Angry White Extraterrestrial

By Tag Pearson

Intergalactic peace officer Deuce Condoor is drowning in a sea of illusion. In search of a lifeline, Deuce flees the planet dar-Kirha, a world run by godless utopians many galaxies away from the unlikely safe harbor of Woodland, Nebraska.
Kirhanian utopians used deceit, denial and dysfunction to undermine a healthy humanoid society; they soon learn that political tricks may establish illusory control over infantile life forms, but they cannot propel the machinery of life among those forms. Only by stealing value from others can utopia keep its infants alive; only by perverting the virtues of others can utopians keep the illusion of functionality alive in the deluded minds of utopian slaves.
The first truth to bite truth-deniers is that God’s humanoid experiments are both structured and self-regulating: when any individual tries to cheat the structure or redirect it to his own selfish ends, that individual self-destructs; if 50.1 percent of the electorate in a self-governing society try to cheat the structure, or even passively tolerate such cheaters, the entire experiment self-destructs.
Deuce comes to realize that the suicide of a society does not kill its individual parts. True believers will move on to higher states of consciousness, while passive dimwits, comfort-worshipping slackers and evolutionary regressives get recycled en masse in the universal washing machine. There are worse places, worse states, in the universe for a soul to be washed in, and those weak-willed zeroes whose cavalier denial undermines God’s local experiments will find themselves returning again and again to what their deceptive egos told them they wanted: the secular hell of utopia.
Woodland is on the verge of taking the utopian plunge. A once-great community where families grew strong and raised well-adjusted truth seekers to keep the divine experiment going, Woodland was seduced by the good life. Her people forgot their divine purpose and succumbed to the selfish temptations of the moment, sacrificing an innocent child to secure financial gain and maximum secular comfort.
Woodland’s small town shock waves rattle other galaxies then eventually blow back in the form of Deuce Condoor to give Woodland a karmic kick in the rear. Can Deuce wade through Woodland’s corruption and exhume the truths he needs to restore his soul without using violence, the only agent of change he knows? Can he defeat community hubris and personal demons while saving Dave Davis, an American teenager who loves old movies, futuristic guns and timeless KFC, but rejects the trappings of modern slacker culture?
Dave finds himself in the eye of an intergalactic storm, with various father figures competing to influence his destiny. Will Dave learn from Deuce’s failures and become a divine spark that inspires humanity to join the pantheon of bright ideas in God’s mind? Will Dave resist the temptations of Deuce’s hunter, Simm Draper—the sword and salesman of utopia—a slick, attractive, and manipulative extraterrestrial politico who promises to give Dave everything he wants and make his movie fantasies real? Or will young David be seduced by secular cynicism, thus triggering divine depression that threatens all of Creation?
Will saving Dave save Deuce, himself trapped as an unwitting protector of utopian deceits, an irresistible physical force that nearly corrupts God’s experiment with moral freedom? Will Deuce escape utopian programming or will he be further sucked into the illusion of inevitability?
Follow Deuce’s psycho-spiritual cattle drive across Creation as he searches for a corral to contain and cleanse his radioactive truths and propel his soul to eternity. Share Deuce’s maniacal adventures and his glorious rage—watch evil and the anger that protects it make their final stand as Deuce discovers his illusion-shattering purpose somewhere between this world and the multitudes that surround it.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Tag Pearson
• Release date: Mar 21, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301342334

Book preview

Angry White Extraterrestrial

Tag Pearson

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PUBLISHED BY:

Tag Pearson on Smashwords

Angry White Extraterrestrial

Copyright 2013 by Tag Pearson

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are products of the author’s imagination and are used fictitiously.

Adult Reading Material

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Cover design by Rita Toews, E-Book Covers

