he replied defensively. He looked around himself. “That’s all she said.”

I was a naturally suspicious sort but I also had gotten good at reading people. It didn’t seem to me Mr. Gath was playing me.

But on the other hand it was possible someone had been playing him. I drew back my coat from my guns, scanning the empty landscape around us.

“Wait,” he said suddenly, his head cocked. “I hear something.”

His hearing, being artificial, was better than mine.

“Over there,” he said, pointing with one long arm.

“Over there” was one more hilltop, no different than the rest. But I thought I saw a little bit of dust rising up. I put my hand to a gun.

At the crest of the hill it appeared.

It was a dog. The dog. Big and yellow. It stood at the top of the hill and looked us over. Then it wagged its tail and came running.

I left my hand near my gun.

“Yeah,” said Mr. Gath happily. “That’s her. That’s her dog.”

As it drew nearer I understood why the drunk woman had said it had a big head. I had been picturing a head too big for its body but that wasn’t what it was. Its head was a normal size proportionately but the skull over its eyes was more of a dome. It didn’t slope back from the eyes like usual for a dog of this kind. Otherwise, it looked just like any yellow hound I had ever seen.

It stopped before us, tail wagging, almost bending itself in half it was so happy. Whatever else was going on, I decided, there was no harm in this hound.

I stooped down stroking its big head. “Good dog,” I said, smiling in spite of myself. The head didn’t feel unnatural. No unusual bumps or protrusions. It licked my face. Then it bolted away a few feet and looked back at us.

I looked at Mr. Gath, eyebrow cocked.

It barked, the sound loud in the quiet. It ran a few more feet, then looked back again.

“It looks like,” I said, “we’re supposed to follow it.”

The dog fairly jumped in place. And then it did something that went a long way toward explaining why we were all here.

It began to scratch at the ground with one foreleg. Not haphazardly but with purpose. Deliberate, careful strokes. I walked over.

In the dirt were two clear letters. An “F” and an “O”. As we watched in astonishment it continued until it wrote out the word “Follow”.

“I’ll be damned,” breathed Mr. Gath.

Unconscious at the time of the actual truth of the matter as it applied to me, I repeated, “I’ll be damned.”

The dog barked again, wagged its tail, and ran off.

We followed.

Up across the top of the hill and down we went and saw the dog vanish into the side of the sheer rock face of a narrow ravine. Then it stuck its head back out and barked.

We looked at each other.

“Hologram,” I said.

Mr. Gath looked somewhat relieved by this mundane explanation for what he was seeing. I believed our acquaintance had severely affected his worldview.

We scrambled down the hillside. Mr. Gath stuck his hand into what looked like solid rock and it vanished up to his forearm. He shrugged and we stepped thru.

Inside, the air was cool. And I noticed I was able to breathe easier. Around us was simply a cave. But there was a hum of machinery and a dim light glowing ahead of us, the source of which was lost around a bend.

The dog appeared again, tail wagging still, impatient with our slowness.

We walked on. I had my hands near my guns again.

We rounded the bend and saw a series of steps leading downward, looking as if they had been lasered out of the living rock. A breeze from below tossed my hair. The light came from there and we descended.

The space opened up around us into a vast chamber well lit by glowglobes and tubes. Stalactites hung down, glittering with purple and green. Huge banks of machinery took up most of the space in front of us across a metaled floor. Only some of it looked familiar.

In front of it, the dog beside her, stood the girl. Behind her, floating in a large tube filled with some sort of liquid, was the thin figure of a man. I thought at first he was dead but his eyes were vibrant and alive. He smiled at us. The girl looked tired and pale. She stood aside.

Greetings to you of the Numa, said a voice, except he didn’t say “you” but used my real name. I almost jumped. The voice was speaking in Comanche. It took a few seconds to realize the voice was in my head.

Telepathy had long been a dream of the human race but despite myth and rumors and technology no one had found a way to make it happen. Not as far as I knew. Not until now.

It will happen, said the voice. Many things will happen, provided the race lasts.

With a dawning horror I realized my every secret would be laid bare to this man, my every crime.

I raised my hands to my ears. “Get out of my head,” I said thru clenched teeth.

As you wish, said the man. I merely desired for you to see a little of what I have done to myself. But rest assured, I do not judge. And I need you.

I tried to relax. “You are Jackson Hart,” I said. “You’re her father,” I said, pointing at the girl. “You’re supposed to be dead.”

“My father is a brilliant man,” said the girl, whose name was Lan. She was thin like her father, with a thin nose and long black hair. “He faked his death, three years ago.”

“Obviously,” I said.

