The Nightmare Kid

By Alces P. Adams

What if a spaceship landed in the U. S. in 1859? What if the U. S. was a repressive autocratic regime instead of a republic? Those two questions gives rise to two transcontinental chases and a race to save a village from annihilation. From those questions rises "The Nightmare Kid."

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Oct 12, 2015
• ISBN: 9781682221914

Book preview

EPILOGUE

PROLOGUE

First Lieutenant Anira Brazym stepped into the lift and turned. The door whooshed shut.

Conference level, she said.

A disembodied female voice responded, Aye-aye, ma’am.

Annie eyed her reflection in one of the silver bands separating the grey wall panels. Wavy brown hair framed an olive-colored face dominated by light green eyes. That face sat atop a five-foot-seven-inch frame, and the workouts required of an Ex Corps officer kept that body fit and trim.

Suddenly, the overhead lighting dimmed to half its normal brightness. It then increased to three-quarter normal and decreased to half again. It finally resumed normal intensity.

Annie frowned and thought, Showing our age, are we?

The old girl didn’t have much left. Minor issues like this had been cropping up more and more of late. Annie prayed the impending ex (exploratory mission) went off without a hitch, which caused her to remember the last …

She shook her head to rid it of such thoughts as the lift slowed to a stop. The door whooshed open, and the voice said, Conference level, ma’am.

Annie muttered a thanks as she stepped out to join a stream of people flowing to the right. She didn’t have to look ahead to know they were headed for the auditorium at the end of the hall. One shuttle assigned to each of the ten planets in this system multiplied by the five-man crew of each shuttle plus the support personnel required aboard Mother equaled the necessity of a large room for the pre-ex briefing.

Upon entering the auditorium, Annie stepped aside until her right leg pressed against an empty seat on the back row. She scanned the room for Commander Zoth and saw him talking to Commander Ronis at the edge of the stage. As comm (communications) chief of the PCS Renegade, Zoth was her boss.

Ronis smiled at Annie’s approach. Purple eyes sparkled in a pale face; eyes that complimented hair so black as to suggest a purple hue. Combed straight back, the hair seemed plastered in place, but Annie knew it wasn’t. That’s how it grew. Between the eyes and hair arched a pair of eyebrows as thin as penciled lines. All this rested upon a slim build. Many an adversary regretted mistaking Ron’s more feminine features as evidence of a soft opponent.

As she neared, Zoth smiled. Only his pointed ears suggested he might not be an Earthling. Good morning, Annie.

She nodded a greeting to both men. The auditorium was filling fast, so she didn’t have time to waste. To Zoth she said, Lighting in Lift D malfunctioned on my way up. It didn’t go out completely, but it dimmed a couple of times.

Zoth frowned. I sure hope we can get one last ex out of the old girl. Thanks, Annie. I’ll inform Maintenance.

Ron pointed at the growing audience. We’d best find seats before they’re all taken.

Shall we? he added, but no words passed his lips. Ron was a Centi, which meant he was a telepath, and the mind-connection between he and Annie was exactly what the PC (Planetary Confederation) intended.

Annie nodded. It only took a few paces to reach a pair of empty seats to First Lieutenant Krok’s left.

Most of the Renegade’s crew was humanoid. Annie’s paternal grandfather was a native of Kylan (essentially human), but the rest of her ancestry was Earthling. Ron could pass for human were it not for those purple eyes, and so would Zoth were it not for his pointed ears. Krok, however, was one of the most non-human life forms aboard the starship.

Were the Kalinthian warrior to rise, he would stand just shy of seven feet tall. His body seemed mostly human with a build that would have Schwarzenegger drooling with envy, but his most noticeable features were definitely feline. Yellowish-green pupils sat in narrow eyes flanking the bridge of a large flat nose. Except for the black area surrounding his nostrils, his nose was of the same tawny color as his face and body. His upper lip was hairless save for eight long whiskers (four to a side). A huge brown mane framed his face and merged with a beard reaching to his chest. An attempt had been made to brush the mane back, but the wild look was obviously the norm. A tail with a dark, furry tip protruded from the seat of his pants and currently snaked across his thigh.

As Ron took the seat nearest Krok, his diminutive stature and serene countenance stood in stark contrast to the scowling giant who seemed willing to dismember at the barest hint of a whim. Annie sat to Ron’s left to complete the trinity which formed the nucleus of every crew Ron commanded. The PC preferred to permanently pair CO and comm when one of them was a Centi to take advantage of the mind-connection between a team’s mind and mouth. Krok brought muscle to the team, and his membership in the trinity grew from a PC modification of a Kalinthian custom.

Krok belonged to the warrior caste on Kalinth, and Kalinthians believe death in battle is the highest honor to which a warrior could aspire. In the deciding battle of the war to defend the planet against the Axis, however, Ron saved Krok’s life, which caused Krok’s social status to drop dramatically. Since the savior purchased years the warrior would not have otherwise possessed, those years belonged to the savior. Ron acquired a slave when he saved Krok’s life, but the PC opposed slavery. Wishing to maintain good relations with these hard-won allies, the PC compromised by appointing Krok to serve as Ron’s security officer for life.

Chimes sounded, and the room hushed. The auditorium lighting dimmed (on purpose), and all eyes turned toward the stage, where Zoth stood in the soft glow of a spotlight.

"As you all know, the Renegade has reached R-80, her final ex," Zoth began.

