Six-Gun Shiva: Watcher of the Damned, #2

By R. H. SNOW

Shotguns, RayGuns and Chupacabras - welcome to the Weird, Wired West of WATCHER of the DAMNED: SIX-GUN SHIVA!

 

When a mutant Bounty Hunter gets waylaid by his adorable clone-Fugitive, a New Tejas Ranger rides in to save the day... but nothing is ever simple when you're fighting the System. Racing through the Texas WildLands, the Ranger and the Watcher chase down their Fugitive while battling Chupacabras, Blue Northers and Secret Civilizations of Post-Apocalyptic, Post-Viral Texas. Will our Heroes survive, or Join the ranks of the UnHallowed Dead? Find out in the second book of the Watcher of the Damned Series - SIX-GUN SHIVA!

 

Fight the System - Join the Revolution with WATCHER of the DAMNED!

• Language: English
• Publisher: R. H. SNOW
• Release date: Dec 2, 2020
• ISBN: 9781735342740

Book preview

TheWatcherTWO_COVER2epub.jpg

All rights are reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner without written permission except in the case of brief quotes used in reviews or articles.

Characters, names, and events are fiction and works of the author’s imagination. Any similarity to real persons, living or deceased, are purely coincidental. All events, incidents, places and establishments are written fictitiously.

All rights reserved.

978-1-7353427-3-3 (paperback)

978-1-7353427-4-0 (epub)

978-1-7353427-5-7 (epub)

Foreword

Is survival or the treatment of the people around us more important? Many argue that is what make us humans, yet both have played that role in the history of our species.

Watcher of the Damned is the first of six books in this volume of the series, encapsulating the struggles of human life after the biological apocalypse. Post-apocalyptic source material, like graphic novels, video games, shows, and other book have inspired the series, which deals with multi-faceted divisions along biological, societal, moral, and religious lines. Though some have argued that the cultural fascination with mutants and the apocalypse is indicative of an overall fear of globalization, the fear is not that we could become an animal with lesser humanity; rather, that we already are.

Thank you for picking the book up, and enjoy.

A Ranger came riding through the brush. Broad brown hat pulled low across his brow, his scuffed boots brushed the tops of the clumps of greater bluestem, golden burro grass, and prairie wild rye passing beneath the belly of his horse. The grasses parted before him, an ocean of swaying seed heads, and left a beaten path, allowing the tethered palomino to follow in his big bay gelding’s wake. He was not without company; coveys of quail flushed ahead of his horse, and he was contented as he sang, not caring who heard him. He was on his way home.

"There’s a Church in the Valley by the Wildwood

No lovelier spot in the dale..."

The day had been blustery and wet, but it was the first day in the last three that it was not raining hard. The Blue Norther had come through early this year but stalled out across the prairie, resulting in fierce storms that lashed the landscape until last night. Having broken Camp early, he was heading north to the rendezvous with the new Bounty Hunter. It had been awhile since someone new came on board, but this was a special case, and this fellow might not last longer than the assignment. The Ranger pulled up his drab knitted scarf over the bronzed scales of his cheeks, mouth, and nose; only his camo-colored eyes—sometime green, sometimes brown, sometimes gray—showed above the scarf, hiding their true colors in the ever-changing landscape of his hazel mind. The wind was sharp and bit deeply into his thick hide.

He tugged off his heavy leather glove, and toggled on his WeSpeex:

#TRANSMIT-LOOP CLOSED, ENCRYPTION LVL 3

#WESPEEX COMMLINE

#SOLAR CHARGE 49%

#BEACON 2%

#HANDYWX - 7:30AM CHECKPOINT BLUE cloudy, 38 degrees, wind 25MPH NNW, humidity 76%

The last weather report from the Checkpoint blue beacon arrived yesterday morning during a beacon-to-beacon download, and the Ranger had received it before leaving the Checkpoint Black’s Beacon Perimeter. Nothing new in messages—not even an acknowledgement of the beacon confirmation or a response to the weather delay in rendezvous. A new WeSpeex device showed to be logged into the local server at last check-in before he left the Station, but now that the rider was in a deadzone, he would not be able to pick it up again on his own Ring without a nearby beacon’s signal. This was not unusual; most communications were terse at best, and frequently lost due to bad weather or other circumstances. More than likely the new Agent was holding down the fort against sleep. The Ranger smiled—that would change soon enough.

