Cowboy & Injin Suspense: Two Adventures in One

By Barbara Neville

Two revisionist western books in one.
Only the Strong Survive: A 2015 NaNoWriMo winner. The Spirit Animal series continues down its edgy, adventurous trail.
Sizzling sexual chemistry, snarky dialogue, electrifying action, three-dimensional characters.
Psychologically wounded war veteran, Annie Many Horses, who served, fought and lost most of her friends and family in Triassic's Dinosaur wars, continues her story. With her new clan of Injin warriors and friends, they set out to find a peaceful agrarian life on Planet Rock. Between the gunfights, anyway. Life is never simple.
Our heroes make their home on the planet Rock. A wilderness realm whose main industry is agriculture. Terminus and the Rock are country planets, out on the edge, where the farmers and ranchers try to live their traditional lives out from under the thumb of the overbearing government.
The Triumvirate likes to keep them rural and wilderness. Electronics, internal combustion, fusion, molecular, electronic and fission engines are not allowed.
City folks like to vacation on the Rock to play cowboy because cowboys, cowgirls and dirt farmers rule. The horses are tough, the women loose and the cattle grass fed.
Broken Warrior: Our long haired Injin heroes are back. Huntin' buffalo, like their ancestors before them. On an unexpected job, X takes Annie to a well known natural wonder. Later on, Annie takes a detour to some surprising locations.
Blasting guns. Sizzling sunsets. Wild Injins. Compelling storyline. All told with a smart sense of humor. Barbara Neville's revisionist westerns will grab you by the balls and take you for a wild ride. In this book they travel to through MadDog's northern valley, a huge rock faced wonder of a place, that you may well recognize.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Barbara Neville
• Release date: Nov 28, 2016
• ISBN: 9781370260485

Barbara Neville

Sadly Barbara Neville past away in her own house on 3-14-2019 of a heart attack. Proceeds from any books sold will go to her loving family.Below is all her own writing and we will leave it as it is..2015 & 2016 NaNoWriMo winner and rustic western visionary Barbara Neville is a rancher, homesteader, cowgirl, artist and mother of two kick ass children. She lives at the arse end of nowhere with her horses, cattle, goats, chickens, guineas, peacocks and Great Pyrenees livestock guardian dogs. She has led an unusual life of adventure, much of it off-grid.Barb is descended from a long line of adventurous folk. Cowboys, ranchers, prospectors, inventors, settlers, homesteaders and more. She carries on the long tradition of taking the road less traveled. Her fictional world draws heavily on her own life and the people, places and experiences of previous generations.

Book preview

Chapter 0 Prologue

The soles of my moccasins are wearing thin. I feel around and find the first tiny hole under the ball of my left foot. Will the soles of my feet toughen up as quickly as the hide wears through? I stuff more dried grass in. Wilderness insoles.

I’m on a wide grassland, the tall brown seedheads are waving in the breeze. Green oak trees dot the landscape around me. The big shade trees are thicker on the hills like a shimmering sea of blue-green forest. A brook babbles over black volcanic rocks nearby. The air smells fresh and light, full of life.

I’ve been following a trail, headed upstream.

I get up and start running again. It felt good at first. A long run. I’ve been practicing almost every day. Just to get in shape. Never expecting to have to run for my life. But now, here I am. Running for my life. It’s hard fucking work. And it has left me really confused.

I can’t see my jogging partner anymore. Is she ahead or behind? Was she following me? Have I seen her today? I realize that I can’t remember if she was with me or not.

How many days have I been running? Sometimes I have to walk for a while. But, overall, I am amazed at how many hours I have run.

In the early hours of the day, like now, I have to run to stay warm. Wasn’t it summer when I started? It must have been, I’m wearing a fringed halter top and a beaded buckskin skirt. The grass is brown now, fall. Did I start before the first frost?

Where are my weapons? I don’t even have a knife. I always carry a pocket knife Where is it? I feel around and realize that I don’t even have a pocket. I check my cleavage. No knife. I don’t have Blade either, the big knife in my boot, because I’m wearing moccasins, not boots.

I haven’t seen my pursuers recently. Or have I? I should go home. But, where is home? I look at the brown hills around me.

As I come around a bend in the creek, I see her. She is about five hundred yards away.

Her white body sticks out, bright and bold against the brown vegetation. Bright white. She sees me and turns, watching me warily. She has been spooked by something, too.

As I draw nearer, she moves away, circling around me. Maybe it’s not her.

Suddenly she lifts her nose, drinking in the air. Sucking in my scent. She looks at me, and wags her tail, tentative. She approaches. Still wary.

I say, Hoss. It’s a croak. How long has it been since I talked?

I can’t be too loud. They could be anywhere.

Hoss, I say again. She’s my partner.

She hears me and jumps into a run, tail wagging, body wiggling as she leaps across the grassy savanna.

When she gets close, she slows, and stops, still wagging but careful, unsure.

Hoss.

She hears me and brightens. She trots in and pushes on my hand with her nose.

Spirit dog.

After a bit of neck scratching, still a half wild creature, she walks off. She stops and looks back.

I say, Yes. Home, we need to go home. If it’s safe.

She probably doesn’t understand most of the words. But no need, her kind have been bred for generations to protect their livestock. In this case, I’m her livestock. She chose me to protect. She would die to save my life.

I follow her as she moves out, still trending upstream. She chooses which forks in the creek to take, as they appear. When the creek gets almost too small, we stop for a last big drink. The hilltop we seem to be headed for will be bone dry. Like a good horse, she knows the way home better than I do.

When I lean over to drink, a pack smacks me in the back of the head. I don’t remember having a pack. I take it off and lean down to suck up handful after handful of fresh clean water.

