PARDON OUR DUST4

4:1

“That’s good right there.”

Wolfe dangled from a harness at the bottom of Jaybird Hex’s well. The flashlight on her chest rippled in the dark waters. She let the rope go, one arm at a time, made sure she was steady, and then delved her hands under the surface.

She fetched the filter pump and uncorked its hose. She squeezed her gloves along the outside and slung the gunk off. She dunked it in the water a few times to loosen the crud.

After she unscrewed the top, she dumped some more water and floating bits out. She toweled it dry, inspected it for cracks, and tucked it between her legs. She fished inside her satchel and pulled out a small tube of sealant. She squeezed it along the exposed crevices and then solidified the paste with her torch lighter.

Wolfe waited.

She spun from side to side. The weathered harness straps squeaked as the rope wound and unwound itself. A few minutes passed and the sealant faded from clear to white. She checked her work and stuck the hose back in.

“Alright!” she said. “Give her another try.”

The pump sputtered and burbled out some air pockets. The water settled and the device sloshed away to its mechanical heartbeat.

“That’ll do her!”

She took out a small net and fished out the chunks undulating on the surface. When she finished, she tugged on the rope and rose a couple feet at a time.

“Fine work as always, Captain,” Jaybird said, holding his hand out at the top. “Thanks for the help.”

“Don’t mention it, Jay,” she said. “Glad to be of service.” Wolfe took his hand and climbed over the side. She tossed the skimmer net into a waste bin. She took off her gloves, flicked the mud off, and laid them to dry in the sun. “Come next year, though, you’ll be wishing you looked into getting a replacement instead. Pretty soon that pump’s going to be nothing but sealant.”

“She’s been living on borrowed time since before I don’t know when,” he said. “Impressive you keeping it running good as you do.”

“How’s Sally keeping?”

“Oh, much the same.”

“That bad, huh?” she said. “Least same’s better than worse.”

“Ain’t that the truth.”

“You let me know you ever want a night off. I don’t mind reading to her.”

“You might mind her latest,” he said. He turned the hand crank and dropped the bucket in the well. “Trashy romance stuff…” He worked the crank to bring it back up. “Think she picked it just to make me uncomfortable.”

“Or she just likes getting riled up to the sound of your voice.”

“That’ll be the day,” he said, catching the bucket at the top. He peeked inside and made a face.

“Yeah, best leave her settle,” she said, kicking the waste bin.

“Not a sip before supper,” he said. He unclipped the bucket and dashed it in the sand. “Scout’s honor.”

Hey, boss. We could use you up front.

“What’s that?” Wolfe said into her earpiece.

Another bandwagon rolling in.

“Lovely,” she said. “Sorry, Jay. Duty calls.”

“I should get back to it too,” he said, wiping the inside of the bucket with the end of his shirt.  “You take care now, Adrian.”

Wolfe nodded, snatched her gloves up and twisted them, cracking off the dried mud.

“Keep an eye on them and call out perimeter,” she said. “Jas, meet me at the outpost. And, Kale, go ahead and grab Old John Henry just in case things get a mite prickly.”

4:2

Eugene stared out the window. The dunes rolled by, rising and falling, wave after wave on their journey to the middle of nowhere. Occasionally, they passed a pile of rubble that used to be a home. Other times it was a hollowed out duneduster minus the wheels, engine burned to cinder, the remains plastered in graffiti. There were billboards with running countdowns to the next pump station or nutritional opportunity. Some were stamped with mileage to far-off towns: 150 miles to Lars Canyon, 343 to South Crum. The rest were earnest, heartfelt, hand-painted variations on two related topics: The Commandments and Why You’re Going to Hell.

Eugene sighed and rubbed his eyes.

Mort fiddled with the radio. The dial clicked as he searched for an alternative to awkward silence. The speakers vomited different variations of static. Eugene’s sigh turned into a drawn-out yawn, his foot tapping seemed to affect the white noise emanating from the speakers. Mort checked the rearview to see Joules in the very back, plugged into her isolation chamber, scrolling through her playlist. He gave up on the radio and switched to the pre-loaded classical music on the duster’s internal storage. He turned it down to an acceptable background level and attempted the impossible: small talk with a teenager.

“Ever seen anything like it?” he sighed with pride. “Wide open country, big sky over your head.”

“Only in documentaries,” Eugene said. “All this space feels…”

“Majestic?”

“I was going to say inconvenient, but sure.”

“We tried dome-living for a spell,” Mort said. “That was before Joules came along, but all those lives overlapping, people stacked on top of each other, it just didn’t work. I couldn’t concentrate, even in the middle of the night. As if being in the vicinity of that many active brains kept me from focusing.”

“‘Active’ isn’t the word I’d use…”

“I suppose ‘conscious’ is a more appropriate term,” Mort said. “And I do mean that in the broadest sense.”

Eugene turned back toward the window. Mort sensed their talk dying on the vine.

“So, what brings you to Terra?” he said. “Aside from seeing your old man, of course.”

“School.”

Mort perked up. Academics. A fledgling topic he could nurse into full conversation.

“That’s interesting,” he said. “So, is this like a summer project or a work study?”

“Something like that,” Eugene said. “How much longer?”

“Not too far off,” Mort said. “I’d say we’ve got a little less than an hour to go.”

“Haven’t you all heard of Autoways?” Eugene said. “Or, heck, even sub-warps?”

“That kind of tech doesn’t come cheap and this isn’t exactly boomtown,” Mort said. “Plus, you try using a sub-warp in the dunes and you’re likely to end up buried in sand. Can’t get a good read on a landscape that’s always changing.”

“If you’re not using warps,” Eugene said. “Then what’s this heap run on?”

“Bio-fuel.”

“That’s ironic,” Eugene said. “Looking to start the second The Realignment?”

“Our ancestors did let things get out of hand,” Mort said. “But you know what they say: in all things moderation.”

“You’d think there’d be a more efficient way around it.”

“Nothing as affordable as sludge,” Mort said. “Easy enough composite to produce and it’s dirt-cheap. Hell, it’s one of the only things we don’t have to worry about running dry out here on the edge.”

“Why do they call it ‘sludge?’”

“Who knows,” Mort said. “I figure it’s on account of the smell.”

“What smell?”

Mort rolled the window down. He revved the accelerator and foul air rushed in, an offensive combination of mold and natural gas. Eugene nodded and pulled his shirt over his nose.

“Believe it or not,” Mort said. “You get used to it.” He chuckled and rolled the window up.

“I’m sure you do,” Eugene said. “But, honestly, why would you want to?”

4:3

Three jacked pickups formed a semi-circle at the entrance to Hazmat. Unsubtle banners fluttered from the truck beds: skulls stamped with military insignias, eagles dripping in blood, high-caliber bullets forming crosses. 10 hours of Colonial Marching Tunes played from a cracked phone plugged into a sound system that was overcompensating for something, though the owner was blissfully unaware of what that might be. A dozen men stood in formation behind their leader, each and every one armed to the teeth. Bandoliers hung around their shoulders, grenades dangled from belts, tear gas canisters tinkled against the buckles on consumer-grade armor. Sunglasses covered their eyes, black and blue bandanas covered their faces.

Bishop Waterson brandished an old cutlass, his eyes gleaming at the rowdy men and boys gathered before him. Sweat poured down his temples from under his powdered wig. He licked his lips and shouted into the megaphone.

“Our Ancestors claimed this land generations ago,” he said. “They buried the seed with the hope that we chosen few, the sons and daughters of liberty, would tend the garden. They understood the foundational principles of individual liberty and true justice they’ll never have in the Central Constant…”

Wolfe sidled up to his podium and stood right in front of him. He continued to blather on, ignoring her.

