Chapter 3

Luke Cadell lifted the crate and put it on the modified transport so it could be hauled into the city. Most of the seats had been removed on the back end, leaving a large, open bed for work equipment.

“Well, look at you handling those food crates like they’re nothing,” Dumol said as she came into the temperate farm zone. “I know those damn things are heavy. I tried to move one the other day when I first got here.”

“Just doing my job.” He glanced at her. “Ma’am.”

She smirked. “Figured you’d be done by now. I’m done. Finally.”

“Everyone checked in?” he asked as he pushed the crates into place with his cybernetic arm. It had the strength of ten times a normal human’s, with the bulk of the average fit man. If he’d known it would be so strong, he would have had them replace his other arm too.

He wiped his brow. Even with his strong arm, it didn’t mean he wasn’t sweaty and tired from his work. “Now what?”

She smiled. “Wait for the fun to begin.” She moved closer to him, and he noticed she carried a bag, which rattled with the sound of bottles clinking together.

As the manufactured daylight dimmed, the veins on his hand were starting to shine. Dumol, who knew why he had cyborg parts, stared at the glowing green.

Gloves were a good thing.

He gestured to the bag as he covered his hand. “Contraband?”

She smirked as she took a seat on the transport and placed the bag on her lap. “It’s amazing what people tried to smuggle in here.”

“TMO disposing of the contraband?” Cadell was a soldier. He knew how this stuff worked, in reality. People created heroes out of stories. Cadell had never met a true hero. He’d only known soldiers, and not a one was a hero.

Sure, some were kind. True. Good beings.

But not many.

Most were likely on the take, making a little on the side. Or worse, working to undermine as a sleeper agent or a mole.

“Transdot will be,” Dumol said. “Part of the reason I’m here, actually.”

He raised his eyebrow.

She pulled from the bag a bottle. He recognized the label—a good beer from the human planet Wreston. Didn’t matter how long ago they left Earth, humans still loved their alcohol.

She handed him one, and then opened her own. She took a sip and smacked her lips.

He waited. He wasn’t going to drink anything before he knew what Dumol wanted.

“That’s good stuff,” she muttered as she rummaged in the bag.

Bottles clanked around, as did something else she yanked out. “Check out what some idiot tried to bring in.”

She pulled out a small blaster. Correction—a gun, not a blaster. He stared as she dangled it from her fingers, the silver and black metal gleaming in the low light. “Have you seen one of these before?” she asked.

“It’s been a while,” he replied. “Seems like my dad had a collection of them, from before.” He looked at the markings. “A Ruger, I believe it’s called. 9mm.”

“You know about these?”

“Father had antiques.”

She nodded. “Earth of old, they were popular.” She aimed the gun across the field, toward an empty box.

Pulled the trigger.

The firing was louder than he expected. Or was that the crate denting from the bullet? It happened so quickly, he wasn’t sure which sound to track.

Quite a bit different from the pulse weapons now used. Pretty impressive.

Amusing how someone tried to smuggle one in.

“Why would someone bring that in,” he mused.

She shrugged. “It’s an antique. Doesn’t require a power source like a pulse weapon, so it’s harder to track. Could be hidden under clothing, I would guess.”

“Not exactly promising start here.”

“Depends on your point of view.” She fired another shot.

The sound echoed again. This time the crate shattered. “Well, well, well,” she said, smiling. “Maybe this one is coming home with me.” She took another sip on her drink.

While he appreciated her bringing him the contraband drink—alcohol was always appreciated, helped him sleep—he’d seen her like this before.

She wanted something.

He waited.

She didn’t say anything for a minute, then glanced at him. “I bring you a beer and you don’t open it?”

“What’s going on?”

“Figures that you’re all about business.” She sighed. “Here’s the deal. There’s a lot of contraband. A lot. And it needs to be stored for, well, future use.”

He saw where this was going. “I’m a farmer.” He’d been brought in to work maintenance on the four farms in The Colony—grow the food, make sure the mechanical stuff worked like it was supposed to.

Pretty simple.

There were probably fifty guys just like him. It was a boring-ass job, but it kept him away from the main populace.

Probably the best thing for him.

Logically, anyway.

He and the others made sure all the farming equipment ran like it was supposed to, and that the food grew like it should. When it was ready, he loaded it up on the modified transport s to take it out to the commerce areas, where it was sold to the businesses in the center of The Colony.

Simple.

Easy.

Now Dumol was wanting to complicate that.

“You’re also going to have access to some of the best storage in The Colony.”

He raised his eyebrow. “Doesn’t TMO have room for that?”

“Look, I need a place to store this stuff, where I know no one will bother it. Can I trust you?”

“No.”

Now it was her turn to look perturbed. “I hear a lot of people trust you.”

“Don’t know what you mean.”

“You do too.”

He didn’t say anything.

“Would suck for you if the First could trust you and I can’t.”

He didn’t move. So, she was in on the game. Fine. He could play that too. “You have no idea who trusts me.” He wasn’t here because he wanted a chance at a new life.

He was here, because his old one had one more use for him. A backup plan. Just in case shit went south.

She took a step forward. “Soldier, I could kill you tonight. I still have the gear.”

“Of course you do,” Cadell muttered.

Why would she ever give up anything that allowed her control over someone else? And he was curious why she had it, if she hadn’t known he was going to be at The Colony.

Someone was lying.

“Be a shame to be the first burial in that lovely cemetery out there.” She gestured to the long walkway between the farms and the main part of The Colony. Land had been set aside for cemeteries—there was one between each farm and the main city complex.

Made for a gloomy ride to work every day. Well, it would for most people, anyway.

Not him.

He smirked at her threat.

He would probably wind up in the ground over there anyway. So her threat had little meaning to him.

Dumol wasn’t impressed. “I’m not kidding. And certain Novians in here would happily drop the Nova Wars Butcher, if they knew where he was.”

He sighed. “Do you think I expect to walk out of here in three years?” He had known this was a death sentence as soon as he walked in.

Cadell would never breathe free air again.

It was only a matter of time.

And as far as he was concerned, sooner was better than waiting around for it. Probably why he had taken the job in the first place.