She looked to Mr. Gath, who was looking from one of us to the other. “You can go, if you choose. There’s still time,” she told him.

He shrugged. “I’ll stay,” he replied gruffly. “I don’t like leaving in the middle of a story.”

Lan gestured to a small table. “I’m sure you’re thirsty, gentlemen. A drink?”

I was thirsty at that. Mr. Gath and I moved to the table. There were two cups on the table filled with a golden liquid. She passed one to me. I drank, eyes on Jackson Hart as he floated in his tank. It was wine. Not a favorite of mine, but just then it was very welcome. There was a chair near me. I took off my hat and sat down.

Talking to Mr. Gath I said, “I was...told I should protect this girl. So I’ve been tracking her.” Then to Lan, I said, “The guys from Happy Science want you back or maybe...” I gestured to the dog, “they want her back.”

“Jia never belonged to them. Jia is mine.”

“Happy Science?” interjected Mr. Gath. “That’s who wants you?” Happy Science presented a fair face to the universe. But there were stories. Evidently even Mr. Gath had heard some.

“So what do they want?” I asked.

She sat across from me. Sighed. “My father is a brilliant man, as I said. He worked for HS a long time. In genetics. Specifically in Artificial Intelligence.”

“Ah,” I said glancing at the dog.

“Yes,” said Lan, smiling at Jia. “Eventually, they partnered my father with another man. His field of expertise was in nano.”

If I may, gentlemen, said Hart. I can speak to you without prying.

I saw Mr. Gath wince, then nod. “Go ahead,” I said.

As my daughter says my expertise was in AI. I know you are familiar with its applications in machines. The Combator you fought is one example of my work.

“I don’t thank you for that,” I said.

There are many things I regret now, Mr. Redbone, he said. I was thankful he knew enough not to use my real name now. At any rate HS had other designs upon my work. And I had a breakthrough. A very great breakthrough. But it was my partner, unknown to me, who decided to experiment on Jia. And you have seen the results. She is now almost as intelligent as an adult human being. It was a miracle.

I agreed. “I can see how they might like her back,” I said. “I can see how this could be applied. Mental deficiencies could be eradicated. More intelligent animals might be valuable, too. But there’s more to it, isn’t there?”

Oh, indeed, Mr. Redbone. Just imagine, if this process could increase the intelligence of a dog, what would it do for a creature that was already intelligent? A man, say?

“It might produce someone like yourself, I suppose.”

Yes! I had not planned to experiment on myself. Lan was dying. Are you familiar with Aparna’s Disease?

“Yes. Incurable.”

Not any more, Mr. Redbone. I cured it. I saved my daughter. Without anyone’s knowledge I subjected myself to our technique. We had made it absurdly simple. And in humans, with our larger cranial capacity, it did not require surgery of any kind as it had on poor Jia. But, Mr. Redbone, I had no appreciation for what it would do to me! It expanded every iota of my intellect! I saw things. Things about our very existence, our very being! I could not contain it all. I think I went a little mad. I became one with the cosmos, Mr. Redbone. We are so ignorant! We are like ants! I knew the truth of many things! Things which had been dismissed as folly! Things which had been ignored by science for centuries! I could see the future! Or rather many, many futures. I could see the past. I knew why we had never encountered an intelligent alien species in all our wanderings!

“But the Elders,” I said. It was true we had never met an alien in all our history. But we had seen artifacts. We had uncovered their ancient structures and sometimes their machines. “What about Iapetus?” I asked, the moon of Saturn which had turned out to be an alien construct and which had accidentally been destroyed. Or the scientist crawling around on it had triggered a fail-safe.

Humans, Mr. Redbone! Humans! All the artifacts we have uncovered have been built by human hands!

“How is that possible?” I asked mystified. “They were already there when we found them. I...”

“Father,” said Lan. Hart was moving now, flapping his arms in his agitation. She moved to his tank, adjusted some knobs on the side of it. “You musn’t get too excited. Not now.” She looked hard at me. “No more questions like that,” she said. “His body is very weak.”

Hart’s voice came again, calmer now. I cannot tell you. I will not tell you. Oh, there are many things I cannot tell you. But I will say this, Mr. Redbone. War is coming. The Republic will fall and just as in ancient Rome, an empire will take its place. The Outsiders will return!”

“Father!” said Lan sharply.

Forgive me. Hart was silent for a moment, seeming to gather his thoughts or to control them. Then he said, As you see what I have become, now imagine, if you will, what would happen to society if this experiment were to be used on everyone?

“Chaos,” I said with feeling. “Society would crumble. I have no great love for government as you can imagine but it has its uses. But this. This would lead to a total breakdown.”