“They founded this land out of mercy, to provide salvation for the wretches left behind. They civilized this great place, made it into what we have today, but our birthright is being threatened by the Pilgrim infestation. By the opportunistic charlatans spreading vicious lies of stolen land and broken treaties. They would have you believe that we are the enemy, that the god-fearing, honest folk of Terra are responsible for the poor being poor, for the Terries turning to crime and smack…”

Wolfe smiled and tapped him on the shoulder.

“I’m here to set the record straight: it is the Pilgrim insurgent and the apologists to their backwards religion of terrorism and barbarity who are the true villains of the day. Their moral decrepitude is bringing us ever closer to God’s judgment…”

Wolfe tapped him again.

“Can I help you?” he said. The megaphone blared in her ears.

She winced and gently pushed it down. “Got a permit?” she said.

“A what?”

“A permit for this little picnic of yours,” she said.

“It’s not a picnic, this is a rally for—”

“Don’t care what you call it. You got a permit for it?”

“I’ve got your permit right here,” he said. “Brother Thomas!” He whistled and a portly man hopped up onto the podium. The proud boy nodded to his master and pulled off his shirt, revealing a pasty white torso, perfectly sculpted with burgers and twelve-packs of cheap beer. Waterson pointed to the tattoo on the man’s back. “Says here in the First Constitution of Terran Society that we’ve got the right to free assembly and, by law, you cannot interfere with this lawful gathering.”

Wolfe squinted at the cursive etched into Tommy’s back.

“Seems to be about three hundred and fifty years out of date.”

“It’s the original document before it was corrupted by Universalists,” he said. “This is the only true mandate of The People.”

“Sadly, wouldn’t be legally binding even if it weren’t printed on your boy’s skin here,” she said. “Anyway, if you ain’t got a permit, I’m going to have to ask you to kindly leave.”

“We have a right to be here!” he said. “Public Assembly!”

“Not by local ordinance, which you’d know you’re obligated to abide by if you ever bothered reading that fancy document of yours. And even if you did have a permit, y’all carrying a bit too much for me to let you into my town.”

“Says it right here,” he said, pointing to the back tattoo again. “A well-regulated—”

“Yeah, and I’m regulating it,” she said. “Get to stepping.”

“And what are you gonna do about it, little lady?” Waterson said. He turned to his makeshift militia. They chuckled and bounced their guns in their hands. “Think you can take us all on your lonesome?”

“See that crow’s nest?” Wolfe pointed to the outpost. “Got the best pair of eyes in the system ready to put a bullet between yours I so much as snap my fingers. Over yonder, I’ve got my engineer with Old John Henry. You ever heard of him? Fella who beat the steam engine. Except we reckon he would’ve beat it faster with a bazooka, so she’s ready to blow the loads off your lift-kits and cook your afterburners. And right over here, my sis has laid out more than you boys with that Sidewinder of hers and, boy, let me tell you she’s just been itching to use it.”

Jas grinned and cocked the heavy gun.

“And then there’s little ol’ me,” she said. “Might not look it, but I’m what they call in the Academy a split-draw.”

“Split-draw. Ain’t heard of it.”

“Means I can split your skull before any of you swinging dicks even think to draw on me,” she said. “Means I’ll get to take out at least a couple more of you by the time anyone else has a chance squeeze one off. Now, tell me, big man, you wanna wrangle with us or you want to leave peaceful-like?”

4:4

The Tomahawk moaned past a collapsed outlook tower. Fallen bricks peppered the sand along its base, giving the appearance of a run-down lighthouse lost from shore. Mort reached inside the tote bag and pulled out a cherry-flavored Carbonite. He cracked open the can and took a few gulps.

Joules had fallen asleep in the back, but her music still played. Eugene could hear it up front. It wasn’t clear enough to pick out the song, though plenty loud enough to wonder how she could sleep at all.

They passed a bent sign for Yucca Penitentiary, barely visible behind the spray-painted messages:

Native Terran Housing

Your Pilgrimage Ends HERE!

Where We Keep Our Waste.

The wave of dunes crested as they approached a sizeable plateau. It was at least two stories tall and made of metal; a massive bolt shook loose from the sky. Whiskey-folk blared from trucks gathered around the base. The good ole boys finished their chugging contest, crushed cans into their foreheads, and hopped in their trucks.

“Great,” Mort scoffed. “Bloody Saints…”

“Is that a sky engine?”

“Yup, an original atmo generator,” Mort said. “Courtesy of Atlas Environautics. You should see the stock footage of the installation project. Picture hundreds of those things staggered in orbit and all of them falling when they hit the right alignment.”

A handful of teenagers dangled from harnesses, working welders along the seals. The trucks below revved their engines, the small crowd whooped and hollered. The drivers hit the gas and pulled their tow cables tight. The wheels swiveled in the sand as they pried the maintenance hatch open.

“What are they doing?”

“They’re gonna break inside and shut it off,” Mort said. “Then they’ll pat themselves on the back and start pulling the rest apart for scrap.”

“But why?”

“Let’s just say that the Saints aren’t the most forward-thinking bunch,” Mort said. “They only have time for moon-brained conspiracy theories and how much they hate the Pilgrims. Lately they’ve glommed on to the notion that the atmo-generators are spreading mind control spores.”

“Wow, they sound super smart,” Eugene said. “Who are the Pilgrims?”

“Indigenous Terrans,” Mort said. “Ancestors of the ones left behind from the Realignment.”

“Are they really into Thanksgiving or something?”

“It’s a rite of passage,” Mort said. “They all take one journey around Terra. Takes a while, though, since it’s impossible to make a straight line around the globe. Took Molly four years, if memory serves. Met her just before she crossed the finish line.”

“I can’t imagine walking that far,” Eugene said. “But I bet it’s great for your calves.”

“Yeah, don’t challenge my wife to a game of football.”

“I definitely wasn’t going to,” Eugene said. “Is there a good reason for this walkabout or is it just good exercise?”

“Well, time was when it wasn’t safe to stay put anywhere on Terra,” Mort said. “After the Realignment, the climate was like a viral infection. Fevers and chills, tornadoes and earthquakes, not to mention all the leftover radiation from the Migration. The ones who survived all those years only made it because they kept moving. Eventually, it became a faith. Life is motion. The only constant is change.”

“And why do the Saints hate them?” Eugene said. “Are they just really anti-parade?”

“Who knows?” Mort said. “Indigenous folks remind them of things they’d sooner not know about. Like the fact that there was nothing ‘original’ about the first colonists of the Reclamation. Or the fact that the Pilgrims were left to starve and burn by their ancestors. It’s kind of hard to retain any sense of moral superiority when your forebearers made peace with dooming their brothers and sisters.”

“Seems like one of those things a simple education might fix.”

“If only they taught it,” Mort said. “There’s good money in keeping folks ignorant, not so much in making peace. Pick a man’s pocket and point to his neighbor. He’ll be too busy loading his rifle to notice your hands moving. Anyway, of course, after years of dealing with the Saints and their sort, it’s only a matter of time before some Pilgrims started fighting back. Not that I blame them, there’s only so much humans can take, but it just adds more fuel to the fire. Doesn’t matter that the Children of Sol are as far removed from the typical Pilgrim than you and I are from stinkbugs.”

“I guess all it really takes is one asshole with divine purpose.”

“A few religious radicals on one hand,” Mort said. “And militias of nationalist gun-nuts on the other.”

“Caught between a rock and a bunch of hardheads.”

“Exactly,” Mort said. “And people say Terra’s boring…”

They passed by the atmo-generator as the giant panel groaned and fell over, sending a cloud of dust over the road. The Saints let out their yeehaws, honked horns, and fired buckshot into the sky. The trucks kept going, dragging the metal wall out into the dunes, skidding off the sand drifts.

