Texas Morgan smiled, sat at the table and began setting up the board.

#

“How bad is it?”

Houston’s voice was harder than Austin ever remembered it being; usually, Houston would even respond to someone hitting on his wife with no more emotion than another person would show someone trying to steal the parking space for their ‘horse. But now? Houston was angry; not a slightly eccentric intellectual that Austin had grown up with, but an angry man, with an edge to his voice sharp enough to cut steel without a sound.

“Sir, they’ve cleaned up most of it. The body is being removed now.”

“I want to see it.”

“Um- Yes, sir,” said the gendarme to Houston, sliding open the door and shining a pers-light into the darkened room.

“And tell Zeke and Joe to get their hackers on the comm! Get the lights turned back on in here! And everywhere else!”

“Yes, sir,” shouted a faint voice from somewhere.

“Now, where is it?” Houston asked. The gendarme pointed the light beam at the floor of the office that Texas Morgan had worked in.

Stretched out on the floor were the earthly remains of the Viscount of the House of Moreded. Minus roughly half his cranium, which was drying in a splashed pattern on the wall and a congealing puddle under his body. His pistol, still in his hand, lay on the ground next to him.

Austin entered the room behind his brother. “When are you going to get Pater’strophy case fi-” he started to say, and then saw the body.

Austin hiccupped, turned to the right and vomited in a hastily produced wastepaper basket provided by an alert soldier.

Houston neither turned to his brother, nor reacted in any way. Only when the sounds of Austin’s retching were done did he speak.

“I’m going to make my announcements from here,” he said. “When I’m done, I want the body removed, the walls cleaned, the carpets replaced, and a priest up here to bless and consecrate this space in case Moreded had any thoughts of sticking around as a ghost and haunting me. Is that clear?”

“Yes, sir!” said a half-dozen voices at once.

Houston reached into his pocket, pulled out a small gadget roughly the size and thickness of a playing card and tapped a spot on it. It began to hum and glow, and left his hand to hover a few feet from his face.

The lights came back on in his father’s office, illuminating the blood on the wall behind him. Somehow the sights made the smell of coppery blood and feces that much worse, but Houston managed to keep a stone face as he addressed the hovering camera he’d made.

“People of New Avalon,” he said, keeping his shoulders back, chest out and chin up, “I am Houston Morgan of the House of Morgan. My Pater and Mater, your rightful and duly elected leaders, are unjustly imprisoned on Golgotha, the infamous prison world of our sector.

“This was done to them by Viscount Moreded, the last legitimate member of our longtime rival house in our colony. Moreded was to stand trial for his crimes against my family and the people of this colony, not the least of which was selling us to be vassals to the Red Star Coalition in exchange for his personal comfort, security and power as dictator here.

“Viscount Moreded, however, has executed himself rather than attempt to defend his actions. This now reinstates me, eldest son of our House, as leader of the colony, and my younger, middle brother…” he tried not to look at the milky-pale face of Austin nearby, “as head of our armed forces.

“But it is not a time to celebrate yet. Though the lights are on and our people safe from the Viscount, a new threat has developed. Our scanners have detected fleets from both our old, one-time would be conquerors, the Gold Dragon Corporates, and our more recent antagonists the Red Star Coalition, are both alarmingly close to our world and headed on a direct course for it.

“The days ahead are uncertain. I have invoked the Powers of War act my Pater signed twenty years ago should this situation arise. I am now not only leader of this colony, but until this threat is removed I have lawfully received the title of Commander General.

“What this means for me is not as important as what it means for you; for you, and every citizen of this colony, are all now members of the Armed Forces of New Avalon, whatever your walk of life or level of skill. Your loyalty is now your greatest weapon. Your loyalty to the colony, your loyalty to the world of New Avalon, and your loyalty to the House of Morgan.These are the weapons, the means, and the ends you will use to defeat our enemies.

