Insurgents of Wasteland

By Richard L. Sanders

In danger and on the run, some of the hybrids seek refuge in the most desperate of all places. Wasteland. A lawless, desolate outland filled with outcasts, exiles, and unthinkable surprises. Meanwhile, those who remain in Civilization must struggle against a new and different kind of threat.

This is the sequel to Insurgents of Civilization and the finale of the story.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Richard L. Sanders
• Release date: Sep 30, 2021
• ISBN: 9781005889722

Richard L. Sanders

Richard is 34 years old (and holding) and is a Salt Lake City native where he currently lives with his beautiful fiancé Emily and their dogs: June, Bentley, and Mia. (The last of which is technically a cat.) Richard is an attorney admitted to all Utah state and federal courts, but he primarily works as an investigator for the Utah government. He began publishing in 2011 while a first-year law student, and was very prolific with nine publications including eight novels, within five years. In 2016 he took a hiatus from writing, in response to emergent and challenging life circumstances that lasted until 2019. Richard spent these years focused on family, personal growth, and pro bono legal causes. He is excited by his return to the publishing world with several titles planned for release in 2021, including The Gods Who Bleed and Legacy of the Phoenix. In his spare time, he's an avid swimmer, skier, and chess player. (Up for a game? 1. e4 ...)His official website is www.blackoceanbooks.com

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Insurgents of Wasteland

Book Two

Richard L. Sanders

(c) 2021 Black Ocean Books, LLC

(original copyright 2006)

2021 Smashwords Edition, License Notes:

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment. It may not be re-sold for profit, however I (the author) have refused to use any kind of DRM because I don’t believe in DRM. And I’d be flattered if you chose to share this book with others, especially your friends and relatives. So while you’re not allowed to sell copies of this book to others for money, you are allowed to share copies of it with people for no charge. I need a certain amount of sales to allow me to survive, and to keep writing, but other than that, I don’t care about profits or royalties—what I care about is sharing my stories with as many people as possible. So if you want to share a free copy of this book with somebody, then I encourage you to do exactly that. I’d rather have more people enjoy my stories than worry about getting paid. So please, enjoy and share as much as you can.

Dear Reader,

This is the second book I ever wrote, and it’s Book Two in a two book series. If you haven’t read the first book, I encourage you to do so, it’s titled

Insurgents of Civilization

And it should be free on most ebookstores, and if your preferred ebookstore does not list it as free, I encourage you to challenge the price and most retailers will match the price for you, so that way you can get it for free, like I intended.

I thank you for going on this journey with me, and I hope you find a colorful and intriguing adventure in the world of Second Earth, as the insurgents you met in book one try to find their place in a larger, more dangerous world, than they ever imagined.

As always, thank you for your support and you can learn more at

www.blackoceanbooks.com

Prelude

Unrest within Civilization, including agitation in the Republic of Free People, an increase in spies being caught, and the number of ships being shot down by Civilization in the ravine called the Grand Chasm led many councilors to assure the Lord Protector of Civilization that more direct war with the Republic of Free People was imminent.

This military threat, along with talk of troubles in the mining convoy routes through Wasteland, the growing threat of Hybrids within Civilization’s walls, and the whisperings that the Lord Protector had not done enough to prevent the deaths of thousands of civilians in the air-pump attack, Lord Protector of Xerxes found himself delegating many of his outward responsibilities to lesser lieutenants. They were competent but young and did not so easily remember the terrible dangers of the Ziggurat Mountains. They were too young to remember why the Fibersteel rich peaks of the Ziggurat Mountains remained unmined when they were so accessibly close to Wasteland.

Because the high demand for the precious ore had depleted Civilization’s primary source, the Ore Mountains, these officers directed the mining convoys to continue through Wasteland and directly west into the Ziggurat Mountains, rather than turning abruptly north toward the Ore Mountains.

A fleet of miners with a light Guardian escort and a Black Mask battalion's added support ventured into the steel-misty towering peaks. All had been appropriately armed to push through Wasteland unhindered and prepared to capture a possible RFP mining base that would have so far remained secret.

No such base existed, but as the company moved deeper into the mountains, taking surveys of Fibersteel samples as they went, they would sit around gloomy fires at night, discussing the glimpses of shadows that moved and disappeared from time to time. They also had the constantly pressing sensation that they were being watched; everyone felt it. The Black Mask quieted such fears and talk of going back by making an example of a frightened miner and left his scorched, pulsared remains still burning in the rich brown soil at the base of the mountain where they killed him.