The harnesses dismounted and the crowd scrambled inside. Kids crawled in between compressors and squeezed down narrow passages for hidden gems. Others went to work with crowbars and pliers to harvest copper and other precious metals, but the main mission was the control console.

That’s the brain, right there. Let’s tap it!

Finally, let’s see what the deep state is casting…

Damn it to hell!

What’s wrong, Slim?

It’s just a buncha ones and zeroes. This shit’s gonna take forever to suss out…

Mort reached over and cranked the A/C higher. His fingers slipped as he turned the knob and a glob of sweat fell from his temple. Eugene held his hand up to the vent to feel the cool air, but it was nothing to him. Neither hot nor cold, just a small, neutral fan.

One of the trucks uncoupled from the panel and sped off with its lightened load. It swerved and ramped over the road. Mort slammed on the brakes and laid on the horn.

“Go rake the dunes, old man!” The scrawny kid inside flipped Mort off. He spit tobacco out the window and peeled out.

“Anyway,” Mort said. “Something’s gotta give. Saints target minorities and the extremists just keep recruiting them. And around and around we go until one side cuts the crap or the other gives up the ghost.”

“Yeah,” Eugene said. “But who’s going to go first?”

 “I’m sure you get this a lot, Eugene,” Mort said. “But the apple sure didn’t fall far from the tree.”

“Believe it or not,” Eugene said. “I really don’t.”

4:5

The driver took the Studebaker toward the crash site. Faint opera leaked through the partition, interrupted here and there by the occasional coughing fit.

The General hunched over a small console embedded between the seat cushions, poring over readouts and status reports. He stopped only to refill his scotch as if it were nourishment. It stung his throat, burned his insides, dissolving anything extraneous. He took it as a cleansing potion. Holy water: full proof.

His tablet went off on top of a stack of files. The insignia of the Constant States Government took over the screen. A simple carbon atom. The nucleus represented New Earth: the center of the Carbon Alliance. The electron stars were the six outer systems: Ursa Dixie, Allah Prime, the Pylon Union, Akira, Minos, and the Klux Territories.

The General winced at the sight of it. After all this time, Terra still wasn’t even considered an official system, his position on the council a mere invisible star on the flag. He extended the antenna and swiped to answer the call.

The pixelated screen flickered to reveal a familiar conference table. Seven graven faces hovered at regular intervals, shadows cast on them in dramatic and unnecessary fashion. The Immutables froze in space on a slight time delay. The video displayed each representative’s information in subtitles at the bottom like chamber hearings on CSNN. Always on the record.

“Mendax here,” the General said. “How may I serve my fellow councilmembers?”

No time to bother with formalities today, Howard. We’re going to keep this brief – Pris Mandala (C-Minos)

“That’s just how I like my bureaucracy,” he said. He grimaced and took another sip of scotch.

You missed the daily briefing – Shazmah Akbar (C-Allah Prime)

“Something came up,” he said. “Time sensitive, but it’s all being taken care of.”

We tried to reach you in Masada, but they informed us you’d been called away – Pris Mandala (C-Minos)

“Hold on,” he said. “I think we’re on a delay, just let me—”

Are you still with us, Howard? We think you’re on a delay – Lola Yamato (L-Akira)

“Yes,” the General grumbled. The camera auto-swiveled and re-focused with each new speaker. It didn’t help with the bad connection.

Listen, Howard. First of all, let us start by saying that we have nothing but the highest respect for you and all that you’ve done for the Constant – Lincoln Sherwood (C-Ursa Dixie)

“And here I thought we were doing away with the formalities,” he said. “Skip the gloss and give me the bad news.”

It’s not news. At least, it shouldn’t be at this point – Glint Speedman (I-Pylon)

They’re taking turns, Howard thought. Classic power play. Keep the subject disoriented.

The quarterly budget is due tomorrow and we’ve decided to deny your motion to renew the financials for the Fourth Wave Reclamation – Paula Thurman (L-Klux Territories)

“Been decades since you all coughed up a dime to support this rock,” the General said. “Didn’t expect that to change now. Truth be told, hardly seems worth the time to ring me up.”

It’s not just the budget – Pris Mandala (C-Minos)

We’re axing the Terra Initiative altogether – Paula Thurman (L-Klux Territories)

Times to cash in our chips, so to speak – Glint Speedman (I-Pylon)

“No chips to cash,” the General said. “You remove the Corps from this situation and Terra falls. That’s a guarantee.”

We have other concerns, Howard. Other colonies. Other, let’s just say – Lincoln Sherwood (C-Ursa Dixie)

Other more productive systems we can’t afford to lose – Lola Yamato (L-Akira)

“Like Galax?” the General sneered. “Or how about Telemecca? You sure love throwing bodies at that mess.”

Ahem. As I was saying before I was interrupted. Systems that provide substantial benefit to the Constant States. You can’t compare the conflicts within the Carbon Alliance to skirmishes on the Far Rim – Lola Yamato (L-Akira)

She’s right. Apples to oranges, Howard. Terra’s been in the weeds a long time now and that isn’t your fault, necessarily ­­- Lincoln Sherwood (C-Ursa Dixie)

“Thanks for that,” the General said. He leaned over and grabbed a fresh bottle from the fridge.

Your population has bottomed out. The polls were looking good last year, even after that ice cream truck debacle, but you lost it all in your retaliation raids – Lola Yamato (L-Akira)

Only one of your cities has survived the Campaign and even Atlas Rock bleeds civs daily, whether they leave willingly or in body bags – Glint Speedman (I-Pylon)

Not to mention how many bloodied women and children the casters got out of your latest run of targeted strikes. The Quorum can afford to play dirty, Howard. You can’t. – Lola Yamato (L-Akira)

Incidents like that boost recruitment. Otherwise decent folks see your good work and either convert to the Quorum or sign up with the Absolutionists. Either way, your outposts are gearing up for the crusades – Paula Thurman (L-Klux Territories)

Exactly. We don’t know what kind of feedback you’re getting on the ground, but from where we’re sitting it’s like watching radicalization in real-time – Lola Yamato (L-Akira)

Also, your terraforming has stalled indefinitely. We can’t afford to replace any more generators and the statute is clear that our investment only covers up to 500 years. Terra’s had nearly double that – Shazmah Akbar (C-Allah Prime)

Pile it on, Howard thought. Keep piling it on. Bring up too much to respond to all at once. Can’t defend a new front while you’re busy with the other. They’re trying to keep me in line. Make me susceptible to the new marching orders. A childish game. Annoying.

Pretty soon, Absolutionists and members of the Quorum will outnumber decent folks and Terra falls regardless – Paula Thurman (L-Klux Territories)

“It’s so kind of you to call them by their preferred names,” the General said as he refilled his glass.

It’s the same difference and you know it, Howard. You know, I’m glad we finally got to have this meeting. I mean, quibbling about terminology when we’re talking about the cold hard facts – Paula Thurman (L-Klux Territories)

“In my experience, I’ve learned that reactionaries have a real hard-on for their names,” the General said. “They’ve got logos, hats, and badges like baseball teams. Some print t-shirts and hand them out at carnivals. You want to consider the Children of Sol as representative of all Native Terrans or treat the hillbilly Saints like they’re a legitimate political party? Fine by me, but mistaking one for the other only benefits those who think they can blow themselves all the way up to heaven.”

The point Paula so eloquently butchered is that all predictive models confirm failure. This was at best an Intergalactic Reserve, never a full-blown system. At worst, it’s a novelty and one we’re paying out the behind every damn year like the interest on junked shuttle. And now we hear you’re throwing more funds into R&D? Honestly, Howard, you really think the problem is that you don’t have the right type of equipment? – Lola Yamato (L-Akira)

“Contentment breeds weakness. There’s always room for improvement.”

