The modified car carrier held ten tractors. It was a cumbersome vehicle, boasting flashing lights and a weathered ‘wide load’ sign – remnants of a bygone era. The carrier’s massive tires forced their way through the remaining film of icy crust as it maneuvered around the open desert.

“This is them?” Orson straightened his borrowed face mask. It was former construction gear with orange lenses over the eyes and a black mouth guard. Orson stood with Cathy Hawkins and her crew, between the reclamation skimmer and the Shoshone meeting house, a small adobe structure.

“Yep.” Cathy Hawkins nodded. “They’re almost here.” She slipped the money pouch with the Tech Liberation Front’s payment into a satchel at her waist. Violet Munoz and David Gardner both donned their helmets. Cathy held hers under one arm. Together they faced the approaching carrier.

“Stop pulling at your mask, Orson,” Cathy said. “You look too uncomfortable.”

“I’m trying to keep this thing from digging into my head,” Orson said.

“Then you better wiggle it looser,” David said. “Ted and your kids will blame us if that mask chokes out any of your brain cells.”

“They won’t notice,” Orson said. “I’m sure I already have fewer than I like to believe.”

Orson released the borrowed mask. He felt the absence of his usual gear. His right boot still wasn’t broken in. The armor hidden in the modified leather jacket seemed to barely cover his torso. The antique Gamma-generation blaster at his hip felt like no protection, nothing like the sword or his personal arsenal, all waiting for him aboard the skimmer.

“Did you know I met Teddy here?” Orson glanced around the meeting house, toward its well, an exposed circle of stone.

“I know,” Cathy said. “You’re lucky we still kept a solar array here. If we’d already downsized to the portable generators, Theodore would never have found you, stranded. The Blitzkrieg would have succeeded in using our desert to kill you.”

“I’m not too lucky,” Orson said. “If I’d died, you probably wouldn’t have those portables to begin with. It’s not like the Hierarchia was selling the things.”

“That’s true.” Cathy waved to the carrier. It had already begun to slow and soon came to a stop facing them.

Five people climbed from the carrier. They mirrored Cathy’s crew. Only their leader, a fit, middle-aged man, with salt-and-pepper hair, appeared unmasked. The others wore modified motorcycle helmets, done up in checkerboard patterns. All wore at least one sidearm. One of the four, his checker pattern in shades of purple, wore two guns on his hips and two more holstered on bandoliers across his chest.

“Cathy!” The lead man smiled as he jumped from the carrier. “The reclamations life must be good. It’s been, what, almost six months?”

“Good to see you, Klay,” she said. “We’ve been busy.” They shook hands. “And there’s a smaller budget for toys now, but we try to send you some clients. Did you get the Delarosa job?”

“That was you? Yeah, we got them.” Klay motioned over his shoulder. “Those kids are now the proud owners of a genuine League of Nations BEX-era drone.” Two of Klay’s crew walked to the rear of the carrier and opened a compartment above one of the trailer’s wheel wells. They removed five black storage totes.

“How much did they pay for a BEX?” Cathy asked.

“Only twenty K,” Klay said. “But they weren’t buying the BEX. They needed replacement parts, servos, a new stabilizing coil for the repulsor. The thing had been sitting at the bottom of a lake for the last thirty years, and they’d already dredged it up before we were hired.”

Orson watched Klay’s team at work. If he’d worn his usual HUD, he could enlarge the view of them, look at the carrier’s hiding place, look at the totes, and at the people who carried them. He snapped back to attention when Klay pointed to him.

“Are you outsourcing now or just running out of armor?” Klay asked. “I haven’t seen the Alpha kits for years, but I can keep my eyes peeled.”

“He likes his own gear,” Cathy said. Orson nodded along, hoping he would not be called on to speak.

Klay’s team gathered the black totes between the two parties, set them in a line between their leader and Cathy.

“It’s all here,” Klay said. “We have schematics, recent movements of Liberty Corps troops. We have details of their third party interactions, everything.”

“You always come through for us,” Cathy said. “All that’s left is your payment.” She didn’t draw the money pouch from her satchel. Instead, she turned back to the skimmer and walked up the ramp into the still-floating craft.

“This Liberty Corps thing,” Klay said. “What is this, some kind of border issue? I hope we’re not starting a war here or…”

“I hope so too.” Cathy returned, her helmet on. In her arms she carried a long rifle with a four-pronged muzzle. It glowed a soft blue and released an ozone smell that even penetrated Orson’s mask.

“What the hell is this?” Klay had his hand on his hip before Cathy could level the rifle at him.

Orson stepped back. He should’ve packed his visor, found some way to hide it in his disguise. Cathy also should have signaled him, given him some chance to recover the rest of his real gear. David and Violet did not draw their own weapons. They knew. Whatever happened, she’d told them, somehow, probably through helmet comm.

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

“Shut up.” Cathy aimed the rifle toward the Tech Liberation Front. “No one move. Everyone keep your hands visible.” One of Klay’s crew, his checker pattern in shades of blue, slid his hand toward his belt.

“Hands up, Blue.” Cathy did not move the rifle away from Klay. “You never saw a PAY gun before? Particle Atomizing Ray – everyone raises their hands unless you want to be sweeping up Klay off the snow.”

“You point that damn thing away from my face, Cathy!” Klay yelled. “No way you fight all of us without taking some damage. Even that fancy…”

“Your transmitter, Klay!” Cathy yelled over him. “Where is it? What is it? Why did you break our terms?”

“Transmitter?” Klay said. “You put that thing down, Cathy. I don’t have any clue what you’re talking about. Transmitter? The only transmitters are between the locks on the carrier.”