But such force as they had to maintain their party's discipline was powerless against what overcame them in the night. Without warning and without mercy, the Daresians, who had possessed the Ziggurat Mountains since first retreating there to end the Human-Daresian War, appeared to them with unearthly power. Rows of swordsmen swept nightmarishly fast throughout the tents and dashed the men in their sleep without sound. Other Daresians lingered far off, tall and fearsome, sending energy into the camp with a fierceness that a pulsar could never dream of, and quickly it was set afire in a brilliant blaze of both orange and burgundy flames. By the time the remaining Guardians, miners, and Black Mask personnel could organize and mount a counterattack, they had already been reduced to a tattered score of a once large company.

Their pulsars whined as they came to life, spitting a brilliant array of scorching energy at their foes, but though they often hit their targets, the gray, mouthless, silent killers would not be stopped by them. Instead, it seemed they added to the Daresians’ apparent bloodlust, and their speed increased tenfold. Seeing this, the humans dropped their pistols and rifles and grabbed for picks, shovels, and drills. In a matter of minutes, the contest was over. Every human who had been in camp lay dead or dying except two who had run for the train.

It lifted off from the ground to its cruising height of about eight feet and sailed at full speed, taking the most direct course toward Civilization.

None of the lieutenants who had organized the convoy lived out the week.

And the fact remained that Civilization was running out of ore.

Chapter 1

The train ride had thus far been precisely what Gray had anticipated. Although the moments away from Zina were endless as he easily rebuffed the rudeness of the other convicts, it pained him that as he sat in his car with the other men, packed in like sardines, Zina was in another car. He had no knowledge of or power to do anything about what might be happening to her. A lady of her royal elegance and innocent virtue of a child deserved much better, and she had been raised to be accustomed to much better. In his own tours of duty, he had been used to the rugged harshness of life outside Civilization, but he knew it would be hard for Zina, who had never before even seen the sun.

There was a lurch, and the train shook a little. He cursed as his head bumped against the hard bulkhead to the side, but he shook off the pain.

Next to him, an old man with a grisly, mangled beard laughed erratically at him.

Bump yer noggin? he said and laughed again. It was a kind of cough-chuckle, wheeze-laughter that Gray found highly irritating.

He didn’t answer and instead stared out the small, hand-sized window at the infinite plains of Second Earth, red-rock and dusty burgundy soil that spread out into thick blue grasslands close to the rivers, and at the small sea, the plant-life became a brilliant, tropical yellow. So diverse this Earth is.

He caught a glimpse of the shrinking speck that was Civilization as the train turned to go around a patch of hill-sized boulders that Gray remembered well. One-third-mark, he said to no-one in particular as he looked at the small dark turtle shell of the massive building that was dwarfed by the setting sun behind it.

One-third-mark, someone else said, looking at him. It was a short man with rust-colored hair and clever, hawk-like eyes. Gray hadn’t given the man much notice before because he, like Gray, hadn’t said a word until now. But now that Gray did notice him, he could feel powerful confidence from him and see an interesting scar of a knife slash that had cut both above and below his eye in one swift stroke and must have narrowly missed the eye itself. Gray also saw what looked like powder-burn marks on his arms.

Yeah, you, what did you mean, one-third-mark?

Gray snapped back to attention. Huh—oh, just that if you look out the window on the other side of the car, you could see a boulder field; we used to call it ‘one-third-mark.’ It means that we are one-third of the way from Civilization to Wasteland and off the constant radar zone.

The man raised his left eyebrow and nodded slightly, suppressing a kind of half-grin. So, I take it your old job wasn’t in garments, then, the man said. Gray wasn’t a fool. He could see the curiousness in the man’s question. This far out of Civilization and knowing first-hand that inmates are prone to lie and exaggerate to each other, he was confident that letting a little information out wouldn’t suddenly turn the train around back toward Civilization and the executioner. I, uh, was a Guardian, actually.

The other man looked impressed. So, what are you in here for then? Just couldn’t help abusing your power or what?

Gray chuckled. How little this man knew. Guardians had no power, and they were more servants than lords. This man clearly typified him as Black Mask. We all have our vices, Gray said, dodging the question.

The other man shrugged, then nodded, A’ight, fair enough.

There was silence for a while, and Gray stared idly out the window with bored eyes. Some of the others had conversations going, mostly swapping stories or bragging, but a few were trading stories about Wasteland and what it would be like when they arrived there. Gray tuned it all out and, after a while, could only hear the quiet hum of the train’s under thrusters that held it hovering as it zoomed westward.