A voice from the row just behind Ron’s Trinity whispered. And it’s about time. She’s falling apart.

Zoth glared at the area where the whisper originated. I’ll not tolerate your sorry humor today, Parker.

Aye-aye, sir, came the sheepish reply.

Zoth’s eyes took in the entire audience.

I know you all looked forward to another of my infamous pre-ex briefings, but …

He paused to allow the remark to sink in and ignored Parker’s Yeah, right.

"… I will instead yield the floor to a man who has earned the privilege of presiding over the Renegade’s last pre-ex, a man who will follow his last command into retirement. Turning to his right, he said, Admiral Christopher Drake."

Annie put a hand on Ron’s arm. "So it’s true! They gave him his second star and he’s retiring!"

And I lost 50 bucks, Lieutenant Commander Johnny Parker groaned behind her.

Ignoring him, Ron put his hand on Annie’s. Aye, but he earned that star.

Retrieving her hand, Annie smiled and thought, You know that’s what I meant.

She turned back to the stage and frowned. Sure, she was excited at the official recognition of Drake’s promotion, but she shouldn’t have put her hand on Ron that way. The involuntary move also worried her because it suggested the mate-thoughts, which had increased in frequency as they approached this system, had acquired a physical aspect.

Ron frowned, too. Putting his hand on hers was a natural reaction, but Annie obviously read more into it than was intended. He once again felt concern over her decidedly anti-social nature. Unless heavily pressured, she would rather spend her free time at a console studying Earth files rather than kicking up her heels in the ship’s canteen or planet-side. No wonder she was still single.

Admiral Drake cleared his throat at center stage. Thank you, Commander. I wasn’t expecting this, but a captain who doesn’t know his ship’s mission well enough to give a pre-ex isn’t worth his salt, is he?

The audience chuckled as the spotlight faded and holographic globes materialized behind Drake. Flat rings encircled the equator of the bluish ball on his left, and a big red spot dominated the surface of the globe on his other side. Opposite Drake from that yellow, brown, and red striped giant floated a sea of rocky debris. From his far right, a yellowish glow suggested a sun in the distance.

"The Renegade has nearly reached anchor at the heart of R-80, an A-Class system of ten planets with an asteroid belt between Planets 3 and 4 and an Oort cloud at its periphery."

The air about Drake turned pale blue, and the giant planets and asteroid belt, which was what someone on the bridge would have seen had they peered out over Mother’s bow, faded away to be replaced by a map of R-80. The sun stood on Drake’s right and the rest of the system extended to his left. Beside each planet was a number corresponding to that planet’s position in relation to the sun. A starship rested between Planets 5 and 6.

Long range scans suggest Planet 3 is Possibly Intelligent but not space-faring. The other planets don’t seem inhabited, although 4 may have been at some time. We’ll conduct a more detailed scan once the old girl’s in position, but we don’t expect any surprises. Any hopes of a Space Capable Planet or an Outpost rest with Planet 3.

Drake lowered his eyes. The, er, accident at R-79 necessitated a reshuffling of shuttle assignments.

Annie bowed her head at the memory. Five of the Renegade’s best Ex Corps personnel were lost when their shuttle malfunctioned and crashed into R-79’s Planet 8. Rescue teams couldn’t find enough ship or crew to reassemble either much less ascertain the cause of the crash. The shuttle’s final transmissions suggested some sort of malfunction.

"The old girl and all her parts are past the retiring point," Parker whispered.

Annie scowled and regretted his tardiness. He must have arrived late because all the seats in the back, where he belonged, would have been taken by then.

He must’ve been a bratty rascal when he was a pup. She frowned when she realized child-thoughts were an extension of mate-thoughts.

What’s gotten into me? she wondered as Drake resumed the briefing.

We’ve also modified prelims for shuttles and crews in the hopes of avoiding another mishap. Expect pre-flight checklists to be much more extensive.

Drake then gave the results of each planet’s long range scan and briefed the audience on the non-planetary qualities of R-80. As the expert terrologist (one who studies Earth), not only aboard the Renegade but also in this quadrant of the galaxy, Annie couldn’t help but note this system’s similarity to Earth’s. No, similarity wasn’t right. They were twins.

To a standing ovation, Drake eventually relinquished the stage to Zoth, who announced this system’s assignments. Ron’s Trinity drew Shuttle 3. Given this system’s resemblance to Mother’s home system and Planet 3’s to Earth, Annie was pleased that the last two berths went to men of pure Earth ancestry, but she rolled her eyes when the XO was named. That spot went to Johnny Parker.

He might be a wise-cracker, but he’s a damn good man, Ron said in her mind.

The science officer would be Ensign Joey Laverdure. Though he had a few minor missions on his file, he was essentially a rookie fresh out of the Academy. To his credit, he graduated at the top of his class and earned the highest GPA in the school’s last 53 years. Annie smiled. Krok and Parker would see to it that this would be the ensign’s first true mission, the one he’ll always remember as his first.

Annie couldn’t know it, but this would be a memorable mission for them all—especially her.

CHAPTER 1

First Lt. Anira Brazym’s face bore the blank expression of a listener. When the voice in her headset went silent, her eyes lost the listener’s glaze. She turned her head to look over her left shoulder.

Mother requests we stand by. Shuttles 5, 6, and 8 are attempting to file simultaneous IR’s. Individual comms will be online shortly.

