MARTIAN TERRITORIAL LOG: 9 June, 15 MD Becky was probably waiting for breakfast. Normally, Vickie’s headstrong daughter would fix up breakfast herself or just stuff something into her saddle bags for eating on the range later. But today was different, and she’d been promised breakfast. A last home-cooked meal. A last meal? Vickie checked one…
Martian Territorial Log: 6 Tumar, 0010 MD “Reset to…” Roids tapped up the map on his suit’s display and studied it. “Reset to grid 0357S, 08641W, and deep scan.” “Grid reset,” the bike called back over the comlink. “Deep scanning. Negative life signs.” Roids sighed and continued a grid by grid search for Laserface Williams….
Martian Territorial Log: 27 Tumar, 0010 MD Roids holstered his still smoking gun. The sobbing girl clung to him, blood seeping slowly from the wound in her shoulder. Within the hour, everything in the Loose Lady would return to its wide open celebration of life. But now the crowded bar had fallen silent, and even…
Martian Territorial Log: 14 Tujan, 0011 MD The sun was still an hour beneath the horizon, but the dust in Mars’ atmosphere rose many kilometers high, so there was already a hazy light flooding the broad plain. Despite the high dust, visibility would have still been good, but the morning fog had spilled over the…
Martian Territorial Ranger Log: 30 Tujun, 0010 MD Roids jammed his hov’s throttle full open and caught Chipped Tooth Moffa square in the face as the suit-slashing outlaw brought his gun up. Moffa let out a brief scream, followed by a hideous gurgling. Already badly injured by the impact, he was now crushed and burned…
MARTIAN TERRITORIAL LOG: 11 June, 12 MD Maybe Three-Eye Stevens would get him this time. He’d certainly had the opportunity, Roids thought as he pressed his torn suit against a convenient boulder. He pulled out another suit patch – his fifth – and pulled away from the rock. The bullet-sized hole hissed angrily, but stopped abruptly when…
Martian Territorial Ranger Log: 1 Tujun, 0010 MD Author’s Note: This is the authentic Martian edition, and is not intended for export to Earth! “Miss Becky?” The cowboy’s voice called out quietly. Becky Elam opened her eyes and looked at the man’s flickering shadow, cast onto the small tent’s wall by the fire behind him.
An HK Devonshire Story Becky Elam was ready. The hoverlimo eased up to the curb of Enla’s infamous Gut Shot saloon and the door opened. She stepped out, careful to keep her dress from riding up her legs, then turned to tell the limo driver he could go. Unnecessary. The limo and driver were already…