Don't know how I even got accepted or didn't get kicked out but six months later I waltzed back into town with a shiny new badge. My old man got shot, out there on the I-8, Omer's boys, and the next day I applied for the academy. Figured I'd be dirt farmer like my father and his father before me. Went to the local highschool where I was voted most likely to sow seed. How a man like me could have become the law. “You wanna tag along, that’s fine.” I settled into my Vulture. “That your ride?” I pointed to the Zephyr. You could smell the ionized chrome coming off the repulsor plates, refreshing as a mint julep in the Sahara. With a wizard blue paint job that just so happened to match Horner’s suit. Waiting outside by the entrance was a line of hover bikes. The sun had risen to high noon over the bar, forcing me to tug my hat just a little bit lower. “Heard about a damn ‘nough of this….” I pushed my way through the door. “Welst, I reckon you do, else you wouldn’t have come to the right place.” You know who always has to fish them out?” I got up. Happens at least twice a year, some ambitious ranch hand or rookie trucker gets himself lost in those trenches.
I reached for my hat and slid Joey some credits.“It’s the lodestone in the bedrock. “Perdition’s Crossing? Lemme guess, y’all lost radio contact soon as they entered those ravines.” In the canyons up near Perdition’s Crossing. By order of the Colonial Magistrate your services are hereby requested and required. “What can I do you for.emissary?” The man had enough polish on his boots for a gymnasium floor. “Yeah,” I said, swiveling around on the bar stool so that I could look him in the eye. He looked over, nodded my way, asking Joey. The man, Horner, took a seat beside me at the bar. Emissary of the Grand Magistrate to Mar Sara.” Someone came calling for the marshal, it was always trouble. Trying to decide if this meant business or trouble. The bartender had stopped tending to his bar and was eyeing the man instead. “Looking for Marshal Raynor,” he said again as if we hadn't heard this fellow the first time. Proper and high-toned, the kind of voice that could still look down on you from the bottom of a gravity well. He had the voice of someone from Tarsonis. “I’m looking for Marshal Raynor,” he announced. I turned around to see a man in the doorway. The doors wheezed open, letting in the rush of mid-day heat. The current death toll, five hundred and seventy…” The Sons of Korhal have claimed responsibility for the attack.
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“.and in other news,” the TV buzzed, “a global manhunt continues after the bombing of a local hospital yesterday. And I was staring down the barrel of a shot glass, at the whiskey-brown reflection of someone I used to recognize. The jukebox was caterwauling, those oldies which Joe seemed to favor. Joey was in his usually spot, behind the bar, wiping mugs and nozzles with a rag that was dirtier than anything you'd ever see and certainly the glassware. Which explained why I felt all sorts of bushwhacked and beat up. Welke’s ranch before the Lyote could get at em. I'd been up all night before, tracking down wayward cattle from Ms. The mood in Joey Ray’s that morning had been unpleasantly sober. It would be over a century before a young prospector, himself lost, would discover the wreckage. That vessel crashed upon landing, thirteen thousand souls perishing in an instant. The passengers of their sister ship, the Sargengo, we’re not so lucky. They took this as a sign from providence and vowed to never allow for the kind of oppression and greed which had poisoned Earth. Banished from their homeworld, they had awoken from a cryogenic nightmare to find a planet much like their own. They say when the Nagglfar first set down on Tarsonis that its passengers wept tears of joy.