Cover image: Jens Carsten Rosemann/E+ Collection/Getty Images

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TABLE OF CONTENTS

Chapter 1 — Sunset

Chapter 2 — Twisted

Chapter 3 — Flight

Chapter 4 — Deep Space Reflections

Chapter 5 — New Worlds

Chapter 6 — Lesser Worlds

Chapter 7 — Crossfire

Chapter 8 — Austin

Chapter 9 — Intersection

Chapter 10 — Crash Pad

Chapter 11 — Stirred, Not Awakened

Chapter 12 — Petty Feuds

Chapter 13 — Wages

Chapter 14 — Dinner

Chapter 15 — Tomb of Glory

Chapter 16 — Attic Antics

Chapter 17 — Powder Burns

Chapter 18 — Technicalities

Chapter 19 — Employment Line

Chapter 20 — Wasted Opportunities

Chapter 21 — Prequel

Chapter 22 — Sarah Logan

Chapter 23 — Signs

Chapter 24— Blending

Chapter 25 — Crusts

Chapter 26 — Attempted Murder

Chapter 27 — Kindling

Chapter 28 — Indulgences

Chapter 29 — Landing Sight

Chapter 30 — Exodus

Chapter 31 — Resolution

Chapter 32 — Status-Seeker

Chapter 33 — Elevated Treasure

Chapter 34 — Diagnostics

Chapter 35 — Indoor Barbeque

Chapter 36 — Triumph

Chapter 37 — Motivational Speech

Chapter 38 — Preparation

Chapter 39 — Site-Seeing

Chapter 40 — Regeneration

Chapter 41 — Death Sight

Chapter 42 — Kissing the Beast

Chapter 43 — Secret Weapon

Chapter 44 — Life Support

Chapter 45 — Projection

Chapter 46 — Cleansing the Palette

Chapter 47 — Peripeteia

Chapter 48 — Profane Impulse

Chapter 49 — Yellow Pages

Chapter 50 — Anagnorisis

Chapter 51 — Breath

Chapter 52 — Laughter

Chapter 53 — Lunatics

Chapter 54 — Denial and Error

Chapter 55 — Confinement

Chapter 56 — Alien Justice

Chapter 57 — Shangri-La-La-Land

Chapter 58 — Comic Belief

Chapter 59 — First Impressions

Chapter 60 — Intervention

Chapter 61 — Weight Loss

Chapter 62 — Matinee

Chapter 63 — Tough Lessons

Chapter 64 — Refuse Disposal

Chapter 65 — Chasing a Dream

Chapter 66 — Catharsis

Chapter 67 — Gun Control

Chapter 68 — Bargains

Chapter 69 — Culture Clash

Chapter 70 — Road to Anarchy

Chapter 71 — Deuce Ex Machina

Chapter 72 — Passage

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Translated from the original Kirhanian novel, dred-Mir-Pirahe (Angry White Extraterrestrial). Original authorship unknown.

Chapter 1

Sunset

On a lonely ridge just outside of Twisted Rock, Lord Naran stood among the cacti and guarded the northwest road out of town. The sun was behind him now, failing, surrendering the violet sky to the planet’s two rising moons. A lone horse galloped from town on the northwest road, racing the sun to the horizon.

Naran scowled at the empty saddle on the loner’s back. Lord Joordan has failed.

A calm voice issued from an implant in Naran’s left ear: Truth?

Naran watched the white horse gallop by and disappear into the sun. One and only, sir.

Lord Riser is still down there. He’s our best KP.

Another horse galloped from town. Saddle empty.

We’ll put that on his tombstone, sir.

Stay where you are, the voice commanded.

Yes sir.

Do not attempt to take him without backup.

Yes sir.

Understand?

"I will not attempt to take him without backup."

We’ll be there in a quarter cycle.

Naran switched off his aural communicator by squeezing his left earlobe twice. He climbed into the saddle of his government-issue horse.

I’ll be there in a tenth cycle, he informed the gelding, as he rode toward the town they’d probably rename after him someday.

Chapter 2

Twisted

Summers in Twisted Rock were a bitch. A full cycle of the equinoctial clock brought fourteen hours of blistering daylight followed by fourteen hours of subzero darkness. Diseases of the oozing sort flourished in Twisted Rock and competed with hostile pit vipers and colonies of stinging insects for a top spot on the local mortality list. When it rained, it rained sand. Pleasant summer days were rare and were usually cut short by vindictive tornadoes or epic landquakes.

Nevertheless, intelligent life forms from all corners of the galaxy continued to settle in Twisted Rock, a small desert township, a lone cactus, on the Mooranian continent of the planet moss-Terba. In a cold desert on the outermost fringe of a colder galaxy, the speck town of Twisted Rock was a rare warm blanket, a quilt of biologically diverse humanoids stitched together by the twin threads of common sense and communal vision.

Species discrimination was not practiced in Twisted Rock. Citizens didn’t care what color your skin or scales were, or how many appendages you had, as long as you subscribed to the town’s simple creed: Honor is cost effective.

The citizens of Twisted Rock hallowed the pillars of honor: honesty, integrity, and courage. They knew that the pillars do not develop naturally, especially among creatures of widely varying talents and dispositions. Each pillar has to be erected. Maintained. Thus, the citizens actively and consistently reinforced the pillars among their children. And they taught by example.