“No,” Cathy said. “But that’s how it’s supposed to seem. It almost fooled us, but our skimmer’s signal tracking caught it. We know there’s more. There’s an outbound signal. You brought a beacon here, Klay, and I want to know about it.”

“There’s no beacon,” Klay said. “I’d know…”

“I hope not.” Cathy cocked the rifle. “Now, if you really don’t know what beacon you have, then you better get on that. Until we know what you brought here, this stays pointed right at you, and no one gets paid.”

“I’ll have the boys look,” Klay said. “Is that what you want, you damn psychotic bitch? If we got bugged and you’re pointing that…”

“If you got bugged and brought the bug here, to this place,” Cathy said. “You put everyone in danger. Either you brought a beacon to this meeting on purpose, or you got sloppy. There’s no room for sloppiness.”

“No!” Klay formed a fist with his right hand. Then he raised his index and middle fingers on that hand. Orson rested his own hand on his blaster.

Two of Klay’s crew, Blue checker and Purple checker, turned back toward the carrier. Orson unclipped the blaster, but did not draw it.

“You put me in a very difficult position,” Cathy said.

“You’re in a difficult position?” Klay said.

“Yes,” she said. “Because how can I trust anything you say? I won’t know you’re telling the truth if you say you’ve been bugged. I’ll never know.”

“Are you talking yourself into killing us?” Klay asked. “Is that what you’re doing?” But Cathy did not answer. Blue returned, leaving Purple standing beside the carrier. Blue stepped beside his boss and leaned up, as if to whisper in his ear.

“Whatever you have to say,” Cathy said. “You can tell all of us.” Blue did nothing, instead standing stock still beside Klay.

“Tell them!” Klay yelled. “Just tell them.”

“There is a transmitter,” Blue said. “There’s a transmitter inside the locking system. The beacon can’t be a bug unless someone modified the carrier before we loaded the tractors.”

“It doesn’t sound like a bug,” Cathy said. “What’s happening here, Klay?”

“I don’t know!” Klay screamed. “Wait!” He turned back to the rest of his team, Yellow and Green. “What is this? You didn’t see this?” Yellow also turned toward Green.

Green drew a gun and fired. A bullet struck Cathy’s helmet and spun away. She stumbled backward, but didn’t fall. Had Green’s shot been centimeters lower, he would have struck the helmet’s visor and maybe pierced the lens. But Green didn’t fire a second shot.

A wave of light passed from Cathy’s rifle. Energy left the PAY gun’s barrel and exploded against Green, washing over him in a flash, like lightning. All of the Tech Liberation Front screamed. David and Violet screamed. Even Orson yelled with them. It was one thing to hear about a weapon, to know it existed like he knew a hundred bizarre, terrible weapons existed. But seeing was different.

When the light cleared, nothing of the man remained. Some of his clothing lay on the ground, charred and dirtied, as if with soot. His gun lay there too. Behind the space where he’d stood, the snow had melted. An elongated silhouette of the man could still be seen against the bald dirt, like the man’s shadow had been burned onto the sand.

“Now.” Cathy did not lower the PAY gun. “I’m sorry that happened. You have my sadness. Was it just him or is it all of you? Was he rogue against you? Or rogue against me?”

“Do you…” Klay stammered. “He was my wife’s brother! How am I going to tell her?”

“I’m sorry for you and your wife,” Cathy said. But right now, we all have work to do. I need proof. We need proof. Who was the target of this spying? Who knows what? I have a feeling, no matter who that beacon was tracking, none of us wants to stay here for very long.”

* * *

“The shutdown’s really what got me started trying to build things.” Jaleel had spread out a series of printouts across a workbench in the earth ship’s garage, all generated from Cathy’s projects. “There was no way my parents were going to heat our drafty-ass house with heating oil at eighteen dollars a gallon.”

“Eighteen?” Dr. Stan lifted one of the stacks of pages. “We were so fortunate the lab got the hydroelectric funding before shutdown.”

Enoa heard their words, but she was only half paying attention. She’d followed along with Sucora’s staff basics video over fifteen times, just since Orson had left with Cathy’s crew. She kept to the basic repetitions of motion her aunt established, moving the staff from hand to hand, transitioning to defensive postures. She ended the cycle with a two handed strike, both of her hands gripping the metal.

Enoa could feel the air inside the staff. She tried not to focus on it. She tried to obey Sucora’s wishes and to keep herself grounded in the tactile sense of moving the staff.

“Yeah, I wish we could’ve afforded to switch,” Jaleel said. “But it made me figure things out. I started, y’know, playing around with the hydrogen cells we used to be able to find.”

“It’s wonderful you were able to do that.” Dr. Stan pulled a page from the stack. “My father whispered for years about leaving the Soviet Union. But he only got us out of St. Petersburg when his research came under scrutiny. We do dangerous things when doing nothing is more dangerous still.”

“Yeah.” Jaleel pointed to the page. “Does it look like the guy ever got his machine built for real?”

“Only the single prototype,” Dr. Stan said. “But the Hierarchia apparently had another. I wonder…”

They all fell silent as the sound of keys started. Teddy’s Typewriter began to move. Enoa ran and joined Jaleel at the chair that held the odd device.

“I really hope it’s not bad news from Orson, and we’re just creeping into Teddy’s conversations with his other magic friends.” Jaleel leaned down toward the page.

It was from Orson. The message read:

‘Orson.

‘We have the information. Didn’t have a lot of time, but looks like everything we could want.

‘But the Tech group had a mole. There was a fight. The mole’s dead. We went through his records. He was spying for the Liberty Corps. He’d been giving tracking data about clients.

‘Bottom line – we have to get out. I’ll tell you more when I’m back, but we’re putting Teddy and April in danger. Start packing. We’re leaving as soon as we know it’s safe to go.’