I wipe my mouth, looking at the pack. It’s a nice burgundy latigo, with leather laced seams. I reach over and open the leather flap. There is a square black leather box inside. I pull it out and set it on the ground. I pull the loop over the toggle to open the lid. Maybe there will be food. I’m hungry. When I tilt the box toward the sun, I see a skull.

A skull? I look intently down into the darkness, but can’t see anything else in there. My mind is on food now. I close the flap and fasten the toggle on the box. I reach into the pack, feeling around. I find some pemmican in the bottom. I get that out, lower the skull box in and put the pack on.

I stand up. We start walking again. I give half of the pemmican to Hoss and chew on the rest. Sweet.

When we reach the hilltop, I see that it is taller than the others and pointed, perfect for a panoramic view. I look around, nothing is familiar. I look at the sun, to get my bearings. Where is home? I turn and face north.

Glaciers are north. The deep turquoise blue of the oldest ice is breathtaking. It holds ancient secrets frozen in its depths. Cold country. But beautiful, green and warm in summer. Full of undiscovered marvels, extraordinary. North.

I turn completely around, facing south. Off in the distance, in the lowlands, I see that there has been no frost yet. The foliage is still a deep verdant, green. Further south, I know, there are tropics, lush and thick. Fertile, happy lands, filled with music and joy. South.

A quarter turn to the left is east. The birthplace of the day, home of the sunrise. Smiling on us every morning. Kissing us with light and warmth. The black sky turns sapphire blue and we welcome the day. Warm and dependable. East.

The western sky is still dark at first light, a place for brilliant sunsets, midnight trysts, dark and mysterious. Where the spirits dwell. Strong and powerful. West.

Four directions. Must I choose one? Hoss licks my hand. I look down. She turns to go. I follow my spirit dog. She will choose.

She walks around the hill, circling down it’s steep sides, following the trails of grazing animals. We walk, facing each of the four directions every time we circle it. They all call to me.

Finally, I get tired. I lay under a bush, Hoss cuddles close. I wrap myself around her thickly furred, hundred pound Pyrenees body.

I wake in depths of the night, and look at the stars. So many. I wonder which one is mine.

A hand touches my cheek and a voice whispers in my ear, I am your warrior, follow me to safety.

I startle, roll over and drift off again, quickly returning to the dream.

I am walking, a hand reaches over and touches my breast. A new voice says, I am your warrior, stay with me. You will no longer be lost. You will be found. We are destined to be one.

I startle awake again, but lay still, comfortable. I’m held, mesmerized, by my dream. My warriors. I want to stay there. I open my eyes slowly. The stars are thicker and brighter than ever. One of them is mine. Maybe more.

A voice says, Dream or nightmare?

I turn my head. He’s beautiful. I ask, Are you my warrior?

Why, yes, he says, looking surprised at first, then smiling brightly. I am.

He leans in for a kiss.

Oh, yes, I say. You are.

Chapter 1 Alien

Big guy, I say, as I rollover.

Love, he says, as he climbs aboard.

Slowly, as we start to make love, it all comes back to me. I’m not on a planet, it’s space. The soft, padded dashboard of the ship. I turn my head. The stars are right outside the windshield.

It’s hard to pull myself back from the beautiful hilltop in the dream. But, the big guy is helping.

The dream fades as my senses explode with the immediacy of right fucking now. My idea of Zen, a total state of focus on the togetherness of body and mind. This happens for me during awesome sex. I’m so bad.

The alien and I are indeed getting it on. Taking advantage of some alone time. We have a whole space freighter to ourselves.

Earlier, there was some jumping, yelping and running. We raced through the passageways, up and down the companionways, laughing and teasing.

We played and chased and embraced from one end of the ship to the other. Happy, ecstatic, to be just a few miles above home. After far too long away.

We ended up here, in each other’s arms, on the black leather dashboard in the spacious pilothouse.

Where I had the strange dream. Just now. It seemed so long ago.

The big star-filled galaxy is on the other side of the thick windshield, right here, next to us. Billions of light years of space out there. Despite all the modern improvements? It’s still an air free void. As deadly as ever.

The S.S. Cosmic is in Rock orbit. We just got home a couple of days ago from a long round-trip to Terminus.

We delivered cattle, and barely escaped arrest. Wolf and I took the rock walker express to get back home. Then, things fell apart on that end and we had to go back to save our kidnapped crew members from pirates.

We also threatened to shoot the place up in general, or maybe they did. You know, the usual business trip.

We don’t usually shoot places up in general. We consider ourselves to be law abiding. Abiding our laws, anyway. Maybe not the Triumvirate’s view.

The Rock is a Rogue Planet from their point of view. We prefer to call ourselves free.

Oh, yeah, that’s it. I say. That’s the spot. Don’t stop.

Roxy. Just a voice in my head. Dream leftovers.

Keep going, I murmur in his ear. I’m almost there, oh, oh, oh.

Buzz thrusts harder and faster. So big, all over. Also, handsome.

Annie, Roxy, stop. Look over here, damn it. That damn voice.

Buzz rams it home hard.

Ahhhhh! We come, together. I’m panting. Heart pounding. Things are twitching, and pulsating down there, still. Part of the afterglow.

Damn, I moan.

Hey! What’s with this voice in my head, interrupting?

Something hits me, hard. I jerk up, knocking Buzz in the chin with my shoulder. I hear his teeth clack together. Buzz raises his head, looking bleary-eyed. He rubs his fine looking chin, tenderly.

Sorry, big guy, I say, touching his fine chin, too. It has a cute little cleft in the center.

Roxy, Roxanne, Annie, damn it. A strange voice. But familiar.

What the…? I peer around. I don’t understand.

Get up, raise your hands. Now.