Bullets seem about as effective now as they ever were. And playing around with toys like a kid in a sandbox in no way addresses the real problem here – Paula Thurman (L-Klux Territories)

“So, what you’re saying is we should pack up and turn tail. Leave this place to the wicked winds?”

We aren’t leaving Terra to anyone. We have a solution prepped for the stragglers. It’s not pretty, but it’s…well, it’s fair – Pris Mandala (C-Minos)

We’re giving you ample warning, so you know how to react – Shazmah Akbar (C-Allah Prime)

The media will be on this like flies on shit. We trust you’ll handle the transition gracefully – Glint Speedman (I-Pylon)

“Keep it hush,” the General said. “Sweep it under the rug…”

This could’ve been avoided, Howard. You had everything you needed to make this work, every opportunity – Pris Mandala (C-Minos)

“Infrastructure don’t mean jack without resources and funding to make it useful. Hell, I even tried to go your politically correct route, invest in education and bring up jobs, set up sustainable refugee camps, but then you all saw the budgets and ran for the hills.”

The numbers don’t lie. Terra is worse off than it was when you took over – Shazmah Akbar (C-Allah Prime)

“I put an end to the bombing campaign when you were still in diapers,” the General said. “You think this rock was better off having seasonal fireworks shows? If we’re going to talk about wasteful spending…”

Don’t be pedantic, Howard. We’re not going to thank you again for correcting the council of yesteryear. You’re just not seeing the bigger picture here – Shazmah Akbar (C-Allah Prime)

And your requests have become increasingly unreasonable – Lola Yamato (L-Akira)

“I tell you what I need to get the job done,” he said. “No more. No less. With what you’ve given me, it’s a choice between handing out band-aids or doing nothing at all. And I know which you’d prefer, given the budget…”

Apologies, Howard. We know what this project means to you and, still, we’re very grateful for your—

“Again, with the formality…”

There have been other systems in similar positions and they all managed to turn it around. All of which hold more strategic and economic value to The Constant. What makes Terra so ungodly important? – Paula Thurman (L-Klux Territories)

“Because if we lose this rock, it’ll be the only one we’ve lost twice.” He stopped and took a long drink. “What say you, Supreme Councilor? You’ve been awfully quiet.”

Look, Howard, our hands are tied. The Reclamation has exhausted its potential and there’s no sense in running on fumes any longer. There’s no other option. No Hail Mary. You have thirty days to tie up loose ends and assist with the relocation of civs, equipment, etcetera. Once that’s completed, we’re going to have a candid discussion about your place on the council – Albert King (SC-Earth-CA)

“Excuse me?”

Your head’s not in the game. You’ve got tunnel vision and can’t seem to shake it. You miss meetings, conflate the importance of your personal agenda, not to mention the ongoing problem of eight votes. The likelihood of gridlock is too high for us to be truly effective, so we’re opening your position up for review – Albert King (SC-Earth-CA)

“You’re shutting me out…” He raised his glass again and took more than the recommended dose. “On what grounds?”

On the grounds that you’ll no longer have a system – Glint Speedman (I-Pylon)

Eliminating the substance backing your votes – Lola Yamato (L-Akira)

“You ungrateful bastards,” the General sneered. “I’ve pulled this council out of the mud more times than I can count, long before any of you slipped out your daddy’s dicks.”

There’s no need for such vulgarity or hostility, Howard. Out of courtesy, we will table this discussion until the relo is complete, then we can work together to find a new project to keep you busy—

The General’s hands acted without his approval. The tablet snapped in half. Sparks flew and the screen fragmented all over the faux-leather seat cushions. All that work. All that blood and loss in the name of the Seventh Star. All that time. Wasted.

The General shot a look up front and the driver’s eyes darted out of the rearview mirror. He grinded his teeth and pulled out a cigar. He fumed the rest of the way to the crash site.

4:6

The Minutemen dumped trash from their trucks and peeled out. They fired into the air as they went. Wolfe turned to Jas and rolled her eyes. Jas shook her head and put her gun away.

Abner Sloat flew out of Dee’s Diner.

Ding!

The door burst open and Ignatius stomped down the steps, huffing and puffing.

“Come here, you little shit!”

“You’re crazy!” Abner said, scuttling away on all fours.

“Alright, alright,” Wolfe called out. “Now, let’s just take a beat, Iggy.”

“That’s Mr. Skar to you, Captain, and I’m telling you this snot-nosed twerp is traitorous scum. He’d sell us all out for dinner and a dollar. Arrest him now!”

“Mr. Skar, I’m gonna need you to calm way the hell down and conduct yourself in a civil manner before I even consider for a moment that ridiculous proposition.”

“Orders are to detain terrorist threats on-sight,” Ignatius said. “On sight! So, thank me very much and you’re very welcome.”

“Been a spell since you rolled with the Corps,” Wolfe said. “I suggest you don’t tell me how to do my job if you want this to go anywhere near the way you’re fixing to see it.”

“That punk is defending the Quorum,” Ignatius said. “Says it’s a religion of peace. Peace! Peace? You see my goddamned leg getting blowed off in the name of peace?”

“If you’d read the actual text, old man,” Abner stammered. “Then you’d know that—”

“No way in everloving hell I’m reading the Satanic Verses!” Ignatius said. “You can burn in the hereafter, but I’m staying pure-like!”

“That’s all well and good, Mr. Skar,” Wolfe said. “But let me ask you a few questions. Think you can handle that without hollering about like a jackass?”

Skar didn’t answer, but he nodded. He dusted his shirt off and stood at attention.

“Alright, then,” she said. “First off, do you have any proof that this boy is involved in a terrorist operation?”

“He’s been reading The Foundations for Chrissakes.”

“That ain’t proof,” Wolfe said. “I’m sure you’ve read plenty of books I fundamentally disagree with. You conjure that gives me the right to lock you up?”

“Well, not exactly.”

“That answers that then,” she said. “Next question: you got hard, actual, tangible evidence of these supposed shenanigans?”

“Not exactly.”

“Another ‘no,’” she said. “Now, did he threaten you or anyone else in a way where violence was to be expected?”

“Well, no, not exactly.”

“Finally, is there any reason why I’d arrest this kid instead of you when you’ve got no proof and are the only cuss I see presenting the threat of physical violence to an unarmed civilian?”

“Now, Captain, I can see how you might be wanting to draw that particular conclusion, but that’s not—”

“Exactly. Why don’t you take a walk, Mr. Skar? And keep your distance from Mr. Sloat here, least until you’ve had some time to cool down. That sound reasonable enough for you?”

“Yes, Captain. That’s a, uh, pretty reasonable expectation. And I, uh, I’ll be leaving now then.”

“You’re welcome.”

“Oh, yes, right, and, uh, thank you, Captain,” he said. His voice dropped and he furrowed his brow. “I appreciate you and your service to this fine country.”

“Alright, Jas,” Wolfe said. “Bring Abby over here.”

Jas pulled him up and dusted him off.

“Now, Abby,” Wolfe said. “What the hell you talking politics with that old blaster for?”

“Excuse me?” Ignatius said, mustering his last scraps of indignation. Jas walked over and put a hand on his shoulder.

“She ain’t talking to you, Iggy,” Jas said. “Deep breaths. In: one, two, three…”

“All I did was try to educate that old fool,” Abner said, still shaking.

“There’s nothing wrong with reading,” Wolfe said. “Especially things other folks shy away from due to superstition, but you know what Skar’s like. There’s no way in hell you’d change his mind, so there’s only two results of conversating with him. Either you’ll get to trading blows or worse you’ll somehow end up agreeing with him.”

“Hey!” Ignatius said.