Yes! And that would be the case if benevolent people with good intentions tried to use it! Now imagine, what would happen if evil men were to use this knowledge?

My jaw fell open as I thought of a reply. I looked at Lan and then at Mr. Gath. Lan nodded. Mr. Gath looked horrified.

Yes, I see you understand, said Hart. And so I destroyed all my work. I destroyed the laboratory. I destroyed every trace of this experiment wherever I found it. And yes, I’m afraid, I was forced to kill my partner in this crime as well. And I faked my own death and I came here. That was three years ago. And I managed to keep Lan and Jia hidden until I was ready.

“Ready for what?” I asked.

“We will be leaving soon, Mr. Redbone. We will be going somewhere where no one can follow. I needed time to prepare. And I needed you here. I needed a warrior.

I was becoming somewhat alarmed. Had this mission come from the Little Girl after all?

“I’m only one man, Mr. Hart,” I glanced at Mr. Gath. “Even if I’m a somewhat special man. That assassin we took care of in Cloudface said many more were coming.”

At that moment Jia rose to face the stairs we had come down. She growled. A tiny beeping sound began to come from somewhere.

“They’re here, father,” said Lan.

I rose.

Oh, Mr. Redbone. I think one man will be enough, said Hart gleefully. Especially if it’s you. You are a unique character after all. And do you recall, I said the experiment had been reduced to an absurd ease of application?

Now I became seriously alarmed. Lan backed away from me.

Your drink, Mr. Redbone. It should be taking affect right about now, I believe.

“What have you done to me?” I shouted. I drew my pistols.

And then the world in front of my eyes seemed to explode into light.

Don’t worry, Mr. Redbone, I heard Hart say from what seemed a great distance. You won’t end up like me. Just a taste. Just a little, necessary taste...

I wish I had words to describe what I saw and what I felt. Or maybe not. I only remember a little of it now.

Out of the light I fell like I was spinning, down, down to the great plains of my ancestors. I heard a chant coming from the bright sky and I couldn’t tell whether it was the voice of White Crow Woman or my great-grandmother or the Great Spirit.

Eight parts to form Man
Eight parts to form Man

Bones of Stone
Body from Earth
Blood of Dew
To give you birth

Eyes of Clear Water
With the Sun deep within
Thoughts from the Waterfalls
And Breath from the Wind

Stand tall in pride!
With the Strength of the Storm!
Stand tall in beauty!
In My Own Form!

And the Great Spirit commanded all the spirits to bow down before Man and all obeyed save one and his name was Iblis. And God banished him but in his spite and pettiness he put a little of himself into the fangs of the snake and the tail of the scorpion and the venom of the spider...

And God sent the angels to mankind to teach them. And Moloch went to the Canaanites and Nisroch to Assyria and Rahab to Egypt and Michael to Israel and I went to the People and taught them how to make arrows and stone knives and that all the animals were there for their use...

I spun away and away from myself, and I was an eagle soaring in a moment of quiet so still not even the wind whispered to me. And I fell down to the earth like lightning and I was a buffalo and I felt the strength of my stride as my hooves tore the earth and I ran and I ran and then I was surrounded by thousands of my kind, a million and I was all of them and I was a river of black thunder across the endless grass...

And I saw Mankind stumble and rise and swarm and build and launch themselves into airless space, a universe with no intelligence in it save ours as if it was made just for us and the immensity of this, the implications caused me to shrink back in fear and awe...

And I saw reality pealed back like a curtain and on the other side was nothing but a Void. Not a mote of dust, not a molecule of anything was there. Utter and complete nothingness. And this lay just next to all of us, all creation. A vacuum of absolute emptiness. Not even God was there...

And I walked across a dry cracked plain but no, it was the skin of a human being and I sank into it and I saw planets spinning around a sun but no, it was atoms and electrons and I saw that everything, everything in creation was connected....

And I saw a youth huddled and fearful and ashamed and conscious of the shame he had brought to his family and his People and of how he was stopped from taking his own life and I realized I was looking at myself and I remembered myself...

I opened my eyes and I saw I was still in the cave of Jackson Hart. I stood up. I was aware of Mr. Gath behind me. I was aware of his fear. I saw the girl Lan standing next to the tank that contained her father and I was aware of her fear and her sorrow and her pity. And I was aware of Hart and his greed and his arrogance and his fractured sense of reality which mirrored my own at that moment. And I was aware of his sorrow, too.

And I knew that whatever this man was and whatever he knew must not be allowed to leave this chamber.

You have used me, I said calmly, not even aware I was speaking with my mind.

