Saturday Snippet #1

Okay, I’m being very vulnerable here, you guys. The last time I published anything to the public, fiction-wise, was back in 2015, so this is a huge step for me. Whether or not this ends up being in the book is neither here nor there, but it does kind of give you an idea as to what is in store for you.

And … here we go. Eek.

Roy Deckard was not a superstitious man, but it still seemed either an ill omen – or maybe a boon – to witness a meteor fall while simultaneously fleeing an oncoming dust storm. Well, fleeing was a bit melodramatic; he still had plenty of time to reach Fairplay before the 70-mph winds could cause him any problems, and even then, those very problems would be slight, what with his armored truck able to withstand several times those parameters. Regardless, he was torn between following his trajectory to town or deviating off his course just a hair to investigate what the universe had seen fit to throw his way. It could be a piece of satellite or some ore-rich chunk of rock, either of which could fetch a decent price should the right buyer come along. If it was too big, Deck would just tag it with a marker and come back later when the atmosphere was more amenable and his truck less full of beer kegs and various foodstuffs. 

It seemed to him that he had made up his mind, so he sharply rotated the steering wheel to the left and veered off the well-worn path between Darhan and Fairplay. 

As he cleared a rather craggy hill, Deck spotted the plumes of purple and gray smoke dancing with the residual red dust tossed up by the impact, and he could barely make out what was at the base, although even at this distance, he knew it was artificial. The edges were too stark, manufactured, and he thought he might have seen rivets, too. He would have to get closer to be sure. 

“Satellite, it is,” he said with a smile as he shifted gears to counter the rise in elevation. With any luck, it was an Albertus satellite. They always paid handsomely whenever their own gear was discovered planetside, and if he recalled correctly, some of their bigwigs were coming to town in a few months’ time for an audit, so he would have plenty of time to get this properly salvaged. 

Yes, today was turning out nicely, even if he was a bit behind schedule. He regretted being short with the brewery workers lading the kegs onto his truck, seeing as their tardiness allowed him to come across this treasure. Deck pulled up and parked right beside the wreckage, grinning at his discovery. 

Suddenly, one of the side panels flew off, and a human body wearing only a light exosuit and a face mask tumbled out. 

“Oh, shit.”

Deck immediately reached behind his seat and pulled out his emergency rescue kit, trying not to think about its age. Truth be told, he was trying not to think about anything at all, save for bringing whoever that was out of a fairly precarious situation. Thinking meant he would start asking questions, many of which he would have no answers for. Or, if he did, they would not be answers he would want to have in the first place. He donned his sealed helmet, flipped the oxygen switch on, and swung his truck’s door open. 

The person was crawling weakly in the dirt, but he could finally get a good look at their outfitting: a full face mask connected to an air filtration pack on their fully sealed exosuit, much more advanced than the mining gear he had seen in Fairplay. He quickly reminded himself that he was not thinking for the time being and then helped the evacuee to their feet, nearly dragging them to his truck. 

As soon as the truck’s door sealed and repressurized the cabin, Deck removed his helmet and turned toward his new passenger, but the next thing he felt was an arm around his neck. He gasped for air and reached out … toward what, he was not sure. 

“Where am I?” a woman’s voice came through the mask’s speaker. 

Deck tugged at her firm grip to no avail. His fingers slid up and down the slick material of her exosuit, and no matter how he twisted his body, he could not get loose. Panic was setting in, and he began kicking with what little strength he had left. She seemed to realize that she would not be getting anything out of him this way, and the pressure on his throat abated slightly. 

“Where am I?” she repeated more forcefully. 

“Less than … a click … from Fairplay.”

“Fairplay.”

The confusion in her voice was subtle, but it was there. 

When Deck tried to push her arm off his neck, she did not fight him this time, only let him fall to the ground, panting. He looked back up at her, fully taking stock of her. The exosuit was slightly too big for her tall frame, but he could still see that she was quite muscular, more so than he would expect. Her short dark hair was shaggy, as if she had not had the time to tend to it properly, and it sprung out haphazardly at the strap keeping the mask on her face in an almost comical way. The mask itself was simple, with an opaque blue shield covering the eyes and a hard plastic filtration system near the mouth, and he could see just the slightest bit of her light skin at its edges. 

“A mining town, titanium,” he continued as he watched her carefully and rubbed his aching throat. “Just east of Darhan, the biggest port city for … well, kilometers, really.”

The woman said nothing. He could not even tell if she was looking at him. 

“You’re not from here, are ya?” 

She cocked her head to the side, and he thought he heard her laugh. No, he was certain that she did. 

“No,” she finally said. “No, I am not.” 

Both of them jumped when the perimeter alarm started sounding, and Deck slowly stood with his hands raised. 

“Easy,” he said, pointing at the screen next to the steering wheel. “We’ve just got an incoming dust storm that’ll be on top of us in about fifteen minutes, so I’m gonna need to get us moving if that’s alright with you.”

She took a moment to consider but then jerked her head toward the front of the truck. He could feel her eyes on him as he slid into the chair but tried to focus on the task at hand. They would be fine if the storm hit before they arrived in Fairplay, but he was not thrilled with the idea of being stuck with her inside such small quarters until it passed. He restarted his truck and resumed the ride to town. 

The two sat in silence for a few minutes. He stole a few glances out of sheer caution; still wearing her mask, she sat stoically on the cargo bench kitty corner to the driver’s seat, seemingly lost in thought. 

“You got a name?” 