“Come on, let it out, Iggy,” Jas said. “Two, three, four…”

“Don’t matter how many facts you got on your side,” Wolfe said. “Folks like Ignatius’ll beat the shit out of you with their belief and feel all the better for it. So, focus on your studying and find a way to put that big brain of yours to good use instead of arguing in diners with old crabapples. Got it?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“One more bit of advice, Abby,” she said. “Don’t call a Captain in the Corps ‘ma’am,’ especially one who just saved your sorry ass from a one-sided ass-kicking.”

“Yes, of course, ma—I mean, yes, Captain.”

4:7

Forensics had encased the affected zone in an inflatable plastic dome. Lab coats scurried back and forth inside, collecting samples and storing them in cryo-pacs. Their various instruments whirred and buzzed. The Geiger counter played jazz.

The General stepped through the door flap. Lead Analyst Leonard Staley sat at his console, his eyes flashing nervously between the screens.

“Staley,” the General said.

“Sir,” Staley said. He stood and leaned on the chair until it started to roll away. “I am so, so sorry for—”

“Relax.” The General wrapped his fingers around Staley’s shoulders and eased him back down in his chair.

“Yes, sir,” Staley said. He wiped his sweaty palms on his pants. “Thank you, sir.”

“Start with the ship and we’ll go from there.”

“Nothing solid,” Staley said. “Some smart cuss found a way to kill the presentation console. Wouldn’t have any effect on engines or flight nav, though. We’ve analyzed the blast pattern and we’re still going through our samples…”

“I sense a ‘but’ coming.”

“But no red flags yet,” Staley said. “Seems she came down out of the clear blue.”

“Did we get a sweep from up on high?”

“Satellite feed’s coming through as we speak,” Staley said. He keyed in several swift commands. “Narrowing the parameters…” He knocked the display and fiddled with the cables to stop it from glitching. “Here we go…let’s see. Two events. Energy concentrations of some kind.”

“Care to be more specific?”

“Highly energetic electrons,” Staley said. “Like the kind you find in gamma-ray bursts, but they’re acting more like anti-neutrinos, which doesn’t make any sense. Walter would be better at—”

“Minor criticism, Staley,” the General said. “After axing the only truly indispensable member of your team, try not to remind your superior how expendable you are.”

“Right, sir,” Staley said. “Can’t say I’ve seen anything like it. Not on this scale. You only see particle behavior like this in the cores of imploding stars. I’d need more time to be sure…”

Nero stomped through the door flap, knocking his shoulder into one of the technicians. The General winced and gritted his teeth.

“Hey, Lenny,” Nero said. “Your boys ever get that package from…”

The General spun around and stalked over to his son.

“Major,” he said. “Wipe that smile off your face and explain yourself.”

“Sir, Nero didn’t—”

“Don’t defend him, Staley,” the General said. “It’s not a good look.”

“He was escaping,” Nero said. “I couldn’t just—”

“What in the living hell were you thinking?” The General grabbed the Major’s collar and held him in a vice grip. “Fifteen body bags, Charlie. Fifteen!”

“I mean, they might’ve been witnesses, but I didn’t—”

“You didn’t what?” the General said. “You didn’t think? Didn’t consider the consequences of junking a registered civilian cruiser?”

“Sir, he didn’t do it,” Staley said timidly.

“I…I…” Nero closed his eyes and turned away.

“Look at me when I’m talking at you, goddamnit,” the General said. “You got any sense left, boy?”

“But I didn’t do it, dad,” Nero said. “I swear.”

“What did you call me?”

The General’s good eye was burning wide. The other whined and dilated, closing in on his son.

“I didn’t do it,” Nero gulped. “Sir…”

“That’s better,” the General said. “Now, what do you mean you didn’t do it? Wolfe’s report said the kid saw you.”

“He didn’t see my face,” Nero said. “I was suited up.”

“That doesn’t make you untraceable,” the General said. “Warp tech sheds your cells with each jump. If the Ministry ever launched an investigation, they’d find evidence of your stupid ass all over the goddamned place. Now, you’re saying you didn’t rig those charges?”

“Honest, sir, I didn’t,” Nero said. “I was following Walt and I lost him along the way. The ship landed and I figured I’d check it out. Weren’t there more than a few seconds before I zapped out.”

“Sir, if I may interrupt,” Staley said.

“Please do,” the General grunted. He pushed and let go of Charlie at the same time, casting his son away.

“Nero’s telling the truth. No way could he have done this. Not unless he’s got some serious talents kept secret from us.”

“That he sure ain’t,” the General said. “Care to enlighten us?”

“What happened here wasn’t planned,” Staley said. “The first event was spontaneous. I haven’t worked it out exactly, but it behaves like a call. Then the second event, the explosion, came as a response. And, in the interim, all the energy pooled here.”

“Make it plain, Staley,” the General said. “You don’t get points for sounding smart.”

“It wasn’t man-made,” Staley said. “Wherever the energy spike came from, it set the stage. That’s what brought the ship down, like it was attracted to it somehow, but the ship was good and grounded before the response made it all go boom.”

“You’ve got theories, I assume.”

Staley scratched his head. He didn’t need to, but sometimes it’s nice to let others know you’re still thinking. Simple courtesy.

“There’s nothing I’ve heard of that could accomplish this,” Staley said. “Especially given the heat signatures. I think we’re looking at something else entirely…” He stopped and leaned in at the slowly evolving image on his screen. “Now, that’s strange.”

“Strange,” the General said. “You’re my expert in quantum mechanics, Staley. I don’t want to hear strange. Strange is your job. Strange is your so-called specialty.”

“Apologies, sir,” Staley said. “But it is strange.” He pulled the monitor over and pointed to a heat signature. “Here, right before the blast. You can see all the passengers gathered around the tail of the ship, but this one ventured off from the others.”

“The kid? You can’t be thinking he pulled this off.”

“Not at all, sir,” Staley said. “There’s no indication of any tech on his pulse. Even if he did, there’s no possibility of accomplishing something like this with modern technology. We’re talking the difference between a firecracker and nitro. Pay attention to this area, though, and watch what happens when we rewind to before the ship touched down…” The orange, red, and yellow blobs morphed and filed back inside the ship and went back into space. “Now, we zoom in on where the outlier was standing…” The screen showed nothing except the background heat from the ground. Staley paused the feed.

“What am I looking at here?” The General leaned in, clutching Staley’s shoulder for support.

“There,” Staley said. “It’s faint, but it’s definitely there.”

The General squinted and followed Staley’s trembling finger over the screen. There, between his thumb and forefinger, was the hazy outline of a man, but it couldn’t be. The thermal was too low to be alive. At least nothing human.

“Don’t tell me I came all the way out here to read tea leaves.”

“Sir,” Staley said. “Shortly after the, uh, incident in the Vaults, we lost Walter completely.”

“I kept on him for a spell,” Nero said. “But Bohr just up and vanished out near the gulch.”

“Remember Walt’s latest complaints with the formula,” Staley said. “He thought the risk of inversion in the power flow might cause the subject to flare out.”

“Spell it out,” the General said.

Staley typed manically and rewound the satellite feed. The sky view hovered over Hazmat for a moment. The General knocked the screen, assuming it had frozen again. The town blurred up the hill and gathered in the church. Staley pointed to a figure emerging at the top of McDougal Hill.

“Now you see him…” Staley pressed play and followed the shadow of Walter’s fading heat signature out into the dunes where it disappeared entirely. “Now you don’t.”

“So…” The General’s chest dropped. A cough bubbled up in his throat. “He really is gone…”

“I’m so sorry, sir,” Staley said. “We didn’t know what else to do. He cancelled the security codes and was purging everything. We had to stop him. I didn’t want to kill him, but now…it’s all lost.”

The General started coughing. He doubled over and clutched his sides. Then something shifted. He lost control, but he wasn’t coughing. He was laughing.

“Sir?” Staley’s eyes went wide. He pulled his chair in to give the General some space.

