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    Tomorrow's Stories
    Tomorrow's Stories
    Tomorrow's Stories
    Ebook368 pages5 hours

    Tomorrow's Stories

    By Robert Collins

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    About this ebook

    This collection contains two dozen science fiction short stories. They show hope, fear, hard work, and compelling characters. These stories have appeared in a variety of publications over almost 20 years.

    Also included in this collection is the novella “A Story from Richland.” A stranger appears in Richland on the planet of Ogallah, wanting to make the village his home. He’s willing to integrate into his new community, but unwilling to talk about his past. Will the Mayor of this little town learn anything about the new resident?

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherRobert Collins
    Release dateSep 1, 2017
    ISBN9781370836901
    Tomorrow's Stories
    Author

    Robert Collins

    Two people with different cultural backgrounds and ethnicities met at a European and Balkan music and dance ensemble named Koroyar and their lives became intertwined, combining their gifts to continue exploring life as an avenue of creative expression. Robert Collins has a Bachelor of Arts in Anthropology, and has been an educator in the Los Angeles area for thirty years. He studied writing with Joan Oppenheimer in San Diego, with Cork Millner privately, and also in the Santa Barbara Writer's Conferences. Elizabeth Herrera Sabido, at the age of sixteen years, began working as a secretary at the Secretaria de Industria y Comercio in Mexico City where she was born, then she was an educator for twenty-six years, and a teacher of international dance for The Los Angeles Unified School District. She has also studied Traditional Chinese Medicine, and is a Reiki Master Teacher. Attracted by the Unknown, the Forces of the Universe, and the human psyche, during their lives they have studied several different philosophies. Elizabeth has been involved with various religions, Asian studies, and Gnosticism with SamaelAun Weor, and Robert has explored spiritual healing practices in Mexico, and studied with Carlos Castaneda's Cleargreen and Tensegrity. Elizabeth and Robert start their day at four-thirty in the morning. They enjoy playing volleyball and tennis, and in the afternoons play music, alternating between seven different instruments each. Their philosophy of Personal Evolution has led them to explore over 110 countries between the two of them such as Japan, Nepal, Egypt, Bosnia- Herzegovina, the Philippines, Turkey,Russia, etc.

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      Tomorrow's Stories - Robert Collins

      PUBLICATION CREDITS

      Below is a list of where the stories in this collection have appeared; please note that the list is in chronological order, and that some of these are (or were) online web periodicals:

      Acts of Defiance: The Ultimate Unknown, Number 6, Winter 1997.

      Always Have, Always Will: Golden Visions, Issue Number 4, Oct./Nov./Dec. 2008.

      American Neutrality: Of Unicorns & Space Stations, Volume 3, Number 3, Summer 1997.

      Black: The Fifth Di, December, 2011.

      The Black Flowers: Outward, Winter 1993.

      The Camlan Gift: Hadrosaur Tales, Volume 2, 1997.

      The Choice: The Fifth Di, Edition 4, Number 2, April 2002.

      Choose to Belong: Hadrosaur Tales, Volume 10, 2001.

      The Damned Spot: Ultimate Unknown, Number 12, Summer, 1998.

      Destined: Hadrosaur Tales, Volume 4, 1998.

      End Run: Tales of the Talisman, Volume 8, Issue 1, 2012.

      Frozen Rock: Conzine, December, 1993.

      A Good Reason to Drink: Musing, Volume 2, Number 1, Winter 1997.

      The Last Medal Winner: The Tale Spinner, Number 3, Summer, 1996.

      The Last Speaker: Star Song, Number 13, September 1990.

      Quincy Darby’s Discovery: Hadrosaur Tales, Volume 12, 2001.

      Real Hero: Atopos, Number 1, Spring 1991.

      Red Hair, Red Hearts: Knightmares, 1996; Hadrosaur Tales, Volume 7, 1999.

      A Stop at Stanford: Parageography, Number 1, July 2003.

      Stories: Hadrosaur Tales, Volume 6, 1999.

      A Strong Reply: Today’s Fantasy Future Technology, Volume 1, Number 3, December 1991.

      What to Change: Aphelion, Volume 7, Issue 73, August 2003.

      Won’t Just Survive: Pablo Lennis, Number 123, February 1998.

      INTRODUCTION

      Over the years I sold over 100 short stories to various publications. About a decade ago, I began publishing collections of these short stories. Recently I’ve been consolidating some of my fictional series into single-volume ebooks. I thought I’d do something similar with my various short story collections and novellas.