In the silence, he worried for Torm and wondered what would become of him. He knew his friend had taken an extreme risk for him, but Gray had taken comfort then, and a little comfort now, that Torm would be safe because he bore the Vortin name.

Then, without warning, there was an explosion sound, and the train dropped toward the ground. Everyone felt weightless for a half-second, and Gray grasped for an arm hold. And then the train crashed neatly into a soft patch of dirt, and most of the passengers in his car hit their heads on the ceiling; a few passed out completely. Then there was chaos as the men in the car stood up as best they could in the crowded environment. Gray stood firm and surveyed, eyes darting, wondering what had happened. It sounded like one of the engines had blown out, not unheard of, but undoubtedly rare on a meticulously maintained craft.

After a minute or so, two soldiers appeared in gray Guardian uniforms with pulsar rifles in hand and restored order to their car, then began taking names and returning the men to their places. But something was odd about them. Gray picked up on that immediately. They slumped a little, and the way they spoke had a hint of a twang and seemed a little off. Their uniforms were an imperfect fit, and they were carrying rifles instead of the traditional taser-batons… very odd.

You there, one of the soldiers said as he singled out the rusty-haired man with the scar who Gray had been talking to earlier, you’d better come with us! he barked in his somewhat accented voice.

The rusty-haired man subtly nodded toward Gray, so subtly that Gray half-doubted it happened at first. The soldier squinted and stood half-amused for a minute and then pointed toward Gray. All right, you, on your feet.

Gray was already on his feet, so he pointed to himself, the universal sign that said me?

Yeah, you, let’s go, and you too, he said to both Gray and the rusty-haired man. As the Guards instructed, they marched into the next car, which was much smaller and full of boxes. The Guardians sealed the other car back up and ordered them into yet another small car, which was completely empty.

As soon as they’d sealed the door, the rusty-haired man relaxed considerably, and the two Guards looked to him for direction. Okay, Rex, everything’s off except for one hitch, and what’s the deal with this stiff? one of them said.

What?

Rex, the short, rusty-haired man, quickly started directing the other two, Okay, the mining equipment and iron rations in the cargo bays need to be dumped while they repair the blown thruster. I’d give them about ten more minutes, so that we can be sure they’ve radioed Civilization and got things patched up. So, I want you two to ditch that cargo while we wait and then round up the technicians and the Guards outside, however is necessary. Me and this stiff, he pointed to Gray, will take care of things in the front. Rex pulled out an old-style concussion firearm; it was a black handgun—RFP-make.

Gray was more than a little stunned, but years of training helped him hide it easily. After all, he noticed an opportunity when he saw one; perhaps he could make things a little better for himself and Zina after all.

The two fake Guardians looked skeptical, He’s not from the Cartel.

The Cartel… so, these were legitimate Wastelanders he was dealing with, not simply convicts who had clevered their way into a few firearms. That at least better explained how Rex had obtained an RFP-style weapon.

Cartel or not, have I ever led you astray? Rex asked. Have I ever botched a run? The two shook their heads. Plus, we could use an extra gun, and what does he have to lose? They seemed to consider this, and Rex turned toward him, How about it, lad? You’re throwin’ in your lot with this lot, ain'tcha? Rex clapped him on the shoulder like a brother might.

Gray disliked being called lad since he was probably even older than Rex, but he liked the way things were going. I know pulsars, I know explosives, and I know these trains; just give me the details and a cut, he said, impressing himself at how authentic he sounded as a cutthroat. Ex-Guardian, Rex added pointedly toward the others as he widened his eyes dramatically.

Ex-Commando-trained Guardian squad-leader, Gray corrected. This was, in fact, true. One of them withdrew a pulsar pistol and a flash grenade from his uniform jacket's innards and passed them Gray’s way. A’ight, I’m convinced, he said.

So, what was the hitch? Rex asked.

Both fake Guardians spoke, then the one on the left gestured, allowing the other to speak for them both, Not all of the troops are in the soldiers’ car, he said.

Well, that was bound to happen, Rex said quickly.

Almost all of them are going throughout the train, securing it or helping the technicians outside, possibly they have doubly secured the control car, he said.

Well then, Rex said with a half-grin and elbowed Gray, good thing I’m such a persuasive recruiter then, eh? He made the others chuckle. Gray wondered if it was gallows humor to them.