“Should I get a medic?” Nero said. He went to his dad and to pat his back but stopped himself. He knew better.

“Are you okay?” Staley said.

“Pleased…” The General grunted and pounded on his lung tanks. “Pleased as punch…” He grinned. “Funny how things work out, eh, boys?”

Staley stared blankly up at the man who conscripted him from prison. The General had worked out a pardon and then brough him halfway across the universe to do the same thing he’d been serving a life sentence for. Staley had questions, but the only ones that mattered had already been answered. Who else could wipe his slate clean? Who else could grant him access to scientific equipment after the incident on Minos-5? At this point, all signs pointed to the General.

“Chin up, Staley,” the General said. “I’ll be feeling much better once you’ve fixed the inversion problem.”

“I’ve got a few ideas,” Staley said. “But this was Walt’s baby. I’m not sure I can do what you’re—”

“Yes, we’ve already established the parameters of your limited capabilities, Staley,” the General said. “But perhaps with the right partner, you can carry us to the finish line. You’re familiar with Dr. Nova’s work, I assume.”

“Oh, yes, but he might not be the best fit for this line of work.”

“Let me worry about that,” the General said.

“And we don’t exactly get along, in the professional sense.”

“I’m sure you two can work out your differences for the greater good. Perhaps with a little persuasion…” He tapped on the hilts of his pistols.

“Yes, sir,” Staley said. He nodded and kept nodding as if he couldn’t stop. “That might work. Yes, sir, we’ll make it work.”

“Relax,” the General said. “You don’t have to worry about me killing you.”

“Oh,” Staley said. He played nonchalant, but instantly felt lighter than air.

“That would be Nero’s job.”

“Huh?” Nero was distracted, squinting at the screen, still trying to figure out what the two were talking about.

“Still, I’m really sorry, sir,” Staley said.

“Sure, it could’ve been cleaner,” the General said. “Sure, you two obliterated nearly all our work overnight, but…” His eyes fixed on the screen, peering at the raw data flowing and morphing. “Necessity is the mother of invention. And even though this is a fine mess we find ourselves in, at least we’ve learned one important lesson.”

“What’s that?” Staley said.

“That it can work,” the General said. “You said what happened to the ship is nothing you’ve ever seen before. That means we’re close to tapping into it.” He ran his hand over his skull and wiped the sweat from his brow on Nero’s fatigues. “How quickly can you tear down here and get set up for another run?”

“Five hours,” Staley said. “Tops.”

“Not a second more,” the General said. “Where are Tweedledee and Tweedledumbass?”

“I had them sunset Walter’s apartment in Atlas before the cleaning crews arrived,” Staley said. “But it was a long night for everyone, so I told them they could sleep in.”

“Better wake them up then,” the General said. “And Major?”

“Yes, sir,” Nero said, snapping to attention.

“Get suited up,” the General said. “You’ve got some more housekeeping to do.”

Nero saluted and trotted back outside. The door flap closed. General sighed and stretched his arms up to the sky, cracking his shoulder blades.

“Again,” Staley said. “I’m sorry, sir, for the way things worked out.”

“Leave it lie, Staley,” the General said. “It’s always darkest…” He trailed off and grinned to himself.

“Sir?”

“Get to work.” The General grunted and disappeared, leaving Staley to collapse in relief at his console. The monitor was still active, playing out Walter’s final moments on a loop.

Now you see him.

Now you don’t.

4:8

Mort downshifted to take the duster over the crest of the hill. On the other side, the land bottomed out into a massive valley. They passed a half-sunk gas station as the road suddenly became evenly paved with painted lanes and everything. The highway rose on concrete pillars above the dunes. From there, they could see the roofs of old homesteads and fences of fallen factories. They headed straight for the middle of nowhere where the other major highways converged on a dusty metropolis. Eugene perked up in his seat as the mass of buildings invaded the wide-open spaces.

“There she is,” Mort said. “New Lost Vegas, our desert rose…”

On the far-side of the city, shadows of purple mountains skirted the horizon and merged with the clouds, but Eugene was fixated on Atlas Rock. Wrought-iron bridges lead into town from the dune highways, grand entrances placed in between each of the main skyscrapers. Skirting the city limits, the original landing Arks of The Reclamation stood tall. The whole city sat atop a massive system of drainage pipes. Instead of pumping water, however, they sucked sand up from the streets and dumped it back out into the wastes. The van idled up the exit ramp into town and Mort parked in the security line, inching its way up to the guard post.

“You folks in Hazmat sure go out of your way to avoid civilization,” Eugene said.

“Time was when there were colonies set up all over creation,” Mort said. “Garlock and Carson are still holding on and there’s a few mining towns and research outposts scattered around, but Atlas and Hazmat are the only safe bets left. Fat Man and Little Boy, as it were.”

“So, it’s kind of like the place they go in The Zeroth Law.”

“Haven’t caught that one yet,” he said. “We’ll probably get it here in a few months.”

“Months?” he said. “It’s been out for nearly a year.”

“We’re slow to get much of anything out here,” he said. “You know what a perpetual motion machine is?”

“Yeah,” he said. “It’s where you start it going and it keeps going on indefinitely.”

“Bingo,” Mort said.

“They also don’t exist.”

“Yeah, tell that to the shareholders…”

“I don’t know how you do it,” Eugene said. “I’m not even driving and I’m totally over this commute.”

“It helps to ease into the day,” Mort said. “And get it all out of my system before I make it home.” He smiled and kept driving. Then, his eyes went square like he’d left the oven on at home. He tried to resuscitate the conversation. “Also, between you and me, not that it’s as bad as some say, but the city’s still not the best place to find yourself in after nightfall, you know?”

Eugene nodded and Mort nodded. The van rumbled slowly up the ramp and they proceeded to say absolutely nothing.

When they reached the guard shack, the lights flashed and a buzzer tolled. Chain-link walls dropped around the duster like a pneumatic press. Two guards emerged and inspected the vehicle, one holding a mirror under the chassis. The guard at the window took Mort’s badge, ran his plates, and added Eugene and Joules to the manifest.

Eugene watched the guards outside as they peaked into the wheel wells. Behind them the road curved down and to the right, spiraling into the ground like a parking garage. Stencil-painted in block letters were two words: Staging Facility.

“What’s down there?” Eugene said.

“I’m sure I don’t want to know,” Mort said. The cage around them rattled back up into the roof and Mort cautiously accelerated into the city. “They’ve been adding a lot of security measures, new ones every day it seems. Every little thing in the name of freedom, right?”

“Right…” Eugene said. Lights flashed and a horn blared. The beaten-up duster behind them in line was ordered down into the staging facility. Then the lights turned off as the next car entered the checkpoint.

The rusted railway system ran above the streets and divided the city into equal orange slices. Far ahead, the roads and rails met downtown to form an old-fashioned roundabout: the great town square riddled with First Wave Reclamation architecture.

Colonial domes and ornate columns. Impressive structures made possible only by the sheer optimism and unearned confidence that come with colonizing a planet. Much like the rest of the city, though, all of the cracks were beginning to show. Entropy grew like ivy in the empty spaces, leaving a subtle path of vacant lots and condemned housing.

They passed under a group of defunct municipal buildings as they ascended on foundational thrusters. Crosses, gargoyles, and clock towers rose toward the great storage bays in the sky. The long-haul freighters hovered overhead; shadows of patient, rumbling clouds. Buildings disappeared into their gaping bellies to be ferried off-world.

The town square used to be the site of great gatherings and celebrations, but the last event in recent memory was held by the fire department when a rail conductor died of a sudden heart attack. He was locked in the main cabin, the train circling, circling. They had to shut the whole system off, lead passengers down skinny ladders, and pry open the doors to remove the conductor’s rigor-mortified body from his seat. The headlines focused more on the traumatic experience of being trapped on a “death train” and less on the fact that the conductor had been denied repeated sick leave requests over the course of several years.