They recognized that honor has its limitations. Honor doesn’t cure disease or heartache; eliminate death or obsolescence. Honor doesn’t solve all of life’s problems, but it diffuses the impact, diluting envy and selfishness, stunting the growth of greed, laying the framework for workable humanoid solutions.

The citizens of Twisted Rock didn’t spend much on clothing, cosmetics, or barbers—honor made them beautiful. They spent next to nothing on weapons, locks, or law enforcement—honor made them strong. They spent nothing on escapist drugs, empty entertainment, or ego therapy—honor made them relevant.

To the citizens of Twisted Rock, honor was a way of living life as if there were a tomorrow. Honor enabled them to teach good before it became bad; to punish bad before it became evil; to destroy evil before it became commonplace. Honor allowed them to nurture their positive talents and to enjoy the simple pleasure of living together. Whiners, bullies, and Bad Samaritans fared poorly within the town limits of Twisted Rock; lawyers, politicos, and used-horse salesmen didn’t fare at all.

For adults whose inner children screamed for more candy and control than that simple way of life would allow, honor preserved the most precious freedom of all: the freedom to leave Twisted Rock if you chose not to play by the rules. For that reason alone, many decent, disenchanted souls found the barren hills of Twisted Rock to be a sprawling paradise.

* * *

Toad’s Saloon was easily the most attractive structure in Twisted Rock. Like most of the local buildings, Toad’s defied the technological and architectural conventions of the day, boasting no circles or triangles or even solar panels. It was an old square wooden structure, with weather-beaten paint peeling on the sunny side of the world. It had two floors: the first for drinkin’; the second for whorin’, if they still had whores in Twisted Rock.

Outside, Lord Naran pressed himself against Toad’s front wall. Part of him hoped that fear or common sense would grip him, force him to obey his standing orders.

Do not attempt to take him without backup.

As a Kirhanian Peace Lord, Naran was considered incapable of disobeying an order. Kirhanian Peace Lords, or KPs, as they were called throughout the galaxy, prided themselves on their solid record of following orders. It was a reflection of intensive discipline and training that inspired confidence among the rulers and the ruled of their planet, dar-Kirha.

KPs were not supposed to seek glory. Their only ambition was to see justice done. They wielded the most advanced weaponry in the universe, backed by the authority to arrest, imprison, and perform summary executions. As long as KPs abstained from political assassination, they were free to eliminate any elements that challenged Kirhanian order. Intergalactic terrorists, Kirhanian crime bosses, small town child molesters: all fell within the lethal jurisdiction of the Peace Lords.

The Kirhanian Information Industry spread good press for the KPs throughout the civilized universe. Citizens of a thousand systems knew that becoming a KP meant a lifelong commitment to justice, that peace was the KP religion. KPs were monitored by the eyes, ears, and conscience of the Information Industry, a vital check on abuses of power.

The KP system contained numerous procedural safeguards to further minimize abuses. Anyone proven to have intentionally misled a KP investigation could be publicly executed. Anyone who attempted to bribe a Peace Lord could be publicly executed. Public officials who attempted to use KPs for private justice, although immune from summary death penalty, could be publicly tried and, upon conviction, executed. A committee of civilian officials oversaw KP affairs and investigated individual abuses of power.

On occasion, despite the safeguards and good intentions of Kirhanian rulers, a KP would go bad and threaten the delicate balance that made the system work. A KP would anoint himself God and mete out justice in a patently arbitrary and corrupt fashion. The Kirhanian government regarded any such KP as a peace issue and dispatched as many heavily-armed KPs as necessary to resolve it.

Lurking inside Toad’s Saloon was a high-profile peace issue. Stronger and faster than his low-profile comrades, he was reputed to have what Kirhanian folklore called rho-Vheecha-Ky, the Vision of Black Lights. The Death Sight.

Naran had been a KP for many years now, and the only name he had made for himself was te-Dod-Heroye, The Guy Who Drinks Too Much Breakfast Beverage. They don’t erect many statues to gifted beverage drinkers on planet Kirha. And, Naran assured himself, they don’t erect many statues to, or sing any anthems about, those who always follow orders. No, he was good enough. He was fast enough. And, by God in the heavens below, he was stupid enough to carry the day.

Naran drew his laser pistol, rushed through the swinging wooden doors of Toad’s Saloon . . .

. . . and nearly fainted at the spectacle that assaulted his myopic eyes.

The first thing he saw was the man. His man. The man who can’t be taken unless he wants to be.

The Vision of Black Lights. The Death Sight.

Clad in KP fatigues and facing Naran, the man sat on the bar, his legs dangling over the counter. Sitting in a semicircle before the man were a dozen local children. They were laughing a riot as the man finished reading them a Kirhanian fairy tale. The humble laser ant had just beaten the living shit out of the arrogant grasshopper.