“Our lives will be different, yes, for a time. But I assure you all that when this time has passed, when we are, once again, safe and secure, I will restore all power and rights to the people that I have had to assume during this crisis. God bless you all, and God Bless the United Colony of New Avalon.”

“Excellent work, Sir,” said a gendarme. “What is your next-”

“Get Moreded’s body out of here,” Houston said, “get my brother some water while he pulls himself together,” he yelled these words with added emphasis, turning and throwing them at the sitting figure of his brother, who still held his hands in front of his face, “in the midst of this crisis, then get me in contact with someone of importance on the high council of the Artorian Confederacy. We’re going to need ships, guns, and prayers, and when they ask how much we need to say ‘more’ every time until those Corporate and Red Star bastards go home with their collective tails between their legs!”

Houston had been talking largely to himself, and as he left the room while pushing past his brother he brought his own wrist comm to his mouth. And began speaking rapidly. “Gwen,” he said to the gadget.

“Yes, leader Morgan, how can I-”

“Find my wife. I want to be talking to her in the next sixty seconds.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And Gwen?”

“Yes, sir?”

“Access your interface subroutines, code Wizard’s Tower. Then use them to hack the personal line of the head of the Artorian Confederacy and put him on hold. I want to be talking to him in no more than two minutes. Clear?”

#

House sat in the beat-up excuse for a chair next to the decades-old hospital bed that Anja laid stretched out on. His head was bowed and his hands were clasped. Though his lips moved slightly, no discernible sound escaped them.

A long sigh escaped Anja’s lips as her eyes twitched, then opened.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

“Anja?” said House suddenly, standing and hovering a few inches above her.

“House-” she said weakly, ‘Et-ta thae?”

“Yeah, honey, it’s me. I’m here.”

“Schto shutilios-wh-what happened?”

“We got kinda banged up. But we made it. We’re gonna sell the salvage, and then head back to Dallas’ home in the Confederacy. Looks like they need help, an’ we’re gonna be it.”

“H-how bad,” she said, picking her heavily accented words in English carefully, “am I hurt?”

“Medbot says yer gonna be fine. A few bones broken, you had some internals. But it stitched ya up, and a few fresh medpacks from the station we’re going to should make it all fine enough by the time we gets to New Avalon.”

“Dallas- Dallas is ok, too?”

A frown flitted over House’s face for a little bit, making him look away for a split second before he focused back on her. “Yeah, Anja honey. He’s fine. So’re Jue and Joker. We made it.”

“Dallas,” she mumbled as the machine hissed, “Dallas iss…okay…spaciba…”

A dark look passed over House’s face for a second, until the door swooshed open and Dallas entered.

House stood up without thinking and looked at his captain. “Sir,” he said, nodding his head.

“How is she?” Dallas asked.

“Sir, medbot’s predicting bedrest for a good week or so. She had internals, but it coulda been ‘way worse.”

“Good to- good to hear, House. Are you staying vigil over her?”

“Sir?”

“It’s a term from Old Earth. Twenty centuries ago, knights would stay up all night praying before they went out to their first battles. They called it a vigil.”

“Well, sir, funny you should say that. I was prayin’; my Momma, she was a woman of faith an’ tried to get me inta that. If you’d asked me before today I’d say I’d never pray again, but with Anja here- well, there she is.”

“And there you are. Good show, Full-House,” Dallas said, smiling as he slapped House’s shoulder with his right hand. “Maybe I’ll see you in the ship’s chapel some time. Hey?”

“Maybe,” House mumbled, taking his seat again and holding his face in his hands as Dallas left the room.

Dallas walked down the hall to the second med-room. Gonna need to expand this, he thought to himself. Before, they’d only been used for the occasional mishap and barfight. Now that they were a mercenary outfit…

The door, recognizing him, swooshed open at his approach. Gareth was laying in the medbed, tubes sneaking out from under his sheet while he looked out the port window at the stars.

“Dallas!” he said, turning to face him, “I was wondering when you’d drop by!”