I turn my head the other way, looking over toward the entry hatch.

Oh, shit, I say. Yore not in my head.

Mitch is standing there, dark brown hair shining in the dome lights, holding a scattergun on us.

I’m not joking, he says. Get up. Put on some clothes. Dammit.

The voice of boyfriends past.

What the fuck? I ask.

Bloody hell, says Buzz, brushing his honey blond hair out of his eyes and standing up. What do you bloody want, Mitch?

Buzz reaches for his pants and pulls them on. Buttoning up and carefully zipping the fly over his very large, still partially engorged, member.

You too, Annie, says Mitch.

I moan, seductively. Mitch knows a what I’m up to. He ignores my attempted diversion and watches Buzz.

Hey, Buzz, don’t get any ideas, says Mitch, step away from your gun belt. Over there, against the wall. Hands above your head, lean in.

Buzz complies.

Mitch looks back over at me. You too, Roxy, get your ass up and into some clothes.

Fuck, Mitch, can’t I enjoy the postcoital glow? I ask.

Damn it, Roxanne, I mean business here, he says. Get up and step over next to Buzz. Now.

I groan and reach for my pants. Fumbling as I do.

Hey, fuck it, bitch. Forget the clothes, walk over there. Now. I know you too well.

He’s right, I had a plan. I shrug innocently and walk, naked, over toward Buzz. I wiggle my hips seductively. That used to be a dynamite move with Mitch.

Not today. He’s all business.

Get into the position, now, he says.

I lean into the wall next to the big guy, hands spread and high, off balance.

Mitch snaps handcuffs on both of us and walks us down to the shuttle.

How the hell did he get aboard? mutters Buzz as we walk, side-by-side, in front of Mitch’s shotgun barrel.

My former fiancé loves to shoot the damn thing, spray those little fucking pellets everywhere. A dedicated scattergun aficionado.

I didn’t hear any bloody alarm, Buzz reiterates.

You were kind of occupied, eh? I mutter back.

Not that distracted love, I’ve heard alarms through the fog of orgasm in the past, he says. Buzz is a zealous poon hound.

Maybe this one was extra special, I say, grinning up at him.

He grins down at me, nodding. Too bloody right.

Hey, you two, quit with the whispering, says Mitch.

You gonna shoot us for whisperin’? I ask, glancing over my bare shoulder at him.

Eyes forward Annie, or I might, he says.

Okay, then you tell us, I say. How did you get aboard ‘thout settin’ off the alarm?

Trade secret, honey pie, he says.

I groan.

We walk down the long passageway. I trip and fall against a bulkhead along the way.

Quit screwin’ around, Roxy, says Mitch. I’ve seen your ditzy broad act before. Do it again and I shoot your boyfriend. Heck, I get a chance. I’ll shoot all your boyfriends. Past, present and future.

Um, Mitch, I say. That statement includes you.

Oh, yeah. His cheeks turn red. He scratches his head, then wiggles the shotgun barrel and says, Well, all but me.

I’m the one who should be embarrassed. I actually wanted to marry this dunderhead. We were fucking engaged. Can you believe it? Shit, I can’t even believe it myself.

That big breasted bitch, Crystal, saved my bacon. I still hate her, though. Evil incarnate, that’s her. I’ll explain more about that later.

Blimey, says Buzz, in a flash of inspiration. It’s bloody obvious.

It is? I ask.

He came on a friendly shuttle, says Buzz.

Ding, ding, ding., says Mitch. Buzz wins the prize.

We walk around a few more corners and arrive at the shuttle port. Sure enough, it’s the shuttle from the S. S. Shitkicker, the Bar None Ranch’s other cattle hauling ship.

Fuck a duck, I say. That was obvious, I must be getting slow in my old age.

I turned twenty-two not that long ago. Didn’t tell anyone, I wanted to preserve the illusion of youth. Twenty-two just sounds old. Twenty-one sounds like a fresh young sprout, just entering adulthood. But, hey, don’t worry. I’m no adult. No way. No how. Still just partying and having fun. In between the shootouts and kidnappings.

Open the hatch and walk in. I want you in the second row of seats.

We stride in quickly, and walk all the way to the front.

Right back here, says Mitch, patting a black seatback. Too far from the controls to cause trouble.

The Shitkicker shuttle is smaller than the two S.S. Cosmic shuttles. We’ve never been able to squeeze a horse into it, yet. The Cosmic shuttles on the other hand will, just barely, hold a full size one-ton pickup truck replica, as we recently discovered.

Hammer, Wolf and Spud took that shuttle down to unload said pickup. Her name is Sadie. They left a couple hours before Mitch so rudely interrupted me and Buzz fucking on the dashboard.

What the fuck are you up to, Mitch? I ask.

Don’t you worry your pretty little head, Annie, he says, We got a plan.

Mitch is strapping us into the leather seats. Buzz first.

Hey, aren’t you more worried about me than Buzz? He’s a pacifist, I say. I’m the ninja fighter bitch.

A pacifist until he needs to shoot someone that is. But Mitch doesn’t need to know that.

Shit, you’re nothing Roxanne, he says, as he tightens Buzz’ seatbelt. I can handle you, easy. I know all your tricks.

I smirk, wishing I had a hand free to flip him the bird.

This big bastard, on the other hand, is a fucking alien, he says. They got all kind of powers.

Why the bloody hell would you think that? asks Buzz. I’m Brit.

Yeah, he went to Oxford, I say.

They both turn and look at me. Oops, my big mouth is working overtime, again.

I mean, what Bãngh could do that? I ask. They’re all mindless cannibals.

Mitch looks hard and me, thinking, then says, Whatever. Just sit, Annie.