Without turning, Commander Ronis said, Thank you, Lieutenant.

Annie leaned back, stretched, and then interlocked her fingers behind her head. She stared blankly at the pale grey starboard bulkhead of the shuttle. All the walls looked the same except the bow, which boasted a windshield. Her black boots rested on carpet a darker shade of grey than the walls. Above her station as well as below and on either side sat compartments containing portable equipment for the field, emergency supplies, weapons, and other material not needed for a simple fly-by ex. The bulkhead before her boasted a counter upon which rested a monitor, keyboard, and the various dials, meters, knobs, and sliding levers that were the tools of the comm officer’s trade.

She unlocked her fingers and rested her hands on her lap. Her uniform, the same worn by all PC personnel regardless of sex, rank, or species, consisted of a tunic and trousers. The trousers and the tunic’s collar were the same dark grey as the shuttle’s carpeting. The rest of the tunic matched the bulkhead’s light grey. She wore a double silver bar, her insignia of rank, on her lapels, and her cuffs were the Comm Section’s dark green.

Annie swiveled her chair to observe her colleagues at work, not that there was much to do just yet. Two seats faced the windshield with an instrument nest between them. The nest could be swung up to allow the chairs to turn and the occupants to vacate their seats. Ronis occupied the captain’s chair on the port side. In the navigator’s seat sat Lt. Commander Johnny Parker. Both men wore the Ex Corps’ pale blue cuffs. Two work stations faced the port bulkhead. First Lt. Krok, the shuttle’s security officer with red cuffs, sat behind Ronis. To Krok’s left was Ensign Joey Laverdure, science officer with yellow cuffs. To the rookie’s left was the head.

Annie glanced out the windshield at the star field beyond. Planet 3 was visible earlier, but the big blue marble could no longer be seen. Maybe it was best this way. She would soon be too busy to enjoy any view, which was why she afforded herself the luxury of observing her surroundings now.

She turned back to her console and theorized that Commander Zoth, chief of the Renegade’s comm section, would handle the comm for Shuttle 3. After all, this was the only one of the ten planets in this system likely to harbor intelligent life, or life of any sort. Annie hoped it would be Zoth. Not only was he a personal friend, he was also intelligent, handsome … and married.

Damn mate-thoughts!

Her face assumed the listener’s look. With the barest hint of a smile, she aimed over her shoulder again.

Commander, we have a comm. Commander Zoth awaits our IR (Initial Report).

Before Ronis could speak, Parker said, We’ve achieved orbit. Holding at Outer Orbital Threshold.

Fine, Ronis said to Parker. Over his shoulder, he said, Send this: ‘Shuttle 3 in orbit. IR to follow initial scan.’

Aye-aye, sir Annie said. She tapped out the response on the keyboard before pushing a button on the left side of the console. Ship’s log on.

The crew was thus informed that all conversation would be recorded by the comm until further notice. Ronis swung the instrument nest upward and spun his chair about.

This is the last mission for the old man and the tub. I suggest we relax and enjoy it. From here on, all formalities, including titles, are suspended. First name basis.

Krok grunted his dissent, and Johnny added in his official voice, Except those with only one name, in which case that one will suffice.

Casting a this-is-going-to-be-an-interesting-trip expression at Johnny, Ron continued. The loosening of regs is optional, of course. Conduct initial scans.

The Centi watched his crew work. The shuttle’s sensors scanned the planet’s surface, its interior, and the skies above. Each crewman would interpret and log the data pertinent to his or her specialty. As each level of the ex was completed, each would sing out. Ron would then receive verbal reports, determine what to tell Mother, and have Annie relay that data to the Renegade.

The crew worked fast. Not only was Joey the rookie, but he also had the lion’s share of the work. Even so, Ron was impressed with the whiz kid’s speed. Finally, Joey leaned back and announced, Science done.

Ron returned Annie’s gaze. You know the routine. Wait for an …

… amendment. If there is none, send as given. Aye-aye, sir.

Annie smiled, and Ron grimaced. The mind-connection could be as aggravating as it was useful.

He turned to Krok knowing he’d better stick to the formalities with his security officer.

Lieutenant Krok?

Security sensors detect no warning systems or planetary defenses. I see no evidence suggesting this planet is space-faring or that it will achieve that status any time soon. The skies are free of threats.

Ron nodded to Annie, who sent the report.

Thank you, Lieutenant. There’s no need for you to report on future scans. If you see something of note, however, speak up.

Aye-aye, sir.

Ron turned his chair starboard and sighed. What do you have, Johnny?

Johnny didn’t seem to be in a playful mood anymore. He simply sat and stared pensively at his instruments.

Ron, I’m an Earthling only by blood. My family’s been in space for at least three generations. Oh, I’ve studied the home place at the Academy, but I really don’t know too much about it.

Looking at Ron, Johnny cocked his head rearward. I’ll leave it to the kid and Miss Earth Expert to correct me, back me up, or expand on what I say. He looked back at his monitor. Remember how as we approached the planet, you said it looked familiar? Well, I didn’t get much of a look at it then. If I had, I would’ve been able to tell you why.

He pointed at his monitor. The map tells it better than I could. You want I should put it up?

Please do, Ron said, spinning his chair forward.

Johnny pecked at his keyboard as Annie reached toward her own console, but her hand froze in mid-air when a map of Planet 3 appeared on the windshield. She gasped and pulled her hand back.