“Well, I couldn't let you sleep all day, could I?” Dallas said, taking a seat beside Gareth’s bed, “The crew’d think I was favoring you just because you’ve been holding my hand since we got off from New Avalon.”

“Yeah. Looks like- looks like I don’t have to do that anymore, huh? You did good without this trip, ki- captain.”

“Don’t get all mushy on me, Gareth. I’d be rotting in the brig right now, waiting to be ransomed if you hadn’t negotiated our way on board.”

“Hells, we wouldn’t be here at all, if you hadn’t shown the stones you did in taking the sword and the mech.”

“Maybe…maybe. It’s only been a few weeks, but it seems like so much longer,” Dallas said, now looking out the window, too. “Gareth, you should know: Things aren’t going well back home. Moreded’s tried to take over and failed, but there’s more trouble. Big trouble, and they need us there.”

“Get funds and fuel first, kid. We’re no good to anyone if we’re floating dead in space.”

“I know, Gareth. We’re gonna sell our salvage first, and then head to Golgotha to ransom my folks. Then we go back to New Avalon and see what we can do.”

“Good plan but- what in the name of Saint Mazinga are your folks doing on Golgotha?”

“Like I said, details. I’ll tell you all about it when you and Anja are well enough in a week.”

“Hm,” said Gareth. “Well, looks like we’re starting a new journey, huh?”

“Looks that way, pard.”

“Then we- is there an A.I. on this tub?”

“Not yet. That’s on a list of improvements I have for when we get paid.”

“Long list?”

“Gets longer each walk I take.”

“Good. You’re not just a thief anymore, Dallas. You’re a captain, a leader, and a mercenary. Got a song for that, you know.”

“Feel like singing?”

Gareth cleared his throat. “Name the tune. If we sang it in the Conquest boys’ club around the campfire, I’ll remember it.”

“Since we’re hittn’ the trail again,” Dallas said, “I think a good one’d be…

I’m back in the saddle again…”

“Good choice, Dallas,” Gareth said, his deep voice harmonizing with Dallas’ higher tone as they sang the ancient traveling song.

“And I’m back in the saddle again,

out where a friend is a friend,

Where the long horn cattle feed on the lonely jimson weed

I’m back in the saddle again.

Ridin’ the range once more,

totin’ my old forty-four,

Where you sleep out every night and the only law is might,

I’m back in the saddle again.

Whoopi ti yi yo, rockin’ to an’ fro,

Back in the saddle again

Whoopi ti yi yea, I’ll go my own way

‘Cause I’m back in the saddle again”

Things were quiet in the room. Dallas and Gareth both had their own memories attached to the song, and waited a while for their thoughts to settle.

“Well,” said Dallas, “looks like I gotta ship to run.”

“Makes sense Dallas. How’s it feel to be a mercenary instead of a thief?”

“What’s the difference?”

“You take the money that you’ve earned, not someone else’s.”

“Works for me. See you on the bridge, XO.”

“Yes sir, cap’n”

#

...the memories, though years old, still flowed in and around him as the panel screamed its warnings, status reports and damage alerts. He groggily looked at his safety belt as he began clawing at it in an effort to free himself before either his 'mech detonated or worse.

The locks on his hatch melted as the familiar white beam of a photonic sword blade pierced the inside of his cockpit and began slicing through the high-density metal and plasteel. Dallas swallowed, his brain finally fully waking up and realizing that the danger he now faced was something no sim could have prepared him for.

With a *whoosh!* the breached door fell inwards with a kick from outside, the pressurized air flowing out in a rush as Dallas grabbed at the buckle on his safety harness and finally pulled it fully and effectively. The straps had just fallen away when the tall silhouette appeared in the doorway, lit-up from behind by the angry red sun that stood guard at the highest point in the pink-orange sky.

"Hello, little frater," the shadow said. "It's been a while."

THE END

Of

THE DALLAS MORGAN CHRONICLES

BOOK 1: THIEF

Coming Next:

Book 2: Mercenary

There will be four books.