And as for the troops who did stay in the soldiers’ car—well, we know what to do about them, Rex grinned with crooked teeth. The other two laughed.

Okay, Max, Jack, get on it; it’s been five. And you, what’s your name? Rex said.

Gray, Gray said.

Rex chuckled a little, Just like the uniform you used to wear. Well, I hope you’re not afraid of getting a little dirty, he said, because things are going to get a whole lot more dangerous before they get any better, Rex said. Now, follow my lead. And he opened the opposite door and headed into the next car.

Gray followed obediently, still trying to grasp the entirety of the situation before deciding exactly where he stood on things, What do you mean exactly?

We’re going into the lion’s den.

This car was full of prisoners, but they were each strapped to their chairs and could not freely move. Free us!

Hey, look!

Over here! they shouted as Rex and Gray ran past. They were excited to see them in the orange convicts’ jumpsuits, moving about freely and armed, but Rex didn’t pay them any notice, so neither did Gray. They opened the next door. Almost there, Rex said.

Gray hadn’t yet pieced together exactly what they were doing, but as near as he could tell, he and Rex were going bull-headed into the very front control car and hijacking the train. Gray wondered and hoped that there were more than just the four of them pulling off this operation. In any case, earning a place in Wasteland was a top priority for his and Zina’s survival. Now was as good a time as any. After all, he had no interest in being a hostile in a hostile land.

Do we have a plan for this exactly? Gray asked.

Rex didn’t look back and started to unlatch another door. When I open this door, throw your grenade.

The door slid aside with a creak, and Gray obediently pulled the pin and tossed in his grenade. Hey, you can’t come in here! someone inside said. Rex took out a bottle of some homemade potion and threw it in also. It crashed against the hard metal floor, and a noxious gas emerged with a sizzle and started to crowd the room. A Guard aimed his pulsar rifle at Rex but fell dead a second later as a red beam cut into his vitals.

Just as Rex was closing the door, Gray’s grenade exploded in a blinding flash. The door clicked shut, and Gray waited. It didn’t matter if his eyes were open or closed because all he could see was a bright white spot that blocked his vision. Flash grenades were supposed to be temporary, but for the next few seconds, which seemed like hours, he felt very concerned that he would never see again. Why hadn’t he looked away? He’d used them in combat and had them used against him. He’d trained for years; why hadn’t his instincts taken over?

It was shameful, but at that moment, Gray had to admit to himself that he was vulnerable and liable to make mistakes. It became all the more important that he connect with Rex and his Cartel friends to survive the harsh challenge of Wasteland itself.

You should’ve looked away, Rex said from somewhere to his left. Man, your pupils are dilated!

Gray faked a grin, and slowly the light became a bright haze and then dimmer fogginess, and at last, he could see clearly again, despite a few floaters that remained like camera flashes. He wondered if they were permanent.

All better? Rex said.

Yeah, I can see, Gray said. When he noticed he was still holding his pulsar out defensively, he let his arm relax.

Nice shot, Rex said, and much obliged.

Gray nodded. He opted to wait and let Rex make the calls, at least until he had a decent foothold on the situation. Strangely, it reminded him of his earlier specialist combatant training, exposed to many surprises, often dangerous, and those who survived had to master the self-discipline to follow a commander who was a stranger they didn’t know they could trust or how far. Yet it was training he’d suffered through to lead and training that had existed perhaps for this moment.

It’s probably clear now, Rex said, and he unlatched the door and slid it aside. The room was the typical front-end control center for the standard Civilization outworld bound air-trains; all the computers and few furnishings seemed perfectly intact. But a rank sulfur smell was ever-present, and some five bodies were crumpled in chairs or on the floor. Gray checked them for vitals as Rex made for the left computer, no pulse, no pulse, no pulse. They were all dead, and most had limp hands clutching their necks.

What was that poison? Gray asked as he approached an opposite console. It wasn’t the most subtle I’ve ever seen, but it did the job awfully fast and cleared out just as quickly.

Ancient family secret, Rex said with a nod that also seemed to say, none of your business.

Gray looked down at his computer and read that the thruster had been disabled, but the report which had arrived a minute ago said the vessel would be hover-worthy in a couple of minutes. Sure enough, as Gray was reading this, another message appeared, indicating the train was in flyable condition. There was a slight ping, and three yellow bulbs flashed. They indicated an incoming message from a maintenance team. Gray looked to Rex, who shrugged and kept tapping at his console, doing whatever it was he was doing. Knock yourself out, Rex said.