I sit next to Buzz. Mitch belts me in. Then, he puts down the shotgun and ties us in tight, our hands still cuffed behind our backs.

This sucks Mitch, I say. My hands hurt already. They’re jammed between the seat and my ass. My elbows are twisted. Can’t we have them in front?

Shut up, he says.

And, this leather is cold on my bare skin.

He shakes his head.

How about you get me some clothes? I ask.

He groans, but goes back aboard the Cosmic for my clothes.

Buzz and I try our damnedest to get loose while he is gone, but just can’t do it.

Not much later, Mitch docks us at the Shitkicker. After he unties us, he tucks my clothes over the cuff chain between my wrists. We march down to the brig, encouraged by his big ten-gauge shotgun barrel.

Hey, querida. Michael’s in a cell there already.

The brig has two cells. There are cots and heads in each, surrounded by dingy white walls and black steel bars. Michael is in one of them.

We really should paint in here, I say. Maybe fire engine red with canary yellow bars. Or purple and turquoise? Brighten the place up. Might improve prisoner morale.

Shut up, Annie, says Mitch.

Michael? I ask, looking more closely at him. You look like shit.

Michael is holding his head carefully in his hands, obviously in a lot of pain.

The queer got uppity. I had to pistol whip the little buttfucker, says Mitch.

Hey, I say. No need to gay bash.

I’m okay, sweetie, says Michael through swollen lips. He may be rolling his eyes. Hard to tell for the swelling. I’ll survive.

Bloody hell, Mitch, says Buzz. What are you about here?

Mitch looks quizzically at me.

He’s askin’ what yore up to, I explain to poor dim Mitch. He has trouble understanding Brit accents and idioms.

Mitch opens the door of the empty cell, then steps back.

Get in, Annie, he says, gesturing with the shotgun barrel. Walk with her, Buzz.

Mitch needs to keep us both in his sights. I walk over. Buzz tags along.

Okay, Annie. You go in, he says and tosses the keys at Buzz’s feet.

Lock her up, Bãngh.

Buzz kneels down, then sits, leaning back awkwardly so he can reach the keys. He feels around until he finds them. He stands back up and pushes the door shut with a hip.

He reaches around, awkwardly again, with his handcuffed hands, finds the lock by touch, inserts and turns the key. The clack of the locking mechanism is audible.

Okay, go get in with Michael. Drop the keys outside as you walk in.

The big guy walks around to the door to Michael’s cell, then stops.

Unlock it, get in, says Mitch.

No bleeding way, says Buzz, standing his ground and laying his Brit accent on thick. I’ll not be put in with a bloody pouf.

I look at him sharply.

What the fuck, Buzz, I say. You’ve never said anything like that before about my compadre. You take it back.

It’s okay, Annie, says Michael, raising his battered head. There’s a lot of prejudice in the world.

But, Buzz? I say. I always thought you were a live and let live guy.

Not to the point of bloody sharing a cell with a fudge packer, say Buzz, glancing over at Michael. Likely to be a knob gobbler as well. Sneak up on me in my sleep. I’ll not have it.

Mitch is looking confused.

What the hell is he saying now? he asks, looking at me.

Buzz refuses to share a cell with a gay man, I say.

I’m bloody fond of my behind, says Buzz. I’ll not stand for it.

Just put him in with me, Mitch, I say. I can share.

Come on, mate, er, buddy, says Buzz, easing up on his accent. How about cutting a straight man a break? Michael is a horn dog. You understand.

Oh, hell, why not? says Mitch. We get to Terrania, you won’t get any cock for the rest of your miserable life, Annie.

That stops us all. I mean, we must have all considered that as his motive, but hearing it out loud. Yikes.

Michael and I are wanted for a bank robbery on Terrania. A big one, we could get life in prison.

Mitch and his evil new girlfriend, Crystal, framed us for it. They pulled it off and got away with millions, maybe tens of millions. If they get us convicted, suspicion will be averted from them. They will be scot-free to move to a new planet and start spending it.

Mitch relaxes just a tad as Buzz walks back around the cells to get in with me. As he passes close to Mitch, in the narrow aisle around the cells, Buzz launches himself backwards onto Mitch, falling left against the long shotgun barrel as he does. He grabs with his handcuffed hands for the weapon.

The shotgun goes off, blasting into the wall across from the cells. Then, it clatters off, about six feet from them. Buzz is on his back, on top of Mitch, who is flat on the floor. Mitch weighs more, because he has a forty-pound gut. Buzz’ weight is in muscle, but, with his hands cuffed behind his back, I can’t imagine how he has much of a chance. Maybe he has an alien power that I’ve yet to discover. Hell, he probably has more than one secret left.

They roll and grunt. Buzz must have a grip on Mitch’s balls. It looks like it. Mitch is flailing his arms wildly and turning blue.

Michael and I are on the deck, reaching out through the bars trying to get the keys that Buzz tossed toward us as he fell.

I need longer arms, Michael says. He sits up, pulling his arms back through the bars.

He unbuckles his belt and pulls it quickly through the loops. He flings the buckle end, misses, pulls it back and flings it again.

On the third try, the little stud on the western buckle falls into the key ring. He pulls it toward him. He gets the key and rushes to open the lock. Lock open, he tosses the keys to me and lunges out of the cell to join the battle.

Michael kicks Mitch in the head, stunning him.

Okay, clear, he says.

Buzz rolls free. Just to be sure, Michael sits on Mitch’s chest, as he gropes for the handcuff key.

He finds it in a front pocket and uncuffs Buzz.

I’m out of my cell now. Buzz brings the keys over and releases my hands. I grab the shotgun.

The two men pick Mitch up and put him in a cell, locking the door as they leave.