That’s Earth!

Joey leaned forward. "Not exactly. Florida is smaller, the Bay of California’s missing, Korea’s an island, and England is connected to Europe by a thin isthmus. Aside from such minor discrepancies, however, that is a fairly good replica of Earth."

He turned to Annie. Still, you recognized it before the map had completely formed on the screen. How’d you do that so fast?

I’m a terrologist. I specialize in the American Era, mostly the 19th and 20th centuries. Annie turned to her console and began working the keyboard.

Over his shoulder, Ron asked, Sending?

Not yet. Calling up something from Mother. A few years ago, I did a mock ex on Earth. I’ll get it and feed it to the other stations. A comparison to Earth might help.

She looked at Ron. You want me to send Johnny’s map?

Not yet.

Ron turned to his co-pilot. What else do you have, Johnny?

Johnny pushed a key, and a red triangle pointing east appeared on the map. That’s where we are, somewhere over the Pacific. Aside from that, the map tells it all.

Ron studied the map. He wasn’t sure they should risk confusing this planet with Earth. Then again, Joey had already noticed differences. More would surely appear as the ex progressed, so they might as well use the similarity a while longer. He turned his chair to face Johnny so he could look at the crew or the map as needed.

"Okay, people, when referring to places on this planet, we’ll use Earth names until further notice. Like Johnny did with ‘Pacific.’ Please keep in mind, however, that this is not Earth."

I’m feeding the mock ex to you, Annie announced.

Ron jerked his head toward Johnny’s monitor. How well do they match?

Damn near perfect, except for Joey’s discrepancies.

If some new difference were to appear, speak up. That goes for everyone, Ron said. You done, Johnny?

Aye, the XO said from the depths of thought.

Ron looked aft. Joey?

"The computer is comparing my initial scan to Annie’s mock-up. In the meantime …

Atmosphere is capable of sustaining any life form aboard Mother. As the map indicates, the surface is 75% water and 25% land. Terrain runs the gamut from mountains to swamp, tundra to desert, badlands to forest. The polar caps are frozen with a continent beneath the southern cap and an ocean beneath the northern. Planet hosts a multitude of flora and fauna with primates in evidence. Confirmation of humanoid presence on future scans.

He glanced at his monitor. Comparison is ready. Let’s see. Yep, R-80-3 is almost an exact replica or twin of Earth, except for …

Joey looked at Annie over his shoulder. Your mock was designed for what time period?

Early or mid-20th Century. Why?

That explains it. Annie’s mock shows a very low level of celestial surveillance, but Krok’s scan doesn’t show any. If this is an Earth twin, it’s one dating no later than 1910 or so, maybe earlier. Joey looked at Ron. That’s all I have, sir.

Thanks. Ron looked at Annie. Send Johnny’s map.

Aye. She tapped a few keys and then said, Joey’s report?

Aye, Ron said. You have anything to report?

Annie shook her head. No, sir, not at this height.

Ron leaned back and stared at the ceiling.

Advise Mother we’re using your mock ex and make it available to them. Include my recommendation we name this planet ‘Terna.’

After sending the information, Annie’s face assumed the listener’s stare.

Mother acknowledges. Drake has logged the planet as Terna. Zoth adds his hope she’s intelligent.

Johnny looked at Ron. Whadda ya make of it?

Ron shook his head. Too early. Remember we passed fairly close to that nebula after R-79? We could’ve time-warped, or we may have crossed into a parallel dimension. Then again, this may be a perfectly normal, new planet that happens to be an Earth twin. Let that be our working theory, a twin Earth at an earlier stage in its history.

Ron looked at Annie, then at Krok. Early twin or not, Terna does not seem to be space faring or so advanced as to have aerial defenses or surveillance. He looked back at Johnny. It wouldn’t hurt to get down low and skip all the intermediate stages. We’ll just take a longer look down there. Take us down slowly to Low Orbital Threshold. Scan as we descend.

Aye-aye, each crew member responded.

Sir, Annie said, Drake requests a prognosis as to intelligence.

Tell him it’s too early. He’ll know when we do.

As she sent the message, Ron stared at her. That was good work, both drafting the mock and calling it up. She’s an intelligent woman—and attractive. Ron eyed the wavy brown hair cascading about her shoulders, her green eyes and swarthy complexion. Well, she wouldn’t win a Miss Confederation contest, but she was attractive in a quiet way.

He frowned. Not that anyone would notice her beauty the way she hides out in the library. Ron glanced up at Johnny’s map. Maybe there, on an Earth twin from a time period she knows so well. Maybe she’ll find her Prince Charming there—if the PC determined contact to be desirable. He looked back at her, shook his head, and sighed. Then again, we are talking about Annie Brazym. Had he known about her mate-thoughts, however, he might have held out a wee bit more hope.

Passing MOT, Johnny announced.

Ron did ask Annie about her lack of a mate once on one of her rare forays into the Renegade’s Officer’s Club.

I’m still young, she had answered. There’ll be time for that later. Besides, I haven’t found a suitable candidate.

You’ll never find one watching old film records, Ronis had countered.

In response, she gave him a stare cold enough to freeze Lucifer himself. Hear from that filly over on Sagittaria Prime lately?