      This collection contains the science fiction stories I’ve written, outside of the lighter ones that are in the Fun Tales! collection. Also included is one of the science fiction novellas I wrote and self-published. The digital and print editions of this collection contain the same stories.

      I hope you’ll enjoy these works.

      Robert Collins

      Autumn, 2017

      ACTS OF DEFIANCE

      Joan dashed into her spaceship. She rammed her hand against the palm-print reader. Her feet pounded along the floor of the access-way. She jogged down the corridor of the main deck of the ship, and skidded to a halt in the doorway of the command cabin.

      The pilot didn’t even look up from his flight check. Up late last night, were we?

      No, Garrett, Joan replied between breaths, I was shopping. My sister’s wedding anniversary’s coming up. I just lost track of time.

      All right, Carstairs. Go down to Deck Two and see that our cargo’s loaded and secured.

      Joan walked back down the corridor. At least he isn’t making noises about reporting it, she thought. I suppose that’s some improvement. She glanced out a viewport near the access elevator. The last connection to the last waste containment vessel was being made. The blue, white, and yellow insignia of the Lunar Industrial Consortium gleamed in the sunlight for second, then the containment tank slipped behind the Iron Horse. Joan stepped into the elevator, and rode it down to the second deck’s only room, the cargo bay.

      Eight large containers had been loaded aboard. The markings on each one read, DANGER - Unstable Material - Keep Air-Conditioned at All Times. Joan checked their restraints to make sure they wouldn’t shift during maneuvers. She put a hand to each container; each was properly cooled. Controls on the containers appeared to be regulating their temperature efficiently, so she didn’t turn the cargo bay thermostat down as she left the bay.

      Eight cold containers, all secure, she reported. She sat down in the copilot’s seat. When’s launch time? Garrett pointed to the ship’s chronometer between their stations: twenty minutes, eight seconds. She nodded and started checking the systems at her station.

      Joan tried to suppress a yawn, and failed. You sure you went to sleep early, Carstairs?

      She nodded quickly. What’s our ETA?

      Garrett looked at a monitor. Exactly seventy-five hours, Carstairs. Call Waste-Elim and check in. He did a brief isometric stretch and stood. I’m going below to recheck the cargo. He turned and left the cabin.

      Joan opened a channel. "This is Iron Horse, calling Waste-Elim Enterprises station C-21; come in, Waste-Elim."

      A few seconds of static corrupted the channel before the station replied. "Waste-Elim, C-21 here, Iron Horse. Go ahead."

      We want to confirm our ETA. Our calculations say seventy-five hours; confirmed?

      A pause, then, Confirmed, Iron Horse. We read you at seventy-five. Be advised that there will be increased traffic as you near L-E-O, and that the Rock Island will be launching at about the time you arrive.

      "Thanks, Waste-Elim. Let us know if Rock Island’s on time, and we’ll keep you updated. Iron Horse, out." She closed the channel, rose, and looked down the corridor.

      Garrett wasn’t back yet. Still bored, she switched on the external video monitors, and looked over the condition of the ship and the tanks it was towing. Everything was in its place, and nothing was malfunctioning. She heard the elevator door open. The containers still there, Garrett?

      She heard several steps, in rapid sequence. Abruptly, a metal tube was jammed against her head. She froze. Garrett? she asked in a small voice.

      Shut up, a stiff male voice snapped. Put your hands at your side, and turn slowly.

      She obeyed. Standing next to her was a dark-haired, brown-eyed young man wearing a green shirt and long overcoat. His hair was long, and part of it was tied in a ponytail. He kept his gun in her face. All systems are normal, right? No problems?

      No problems, she stammered. What do you want?

      You’ll find out.

      The doors opened again. The young man grabbed Joan and stood her up. He rammed the gun barrel under her chin, and, keeping behind her, pushed her out into the corridor. She saw Garrett pointing a gun from the weapons locker at them. She suddenly realized that the young man was not much taller than she.

      Stay there or she gets it! the young man ordered.

      Drop it or I waste you! Garrett answered.

      Joan abruptly took offense at Garrett’s idea. Do as he says, Garrett!

      Shut up, Carstairs!

      Drop it, pilot!

      Make me, punk!

      Garrett!

      The young man flicked the barrel away from Joan, and pointed it at the pilot. Garrett had only enough time to widen his eyes before the young man fired. Garrett’s body flew back against the doors, then he collapsed. Joan screamed, and tried to break free.