Gray tapped the console, Go ahead, he said quickly in a somewhat muffled voice.

We’re all done here, a familiar voice said. Rex looked up and came forward, waving Gray out of the way. Good work, Max, and good timing.

We picked off the Guards and waited for the thruster to be fixed before nabbing the technicians. They surrendered all coward-like, so we tied ‘em and locked ‘em in the underbelly after we ditched all the supplies and storage there, o’course. So, how’re we going to take the rest? Max said through the radio.

Just climb in the underbelly and seal it off, Rex said. You have two minutes to do it before we leave, so get to it; leave the rest to us. Next time this train stops, assume we’re at our destination, and just do your job and get back, Rex said.

You got it.

The radio clicked off.

What are we going to do, exactly? Gray said.

Rex moved over to another console and pulled a lever. The door behind them slid shut and locked tightly, not a moment too late. A second later, there was a metallic pounding against it, and a muffled voice said, What’s going on in there? Is everything all right? Open this door at once! Rex kept pressing buttons, and Gray was helpless except to wait. He picked up one of the dead Guard’s pulsar-rifles and made sure it had a steady charge. He held it against the square of his shoulder and eyed the door with hawk-like awareness.

Nice thought, but it shouldn’t be necessary, Rex mumbled from behind him.

Maybe it's stuck. We’ll have to blow the door; get that charge over here, another muffled voice said.

Gray tensed a little.

And then he was off-balance and tripped to the side and caught an arm rail to break his fall. The train lurched upward as the under-thrusters fired and then forward, arcing into as tight a turn as possible until it was heading in the exact opposite direction.

You’ll want to look out the left window for this; you might enjoy it, Rex said.

He could see the second half of the train next to theirs as the back cars waited their turn, following the others in sequence around the tight turn. He heard the click of a button, and the rearmost two cars dropped about three meters to the ground and crashed hard into each other. It was a messy but spectacular wreck, and Gray knew immediately that those were the Guard cars.

Now, to take care of the others, Rex said, and he went for some of the other controls. Gray focused back on their car door. Okay, it’s done, now the fun part, Rex said, and he clicked on the mic and transmitted across the whole intra-train intercom. This is your new captain speaking. This train has been commandeered in the name of Rex of Wasteland. Any one of you who wants a place in your new world are hereby deputized, he frowned at the wording but continued, to help take this train and be free! He clicked off. It begins, he added quietly.

There was more pounding against the door and a small explosion. Gray assumed they’d blown the door’s lock, and sure enough, a second later, it started to slide aside. Gray aimed and fired into the narrow opening at the first chance he had. There was a cry of pain and then silence, followed by angry orders and a return fire shot. Gray wasn’t stupid enough to stand where they could easily hit him; the yellow energy beam melted an auxiliary control stick. Gray fired a second and third shot, first to nail the shooter and second to force the others back in cover. It wouldn’t be good for anyone if they carelessly pulsared the control equipment and rendered the train useless or out of control.

A grenade rolled into the car and stopped near Gray’s feet. Idiots—that could blow the whole control station. He kicked it back through the narrow gap and heard a deafening rumble as messy bits of people splattered into the car. The door flew off and crashed, bent against the hard metal floor. The small car behind theirs was red-hot, but the rigid Fibersteel-enforced walls held intact. Through the clear gap, Gray could see recently freed prisoners working together to put down the few Guards who tried to control them. It was a rather messy business, unifying these criminals with hate and power over those they hated the most. But it was effective at two things: it did unite them, and it did eliminate the Guards, who otherwise were a threat of retaking the train.

And then he remembered Zina. I have someone I’m with. I need to make sure she’s all right! Gray said. His tone admitted a little more desperation than he liked to give out.

Rex laughed behind him as Gray ran forward and pushed his way through the mob of people toward the cars closer to the rear. His orange outfit helped him pass through more than his shoving did. I see how it is, Rex’s voice was faint and far behind him.

There were cheers and taunts as the convicts continued to disgrace the bodies of the Guards. Gray passed through their crowds with as little interest as possible, but seeing some of the convicts scrabbling over the dead Guards’ weapons caught his eyes—a problem he’d likely have to deal with later. He threw another door aside, and at long last, he was in the women’s cars, or what had been all women. There was a strong presence of men there, some wanting certain favors, some taking them. It repulsed Gray, and he resisted the temptation to start shooting, but he only hoped Zina was all right. If one of these greasy men had so much as touched her, there would be a mighty reckoning.