I slip quickly into my jeans and snap shirt.

Pouf? says Michael, at six feet, he has to look up at Buzz. Fudge packer? Knob gobbler?

I meant every word, mate, says the big guy.

Michael laughs and says, It did the trick. Let’s get out of here.

We lock armored steel brig door and head for the pilothouse, three levels up.

Chapter 2 Bitch

Hold it.

Crystal is leveling a revolver at us.

We’re in the passageway outside the pilothouse. It’s the evil bitch, Crystal. Mastermind of the bank job. Mitch doesn’t have the brains to plan his way out of bed in the morning, but he makes a good sidekick. Follows her orders well.

No. Damn it, I say. I have Mitch’s shotgun aimed at her head. Fuck chest shots. Those huge tits might absorb all the buckshot and save your life.

You should drop it now, says a deep voice behind us.

I turn to see the little preacher, the Right Reverend Bart, um, something, with a big pistol in a two handed combat grip. Pointed at me. It looks huge in his small hands.

Annie, says Buzz. Comply.

No, I say.

We’ve got you surrounded, bitch, says Crystal.

Yeah, but I’ll have time to kill you before I die, you little whore.

Drop it, says Bart.

His full name appears, scrolling across the inside of my forehead. Bartholomew Baxter.

I don’t care about her, says the Right Reverend Bartholomew Baxter. I’ll gladly shoot the whole mess of you. More reward for me. It is dead or alive, you know. Try me.

Fuck. Okay, I say, leaning over to lay the shotgun carefully on the deck plates.

Hey, cunt, if you’ve hurt my Mitch I’ll skin your ass alive, says Crystal.

Oh, fuck you, twat, I say, straightening up, hands reaching for the ceiling.

I look at the greasy, snake oil selling little preacher and say, You jeezly son of a bitch.

Walk your filthy mouth over there, says Bart. The rest, too. All of you, this way, slowly. Move away from the shotgun.

He backs away. We follow him, walking about ten feet back down the corridor toward the brig.

Get the shotgun, Reno, says Bart.

Little Reno comes limping around a bend. He leans down, using his cane for balance and picks up the shotgun. This little, innocuous looking guy almost killed me. In fact, the little sniper tried to killed a bunch of us. And almost succeeded. Missed by a couple of inches.

They herd us back down to the brig, where Mitch is sitting on a bunk, rubbing his sore head.

Okay, there’s only two cells. Can I have Buzz? Michael likes his privacy, I say.

Sure, says the reverend. Too close of quarters for anyone to get it on anyway.

Mitch snorts and says, You obviously don’t know Annie. She likes an audience. She’d sell seats if anyone would pay to watch.

I shake my head in disgust.

Michael giggles. Hell, Buzz laughs out loud.

Yikes.

Chapter 3 Fubar

We’re screwed now, I say. Looking out through the bars.

Fubar, says Michael, nodding in agreement.

Eh? asks Buzz.

Fucked up beyond all repair, is my definition, I say. Some say fucked up beyond all recognition. Same diff, eh?

Oh, yes. Too bloody right, Buzz says, putting his elbows on his knees and his face in his cupped hands. Too bloody fucking right.

We all think for a while.

Buzz looks up, turns toward Michael, and asks, Will Annie really do it right here, with you on the bunk six feet away?

Michael nods his head. Unfortunately.

Hey, assholes, I say. I’m right here.

Yeah, you did it in prison before. Didn’t you? asks Michael.

Oh, yeah, I say, thinking back and smiling. With a super horny nineteen-year-old virgin. We did it a lot. A whole fucking lot. Other than the fact that we were locked up, it was awesome.

Virgin? asks Buzz.

He was, I say.

Buzz grins and says, Bloody Hammer.

Annie, don’t paint the picture, says Michael, covering his eyes.

But, there were concrete block walls between our cell and the neighbors, I say, looking at Michael. It’ll be even more fun here, with just bars separating us.

I just have to rub it in. The little shit.

Bloody hell, Michael, says Buzz. I promise that we’ll not bloody do it until after dark.

Or sooner, if you promise to avert your eyes, you pervert, I say.

Ay yi yi, says Michael, rolling his eyes, maybe. Hard to tell, they are swollen almost completely shut.

We all laugh. Comrades in comedy.

Chapter 4 Inside

Fijate, Miguel, I say. It means look, listen, pay attention, Michael. More or less. Yore the rankin’ officer here. You have a plan?

Okay, our sitrep, Michael says. "Jake and Charley went planetside this morning. They needed to check on the construction and other things down at the Short Branch. Mitch and I stayed here on the Shitkicker to do the final postflight check on everything. Plus, the usual routine maintenance chores.

I was pulling my head out of an inspection port in the main engine compartment when Mitch hit me. We struggled a while, but I was woozy from that first tap. A damn hard tap, he used a crescent wrench. He eventually got me subdued and down here into the brig.

Hey, he outweighs you by seventy-five pounds, easy, I say.

Still no excuse, he says, shaking a finger at me. I’m slender, but cunning.

Right, I say, grinning. And slippery as an eel.

He nods. I passed out. I was pretty woozy from the blow to my head. He must have taken the shuttle and swung planetside to pick up his pals and bring them back here. I don’t know how much time passed until he brought you two in. I didn’t hear anything. I was just as surprised as you to see them all.

Yeah, you look like shit, I say. There’s a lot of swelling by yore ear there. Plus, both eyes.

I think my nose is okay, he says, running his fingers tenderly over the swelling.

He has a nice nose, be a shame to have it broken.

We were doing the same on the bloody Cosmic, says Buzz. Postflight. Spud, Wolf and Hammer took the shuttle down to offload Sadie and check on things at the ranch. They may not be back up at all, since we have the other shuttle aboard still. Spud expected us to pick you and Mitch up and fly us all planetside this afternoon or tomorrow. Who knows how long before they’ll wonder about our absence.