A railcar passed overhead, casting sparks from the track, and all at once Terra was familiar to Eugene. The smell of fried food and exhaust invaded the duster. He grinned as they sped through the Transient District. The streets were filled with people, trinket shops, and flashing signs. Trash cans knocked over, spilling their guts into alleys and gutters. Graffiti and liquor stores and ATMs on every block.

There you go, dad, Eugene thought. If you’re going nowhere, at least head for the middle of it…

Mort parked by a meter and swiped his pass card. Across the street stood one of the main scrapers. It towered over the surrounding structures. The sign blazed over the front doors, blinding even in the clear light of day, outlined in flashing bulbs and written in elegant, if a tad chubby, cursive.

The Hyperion Hotel: Luxury Suites.

“Here we are,” Mort said. “Home, sweet, temporary home…”

4:9

Wolfe didn’t hear the duster stop outside, but she felt it. The armor-plated Studebaker was outfitted with reverse acoustics. The engine was mean as hell and quiet as a mouse. It ate sound, sucked the air out of the room.

The porch creaked and Wolfe took a sip of cold coffee, digging her eyes into her report and waiting for the penny to drop. Then she smelled stale smoke through the open window.

“I’ve got half-past…”

Wolfe cringed and dropped her pen. The General stood in the doorway. A chunk of ash fell from his cigar and caressed his splotched trench coat.

Wolfe pushed out her chair and stood at attention.

“Half past noon, Captain,” he said. “And already you’ve disobeyed a direct order, removed a key witness from the scene of a crime, and threatened a superior officer with deadly force.”

“It’s been a busy day, sir.”

“Care to dispute any of those charges?”

“No, sir,” she said. “Except for the word ‘superior.’”

“Your attitude is less than serious,” he said, fuming on his cigar. He burned it to the filter and cast it on the ground. The ash splashed, the sparks danced and died. He blew out the smoke and strolled around the room. He passed the short row of cells, noting two young boys moping on their cots. The General stopped to inspect the weapons chest. “Is this not a serious business?”

“It is, sir,” she said. “Apologies, sir.”

“Then let’s be serious for a moment,” he said. “And give me your report on the shuttle.”

“Not much to tell, sir,” she said. “Saw the shuttle go down a little after sun-up. Looked like engine trouble, poor flight nav, what have you, so we packed up and headed out for the assist. About halfway there she blew. Left a pile of corpses near the gulch and a kid knocked out less than a klick away just outside of Bandy’s tract. Haven’t sussed it all out yet, but Kale’s working on cracking the black box.”

“Was working on it,” he said. “I’ll take it so it can be reviewed by a proper forensics team. I hear there was a witness…” He strolled over to the kids in the cells. “So, which one is it?”

“Neither,” Wolfe said. “Stopped these two on violating noise ordinance.”

“So, you locked them up?”

“No, they’re just sitting tight until Kale adjusts the volume threshold on their duster system.”

“I see…” The General snatched up the keys from Wolfe’s desk. “Alright, you two are free to go. The Captain and I need some privacy.”

“Sir, you can’t just—”

“Are you telling me what I can or can’t do, Captain?”

The General waited for an answer. Wolfe didn’t respond.

“That’s what I thought,” the General said, ushering the kids outside. “On you go…” He shut the door and turned to Wolfe. “That’s better. Now, explain to me why I’m short a witness.”

“Honest, sir, you could read all about it in the report I logged,” she said. “I know that’s how you’ve preferred to conduct business with us since the transfer…”

“What I require of my soldiers is subject to change,” he said, glancing over the report. “Now tell me: where’s this witness? Eugene Bohr.”

“Don’t rightly know, sir.”

“That’s not good enough.”

“Kid was here to see his dad,” she said. “Did some prodding and found some locals to help get him sorted. Got the boy where he needed going and saved the Corps some gas in the process. I know how the budget causes all manner of stress.”

“An authorized flight arrives through a pylon bypass,” he said. “Lands on our rock packed full of Constant States citizens, and you not only let the surviving witness walk, but you hitch him a ride? Am I missing something here, Captain?”

“I followed proper procedure,” she said. “Kid didn’t give us anything we didn’t already know. The ship landed, the ship exploded. End of story. Would it be worth risking legal action from the boy’s parents to keep him detained just to provide redundant information?”

“Why the sudden concern for the Corps and its financial situation?”

“Can’t say for certain,” she said. “Perhaps it has to do with that being the reason all of my requests get denied.”

“Perhaps you make too many requests.”

“Speaking of requests,” Wolfe said. “Novas mentioned the racket your boys are making down in the Distillery. County still says they never issued a permit.”

“You know how bureaucracy goes,” he said. “Probably haven’t gotten around to it.”

“Said you never applied.”

“I’ll look into it.”

“S’what you said last time…”

The General’s eyes flared, but he controlled himself. He pulled up a chair like a disappointed teacher, the metal feet scraping the floor. He took a seat and propped his boots on Wolfe’s desk. Caked-on sand shuffled loose and splattered over her reports.

“What are you trying to accomplish here, Captain?”

“My job, sir.”

“You know, Adrian,” he said. “When I first proposed your unit’s relo, high command was hesitant at best. I don’t recall if I ever told you, but I had to introduce a special resolution to the Council just to make it happen.”

“I’m aware, sir,” she said. “You’ve mentioned it many times hence.”

“Yes, they had their doubts,” he said. “But the way you busted the Shepherd’s Herd stands as one of the finest examples of tactical awareness I’ve come across. Must have read the file a dozen times.”

“Again, sir,” she said. “Just doing the job.”

“I still remember what you said to me when I asked how you shut down a professional network of child traffickers. How you were able to bring every single one of those sick bastards in alive.”

“So do I, sir,” she said. “It’s easy. You just aim for the dick.”

“Eloquently put,” he said. “That’s what the Six Stars couldn’t grasp. It was never about PR or inclusive recruitment or any of that hogwash. I didn’t want the The Inglorious Bitches. I wanted a unit with salt. I wanted honest-to-God soldiers.”

“And I appreciate your interest in my unit,” she said. “In earnest, though, wish it had lasted a bit longer.”

“You still have my interest, Captain,” he said. “You’ve just long since lost the benefit of the doubt. How’s that old saying go? Time reveals a shoddy craftsman.”

“I’m not sure I follow, sir.”

“I’m sure you don’t,” he said. “You haven’t been too keen on following my orders since that kerfuffle with the bomb squad.”

“Kerfuffle?” she said. Her eyes went wide. Good thing there was a table between them or else she would’ve gone for his throat. “Good soldiers died that day, sir.”

“Good soldiers die all the time, Captain,” he said. “This land’s still raw. Judgement comes quick and mistakes are paid in blood. That’s why we have SOP. That’s why you follow orders.”

“With respect, sir,” she said. “We didn’t clean up Novak taking orders as divine writ. And we sure as hell didn’t waste precious time and resources detaining zero threats.”

“Zero threat?” the General sneered. “No such thing.”

“He’s just a boy,” she said. “Christ, he ain’t got a hand in nothing except his pants.”

“I’ve got a growing list of hit-jobs, rundowns, and pretty little bombsites,” he said. “All courtesy of just boys.”

“That why you flew halfway across this rock?” she said. “I appreciate the lecture, sir, but I’ve got—”

“Why I left Masada is none of your concern,” he said. His breathing became sharper. The occasional wheeze now a solid growl, filling in the cracks between his words. “You’ve got serious gaps, Captain. Your point of view blinded beyond all reason.”

“I stand by my actions,” she said. “I will not apologize for them.”