Naran took quiet pause on the threshold of Toad’s Saloon. The children were so enthralled by the storyteller, the storyteller so attentive to his audience, that Naran could have simply walked away without notice and lived a long, mediocre life.

But that was his man, and if Naran didn’t act before backup arrived, he would be forced to share the career-advancing glory with others. And all he would get out of it was a mass-produced beverage mug. Galaxy’s Best KP!

You’re under arrest! Naran cried, raising his pistol.

None of the children turned. Every young eye remained upon the storyteller, Daniel Condoor. Six feet tall, with powerful shoulders that seemed nearly as wide, he was known to his friends and enemies as Deuce. Deuce’s full, prematurely gray mane sprang from his scalp and coursed down to his shoulders like a mountain waterfall, a cool and effective distraction from the angry laser pistol holstered to his right thigh.

* * *

Deuce waved the KP toward an empty chair in the semicircle. Have a seat.

I’m not here for your story.

It has a happier ending than your own.

I’m not afraid of you, Commander, Naran replied, his hands trembling.

Deuce leaned back and inhaled Naran’s fear. I was just going to open a discussion on religion. Those on the verge of death often find comfort in religion.

You’re quite a hero, Condoor—terrorizing young minds with outdated dogma.

Deuce looked down at his pupils. Yesterday, we were talking about the Fallacists, who worship a loving God, but believe that He is imperfect. And that’s why evil exists. God is not all-knowing, but He knows more than we do. God is not all-powerful, but He’s more powerful than we are. That’s what makes Him God. The Fallacists are divided into many sects—one of the largest in the galaxy is that of the Cephs. Are there any Cephs here who want to explain their faith?

An adolescent Carghinian, barely three feet in height, and tall for her age, stood up on her chair. Cephs believe that all sentient life forms are the collective mind of God. The physical universe is His body. Every intelligent being is a profound idea with the potential to inspire God—all of us—toward perfection. Beyond our universe, God struggles for survival in the multiverse. Our conflicts impact His morale and health; ultimately, His success.

Deuce smiled. Sounds good. What does it mean?

The Carghinian grunted. Well, our verbal conflicts—

Deuce jumped in. Mommy and daddy fighting, disagreements in business.

Right, Mr. Deuce. Those are all part of God’s struggling comprehension.

And physical conflict? Rape, child abuse, murder?

Part of God’s struggling conscience.

What about war?

A struggle for His sanity.

Deuce looked up at Naran. Naran yawned.

So we should stop fighting amongst ourselves? Deuce queried.

No sir, the young Carghinian replied, we should start fighting to win. Some ideas make us stronger, make God more focused—many don’t. Every evil that is rewarded, or even unpunished, is a malignancy that threatens dementia. If dementia sets in, what might God do to Himself—to our universe—to bring peace of mind?

Deuce smiled. So the creature behind you, with the pistol in his hand—he’s a profound idea like me?

Presumably, Mr. Deuce.

What happens to a profound idea when it experiences a painful, violent death?

Profound ideas never really die, sir. They become part of God’s higher consciousness.

What about the not-so-profound ideas?

Part of His subconscious.

And bad ideas?

They are forgotten, sir. Universally excreted.

Dung heap of the gods?

The children of Twisted Rock screamed with gleeful disgust.

Deuce pushed. And the really bad ideas, weighted down with envy, hatred, self-righteous hypocrisy?

They sink to the bottom of the heap . . . forever.

The children groaned a collective Eeeoouu!

Even Naran flashed a smile. His late mother had been a Ceph, had raised him with Ceph beliefs. You’re under arrest, Deuce.

Naran hadn’t gotten it then, either.

You have no authority to arrest me here.

Naran waved his pistol. First lesson at the Academy—this is my authority.

A one-line retort would have been appropriate, but Deuce was eager to kill this sand maggot. Naran wore the KP badge, and the fact that he was here, now, meant that he had been part of the original strike team sent to arrest Deuce. They had gone to Deuce’s home, and all they had found were Deuce’s wife and his ten-year-old son.

Deuce winced. Distant images of fire, smoke, horrified neighbors. Scorched bodies carted from his dwelling. And Naran had definitely been one of them. Well, maybe he was one of them.

Didn’t matter: he wore the badge.

Hands up! Naran screamed, grasping his pistol with both hands as he aimed it from chin level.