I’m nodding.

Well, says Michael grinning at me. Eventually, one of them is bound to get horny. Care to wager which?

I groan.

Come on Annie, tell us, he says.

Well, Hammer is only nineteen. But Spud is used to getting it every day, and the Injin is wild enough…

Stop, Annie, says Michael, holding his hands over his ears. Too much information.

I shrug and smile innocently. You asked.

I didn’t think you’d tell, he says.

We can discuss cock size next, I say.

Okay, says Michael, brightening and leaning back against the wall. That’s more my cup of tea.

Buzz here… I start.

Bloody hell, says Buzz, covering his ears. He’s shy.

Michael and I grin.

Forget your guys, Annie. I’m betting on His Bloody Lordship, says Buzz with finality.

Michael’s does his Hispanic blush, hard to see on his dark skin. His Lordship, Sir Jacob, is Michael’s new husband. They are only about six months into their marriage. Newlywed vigor.

An old fart like him? I ask, mocking.

The walls can be too bloody thin, even in a castle, says Buzz.

Says the guy who’s never horny, I say.

Buzz’s blue eyes sparkle and he raises one corner of his mouth.

***

Our crew consists of a central eight. Our mistake was adding Mitch, he’s an experienced and competent spacer but, as we just verified, not to be trusted. Like I told Sir Jacob when he hired Mitch, this might turn out bad. I’m sad to report that I was right.

Spud Mullens is the nominal captain. He runs things on the two ships and is also the head honcho on his family’s Bar None Ranch. He’s twenty-five years old, six-four, tan-skinned, blond haired, muscular and drop dead gorgeous. Did I forget to mention his sapphire blue eyes? Spud’s also the planet Rock’s only sheriff. Kind of a part time position.

His brother, Lone Wolf, is the opposite in some ways. Still tall and handsome, but darker. He has flowing black hair, almost waist length, usually kept in Injin braids, dark brown eyes and mahogany skin. He’s wide at the shoulders and narrow at the hip. Strong, silent, spiritual and one hundred percent wild Injin, despite being half Viking by blood. Heck of a pair of fraternal twins. Other than their coloring, they look a lot alike.

Lord Jacob Bridbury prefers to be called Sir Jacob, as his goal in the afterlife is to reincarnate as a medieval knight. In shining armor, of course. He is second-in-command on the spaceships.

On the ground he is the Brit ambassador to our planet, the Rock. Makes him more important than all the rest of us bums put together. He is six foot tall, auburn haired and ruggedly handsome. About fifty, I’d guess. We treat him as an equal, because all men are.

It’s only women that are better.

His husband, Michael Santa Cruz, is my favorite flamboyant gay man, also my best friend and riding partner. He and I are just working grunts. Cowhands on the ground and crewmen in space, still learning the space ropes. Michael is of a height with Jake and thirty-six years old. He has black hair, dark brown eyes and skin, and very loose wrists.

Mick Hammer, also known as the kid, is only nineteen. He is kinda tall at six-six. He grew up on a ranch on Terminus. I met him when I was incarcerated in men’s (yes, men’s, I really do need a boob job) prison on Terrania just a few months back. We were cellmates for a very eventful week. He’s a cowhand, too, a pilot and the Watch Commander in space. Kid’s young but a fast learner. He has wild, wavy auburn hair, bottomless green eyes and more muscles than oughta be legal.

Buzz Branahan is from Bãngh, but don’t share that info. The Bãngh are confined to planet by the most powerful government in the Cosmos. The Triumvirate, also known as the Centrists. Known for their political mediocrity. Their police force is called the Federales for their militant belief that they know what is best for a whole universe.

Buzz has honey blond hair. He’s a lean six-six, with a muscular runners’ body, ice blue eyes and strong Nordic features.

The Bãngh are Norse, the first people to abandon the sinking ship called Earth, over half a millennium ago. They have developed some traits and powers that other humans don’t have, which has earned them sub-species status. We are Homo sapiens sapiens. The Bãngh, similar but different, are called Homo sapiens bãnghus.

I don’t know about the rest of his race, but Buzz seems to be biologically immortal. Looks mid-twenties, might be a thousand, he won’t say. If found off of their home planet, Bãngh are valuable. Illegal aliens. Catch one and they’ll pay you a ten thousand piaster reward. I call Buzz the big guy, and, privately, the alien. He was the biggest of us, before Hammer came along.

Me? I’m Roxanne Rockefeller, my birth name and, also, my wanted outlaw name. For safety, I have since been renamed. Wolf calls me Annie Talks To Horses, cause I’m Injin on my mother’s side, just like he and Spud are. I’m twenty-two and tan, with blue eyes. I have long wavy hair, which is getting less blonde and more brown with every passing year. Like Spud, I got my coloring from a Viking father.

At six foot two, I’m taller than almost everyone, everywhere. I have been lucky enough in the past year to have fallen in with these handsome giants. Nowadays I live in tall girl heaven.

Our last crew member is Charley. She is a little bit, as Hammer says. She’s maybe Michael’s age, mid-thirties and only five feet tall. We tall folk have to be careful not to trip over her, even in broad daylight. Her saucy wit, tantalizing brown eyes and long black hair, combined with extra-large tits and beautiful dark chocolate skin, make her a man magnet.

A former whore, she now owns the only bar on the Rock, with Sir Jacob as her mostly silent partner. We like her because, besides being an all-around great friend, she is confident enough to withstand our withering short jokes. She’s also a business and techno whiz.