“I’m at a loss here, Adrian,” he said. “You flub basic protocol, refuse to offer the smallest amount of respect to your commanders, and can’t seem to get a handle on the simple task of managing your largely vacant zone.”

“We’re going on two years without any major attacks, sir,” Wolfe said. “Tell me: how’s Atlas doing?”

“Well, it would’ve been three full days without,” the General said. “But then there was a stabbing this morning.”

“Shame,” Wolfe said. “Maybe you could’ve used me.”

“Funny,” the General said. “Explain to me why you haven’t transferred yet, Captain. It’s obvious you don’t want to be here.”

“That’s not my call to make, sir,” she said. “You want me gone, you know what’s gotta happen.”

“You ungrateful, little…”

“Little what?” she said. “Come on, sir. Ain’t nothing I haven’t heard before or won’t hear many times again.”

“You’re an ungrateful bitch.”

“Damn skippy.”

“After the hell I went through to get your unit’s relo greenlit,” he said. “You know full well I can’t go back on that.”

“Come now, sir,” she said. “That’s awful negative. I believe you have it in you. All you have to do is put on a smile, stand before your fellow Immutables, and eat crow. Pretty cut and dry. Then I’m out of your hair, least what’s left of it.”

“You’re right,” he said. “But I’m thinking that would be going too easy on you.”

“If you have a call to make, sir,” she said. “I suggest you make it. We’ve gone through field surveys and retraining before, so I don’t see us accomplishing much here besides killing time.”

“I appreciate the candor,” he said. “Let’s cut to the quick then. You’re no longer responsible for Hazmat. Until we get it reassigned, this is my post.”

“With respect, sir,” she said. “I am not leaving my town.”

“Oh, you’ll be able to stop by now and then,” he said. “I hear Dune Patrol is a good opportunity to gain perspective. I’m sure you’ll pass through this area fairly often while you’re out making the rounds.”

“Dune Patrol?” she said. “Sir, that’s a job for fresh greens and burnouts. Putting us out there is a complete waste. We’ve got business here needs tending.”

“Thank you for proving my exact point,” he said. “To be perfectly clear: that wasn’t a request, Captain.”

“Well, I can’t argue with that,” she said. “Seeing as how I’m the one making the requests around here.”

“Check your tone, Captain.”

“It’s checked, sir,” she said. “And it’s just the tone I require. Here I am, making request after request for you and yours to get off your asses and start providing support on these missing persons cases. I’ve got folks coming to me from as far off as Garlock, some from Carson, saying Atlas won’t help them find their kin. Now, after years of doing absolutely goddamned nothing to support my unit, you suddenly take an interest in my work, in my people, and after what? A civilian shuttle lands where it ain’t supposed to? I’m supposed to leave my town, my people hurting? I’m supposed to just drop everything and—”

“Yes…”

He kicked the chair away and reached over the desk. He snatched Wolfe by the throat, slamming her against the wall. She could hear the whir of pneumatics in his spine. His elbow buzzed, his neck popped. His limbs seemed to stretch and grow as he leaned toward her. The rotten stench of smoke and scotch burned her nostrils. Her eyes watered.

“Yes, Captain, that’s exactly what you’re going to do,” he said. “Because that’s how the chain of command works.” He lifted her higher.

She heard the strain of small, squishy gears and artificial tendons; machine and muscle working their unholy union. Wolfe’s hair touched the ceiling. She gripped his wrists to pull herself up and relieve the pressure.

“I say. You do. And we all go on our merry.”

“Oh, wouldn’t that be nice?”

Jas leaned in the doorway, taking a drag on her smoke, her Sidewinder pointed at the General.

“Captain, order your man to put that weapon down.”

Wolfe couldn’t move, but her eyes told Jas to stand down.

“Sorry, boss,” Jas said. “I couldn’t understand that order on account of there being some asshole’s hand around your throat.”

“Specialist,” the General grumbled. He turned toward Jas, but the rest of him was stone, his hand tight around Wolfe as the color drained from her face. “Or I suppose it’s Private now. Still transitioning, I see?”

“Nah, it’s all good under the hood,” she said. Jas posed for him and pouted her lips.

“My mistake,” the General said. “When I read your file, I figured you were on your way to becoming a man. Can’t say I see the point in going t’other way.”

“Oh, you know I’ve always been a bitch, Howie,” she said, flicking her cigarette at the General’s feet. “Only difference is now my body’s tuned with my heart. Same as you and your patchwork self.”

“And what’s that supposed to mean?”

“What I mean is you match perfect,” Jas said. “Ugly as hell, inside and out.”

“Cute,” the General said. “But I don’t think taxpayers take too kind to footing the bill for your little…social experiment.”

“Sure cost a lot less than what it takes to keep propping your old bones up.”

“I advise you to hold your tongue, Private,” he said. “Or I’ll have to give you a lesson in the chain of command as well.”

“Oh, you mean like this?” Jas let her gun fall on its strap. “Sure.” She cracked her knuckles and grinned. “Put her down and let’s step outside.”

“Honestly, O’Connor,” the General said. “I’m surprised you haven’t found an excuse to get off this rock. I mean, your sister here can pass well enough, but you look full-blooded Pilgrim. Even with your…accessories.”

“What exactly you trying to say, Mr. General, sir?”

“That you look a lot like the enemy,” he said. “Only a matter of time before the Saints or one of our boys mistake you for such.”

“Fancy thinking you got there,” Jas said. “No wonder the Crusades ain’t ending anytime soon.”

“I’m only going to ask once, Captain,” he snarled at Wolfe. “Where’s the boy?”

“You didn’t hear?” Jas said. “Kid already shipped out with the Novas. Hell, you probably passed them on the way in. Guess you’ll be turning back. Too bad. Y’all come back now…”

The General held Wolfe another moment before letting her go. Her boots smacked against the floor and her back slumped down the wall. She clutched her neck and sucked air.

“I’m going to let the Private’s behavior slide,” the General said. He leaned down and got in her face once more. “And you’re going to hop along to your new station, but if I hear words escape your lips aren’t ‘Yes, sir, right away, sir,’ I swear to all that is holy in the ever-loving Constant I will cut you down.”

“Big talk,” Jas scoffed.

The General whirled around and stopped the barrel of his Boomslang just shy of Private O’Connor’s face. Jas smacked her lips and gave the muzzle a little kiss.

“Well?” the General said over his shoulder.

“Yes, sir…” Wolfe stood and brushed herself off. “Right away, sir…”

Wolfe stomped past him and kicked open the door. She got on the horn as she passed the General’s security detail. They stood lined up in two opposite rows, clutching umbrellas like rifles to make shade for their commander.

“Hustle up, ladies,” she said. She whistled to Austen in the crow’s nest. “We’re going for a ride.”

The General nodded to Jas and holstered his gun. He bowed toward the door as if to say, ‘after you.’ Jas ignored him and swaggered outside, knocking her shoulder into every one of the General’s escorts as she went.

Kale shut the hood and handed the kids the keys to their duster. They hopped in and immediately started the music. The bass thumped dust off the racks in the garage. They bobbed their heads and the little shits grinned at the Captain.

Wolfe winced as she marched over. She kicked open the hood and ripped out the wires to their speaker system. She tossed it on the driver’s lap and kept walking.

“Hey, you can’t do that!”

“Just did,” she said.

The Hellbender roared out of the garage. The wheels fishtailed and cast an arc of sand over the main drag as the General stepped onto the porch. Austen jumped off the last bit of ladder and got inside with Kale. Jas grabbed the roll-cage and tugged herself up. She saluted the General and spat at him as the Hellbender snarled off the road.

The General stood in the shade and watched the dust settle. An apparition of their movement, a ghost dance. He coughed into his hand and examined it. Thick white mucus speckled with blood.

He winced and wiped it on the nearest soldier.

CALL AND RESPONSE