Deuce looked down at the faces of the children. They weren’t at all scared. Indeed, they all grinned with anticipation, eager to witness the last grim chapter of Naran’s fairy tale. Deuce grinned back at them, then jumped off the bar. The moment Deuce landed on his feet, the children sprang to theirs, forming a prepubescent wall between the laser ant and the grasshopper.

Naran lowered his pistol. A KP that recklessly shot a child today could easily become a peace issue tomorrow.

Children, this is a very bad man, Naran explained. He’s hurt a lot of citizens. Citizens like you and your mothers and fathers. Without taking his eyes off the children, Naran addressed Deuce. Is that open for discussion, Commander?

Deuce uttered, Dung heap.

Tell them the true story of how you got here. What you did. You think they’ll stand for that?

I think they’ll pray.

As if on cue, the children dropped to their knees. Naran raised his pistol and his plane of vision at the same time. His eyes locked on Deuce’s, searching for a split second clue as to Deuce’s intent.

It was a vain search. Deuce’s eyes revealed no intent. They revealed no feeling or focus behind them. He was staring into forever. He had submitted to the Death Sight.

Deuce’s right hand snapped his pistol into firing position at the speed of light. A crimson laser bolt screamed from the pistol and exploded dead center on Naran’s chest. Naran’s cold pistol dropped to the floor; his lifeless body collapsed upon it.

The Death Sight never disengaged until all proximate threats had been neutralized. The instant Naran hit the floor, the Death Sight receded and Deuce’s conventional perception snapped back into control.

Deuce waved his pistol toward the front door; children stampeded out. The last child, a boy named Band, paused halfway out the door. He turned and re-entered with a laser pistol and a KP attached to him.

The Honorable Lord Tech cowered behind the boy he was sworn to protect, jamming the muzzle in the back of Band’s head.

Deuce held his pistol by his side. His left eye twitched, waited for an opening.

Would you kill a child, Commander? Tech queried.

Deuce studied the boy. Like all Twisted Rock natives, Band had been born and bred to live honorably, without fear. He showed none now.

As Deuce dropped his pistol, three more KPs rushed in with weapons drawn. Tech released Band, allowed him to stroll out of the saloon.

Deuce almost cracked his cocky, disarming grin—the one that choked KP bladders—but another pursuer entered the barroom, disarming Deuce. Deuce examined the tight black uniform, the short, platinum blond hair that topped the creature’s disproportionally small head. Its hairless face had all the species’ distinctive features: pointy nose, two pinprick eyes, a large mouth filled with tiny yellow teeth. Hanging from its utility belt was a shiny cutlass forged from an alloy called Sullen steel.

What’s it doing here? Deuce snarled.

The Sull Swordsmen are only here as observers, Tech replied.

The Swordsman rested his right hand on the hilt of his cutlass. Dozens of sharp yellow teeth appeared as the corners of his thin gray lips curled upward.

The Sull have been our enemies since history was an infant. They live outside the bounds of civil decency—they eat children. How does an agent of civilized justice associate with animalistic evil?

It’s wrong to judge, Commander, Tech admonished.

Does Captain Draper know about this?

KP policy is no longer your concern. Lord Jeecks, search him.

Deuce’s eyes cut to Jeecks.

Jeecks, a round humanoid with a large head of thinning orange hair, was flabbergasted. But sir, I have a wife and children.

Tech cried out, KP Counsel.

Counsel leaped forward. Sir!

Your wife and children are dead, right?

Yes sir!

Civilize him.

Counsel pulled out three feet of thin, sparkly cord called LiveBind and dangled it in front of Deuce’s midsection. When Deuce held out his wrists, the free end of the LiveBind curled upward like a cobra poising to strike Deuce’s hands.

The LiveBind quickly coiled around Deuce’s wrists, then secured itself.

May I have my storybook? Deuce nodded toward a thick, leather-cased book that rested on the bar.

Jeecks picked up the book and read its title, Tough Lessons. The cover was riddled with dark blotches, the dried blood of KPs.

Tech snatched the book from his subordinate. This is a great work of fiction.

It’s a civics book, Deuce informed him, "about the birth of Kirhanian society. How the honor and vision and paranoia of the Founders brought freedom, stability, and civilization to the galaxy. A dangerous book, too. A civilized Kirhanian student bludgeoned a classmate to death with a copy of Tough Lessons. The Wise banned it from schools."

The Wise are not afraid to protect our children. Besides—

Tech flipped the book open.

—it’s still dangerous.

The book’s pages had been hollowed out to accommodate a small pistol.

I can’t believe you’re still using that ancient trick, Tech howled.

Deuce’s eyes were already glazing over.