      Stay still, the young man ordered. Where’s your cabin?

      It took her time to answer. Second door on the left.

      Move. He poked her in the back with the gun, and she moved. The door to her cabin opened, and he forced her inside. Stay in here. Don’t come out until you’re called. He stepped back, and the door closed.

      She allowed herself some time to grieve. She was appalled when her grieving ended quickly. Garrett was her boss, and she should feel more for him. But she wasn’t able to. This was only her second run under him, and he’d never tried to be more than her boss. All she could sustain was fear.

      Who was that young man? How did he get on board? What was he planning? She knew she would have to stop whatever he was planning, but Joan was terrified of him. If he could kill Garrett so easily, so quickly, what chance did she have?

      At long last someone knocked on her door. She composed herself, and left her room. Standing to her right was a very young woman, maybe nineteen, with curly red hair, brown eyes, and an innocent, nervous face. She awkwardly pointed a small projectile pistol at Joan. On Joan’s left was another young man, this one the same age as the other girl. He was taller than her but shorter than Joan, with yellow hair and scraggly beard. He held a beam pistol, but with precious little confidence. He nodded towards the command cabin, and Joan went forward.

      The young man who’d killed him was sitting in Garrett’s chair; a vaguely Asian woman, about her age, was in Joan’s. Joan kept her anger at them close to the surface.

      It gave her strength. You seem to have taken over fairly quickly, she said the man.

      That’s right, he replied. Myan, give us a sec. The other woman left the cabin, and Joan took her seat. Don’t be like your pilot, Ms. Carstairs. Don’t try to be a hero, and you’ll live.

      How do you know my name? And what’s yours?

      I know your name because your damn computer won’t accept commands from anyone but ‘Mr. Garrett and Ms. Carstairs.’ And if you must know, my name is Peter Vargas. I’m the leader of the Clean Space Force.

      His name, and his organization, meant nothing to Joan. But she did suspect what he was up to. What are your plans, now that you’ve taken over the Iron Horse? Hoping to make the news, are we? She tried to sound calm, but knew she’d failed.

      As a matter of fact, yes.

      The Asian woman stuck her head into the cabin. We’re gonna expose those corporations that are raping the moon, Ms. Carstairs. It’s gonna be a helluva show!

      Joan looked first to Vargas, then to Myan. I don’t have to go along with this, y’know.

      Vargas folded his arms. He kept his face passive and his voice calm. Let me tell you something. We may not be able to fly this ship, but we don’t need you to blow it up. I’ve got my fifth man in the engine room right now, working his way around the systems. If you cooperate, nothing will happen to you.

      Joan swallowed, painfully aware of the unspoken threat. What do you want me to do?

      Just keep this ship on course, and don’t say anything to the authorities. I’ll make the statements from now on, when I am ready to make them. He stood. Meier, Burke, get in here. The two youngest pirates came up to the cabin. Keep an eye on Ms. Carstairs. Don’t let her do anything suspicious. If she tries anything, whack her on the head.

      Where will you be? the younger man asked.

      Myan and I’ll be below. We’ll see how Laurence is doing, we’ll dump out the weapons from their weapons locker, then we’ll break out some provisions. Vargas left, the young woman sat down, and the young man stood in the doorway.

      Joan ran a brief, but careful, check of the systems. Her captors hadn’t tampered with anything, and the ship was still on course. Two hours had passed since the takeover began, she noted. Two hours since Garrett died. It still wasn’t bothering her as much as the takeover.

      She looked at her two young guards. They were still edgy. What’s your names?

      Steve Burke.

      Jill Meier. What’s yours?

      Joan Carstairs.

      Nice to meet you, I guess. She bit her lip. I know Peter killed the pilot. Were you two... friends?

      No. He was just my boss. She took a moment to think of what to say next.

      Y’know, the both of you could get time for killing Garrett.

      No, we can’t, Burke countered. We were in cold sleep.

      That explained where they came from. You’re still guilty of piracy.

      We’re not going to hurt anyone, Meier said. We’ve taken over this ship to make a statement about the waste that the lunar corporations are piling up. Nobody knows what they’re doing with it, and we’re going to show them the truth.

      By piracy?

      Why not? replied Burke unsteadily. I mean, what does Waste-Elim Enterprises really do with all that waste? They won’t let anyone tour their facility, and they won’t let any ships within a hundred kilometers to observe. A small fire had lit up inside him. What are they hiding?