Yes, he replied.

I will come for you when this is finished.

Yes, he said.

I gathered up my hat and my guns. I was seeing things as matrices of light, as patterns of energy. I went to the stairs and up into the air outside. I climbed up over a hill and stood there looking down at those searching below.

There was a small army there. I saw soldiers. I saw another Combator. It was not disguised as a human. It would have made no difference to my senses then if it was. I saw that two of the soldiers were encased in Exoshells. There was a lone skimmer further off in the sky. 31 men and women in all. Some of them saw me. They converged, their weapons brought to bear on me.

I became aware that Mr. Gath had followed me out.

“This is not your fight,” I said to him. “You can leave.” My voice sounded hollow and strange to me.

“Like hell,” he said. “You can’t take them all by yourself. I ain’t never run from a fight. I ain’t startin’ now.” There was fear in his voice but resolve too and I knew he smiled as he said, “I’ll take the robot.”

The men below were shouting something at us. Questions, warnings, demands. I saw the sunlight streaming down in particles and waves. I moved my coat back from my guns. And it seemed as if my black coat grew and elongated and flapped in the wind and merged with the crow which was no longer on my chest but behind me and it spread great black wings on either side of me, throwing my shadow on those beneath.

And then I began.

Everything was slow but me. I drew and fired. I moved and danced along the lines of force throbbing thru the planet and dealt death to those around me as if I were a ghost. Even so, I took hits from their weapons but they didn’t slow me down. I fired until the pistols whined and then I threw them from me. I jumped and spun and planted the remaining popbombs on those in the Exoshells. I drew my handray and slashed the skimmer from the sky. I drew the firewhip from my hat and twirled thru their ranks as if they were standing still and the blood and metal and ceramics and glass and scorched flesh sprayed up like splashing water.

And then it was over. I stood panting over a fallen soldier. A woman. Half her helmet smashed away, blood trickling down, her eyes wide and staring at me in fear and disbelief. And I knew somehow that I had to leave at least one alive.

My vision, my energy began to return to normal. I saw Mr. Gath, or what was left of him lying near the broken remains of the Combator. I ran to him. There were also a couple of dead soldiers near him. It wasn’t just the robot he had taken out. Perhaps he had been right and I couldn’t have taken them all by myself. He was still alive. He grinned up at me thru broken teeth.

“Hell’uva fight,” he said.

I realized I could fix him, I could heal him. I could reach out and draw the lines of force from the air and from the ground beneath us and knit him back together. Ignoring my own pain I stretched out my hands and became a magnet for the energy. I saw his flesh begin to heal, the exposed metal in his body twisting back into straight lines. But even as it began to do so, the powers I had commanded faded. He sighed once and then he was dead.

I knelt there in the dust, tasting blood in my mouth, for what seemed a long time.

Then I climbed to my feet. The gravity of Daydream seemed to have increased; my legs felt like stone. That reminded me of something but I couldn’t remember what just then. I made my way back to the cave of Jackson Hart. The hologram disguise was gone; the entrance stood open now. I was so tired I could barely stumble down the steps.

Hart was no longer in his tank. Much of the machinery was shut down. I walked past it and farther back into the cave where I could see light.

There was another chamber there, like a large globe. There was no liquid in this one. Hart was lying on the floor of it, gasping like a fish. Lan was kneeling next to him. Both were naked. I stood there, my clothes and some of my flesh in tatters, the crow back across my chest like a black tattoo.

And so you have come back for me, Mr. Redbone, he said, but again, not calling me that but using my real name and speaking Comanche. You have no weapons, I see.

I was too tired now and in too much pain. I was too exhausted. I was weary unto death of conflict. “I don’t care anymore, Hart. I just want you gone,” I said aloud in English.

In that we are agreed, Mr. Redbone. You understand even better now, I think, why we couldn’t allow this secret to be used.

“What happens now?” I asked.

The soldier you left alive will report that my daughter was here, that there was a great battle against mercenaries she had hired, and that everything, all traces of the experiment and my daughter and Jia and most of the battle was obliterated. They will have no more cause to search for anything. And we will depart.

“And me?”

They will merely think you were part of the army, Mr. Redbone, and that you died here, too. The soldier will not report you were even here. Only the few who saw you in Cloudsafe will remember you. There is a chamber below this one. There is a small ship there. I suggest you enter it and leave. This complex will indeed be destroyed soon once the surviving soldier is far enough away. The ship’s computers hold some valuable information, including the cures for several diseases, Mr. Redbone. I leave it to you to decide how to distribute this knowledge. The ship is also programmed with the coordinates of a planet I took from your mind. You will be safe there. And you may find some answers there, too.