By bringing up his one extra-marital fling, she’d warned that to pry into another’s private life was to invite the scrutiny of your own, and such scrutiny didn’t have to be silent. The implied threat closed the door on that subject forever, but he could still wonder.

Annie felt his stare and returned it. Ron cleared his throat and asked, Pick up anything?

His eyes sparkled at the question’s double meaning, but the smile faded at the wording of her answer.

Nothing intelligent. Just noise and static.

She smiled, and he cursed the mind-connection. One usually sent only chosen thoughts, but an occasional idea could slip past a preoccupied mind.

LOT over Australia, mate, Johnny announced.

Anything new on the way down, Johnny? Ron asked.

I’ll save time by feeding the new data to the map. We now have mountain ranges, rivers, islands, and more. All near-perfect matches to Earth.

Ron looked aft. Joey?

We can report humanoid presence to Mother, but very low tech. Most of the planet still relies on beasts of burden, but carbon emissions suggest Terna is definitely in an industrial era. Civilization is present with steam and minimal electrical tech, definitely no electronics. Population and energy centers appear to be much more prevalent in the northern hemisphere.

Ron glanced at Annie.

Sending.

Ron looked at his XO. Johnny, make our course keep to the northern hemisphere. Joey will feed you the location of those centers. Put them on the map in a different color than you’d normally use for cities.

Aye-aye, swinging north. He looked at the windshield. Centers in science yellow.

Ron spun forward to study the map just as Joey whistled and Annie gasped. Ron asked, What’s so interesting?

Annie answered. Ron, those centers match the locations of cities on Earth: London, Paris, Moscow, Tokyo, New York. They all match.

Joey offered a suggestion. Annie, feed your mock’s city locations to Johnny’s map, but make yours black. Remembering Ron, he quickly added, With your permission, sir.

Ron nodded, and Annie went to work. When she looked forward, she saw many of her black dots sitting atop Joey’s yellow ones, but not all of them. She studied the map and offered a hypothesis. Los Angeles didn’t become a major city until the early 20th Century. She thought a moment and then turned to Joey. I think we’re looking at mid-19th Century. Say, 1845 to 1875.

Suddenly she looked back at the map and leaned forward. No, before 1860. I think that’s pre-Civil War U. S.

Joey glanced at his monitor. You could be right. Except for electrical, the tech levels agree. He looked at Johnny. You pick up railways on this scan?

Not quite. I’ll have them after this pass.

Annie spun toward her console and began turning dials. Johnny, where are we?

Johnny glanced at the map. Atlantic. Approaching Europe.

Ron spun aft smiling. This is quite a crew. Only Krok isn’t caught up in the excitement.

Lieutenant Krok, anything?

Krok shrugged. I see fortifications, but they are all land- or sea-based. These humanoids are not expecting an aerial attack, nor are they capable of mounting one.

Several minutes of silence followed until Johnny said, There are your railways, Annie.

She didn’t respond because she wore the listener’s stare. The stare broke, and her hands flew over her console. Aware of her surroundings again, she explained.

Talk of electrical tech and railroads gave me a hunch. It was hard to pick up, but with enough amplification I was able to eavesdrop on a telegraphic transmission. Morse code, just like Earth. In French, though. Translating.

She looked at Ron with the biggest smile he had ever seen on her face. Poitiers to Paris train running six minutes late.

Joey explained. Those are cities in France.

Annie finally ventured a look at the railways. That doesn’t seem right. If the railway reached west Kansas, there should be a Dodge City, but there isn’t.

Johnny looked over his shoulder. Don’t pout, little girl. Maybe I need a little amplification, too.

She glared at him and was about to say something, but the listener’s stare came on her. When it broke, she looked at Ron. Mother advises a cluster of asteroids approaches Terna. Uncertain if they’ll enter atmosphere. She advises caution.

Annie, acknowledge. Krok …

On it, sir.

Upon completing the task, she looked at the windshield map. Their red triangle was over easternmost Europe. Her eyes trailed westward then stopped. She turned back to her console.

Annie? Ron asked.

An idea. My sensors should’ve begun to record once we reached LOT over the Pacific. She smiled. Got one! Great, it’s in English. Just a moment, and …

Annie leaned back and her smile faded. Puzzled, she spun her chair to face her crewmates.

"The message was incomplete because we flew out of range before it was finished. What I did get tells me this is definitely not Earth—at least not the one we know.

It gives us a date: May 1859. It originated in what should be Washington, D. C., and is addressed to the Republic of Mexico. The problem’s in the originating address. It’s from the Foreign Ministry of the Empire of Vespucia in Thornton and is sent on behalf of Emperor Tyler Thorne. That’s why it can’t be Earth.

I don’t understand, Ron said.

Sorry, forgot you were Centi and …

… not an Earth freak, Johnny added.

She glared at Johnny and continued.

There never was an empire on U. S. soil. The message should be from the State Department, not a Foreign Ministry, in the Republic of the United States. I never heard of Vespucia or Tyler Thorne. She looked at the map. 1859 was just before the American Civil War, which means there should be no railways reaching almost to Colorado. That is not our Earth.

Vespucia sounds familiar, Joey said.

It does. Annie suddenly stared at her console. "Mother says meteors will enter the atmosphere and soon."

Before Ron could speak, Johnny said, Amerigo Vespucci.

That’s right! Annie exclaimed.