      They aren’t hiding anything. You can’t get close because ships come in and out every day. You can’t tour it because it’s automated. Only the living and control quarters have air.

      So let visitors wear protected space suits, replied Meier. She sounded more convinced than Burke. Keep ships at galactic north or galactic south of their station.

      All right, Joan conceded. You want to know what happens? Everything that’s brought in is analyzed. If there’s any usable chemicals or products, they’re isolated and shipped to whoever wants them. Anything unusable or hazardous gets a one-way trip to the sun.

      Then why won’t they let us see that? insisted Meier.

      I’ve seen it! Joan turned away from them, and shook her head. Your kind just won’t trust any business.

      Have they left a record of fulfilling trust? Jill Meier asked Joan. Corporations never pay their workers a fair wage, unless the government forces them to. They never make their work environs safe, unless government forces them to. They don’t stop polluting, unless forced. They never tell the whole story about their products, unless forced. They’ll work people to death, unless forced not to.

      Okay, so maybe that’s true, Joan conceded. But I’ve just told you what goes on at Waste-Elim. Is a few years in prison worth having your question answered?

      Burke shrugged. Jill managed to say, Maybe, maybe not, then she looked out the forward viewport. But don’t you think the people out there ought to know the answer, too? she added a few moments later.

      ***

      One shift later, Joan was back at her station. Watching over her again was Meier and Burke. An indicator at both the pilot and copilot stations began flashing. What does that mean? the redhead asked.

      Waste-Elim control is hailing us. Joan looked at her two captors. At this point in the flight the pilot has to respond.

      I’ll go get Peter, Burke volunteered.

      Joan opened the channel. "This is Iron Horse, Waste-Elim control. What’s up?"

      Where’s Garrett, Copilot? the voice at the station said.

      One moment, please.

      Long seconds later Vargas entered the cabin. He brushed Jill aside and stabbed the comm button at the pilot’s station. My name is Peter Vargas, commander of the Clean Space Force. Listen carefully, ‘cause I’m only saying this once.

      Who are you? Where’s Garrett?

      Shut up and listen. We want humanity to know what the greedy, corrupt corporations are doing to the moon, Mars, and the people living beyond Earth. We’ve taken over this ship, and we’re going to show the people the truth. Don’t try anything to stop us, or this will get very messy. Have I made myself clear?

      Moments later the voice replied, Yeah, loud and clear.

      Good. I’ll be in touch if have anything else to stay. He snapped off the channel. Carstairs, is the ship at full speed?

      Of course not.

      Then get us up to it. Joan hesitated, but under his stare she relented and increased the speed. I’m going back down.

      After he was long gone Joan turned to the younger couple. Increasing our speed isn’t exactly a safe move.

      It’ll make it harder for someone to board, yeah, but...

      But nothing, Meier. It will make it harder for a security team to board, but it’ll also make piloting this ship harder. And we’ll be going close to the Earth. You want us, or those tanks, to collide with someone?

      No, muttered Jill.

      Joan nodded. Maybe you should have asked for some truth from your leader before you agreed to this. Or maybe you’re the only ones who didn’t want to hurt anyone.

      ***

      Vargas stopped Joan outside her room moments after her shift was over. He ordered Jill and Steve to take a rest, and Joan back to the bridge. He sat her down in the pilot’s chair.

      I know you’re no novice pilot, Carstairs, and I think you should know that if this ship’s computer wasn’t slaved to your identity code, I could fly this garbage barge.

      So what?

      So don’t try anything.

      Have I tried anything yet?

      I’m serious. You won’t fool me.

      All right. What do you want me to do?

      I want you to alter the present course.

      Joan felt suddenly uneasy. To what?

      Two degrees to starboard, and one-point-four to galactic north. Joan tried to calculate the effects of the change in her head, but Vargas snapped, Do it! She complied. Thank you. You may go.

      Later, after dinner, she realized what the course change meant: Iron Horse was going to fly much closer to Earth. She was ashamed of herself, first for not realizing it then, and second because she heard it during one of the few newscasts she’d been able to watch. For the first time, she realized that she was part of a major news event, and it disturbed her. What was worse, she knew she’d done a very poor job as copilot and loyal crewman.

      The reason behind the course change still eluded her, so she focused on that instead. Surely he wasn’t hoping for a collision, she mused. By now everyone knew what was going on, and was out of the way. Earth’s gravity wouldn’t break the holding cables...