I sank to my knees, too tired to stand anymore. The dog, Jia, came to me, whining. She licked the blood from my face.

“Dog,” I said to her, not unkindly, turning my face away, resting a broken hand on her warm fur. “What about the dog?” I asked Hart.

Oh, she cannot come with us. Not the way we shall travel. It would be a little too...intimate, shall we say. She is your dog now, Mr. Redbone. You can keep her safe, I think. And you will find her an invaluable companion in the future. And now, Mr. Redbone, one last request. There is a switch next to this chamber. Trip it for us.

I dragged myself up again, feeling as if I weighed a ton. I tripped the switch.

Light blinding and golden sprang out from the chamber. The hum of the machinery grew into a screaming buzzsaw crescendo. I raised my hands to shield my eyes. Jia barked. Thru my fingers I saw the bodies of Hart and Lan dissolve into a glow. I thought I heard, over the sound of the machines, Lan scream once. Their bodies became one, a miniature sun hovering within the globe.

Farewell, man of the Numa, said a voice, different now then it had been. The glow faded, the machinery wound down to silence.

They were gone.

Jia knew what I was looking for and showed me where the ship was. We entered it. My guns were still out there in the dirt somewhere. So was my hat. I would miss the hat but I couldn’t make myself walk back out there.

The ship was small and an unfamiliar design but it didn’t matter; the computer activated as we entered. A female voice welcomed me. More of Hart’s AI expertise, I thought. I didn’t know what commands it would respond to so I wearily just told it to take off. It understood and went thru the sequences. Then it lurched into motion and I realized it was moving thru a long tunnel. There was a small couch in the rear of the ship and a little compartment for the dog where she would be safe until we were in space.

“Jia,” I murmured to her as I helped her in and shut the little door. “What kind of name is that for a dog.”

I felt drunk; I hadn’t been drunk since I was a kid. My brain was still suffering from the affects of Hart’s little deception. I only hoped he was being truthful and the effects had only been temporary. The thought of millions of nanites crawling thru my head made me shudder. I was starting to forget already what I had seen. I didn’t try to hold onto the memories.

I dropped onto the couch and strapped myself in and closed my eyes. Cold air began pumping thru the vents. I felt something touch my forehead and I thought at first it was the air. I opened my eyes.

The Little Girl stood beside me, caressing my brow. She smiled.

“Now, you can rest,” she said, “for a little while.”

My eyes filled with tears and, gratefully, I closed them again.

It's gone out into the ether. I found a few typos and corrected them from what's above, too.

So, good luck to me.

Good luck to you! Any drawings to go with it?

Nope.

And the website I had this targeted for hasn't replied back. BEFORE I submitted it he had said off to the side that he was feeling better and wanted to get back on a weekly schedule so I guess he was having some problems but since then none of the stories have been updated and there's been only one up date to the sidebar stuff and only a little part of that. So I dunno.

Whilst looking for somewhere else to send it I stumbled across Redstone but this doesn't meet the 4,000 word max requirement. This is over 11. No way I could squeeze this down to 4. It feels pretty damned squeezed as it is.

So if you know of anywhere I can submit it don't hesitate to tell me. The problem is it was so targeted to the website. I seriously doubt that this approach is what the REAL science-fiction websites are looking for. This isn't hard science-fiction by any stretch. I've done web searches and don't really see anywhere else I can send it.

So here it sits gathering dust.

I'm sending a story to Redstone and was going to make it the same length as the one you can't send them---11,500 or so was my estimate. Your post reminded me to check the guidelines again, as I was encouraging you to also submit to them, but the submission window's Nov. 1st thru 7th. It's very cool and strange that I gave this thread a bump and then you mentioned them, as they are on my mind, too.

I'm going to send them something myself if I can get a good submission out of my very latest idea.

But how are you going to submit that length? They're very adamant that submissions be no longer than 4. That was the only reason I wasn't going to send mine there.

I think if I try two to four of my next & latest ideas and don't spend much time extrapolating,
I'll be able to stay within the 4,000; it should be no more than I can draft in a day.

Like, Tuesday or Wednesday I might pick three major characters out of my 11,500 opus (the plot and notes are about 2,000, lol) and see if I can nail one the write size. First I'm going to try the new idea I shared with you over PM, today.


You can tell from here alone I'm practicing all
I can!.

I hope you and anyone who reads this will keep writing from the heart
with clear heads and clattering fingertips.

Ah. I get it. Well maybe I should try and write a 4 between now and the deadline. You make it sound so easy! It's like giving birth for me.