Seeing the look on Ron’s face, Johnny pointed to the map. Amerigo Vespucci was an early sea explorer. On Earth, these two continents are named North and South America, and the United States is also called America. Guess the good people of Terna preferred Amerigo’s last name over his first.

Krok put a halt to further comparisons and contrasts. Commander, I detect meteors entering the atmosphere."

Ron spun forward. LOT’s too dangerous in a meteorite shower. Take us up beyond OOT, Johnny, and lose that map. Lock and buckle, people.

The crew faced their consoles, locked their seats in place, and strapped themselves in.

Shields up, Krok, Ron commanded.

Aye-aye, Captain. The Kalinthian reached for the button but didn’t make it. The shuttle shook at the force of an impact. Krok reached the button shortly thereafter.

That’s some mean turbulence, Johnny said.

Krok stared at his console before punching the button a couple more times. We have no shielding, Captain.

Uh, oh, Johnny said.

The shuttle shook again, more forcefully this time, and the lighting flickered before stabilizing.

Climb faster, Johnny, Ron said.

"On it, Boss. This is some vicious turbulence."

At the shuttle’s next shaking, the lights went out for good. Emergency lighting kicked in.

Not a turbulent word, Parker! Annie said. She looked at her console. Comm’s dead.

Johnny added, So’s steering and propulsion. We’re dead in the water and about to drop.

Ron reached for his controls. I got her, Johnny. I’ll try to glide her in for as soft a landing as possible. Brace yourselves, folks. This will get bumpy.

Not a turbulent word, Johnny! Annie repeated.

Johnny smiled and turned to Ron with a non-turbulent comment. Is where I put my head between my legs and kiss my ass goodbye?

John Storm groaned the groan of a freshly fed man. Smiling, he leaned back against the tree. Man coming back from civilization shore do eat good, he thought just before giving up a mighty belch that caused his horses to take notice. He rubbed his belly and belched again. Inhaling deeply, he listened to the crickets and frogs. Yep, th’ eatin’s fine, but bein’ home on the frontier is even better.

A smile parted his black beard when he glanced at the jug beside his thigh. Partaking of spirits isn’t a good idea when traveling alone on the edge of civilization. Since the worst of both worlds populated the border between tame and wild, it was not wise to dull the senses with drink. Still, Storm sat two days from the nearest town and off any known trails. Most panthers, wolves, grizzlies, wild Natives, and the like were still some distance ahead. A couple or three snorts wouldn’t hurt, but tonight would have to be the last for a while. By sundown tomorrow, he’d be getting into country that was mostly wild.

He reached for the jug just as a breeze rustled the fuzz atop his head. He uncorked and thought of Philadelphia, which made no sense because it sat many miles and years from this piece of ground. Thinking of Philly brought his mother to mind, and he smiled, but the smile faded as her memory morphed into that of his ex-wife. The jug came quickly to his lips, and he pulled on her deep. Lowering the jug, Storm let his head drift back to the tree. He closed his dark brown eyes as the shine burned a trail through his innards. The sauce hit bottom, and he gazed at the jug through squinted, watery eyes.

Whew! That shore do shine! he wheezed.

He took another swig before nestling the corked gallon between a pair of roots. Blinking the teary blur from his eyes, he gazed through a hole in the leafy canopy and out into the Kansas sky beyond. A falling star raced across the hole, and Storm smiled at the memory of what his mother told him to do on such an occasion. He quickly followed that advice before the memory of that other woman could intervene.

Shore wish I could find me one o’them shooters!

He closed his eyes and sighed. He noticed a trace of numbness creeping into his cheeks as he gave in to the daydreams. Finding a meteor would be a genuine stroke of luck. Everyone knew a space rock was chock full of valuable minerals. Mining companies would pay handsomely for such a find, and the Ministry of Science might even post a reward. Either way, he’d be a rich montie … no, make that a rich ex-montie.

Storm had just moved into his freshly-built mansion in New Orleans and was packing his new and exquisite wardrobe for a European jaunt when his eyes opened. Groaning, he rolled over onto his hands and knees and then put one hand on the tree for support as he pushed himself to a standing position. When a man’s bladder talks, he listens.

He walked away from his camp, scratching his belly with one hand and working his fly with the other. He got down to business near the edge of a clearing and gazed at the starry sky through the huge corresponding hole in the treetops. He saw another shooting star, and then a third.

Well, I’ll be damned! A genuine meteor shower! He looked over his shoulder toward the drinking tree as he closed his fly and considered a celebratory snort or two. Better not. It’d mess up my sightin’.

Hooking his thumbs in his belt, Storm leaned his left shoulder against the nearest tree and gazed up at the moon, full and at mid-climb. He frowned as he refastened his fly. The soft light that bathed the clearing ahead might hamper his star-gazing.

Suddenly, he froze. He pushed off the tree and stepped cautiously beyond the edge of the tree line. He gazed westward, the direction from where that strange sound came. The noise was getting louder and sounded like a locomotive, but the nearest railroad was many miles away … to the north. He stepped out further into the clearing, which opened into a healthy bit of prairie to the west.

Storm’s eyes bulged, and he made the sign of the cross. He wasn’t Catholic, but imitating the Mexicans seemed the only sensible move in the face of the low-flying meteor headed his way. Barely a hand over the horizon, the fiery ball was on a course that would take it directly over Storm’s head—and it was coming fast. The noise got louder as the fire began to flicker. As he brought his hands to his ears, he realized he had involuntarily crouched.