She did not respond. Hell, he was not even sure she had heard him. 

“Roy Deckard, but you can call me Deck.” 

He had played this game before. Several years back, a band of raiders had attacked Fairplay and had chosen his saloon as their base of operations while they looted the town. The sheriff at the time had already alerted Albertus to the incident, so Deck just knew he had to bide his time until help arrived. He spent most of his time endearing himself to the raiders’ leaders, offering them food and entertainment, and it was no small pleasure seeing them all taken down when Albertus agents finally broke through their defenses. This was not the same situation exactly; this woman was no raider, he did not think. But she still held all the power here, and Deck was no fighter. 

“I run Deck’s Saloon in town,” he continued, focusing on the dirt road in front of them. “Not a creative name, I know, but it gets the point across. No use in making miners think too hard about the origin of a bar name after hours underground.” 

He looked in his sideview mirror and spotted the dust storm chasing them. It was moving faster than he had thought, but just as they crested the ridge, Fairplay came into view. Since it did not have the fancy barriers that bigger cities like Darhan had, most of Fairplay had been built underground like a hive, but some structures, like the loading dock he was aiming for, jutted out, appearing to be a very uniform outcropping, a good way to avoid raider parties. Deck saw that someone, likely Woerner, had already activated the thick outer shielding that covered the windows, but the bay doors to the settlement were still uncovered. He flicked the switch on his communicator box. 

“Fairplay, this is Deck, come in.” The woman stood, but after he switched off the comm, he calmly gestured for her to sit back down. “It’s alright. I’m just letting them know I’m here.” 

At first there was only static, but then, Valdez’ voice crackled over the speaker. 

“Well, hell, Deck, it took you long enough. Storm’s almost here. Over.” 

“Yeah, had to make a quick detour. Looks like we’ll need another spot at the dinner table tonight. Over.” 

The woman grabbed his arm angrily. 

“What do you think you’re doing?” she hissed.

With a stern glare, he tugged his arm away from her and pressed the auto-docking button next to the steering wheel. The truck’s computer began to communicate with Fairplay’s control center and adjusted its course, so Deck stood and looked directly at her as his conversation with Valdez continued. 

“What do you mean? Over.” Valdez did not sound overly concerned, but he was not expecting him to. There was little that could faze that man. 

“Picked up a straggler on the way. Had some mechanical difficulties that couldn’t be fixed before the storm hits. Over.” His eyes never left the woman. 

“Gotcha. See you in a few. Over and out.” 

The communicator went silent, and Deck twisted the dial completely to the left, a satisfying click indicating it was completely off. 

“They’d probably find it odd I didn’t mention you when they come to help me unload.” He raised his eyebrows. “And they’ll probably find it even odder if you keep wearing that mask. Oxygen supply is plentiful, even in this truck.” 

The truck jerked as it transitioned into reverse, but neither Deck nor the woman budged. 

“At some point, you’re going to have to trust me. If only for a little bit.” 

Deck had always trusted his gut, and it had not failed him in 65 years, at least not when it counted. And his gut was telling him that she was reasonable. As the truck docked with Fairplay, the two stood facing each other in silence. The woman slowly raised her hands behind her head and detached the strap keeping the mask in position. Her harsh blue eyes frame by heavy brows did not match the soft lines of the rest of her face, and her mouth was set in a disapproving frown that he might have even called a sneer. But she had complied. 

His gut had been correct. 

“Let’s head on inside.” Deck carefully walked past her and toward the door at the back of the cabin that lead to the cargo portion of his truck and pressed the button right next to it, making the door slide open with a creak. He then waved at her to head through in front of him. “Ladies first, I always say.” 

Somehow, she furrowed her brow even further but continued to follow his instruction. They moved past the stacks of kegs and boxes of perishables he had just picked up in Darhan, and he could tell that she was on edge. She kept her hands floating right at her sides with her fingers at the ready, almost as if she was used to keeping two pistols at each of her hips, and even though he was behind her, he could tell that she was darting her eyes around the entire space, looking for … something. A trap, maybe. 

“No one’s gonna pop out from behind any of these crates, I promise.” 

She turned her head back slightly toward him but otherwise kept moving. 

“So you say.” 

In front of them, the door leading outside of the truck slid upward, revealing Valdez and Woerner, both wearing the black uniforms of Albertus security. Behind them, stevedores scurried around busily, prepping for Deck’s arrival, although he did catch sight of a group of them smoking by some of the lading equipment; he’d have to have a word with their supervisor later, but he had other issues to worry about at the moment.

“All visitors must go through screening,” barked Woerner, his arms stiffly behind his back and his legs in a wide, almost comical stance. “Your identification, please.” 

“It’s back in the wreckage,” the woman said, crossing her arms. “As your friend here said, there was not a lot of time with the approaching storm.” 

Almost as if the universe were being a bit theatrical, the wind suddenly hit the exterior walls of the docking bay, shaking the truck slightly. The woman shrugged her shoulders slightly, and Deck thought he saw her crack a wry smile. 

Before Woerner could protest, a much calmer Valdez flicked his hand at his inferior and ambled away from the truck. “Extenuating circumstances, Woerner.”

“But, sir …” 

“I said, extenuating circumstances.” He paused and turned back toward the woman. “Please follow me, ma’am. We still have some formalities.” 

She looked at Deck and nodded her head once, then proceeded to follow Valdez deeper into the settlement. As he watched a red-faced Woerner direct the stevedores into his truck, he suddenly realized that he had never gotten her name.