Tech pulled out the tiny pistol and tossed the book. It must have been a joke, he announced, holding up the pistol for the other KPs to laugh at. They say that Deuce Condoor can’t be taken unless he wants to be. Well guess what, you’ve just been—

Without warning, the pistol exploded in Tech’s hand, shattering his forearm into a thousand airborne pieces. A cloud of thick smoke instantly filled the room and rolled out the front door, followed by Tech’s high-pitched screams. Five quick laser blasts punctuated the smoky chaos. Then the saloon went silent.

And Deuce emerged from the saloon, as if spawned by the hellish smoke that poured from its wooden mouth. Holding his fevered laser pistol by his side, he looked to the sky.

The twin moons were still climbing. Deuce couldn’t leave just yet.

He stepped out into the dusty street and surveyed the immediate threat zone. His arms were poised by his sides, elbows and wrists slightly bent, fingers spread. His eyes danced rhythmically from side to side, building to building. He was ready to launch into deep death mode, eager to unholster his rage. The Deuce Condoor who had spent months tutoring the children of Twisted Rock about peace, progress, and love was now a full professor of humanoid destruction.

Deuce patrolled the street, awaiting the response of the citizens who had sheltered him for months. Deuce had come to this town, the most remote in the charted universe, hoping to lose himself in her legendary honor. Hoping to find the peace he no longer knew as a Peace Lord, the peace he needed to recover.

Twisted Rock had treated Deuce as part of the community. In return, he had given his time and benign attention to the children, imparting knowledge about the flawed, exciting worlds that swirled in space around them. He gave them his favorite civics lecture on how citizens had usually destroyed the universe’s great civilizations by casually rejecting morality. He had called morality a necessary evil: it isn’t fun, easy, or even always fair—it’s merely the best way for free, imperfect, and highly diverse individuals to rule themselves with a minimum of physical force. One child was still awake at the end of the lecture; it was a rousing success.

The citizens had actually come to believe that Deuce Condoor was a gentle man looking for a quiet home. They had even offered him a position as school marm!

But that was before they knew who he was, what he had done. What he was trying to recover from. These were simple people of the desert who had a simple view of life and justice. They would never allow an assassin to walk freely in their midst.

Deuce heard a rumble. Behind him, the distant northern hills were coughing up dust. He watched as the dust storm pushed toward town. Twenty KP horses at least.

He heard another rumble. Slowly he turned. The entire town of Twisted Rock had assembled behind him. Each citizen was heavily armed.

They knew who he was.

Deuce’s head felt light; his vision, fuzzy. He waited for the Death Sight to stir. Each life before him would become a sparkle, then a fixed point of light. The Sight would engage quickly. He could kill a third of them before a shot ever hit him. Maybe he could kill them all.

It didn’t matter, though: the Sight never came.

The mayor of Twisted Rock approached Deuce. The Mayor was an elderly man with wild gray hair and a limp with more history than the Twisted Rock archives. He was carrying a laser rifle that could destroy an entire planet.

You’re a citizen of Twisted Rock, the Mayor proclaimed. First rule of any worthwhile community is to make rules that apply to everyone. Second rule is to make everyone follow the rules. A close third is to protect those who follow the rules from those who don’t.

Deuce looked around. The earnest expressions of the townfolk reflected a mayoral consensus.

The Mayor continued: We don’t care what you did out there, son. No rules on Kirha anymore. They all stay home to avoid the risks of living. Through their in-home communication units and the Kirhanian Information Industry, isolated citizens hopped up on Nuance enjoy safe commerce, safe entertainment, safe atheism.

Safe sex, the crowd roared.

They even have safe politics, the Mayor bellowed. Nobody votes or debates anymore. When Kirhanians do venture from their homes, they don’t even know how to interact.

Sue your neighbor! Sue your neighbor! the crowd screamed.

Our justice system is the envy of the civilized universe, Deuce protested. Our children enjoy the same legal protections as adults.

Children rule. Children’s rights, the crowd chanted.

Right to divorce parents and to compel a higher allowance, the Mayor said.

An elderly citizen in the back spoke up: Right to be ignored by all adults. Right to learn nothing in school. Right to be gunned down in civics class.

They don’t teach civics in Kirha anymore, Deuce corrected.

The crowd cheered.

Well I’m not gonna bring those problems to your children, Deuce said. After what I did, they’ll level this town to take me. The KPs have a reputation to protect.

KPs? KPs? The Mayor turned toward the crowd. KPs—the honored bastards of Kirhanian justice.

The crowd roared with laughter.