Her saloon, the Short Branch, is the local watering hole. Whores, booze and music. Or, as I like to call it, sex, drugs, and rock & roll. Add a little country, and you got all you need.

Now, back to business.

Chapter 5 Two days Earlier

I was down on the Rock twice when we first got back. The second time, we needed an engine part. You know, a whatchamajigger for the whojamacallit? Yeah, that’s the one. I don’t really know what it was, Charley wrote the particulars down for me. My job is to show the paper to Sky. Just the messenger.

So there I was, hunting for Sky, our local bush pilot and all-around A & P mechanic. His ship was at the spaceport. Hoss was sleeping in the shade by his ship, but he wasn’t. So, I set out for town. Hoss followed along. She followed me all around town. As happy to see me as I was to see her.

Next, I tried the saloon.

Hey, I say, as I push through the curtain into the dusty new space. There is a new raised area, a stage, in the middle, with table and chair space all around it and a long bar along the south wall. It’s in the building directly adjacent to the original Short Branch, so makes a great expansion room.

Looks good, I say.

Charley and Sir Jacob just recently bought the building to make room for the extra clientele that the gold rush on Squanto, a nearby planet, has brought to the Rock. We have the questionable pleasure of being a necessary fuel stop on the way from almost anywhere else to Squanto. It’s good for local business. But the crowds are annoying to us solitude loving country folk. Fortunately, their stays are short. Only a matter of hours. And they tend to leave a lot of money behind.

Mornin’ Annie, says Charley, smiling at me over the board she’s sawing. Do the stripper poles look right? The lights and draperies go in next.

Awesome, I say.

Yeah, Wolf and Hammer should love it, she says laughing. She finishes her cut and comes over to sit by me on the edge of the bright red stage.

They sure loved those strippers in New London, didn’t they? I say.

They did. What did you call them that day we had to go rescue them from the…what did you call it? Oh, the cesspits of the big city, she says.

I have to think a minute.

Hayseed and country boy, I say, grinning.

Wolf and Hammer are just that. Ranch raised, they haven’t traveled to the big city much, until just recently. When we had to go to the red light district in New London on planet Britannia to find Charley, they started drinking and ogling the merchandise.

Neither of them, or me either for that matter, had ever seen such an extravagant place. The sidewalks were thick with every strange and different type of humanity that the Cosmos has ever seen. All dressed and cross-dressed to the nines in colorful, flamboyant costumes.

Hammer and Wolf got into the party mood in no time. In fact, they were soon too drunk to get themselves back to the Cosmic, which needed to leave in a hurry. We had to do a search and rescue op to save their asses from the ladies of the evening.

Charley had been in the district recruiting new harlots for the Short Branch. She got a dozen very nice gals to come out here to the Rock with promises of good tips from the mostly male populace. The local men are a horny bunch. There’s a serious shortage of women here.

And now, after seeing country boy and hayseed’s reaction to strippers, Charley has decided that the new poles will amp up her business. The Rock is a pioneer planet. We’re pretty much all hicks.

Only about four hundred of us, only a few of whom are women, including the twenty harlots. There is also plenty of husband potential for the shady ladies, considering the disproportionate male/female ratio.

I eventually found Sky and he searched out the part we needed on an old wreck out at the scrap metal edge of the runway. One the same age as the Cosmic. Ancient, but usable. I went back over to the shuttle and Buzz, who had finished his own planetside chores, zipped us back up to install it. Being a simple part, we were able to screw it in place ourselves. We had it all installed and working and were taking that much deserved pause for the cause, when Mitch snuck up on us.

Chapter 6 Sadie

Spud lands the shuttle at the spaceport. The red pickup barely fits in the little shuttle. No room to spare.

The three men walk back to the pickup.

Her windshield and rear window each have a large caliber bullet hole penetrating them. Just the one bullet passed through both when Wolf and Annie were running from the authorities on Terminus. The associated radial cracks spider web their way outward from the point of impact.

Pointing at the bullet hole, Wolf says, Meant for Annie. She duck aside just in time.

Shit, says Spud.

Hammer says, Damn.

Praise the spirits for small favors, says Wolf.

Big favors, says Spud.

Wolf can barely squeeze past the truck to get to the ramp button. He punches it with the side of his fist and the ramp lowers to the ground.

In the meantime, Hammer has squeezed into the driver’s seat of the big crew cab. With the open ramp now providing fresh air, he starts the diesel up.

Hey, the kid says, sticking his auburn haired head out the driver’s window. Watch carefully. I don’t want to scratch Sadie.

Spud groans. I think my shuttle is more important.

No way, Hammer says, grinning. Sadie’s an exact replica of a two-thousand-two Ford one-ton crew cab long bed pickup truck with the famous seven point three-liter diesel.

Shee-it says Spud, a horse guy, not a pickup guy. This shuttle ain’t nowhere near that old, but she’s still pretty much an antique.

Hammer shifts her into gear and rolls slowly out. Spud and Wolf are on each end, watching clearances. None of them want to break off any critical shuttle components.

When they get Sadie out on the apron, Hammer says, She’s got plenty of fuel, what say we go for a spin?

Well, kid, says Spud. Considering that no one came out to pick us up, how ‘bout you drive us into town. You can park her in the shop in the back end of the barn. We don’t want to get too crazy until we see who’s around. This is an illegal vehicle on our little wilderness planet.

But, you’re the sheriff, says Hammer.

I don’t enforce wilderness rules, the Feds do, says Spud. We gotta watch fer ‘em.

Okay, whatever. Cool, says Hammer, still a fun-loving teenager.

They motor a quick mile into MadDog, the Rock’s first and only town. About four blocks long and three wide, mostly empty lots. The Rock is neither a heavily populated, nor a prosperous planet in general.

