Hi ...
This is an excerpt from the new book in the further adventures of Meriel Hope:
Pandora's Razor
to be released December 17th. Enjoy!
Ebeneuer Wasteland
SC-1.Coyotes drop off refugees
The overcrowded hold of the tramp shuttle reeked of fear
and sweat from the scores of men, women, and children huddled together. On the
gallery above them, twelve rough men stood watch, their bandoliers bristling
with blasters and pulse rifles. With each gust from the storm outside, the
floor lurched, and a new waft of vomit swirled.
In one corner, Lars Yuan sat with his family, still
disoriented from the hyperspace jumps. But his stained
and wrinkled suit had endured the trip in better shape than his family had.
He smiled. “Almost there, kids. This is what we dreamed of.”
His wife, Marta, bit her lip, and his two children frowned.
This wasn’t their dream. Not at all. But Haven would be a
fresh start and keep them off a low-g asteroid. The colony meant opportunity,
and a refuge from Marta’s petty embezzlement charge that had revoked their
citizenship on Dexter Station eight light years away.
It took all their savings, a life insurance withdrawal, and
loans from friends, but they made the cash fare. And the inter-station credits
Lars had hidden in his bags would help them get a fresh start.
“What’s the temperature like, Mom?” asked Julia, a frail
teen they hoped would thrive in the Haven air.
“Tropical.”
The ship lurched again as the storm howled through the hull.
“Doesn’t sound like it,” his eldest son, Yuri, said as he
shook his link in his chunky hand. “I’m outta juice, Pop. And there’s no
compute resources to sync with.”
“When we land, son. They’re sure to have a visitor center.”
“I read Haven doesn’t have an industrial infrastructure yet,
or—”
The shaking ended with a bang, and the guards hustled to the
passenger deck and stood by a wall with batons drawn. The wall lowered into a
ramp, and the dust roared in, replacing the foul air with fresh but obscuring
everything in a gray haze.
“Welcome to Hell,” Corporal Greiber said over the whir of
gears. “Last stop!”
A dozen of the guards took packs and weapons and filed out
into the storm, but the refugees did not leave.
“There’s a storm outside,” Lars said. “Where’s the dome?
What’s—”
Greiber’s scowl wrinkled the scar on his chin. “That’s
Nature. Get used to it,” he said as he threw bags out the door. “Out! And take
your crap with you.”
Hydraulics pushed bales of supplies onto the cracked dirt
while the remaining guards herded the passengers off with cattle prods. Some
passengers with masks grabbed their belongings and disappeared into the storm.
But most clustered together near the ship in the choking dust and cowered at
the chirps and growls of alien beasts that sounded much more dangerous than the
briefings suggested.
“Which way to the welcome center?” Marta said. When no one
replied, she led the children through the swirls of gray, searching for the
bale with their name on it. After rifling through it and finding no goggles or
masks, she wrapped the tent around her children.
As the tent snapped in the wind, Sven dug through the bale.
“Two days’ water. Three days of dehydrated soy paste,” he said
and ran back to the ramp.
“Hey, there’s no extra water to make the food,” Sven shouted
above the roar of the storm.
“Back off!” Greiber said and warned him away with the spark
of a cattle prod.
“Our water will only last a day. And there’s no compass or
link. This isn’t what we paid for!”
Greiber tossed him a link and pushed a button on the
bulkhead. “Call customer service.”
Sven caught the link as the ramp began to close. “Hey! What
about our personal bags?” he asked, worried about the credits he had hidden
there.
“Opps,” Greiber said through the last sliver of opening
before the ramp clanged shut.
The link was dead. And when Sven flipped it over, the device
fell to pieces in his hand and blew away in the wind.
The ship disappeared into the storm, and Sven rejoined his
family, holding them close in the suffocating dust as the growls circled
closer.