The Mayor pointed to the sky. Now that Kirha has vanquished all external challenges to her way of life, her citizens have become lazy and bored. They’ve given up. Kirhanian tyrants used ridicule and lies to convince citizens to unilaterally disarm themselves of morality, judgment, and violence: tools the masses need to fight evil, enforce the social contract between the rulers and the ruled. Tribunals are too clogged with parent-child contract disputes, ego injury, and personal harassment suits for judges to worry about trivial matters.

A citizen yelled: Like robbery, rape, and murder.

The Mayor preached on. Remember, son, I used to live there, too. I was one of the few who escaped the paradise of Kirha. I watched while the sophisticated citizens of Kirha gutted one another in court, placed more trust in corrupt government than in God and each other, while the impartial Information Industry became a prop wing of utopian tyrants. I watched the Wise seize control of the medical industry, then deny its benefits to anyone who challenged their feel-good tyranny. I watched the KPs evolve beyond traditional law enforcement—protecting government prerogatives instead of the will of the masses—assuming ever broader police and judicial powers.

Which they won’t hesitate to use, Deuce announced. This is my battle and I’m not gonna fight it here. You didn’t cause my problems—you don’t pay for them.

We all pay for them anyway, Deuce, whether we choose to acknowledge it or not. If we don’t pay for them now, our children will pay a lot more for them later.

Deuce sighed. This type of community was an aberration, yes, but not a myth. The Information Industry had assured Kirhanians that all humanoids were selfish, envious, short-sighted. Unwilling to incur pain without a promise of instant reward. Unworthy of living free in civil society, of aspiring to a higher state beyond the State.

Never forget, the Mayor said, that honor is cost effective.

Deuce walked toward the crowd. Only when you use it with discretion.

The Mayor limped into Deuce’s path and planted his bad leg in the dusty street. Always. If you use it only when it’s convenient, it’s not honor. You will not run away, Deuce. I forbid it. You’ll never feel honor until your feet are planted. He poked his arthritic fingers into Deuce’s chest. Until you acknowledge your true purpose and honor it. The only life that makes a difference—across time, across the universe, into the heavens—is a life of honor. And honor springs from the knowledge, love, and full acceptance of a reality far greater than yourself.

Deuce scanned the crowd. Every adult stood ready to fight to the death for him or, more likely, for the town creed. These citizens would die for him, never having asked for anything in return except that he obey their rules. And the Mayor was right. Deuce had traversed the galaxy and he still felt nothing inside—no honor, no love, no pride. Not even genuine pain. Only persistent disorientation punctuated by hot flashes of rage and cold stirrings of the Death Sight.

He surveyed the beautiful humanoids of Twisted Rock, many toting laser weapons that hadn’t fired in eons. Many that would never fire with any amount of coaxing.

The dust cloud drew nearer.

The Mayor pointed backwards. Go back to the saloon, Mr. Deuce. Finish your lesson for our children. Teach them history that they may learn to find eternity.

Deuce looked into the Mayor’s eyes and smiled with the solemn warmth of a welcome insider. A trusted member of a good family. Then he drew his pistol and shot the Mayor in his good leg.

The crowd gasped in horror and dispersed quickly.

As a handful of locals dragged the Mayor off, Deuce looked up into the sky. The twin moons were nearly aligned; the window to the uncharted universe would open briefly. Deuce slipped into a weathered gray barn at the south edge of town and commenced preparation. He had to be on the right side of the window when it closed.

Chapter 3

Flight

The twin moons continued to climb as an army of equestrian KPs roared into the north side of town. Leading the charge was Grand Captain Simm Draper, commander in chief of the Peace Lords. Simm was no longer a young Kirhanian, but none of his features would betray it. His sharp intellect and radiant good looks cloaked a profound wisdom and mature compassion usually associated with elders of the race. Simm’s government friends claimed that he could conquer the universe with his hypnotic purple eyes, if only politics wasn’t such an ugly business. Simm had vowed to live, to live in, and to perpetuate, perfect beauty.

On Simm’s command, the force of twenty-seven split up. They thundered through the deserted streets of Twisted Rock and converged near the gray barn at the edge of town. In two blinks of a purple eye, they completely surrounded the barn.

Commander Condoor, Simm yelled at the barn.

The barn did not reply.

Commander!

Silence.

Simm waved his hand. With weapons drawn, two KPs jumped from behind a tree and rushed up to the barn’s large double doors. Simm checked the perimeter: the barn was surrounded by his best KPs. His remaining best KPs. They were well-positioned, properly armed, and determined to sacrifice all to preserve Kirhanian utopia.

Deuce Condoor can’t be taken unless he wants to be.

Deuce? Simm yelled.