      She gasped. He’s going to jettison the tanks! She staggered to her bed and slumped down. Immediately she knew she had to act, she had to stop him. She went to the intercom. Vargas? I know what you’re going to do, she told him, her voice cracking. You won’t get away with it.

      Won’t I? He was mocking, almost amused by her. The only way they can stop me is to comply with my terms.

      Terms? Rage took command. What could be worth this? Money? Politics? Glory? What?

      What’s it’s worth, he said calmly, is none of your business.

      The intercom went dead. She tried to call him again, but he wasn’t replying. She went back to her bed, shaking her head. You should have done something. You should’ve fought him. Joan, you’re a naive, foolish... She stopped to think.

      ***

      Once again, Jill and Steve had been entrusted to be Joan’s guardians, but this time, Joan was grateful. Maybe there was a chance to stop him after all, she hoped.

      Do you know what your commander plans to do with all that waste we’re towing?

      Steve answered, Yeah, nothing.

      Are you sure? Check our course.

      Jill’s fingers flew across the keypads. Her face reflected her puzzled tone. We’re gonna fly close the Earth. Inside the mid-range orbit paths. She turned to Joan. Does Peter know?

      He ordered it.

      Why?

      He’s going to jettison the waste tanks.

      Jill’s head shook violently. C’mon! I told you we aren’t trying to hurt anyone.

      Yeah, Steve agreed, Peter would never get us into something like that. You’re lying.

      Am I? Why else are we at this speed? Why else are going so close to Earth? What other reason is there?

      I don’t believe it.

      Neither do I.

      Joan persisted. Ask him.

      Jill and Steve exchanged looks and shrugs, then Jill opened the intercom. Peter? Are you awake? I have a question.

      What? was the gruff reply.

      Um... Why are flying so close to Earth? And why so fast?

      None of your business, Meier. I told you when you signed on, I do the planning and leading, you and Steve just watch the pilot. Get back to work, ignore that corporate bitch, and lemme get back to sleep. The intercom went dead.

      Well? Joan asked.

      He’s right, Steve said. She’s trying to distract us.

      Am I? Jill, check the rear monitors.

      Why?

      I bet you’ll find some things near the cables that don’t belong, like explosives.

      Jill hesitated for a second. She looked to Steve for support. She called up the monitors, and slowly moved the camera angles close the cable housings. At the closest angle, Jill’s eyes went wide with horror.

      Steve, she whispered, those are Laurence’s explosives. He leaned over to take a closer look. See? Her voice suddenly dropped to a whisper. He said we’d use them only if we got froze out of the elevator, she said to herself.

      So, what’s going to happen? asked Steve.

      If those tanks are jettisoned, Joan told him, Earth’s gravity will pull them towards the planet’s surface. They’ll burn up in the atmosphere, spilling their contents. Millions of liters of waste will be scattered over thousands of kilometers.

      Oh, shit, he mumbled. His eyes widened. If they catch us, we’re going to jail! Oh, shit!

      Calm down! Joan ordered.

      What are you gonna do?

      Shut up and let me think! Joan stared at her station. She leaned forward, and began searching for some indicator, some system that might avert disaster. She came across a few possibilities, but none seemed promising. Then she saw the Boarding Emergency Gas Release button. Jill, check the monitors again. Do you see any timers on those explosives?

      A long moment later Jill said, No. She saw Joan’s finger, and where it hovered.

      Why are you...?

      Steve, go down the corridor to the third door on your left, and get out the gas masks.

      As he jogged away Jill asked, Why flood the ship with gas?

      I think Vargas is going to set off those explosives by remote control, maybe while he makes some statement to humanity.

      The ship suddenly shuddered violently. Steve barely kept on his feet as he returned to the command cabin. What happened? he asked, as the ship rocked again.

      Joan checked. We passed H-E-O some time ago, she said, her voice rising.

      The ship’s fighting gravity to stay on course.

      The elevator light’s come on! Jill shouted.

      Computer, seal off the command cabin, now!

      Bulkhead doors closing, the computer said calmly. Two thick durasteel plates rolled towards the center of the doorway. At the three-quarters point the trio heard elevator doors open. Steve squeezed in behind Jill just as a bolt from a beam-gun hit one edge of the closing doors. After the doors closed came the echo of locking metal, and the computer reported, Bulkhead doors closed. The command cabin is now sealed off.

      Computer, when I hit the emergency gas release, do not, repeat do not, flood the command cabin.