She wasn’t in this car, nor the next. He resisted the panic that she had been dragged back to the soldiers’ cars, which they had jettisoned from the moving train. It couldn’t be. He tried to open another door and found himself facing probably the only car that still had a working lock. He blasted at it with his rifle but pointlessly. He turned around, looking for something, his battle-ready eyes scanning for some kind of resource to help persuade the door into budging aside. In the middle of the crowd in the next car were a couple of dead soldiers; one had a grenade belt. Gray charged forward and snatched it before anyone else could. Grenades and mobs on a moving train seemed like a bad combination anyway.

Fortunately, no one seemed to notice, or they didn’t make an issue if they did. Perhaps it was because he carried a very high-powered rifle in his other hand, and it was clear he knew how to use it. He pulled the pin, set the grenade against the locked door, and then sprinted back toward the crowded car behind him. Live grenade! he shouted, and the mob scurried to the far end, trampling the smaller among them as they went.

Gray turned around and saw the door blown aside. He strapped on the grenade belt and jogged back toward the now door-less car. At least if Zina were in here, she would be safe, but there might also be Guards since it was probably untouched. He raised his rifle and moved in. The red super-heated metal burned the soles of his thin prisoner’s boots as he ran across and through the door; with him came the scent of burnt rubber.

When he burst through, he heard the whine of pulsar guns, and he instinctively ducked to the side. Fortunately, both guards had missed. Also, he saw Zina in a seat to the side. Her latches were undone because of Rex’s computer command, and she looked overjoyed to see him and unravished. Fortunately, these Guards had either been too panicked or too decent to think about sex—pity they would have to be put down. Gray’s heart rate sped up, and he fired. One of the Guards dropped, bent backward, and clutched the wound that sizzled mid-chest; his pistol clattered to the hard ground. Gray spun toward the other Guard, who had a steady aim, but there was a loud crash, and the Guard blanked out and dropped to the side, unconscious. Behind him stood Zina with a gavinwrench—excellent, excellent work.

Gray ran to Zina and embraced her. Just then, their car swarmed with prisoners who saw the treasures of these newly discovered Guards and their firearms. Gray felt pity but stayed back as he hugged Zina and watched the convicts snap the neck of the unconscious Guard. Then, he grasped Zina’s hand in his right and his rifle in his left and led her back through the cars toward the forward control car. Along the way, he told her of Rex and the hijacking, what had happened, and his part in it. Though she looked both a little skeptical and a little dazed, he gave her reassurances that this would guarantee them a place inside the society that existed in Wasteland. They would have friends, and work, and most important of all, shelter and food. The two resources so necessary for life that Civilization readily provided to everyone within its walls: permanent unescapable shelter and taps of nutrients often freely available… no such luxuries in the outer world.

They arrived in the control room and found that Rex had already recruited and armed five more convicts who stood guard with pulsars between the neck car and the control car. They hassled Gray, who looked the forward one in the eye threateningly, and between that and his steady arm clutching the rifle, the five new orange-clad guards cowered back some.

Don’t make me kill you, one of them said, but his tone was empty, and Gray could see fear in his eyes.

No, no, they’re fine; let them through, Rex said from behind them. They stepped sideways enough to let Gray and Zina into the control car, where Rex sat comfortably in the captain’s chair and faced them with a grin. I needed some kind of barrier to keep order in here. I’m sure you saw the chaos out there.

How did you hire them? Gray said, but just as soon, he knew he too had been bought by this man, Rex, just as easily. Still, he knew he was more valuable than a few inexperienced hired guns, and he trusted that Rex was clever enough to recognize that.

I bribed them, of course. They’ll each get a share of the stock we pull in after the raid, Rex said, but his voice faded off. Gray tried to ignore Rex’s up-and-down eye-combing of Zina; after all, they needed to be on good terms with this man, and noticing Zina’s attractiveness was not uncommon. Still, Gray found himself defensive and perhaps jealous, and before long, he stepped in front of her to block Rex’s view. Gray didn’t say anything or make so much as a hostile face, but the message was clear. Rex stood up and nodded subtly but apologetically, and turned toward the controls. Gray could clearly see the turtle-shell structure of Civilization growing keenly bigger in the main windows in the front.

Why are we going back? he said, knowing full well that he and Zina had just escaped the jaws of death so narrowly and at the risk of his good friend Torm’s life. Why flirt with death again?

"To survive, we