Fortunately, they don’t pass any horses. Rock born horses have never seen or heard a pickup truck. Or a car. Horses not being fond of things they’ve never seen before; they’d be bound to spook. Could cause a wreck.

Okay, says Spud. I gotta go check on things in the office.

Wolf, too, says the never talkative Wolf.

Heck, yeah, me too, says Hammer.

They head up the alley and across, walking through the Short Branch, which is empty, toward the main street. The Sheriff’s Office is just across the main drag and down two doors.

Spud opens the door and they walk in. Deputy Tindall isn’t there. No one is. Spud goes over to his desk, sits and starts looking through a stack of papers. Wolf walks on into the cellblock.

Reno gone, says Wolf, leaning back in.

No shit? says Spud, looking up, startled. Damn it. Check the alley for prints. Kid?

Hammer turns and looks at him.

Look out front. We need a timeline. I’ll check the log, maybe Tindall wrote something down.

Wolf heads back through the cells, Hammer goes out into the street. Soon, both are back.

Too much traffic, says the kid. Can’t pick his tracks out.

Wolf nods and says, Alley, too.

Nothing in the log since breakfast. Maybe he just escaped, says Spud. Why Tindall ain’t here. He’s usually here this time of day.

So, what can we do? asks Hammer.

Spud blows out a basketful of air.

Wolf, you go home, he says. Check on the ranch. The kid and I will ask around town. Maybe Tindall will show up. We’ll head out there when Annie and them get down from the ships. That work for you?

Wolf nods and heads over to the corrals by the barn for his horse.

Spud and Hammer walk down the boardwalk. They’re looking for people to question. Maybe someone saw something.

Wolf comes trotting around the corner on his big bay paint, and says, Tindall horse tracks head for spaceport. Back way.

Okay, we’ll get on it, thanks, says Spud.

They go to the barn, catch and bridle their horses. In a hurry, they jump on bareback. They follow Tindall’s tracks out to the spaceport. He is just off the small craft apron, between three shuttles. Two big gold rush ships, looking worn, torn and decrepit, are behind the shuttles. One is being refueled.

Tindall’s squatting in the dirt, peering at the ground.

Tindall, Spud yells.

The deputy turns, recognizes them and stands up. Hey, Sheriff, he says. You just get in?

Yeah, you find something? asks Spud.

Nothing good, come on over, says Tindall.

They ride over, stopping a ways away. We gonna step on any tracks? asks Spud.

Just get off there, they’re off to your right about ten feet.

They dismount and start casting their eyes around. Hammer spots them.

Here, he says, pointing. Little feet. Big limp.

Spud walks over, looks and says, Yep, them’s his boots alright.

They walk over to Tindall, who says, Yeah, a crippled guy like this is easy to track.

Then, he looks at Hammer and says, Sorry, kid, I forgot.

It’s okay, says the kid, waving his hook at him. I’ll take your forgetting as a compliment.

Hey, says Tindall, looking him over more carefully. Am I hallucinating?

Hammer and Spud laugh.

Hammer raises his left hand, fingers splayed, then makes a fist. He says, Nope, it’s really there.

But, how? asks Tindall.

Robot hand, says Hammer, still flexing the hand. Looking at it with admiration himself.

Wow, it looks real.

Hammer says, It is real, just not original equipment.

That’s fucking awesome, kid, he says.

It damn sure is, says the kid, grinning.

Spud says, The drawback is, he spends the whole day jackin’ off now. Doesn’t get a lick of work done.

True, says Hammer, making the motion with his new hand.

They all laugh.

Anyhow, says Tindall, back to business. This is where the trail ends. Someone landed out here in the dirt. Looks like Reno got on a shuttle here.

Yeah, says Spud. Not enough burnt ground for a big ship. Something small.

Hammer says, See here? This is that bible thumper’s track.

Oh yeah, says Spud, walking over and looking at it. Good work.

And this little one here? asks Tindall. Is it?

The other two walk over and kneel down to look.

Fuck, says Spud. Son of a bitch.

Tindall and Hammer look enquiringly at him.

That little bitch, Crystal, he looks around, then up at the sky. Cocksuckers. We gotta go up top, now.

You don’t think? asks Tindall.

I do, says Spud.

How long ago, do you think? asks Hammer.

Couple hours anyway. Maybe more, says Tindall. I last saw Reno when I took his breakfast in to him. Been out patrollin’ since.

"Tindall, you take our horses. Drop ’em off at the barn. Go out and tell Wolf. He went to the ranch.

Find Jake and Charley, they might be in that new room at the bar. If we’re right, I need ‘em all back, Spud says, shaking his head. Son of a fucking bitch. Those bastards are bound to be takin’ Annie and Michael to Terrania for the bounty. Fuck, Buzz too. Come on kid, fun time’s over.

Okay, I’ll get going on preflight, says the kid. He walks over to get the shuttle ready to go.

Spud looks over at Tindall and says, See if someone can bring them up to the Cosmic. Is Sky around? Fuck, we’re short on shuttles.

Tindall nods.

If not. Damn. We need to go. Haven’t got a damn radio, He rubs his neck, thinking, then says, "You can assume they left already and we’ll head off in pursuit in the shuttle. Find Wolf and them another way up to the Cosmic.

We gotta catch ‘em up. They’ll have taken the Shitkicker, Mitch knows it’s faster. Annie was right. Maybe you can’t teach an old horse new tricks, after all. Son of a bitch. Shit, find a ride up for ‘em asap.

Okay, Sheriff. Will do. Sky’s usually in and out, been a relatively quiet week, says Tindall. He trots off toward town, ponying their horses behind him.

Spud sprints over to the Cosmic shuttle to help Hammer get it prepped. Sharing