Simm signaled to the KPs positioned at the barn doors. The two KPs looked at each other, then grabbed the door handles and pulled.

The last thing either of them heard was the sound of a spacecraft-mounted laser cannon powering up. The kind of sound you hear in the pit of your stomach. The cannon spit out a double blast of intense energy that blew the doors open and reduced both KPs to a fine, gruesome dust.

Three KPs rushed the door and were nearly decapitated by the two-passenger spacecraft that soared through it. The remaining KPs opened fire on the craft, but their target climbed out of range in seconds.

Simm stood and watched calmly as the craft disappeared in the dark sky. A tall, heavyset KP approached him.

Sir, none of the townfolk will cooperate.

Simm looked at the corpulent KP. No surprise. They don’t cooperate when our recruiters come to town, either.

I guess their children don’t have what it takes to join the Kirhanian service.

Go easy on them, Lieutenant. Their children are deprived of their basic rights. Treated like chattel down here. They aren’t given the choices Kirhanian children have.

We’ll have to burn the town, then, for the sake of the children.

You like to burn too much, Largo.

Fire’s a powerful teacher, sir.

We have no treaties with this planet. No jurisdiction for burning.

Sir, the Kirhanian government has Nuance contracts with this planet. We have contract enforcement powers here—the power to burn is incidental.

Not in this town. They don’t use Nuance.

Someday they will. They always do.

Of course. The galaxy runs on Nuance.

Sir, because of what Condoor did, the Searchers are refusing to produce Nuance for Kirha. They’re the only ones who know how to do it. If their refusal continues . . . do you realize what it could do to the galactic economy?

Without it, Kirhanian society would collapse. The Wise would lose absolute power to protect its happy citizens.

All because of Condoor. And this town knowingly gave him shelter.

‘Knowingly?’ Who demoted you from KP to lawyer? Nothing can break the peace we’ve built over the centuries, unless we allow ourselves to sacrifice social justice.

But the entire galaxy knows what he did.

Yes, Largo, and they know what we’re doing. They’re going to watch us do it by the rules.

What if the rules allow him to slip away?

He has nowhere left to go.

Largo grimaced. You still think of him as a son, don’t you?

Simm’s eyes bore into Largo’s. You don’t have the Death Sight, but you have insight. One of my better KPs.

Largo smiled wide, causing three of his six chins to vanish.

But Deuce is still my best. He’s done so much for our people, for me. Someday, he’ll be Grand Captain . . . if I don’t let him ruin his future for one stupid mistake that can be easily repaired.

All those who died—

We don’t know all the facts yet, Lieutenant. Maybe he snapped. Maybe he had a breakdown. After all those years of exceptional service, I think we can afford him the benefit of the doubt.

Running away forfeits that benefit, sir.

I thought I trained my KPs to manifest a little more compassion.

That is the compassionate position. Everyone else wants him shot on sight.

Simm laughed. As if he could be. How many KPs have tried to shoot Deuce on sight?

We’ve buried over a hundred, sir.

You can’t kill Deuce—he owns violence. The moment the thought of killing him enters your head, it enters his head. Then you usually lose yours. He’s wired into interdimensional currents that I’ll never fully understand. None of us will. You can only restrain him through love and friendship. That’s all he really responds to.

Simm sighed. I wish they knew the Deuce Condoor I knew when he was younger. Long before he became an ornery bastard that only a father could love.

Chapter 4

Deep Space Reflections

As Deuce maneuvered his spacecraft along the exosphere of moss-Terba’s largest moon, he took little notice of the grand stellar parade that blazed before him. He had been patrolling the stars for nearly twenty years now, and nothing short of a black hole regurgitating projectile planets would faze him. Indeed, even when he had seen the stars up close and personal for the first time, all he had mustered was a casual yawn.

Deuce’s fingers danced along the ship’s control panel, keying in the last coordinates he would ever enter. He tapped the go key and awaited further instructions.

A nasally digital voice screeched from the computer: The coordinates you have entered are not accessible. Please enter alternative coordinates.

The cockpit grew warmer. Deuce tapped the same series of keys, hit the go key less gently, and began to hyperventilate.

The coordinates you have entered are not accessible. Please enter alternative coordinates.

The cockpit was a sauna. Deuce’s temples pounded. He unfastened his flight suit collar and entered the exact same coordinates, punching each key with as much force as he could direct to the tip of his fingers. He slammed his fist upon the go key.

The coordinates you have entered are not accessible. Please—

Like a madman playing a pipe organ at midnight, Deuce jammed the same coordinates into the keyboard, then slammed the go key with his elbow. If the computer resisted again, he would