      One moment. They heard faint footsteps, and beams hitting the doors.

      Command cabin gas vents locked.

      Joan jammed her thumb against the keypad. The beam impacts slowed, then faded away. A minute later the computer said, All rooms, except the command cabin, have been flooded with stun gas.

      How long with they be out? asked Jill.

      Twelve hours. Joan put the navigation systems back on line. I’m going to try to blast our way out of Earth orbit. She entered in some instructions, then stabbed the communications button. Attention all ships, this is the Iron Horse. We’re going to make a radical course change. I say again, we are changing course!

      The ship rocked. Jill asked, Shouldn’t we ride it out?

      No. The tanks might not hold against all that heat. Jill, keep an eye on those tanks; scream if anything happens.

      Iron Horse became a homicidal rodeo bull. It bucked and groaned, protesting the course change. Its engines howled as they were forced to put out more and more force to escape Earth’s grip. One of the cables frayed, and the tanks struggled against the ship. In only a few minutes it was over; the Iron Horse was free.

      Once she was breathing again, Joan opened a channel. "This is Joan Carstairs aboard the Iron Horse, calling anyone in the vicinity. We need a boarding party to apprehend the pirates. Can anyone assist, over?"

      "Iron Horse, this is the U.N. Patrol Craft Norman Schwartzkopf, a solid voice answered. We are about one hour behind you, and closing. Can you hold out till then?"

      Affirmative.

      We’ll be there in an hour. Out.

      Joan closed the channel. She looked at her captors. Their faces were a mix of relief, exhilaration, and trepidation. Thanks for the help.

      Lotta good that’ll do us, Steve sighed.

      Could be worse, y’know. You made your statement, you didn’t hurt anyone, and you helped stop him when you saw what Vargas was planning. Joan brought Iron Horse to a stop. I hope Sis can make it without her maid of honor.

      ALWAYS HAVE, ALWAYS WILL

      Move it, Paul, Cindy barked. She yanked him off his feet. We’re dead if we don’t make it to that comm station!

      Even though she was smaller than he was, Cindy had no trouble pulling Paul up and dragging him forward down the forest path. She was mostly muscle, he skin and bones.

      It was a familiar situation for Paul. Every so often she would drag him along to one thing or the other. She’d pull him with her to a programming project, a bot design team, or some social event. She had forced him to come to this world with their co-workers. She liked wilderness worlds like this one, all trees and animal life. He hadn’t wanted to come along, but at the time he didn’t think he could say no and still stay on the team. It was the best-paying project in months. He needed the credits and the resume’ listing.

      She kept him moving for what seemed like an hour. Paul didn’t think an actual hour had passed, but he was tired all the same. They’d been running all day. Ever since Brad had gotten his foot caught and flung into that...

      Paul shuddered. At least it was quick, he thought. Not like this, being run to death.

      I’ll never make it. I need some help.

      He shook his head. No, you can’t take any more. Let it go. Cindy might leave you behind if you take another hit. Then where will you be?

      At least I’ll feel better, he said to his conscience. I need to feel better.

      Cindy finally stopped in a modest clearing. She bent over, exhaling furiously. Her back was turned to him.

      Paul slowly ran his finger along the seal of his shirt pocket to open it. He reached in and took out a tiny flask with two fingers of his right hand. The shirt hung loose on his body, so that made the pocket a good hiding place. It was so obvious that she and Brad never thought to look there.

      He pinched the seal on the flask. He raised the open end to his face. He leaned his head back. His mouth salivated at the prospect of the sweet gengineered liquid entering.

      The flask was abruptly slapped away. Paul almost fell over from the shock of the blow.

      Cindy glared at him. I thought we tossed all your Buzz.

      Paul tried to avoid her eyes but failed. Just one sip. Just a taste and I’ll be fine. I can’t keep running. I can’t!

      Her glare turned to a sneer. Your damn fix is what started all this, you moron. You were sucking that stuff when you shot whatever it is that’s trying to kill us. Now we’re running for our lives, and you want another hit? Maybe I ought to just...

      The forest cover rustled loudly at their side. A young woman carrying a blaster pistol emerged from cover. Paul could tell she was taller than Cindy, more built but as toned as the other young woman. She wasn’t aiming her weapon so much as pointing it at them.

      You mean it was some Buzz idiot that shot my brother? she said. She looked stricken.

      At first Paul didn’t know what to make of her question. He knew it was one of his many faults.

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