He crouched even lower as the shooter approached the zenith with a deafening roar. He dropped to his knees and brought his arms over his head. When he was sure it missed him, he looked eastward in time to see the shooter silhouetted against the moon. By the time she cleared the moon, her flame was gone for good. He barely traced her progress by the stars she blocked on her quickly descending trek eastward.

Storm rose slowly to his feet, one hand scratching his beard as he calculated her speed, rate of descent, and direction. A new sound reached his ringing ears. He wheeled and started running.

The horses!

The sound of the low-flying shooter scared his three horses nearly to the point of breaking away from the picket. Slowing to a brisk walk, Storm called out to them. He grabbed a rope and spoke softly. As his hands walked the rope to the nearest horse’s head, she began to calm. The shooter was gone, and the other horses began to relax, too. They were soon under control with Storm petting each in turn.

By the time he reached the last horse, he petted absentmindedly. His mind was on the shooter, especially its path. No one lived beneath that trail, and no one lived within twenty miles of where she hit ground. He knew where that landing was, too—well, within a few miles, at least. He could be there in a couple of days, and chances were very slim that anyone else had seen it. Not many people lived between here and the crash site.

He smiled as he crossed his campsite. He picked up the jug, uncorked it, and took a long swig. Wiping his bearded mouth with the back of a sleeve, he realized he shouldn’t bank on the fact no one else had seen it. He had to get to that shooter before anyone else could. He had to leave now and ride hard until he had staked his claim. He corked the jug for the night and started breaking camp.

Storm soon forked an eastbound horse, his two pack animals trailing. He glanced skyward and sent a mental thank-you to his mother for teaching him to wish on a falling star. In the next breath, he leaned over and yelled at the ground.

Serves ya right, ya cheatin’ bitch! You and that lawyerin’ bastard’re gonna keep on rottin’ in Hell and watchin’ me be filthy rich!

He laughed heartily. When he calmed down, his mind returned to his Crescent City mansion and the half-finished task of packing that wardrobe.

Top Renfroe’s eyes flew open. He held his breath and listened. Like the mind of any good montie, his mind had subconsciously catalogued every sound as he fell asleep. Sometime later, his ears registered a sound that wasn’t in the catalogue. That’s when his eyes flew open. As he waited for that sound to repeat itself, his mind worked at remembering where he was.

He had fallen asleep in a cow camp surrounded by a half-dozen slumbering cowpokes. A herd of cattle milled around somewhere past the fire beyond his feet, and Top could barely hear the nighthawk singing to them. Tomorrow, they would drive this bunch to the ranch house for branding. Cattle were usually branded out on the range, but since they were so close to headquarters on a Thursday night …

There it goes again!

It was some sort of rustling. Top raised himself up onto his left elbow. The rustling sounded again as he gazed past the smoldering camp fire. Relaxing, he rolled his eyes and shook his head. He lowered himself onto his back. It was just a restless cowboy tossing around in his bedroll.

Top frowned. Why would the sound of a cowboy’s tossing and turning wake him? That’s a normal sound in camp.

He heard the rustling again, and the old montie mentally mapped the camp. The restless cowpoke had to be the Kid. Top sighed, shook his head again, closed his eyes, and mentally cursed Andy for waking him.

Suddenly, his eyes flew open.

The Kid!!

No one would’ve ever believed that old man could cross that campsite as fast as he did—and on his hands and knees! He came to an abrupt halt at the Kid’s side. Andy was on his back. Top let one hand hover over the Kid’s face as the other hand reached out to shake the troubled cowboy’s shoulder.

Kid, he said softly. Kid, it’s Top. You’d best wake up. Kid!

Andy woke with a start, and Top’s hand clamped down on the Kid’s mouth. The Kid’s bulging eyes recognized the old-timer, and he relaxed. He closed his eyes, and Top slowly withdrew his hand. Andy sat up slowly and drew in his knees, resting his chin on them as he wrapped his arms around his legs. He was soaked with sweat.

The ‘mare? Top asked.

Andy nodded. I’m alright now. Go on back to bed. An ugly geezer like you needs all the beauty rest he can get.

Top grunted. You’re welcome.

As he rose, the old man looked down at the Kid. You better try to get back to sleep, too. We got a full day ahead of us. Top turned to walk away, but paused and looked back. "Ya sure ya okay now?"

Andy nodded and lowered himself back onto his damp bedroll damp. Top headed back across the campsite but moved a lot slower this time. Both knew that neither would get any more sleep tonight. Andy wouldn’t let himself sleep for fear the nightmare would return, and Top would stay awake in case the Kid didn’t.

Hey, old man, what’s going on? asked the cowpoke closest to Top’s bed.

Top lay down and covered with a blanket before answering.

The Kid was fixin’ to have one of ‘is nightmares. It’s okay now. G’on back to sleep.

The pimple-faced cowhand spoke through a yawn. What difference does it make if he has one or not?

Top looked at the questioner.

He always has th’ same ‘mare, and it always ends th’ same way. He’s sittin’ bolt upright in bed and lettin’ loose with th’ Gawd awfullest banshee’s wail you ever heared in yo’ life. That yell’d send chills down th’ Devil’s spine and stampede ever’ cow, man, and critter inside o’ten miles. That’s how he come by ‘is handle, th’ Nightmare Kid.

The youngster’s head jerked around to look at Andy, and Top lay back down. The boy turned back to Top.

Is it over?

Fer now. Git some sleep.

Top rolled over to face away from the youngster and smiled. That would make three of them who wouldn’t get any more sleep that night.

John Storm was a little off on his timing. It took three days, not two, to get here. The extra day only served to make him more anxious. He spent the last night cleaning his guns to be ready to deal with the claim jumpers he had convinced himself would be here. Now that he had arrived, however, he knew he was alone.

He continued to sit his horse as he had for the last ten minutes. With his right leg hooked around his saddle horn so that foot rested on his left thigh, Storm just sat and observed. A person couldn’t say he looked because he also listened, smelled, and felt. He was just outside the tree line on the edge of a strange trail which ended at a deadfall a couple of hundred yards to the right, or east. His horses didn’t like the trail very much at first, but they were getting used to it.

Storm glanced westward. The trail started at the treetops and descended to the ground east of where he sat his horse. From there, the shooter rode the ground to a deadfall, which Storm believed covered the meteorite.

John C. Storm was no scientist, but the whole thing seemed wrong. The shooter’s descent should have been steeper. When it reached the ground, it should have plowed down into the dirt and buried itself. He fully expected to have to dig his way to the shooter. He didn’t think it would glide along the surface to a relatively soft landing. Well, not so soft since it hit those trees hard enough to knock a mess of brush and branches on top of itself.

That was another thing that didn’t add up. There was too much brush atop the thing. Storm eyed the trail again and saw the broken trees and branches strewn along the shooter’s path. There was too much debris left along the way. The shooter couldn’t have sucked up enough in its wake to cover itself so completely, and it couldn’t have knocked down so much at the trail’s end, either.

There was also the matter of the shooter’s silhouette against the moon. He’d always heard a shooter was just a piece of space rock that fell to Earth. Though mostly round, a rock would have ragged sides with lumps and depressions. That shape against the moon, however, was rectangular with straight, smooth sides. As a frontiersman, Storm knew there was no such thing as a straight line in nature. If you saw a straight line, you were looking at man’s doing.

He sighed. He wouldn’t solve any riddles from where he sat, so he swung his right leg down to where it belonged. Grimacing at the end of the movement, he rubbed his thigh and thought, Must be gittin’ old.

Grabbing the reins, he urged his mount forward along the shooter’s path. He closed the distance to the shooter by half before veering off to the right into the forest. After closing the remaining distance by half again and moving the same distance into the woods, he dismounted. He secured each of his horses to its own tree. Storm then began to slowly work his way to the deadfall, hunting for sign as he went. If he was investigating the work of man, there should be evidence of man’s passing. He stopped abruptly.

That’s impossible! he said aloud.

Even if it was possible and the Imperials had made a flying machine, there was no way to keep such a thing secret. The Freemen had infiltrated the whole Imperial apparatus, even if old Tyler wouldn’t admit it.

Storm gazed skyward. Could he have stumbled on the first-ever sky wagon? Of course not! If this were the work of the Imperials, they would know its path, and Storm would not have gotten get this close to it. No, this was a shooter no matter how strangely it looked or behaved. After a quick glance at his horses, he resumed his slow walk toward the shooter, but he continued to cut for sign anyway.

He had gone about ten yards when he heard a natural sound ahead and to his right. Ten yards more and he paused. The noise was a stream he couldn’t see, but he did see something about five yards further on. He plucked a light grey thread from a bush. He resumed his trek, moving more slowly now. He finally reached a point where the shooter could be seen through the trees. Just as he prepared to move toward the deadfall, he spotted an impression in the dirt between the roots of a tree.

Storm squatted and laid a finger to the impression. He glanced up at the fall then at the thread in his hand. He turned a bit and looked back toward where he saw the thread. The deadfall, impression, and thread formed a line headed toward the stream. Storm stood, loosened the thong over his pistol, and followed that line into the woods.

He walked slowly with his eyes hunting sign and his ears hunting the sound of approaching hostiles. He heard only the stream but did find two more barely discernible footprints by the time he reached the clearing. From cover he eyeballed the relatively treeless space, which measured roughly two hundred feet wide. A trio of oaks at the center of the clearing was the only vegetation of note, and he could now see the creek at the far end. More importantly, the clearing was deserted and had been for some time.

Storm stepped out and headed for a log beneath the oaks. Once there, he used a boot to brush dirt off the remains of a recent campfire. He looked over the ground around the late fire before walking around the oaks. He circled the trio in ever larger circles until he reached the tree line. He then spiraled his way back to the campfire’s remains. By the time he took a seat on the log, he’d found precious little sign but enough to know something about the campers.

He removed his hat and rubbed his balding head. He set the hat on the log beside him and noticed another thread just beyond. He picked it up. This one was darker than the first. Rolling the string between his fingers, he stared into the dead fire and considered what he knew.

The four, maybe five, people in the party were no tenderfeet. They were expert in frontier living and in erasing sign. They kept their fire small, and what smoke it did give off—Storm instinctively knew there would be precious little of that—would be dissipated by the oaks’ branches. They slept away from the fire so as not to be blinded by the light should troubles come in the night. There was one woman in the group, and one of the men was huge. They walked toward where the shooter lay a few times but never took the same route twice. They got here about the time the shooter did and left a couple of days later, heading east on foot. They had no horses.

Their skills