This day’s ride had been uneventful enough, with only a few random encounters of boar in the bottomlands, and two bears; his large-loop Winchester 1894 made short work of the bears, and his horses easily outraced the boars. There was something inherently safer in being mounted. In the forty-nine years he had been a Ranger, he found that the added height from horseback gave an advantage over almost all predators and made travel so much easier. He could see why the System reserved horses for Top Tier Personnel alone—a man with a horse and a gun was nearly unstoppable, and were it not for the System controlling access, all Survivors would be as powerful as Rangers.

His brows knitted as he pondered this.

Conversely, being on horseback made the Ranger easier to spot, making fugitives and runaways harder to catch when up close. There he was at disadvantage, as tethering a horse to a tree and just walking away was not a good choice in the Wildlands. The Express Riders had their dogs to run off any unwanted predators... they had discussed the possibility of bringing some along with a trainer, but Rangers preferred to travel light, and the dogs made call when giving chase, so it wasn’t really an option.

He wondered if the Special Agent had any previous experience with horses—he hoped so. It was getting harder and harder to fill the shoes of the Rangers who had gone before—Hernandez, Chao, and Martin had all died in the last eighteen months from wildlife attacks, and the pool of suitable candidates among the remaining Survivors was rapidly dwindling. The majority of Survivors that were available to the Co-op were former urbanites who had been thoroughly civilized to the point of being almost docile; and any other Survivors that might be left out there were, well... unavailable.

He looked up at the sky; just the other day, it had been Indian Summer, and the sky had been that incredible blue, the color of Shaney’s blue, blue eyes. Now the sky was streaked low and gray, matching the streaks of gray in his own eyes. He pondered the world and all in it, and how far he had come since leaving home.

Continuing north, he kept himself busy scanning the brush, occasionally singing snippets of song to himself. He wished he could listen to his WeSpeex Ring out here alone, and sing along, but he knew that it was not wise to be distracted in the Wildlands. He feared not man nor beast, but the Ranger respected both and kept himself vigilant. He did fear Helpurrz, but this route had been cleared long ago, so he felt safe in his travels here. He hummed for the next hour, enjoying the scudding dark clouds and the gloomy weather; it was fresh and real.

He earnestly wished Shaney had agreed to come with him. She had been here plenty of times, but not with him alone. He would have shown her around the ruins, places she had never been; maybe she could have seen him in a different light, not just as a kid from the backwoods. To the rest of the world, the Ranger was a calm, tough-hided, sometimes arrogant little Hombre with determined eyes and a deadly quick-draw—a Survivor to be respected. But to Shaney, he was still the baby of the bunch, straggling in half-dead and desperate, looking for a place to land...

He couldn’t help it he wasn’t full grown when it happened. He was only seventeen when it took place, but he was man enough to live, man enough to fight, man enough to become a Ranger...

It was he, Evangelo, who helped Shaney start this organization forty-nine years ago. Working with the other founders, he helped bring civilization to the Wildlands and established the Checkpoints. But that didn’t seem to matter to Shaney when it came to accepting him as a suitor. It didn’t help that he was short and almost slender; not skinny but he sure wasn’t fat, either. At five foot eight inches and one hundred and seventy-three pounds, he was considered to be on the small side in LifeAfter. He had plenty of muscle to help him stay alive and keep the predators at bay, but to Shaney he was was just a little Hombre in a sea of fanning Macho peacocks, all strutting and bowing for Queen Shaney.

Just a little Hombre... the Ranger frowned. Machos—those over-sexed men who survived the Happening to become TransMutated SuperMales—were the top Dogs in this Dog-eat-Dog world. The Rangers were chock-full of them. Big, mean, and muscular, Shaney had recruited heavily among their number, and as a result the ranks were overrun with the cantankerous brutes. It always gave the little Ranger a perverse sense of satisfaction to see the looks on their craggy faces when the new recruits were told to report to him.

More than just a little Hombre, he grumbled. The only thing more satisfying than their reaction to him was watching them find out that Commander Shaney was more than a pretty face. Most recruits came on board just for a chance to be near her. Shaney’s rarity as a Chica—a woman least TransMutated by the Happening’s deadly testosterone-enhancing virus—served as a useful tool for recruitment, and she exploited it to full effect. But if new recruits thought Commander Shaney was just a figurehead, they were wrong.

Evangelo let the feeling wash over him. His adoration of Shaney could not be contained; after all these years, Lillabeth Shaney was still his shining, shooting star.

It wasn’t just her looks. Her boldness under fire, her ability to confront a situation and take control of it was legendary. Shaney might not be as big or as strong as others, but her marksmanship and her organizational skills made her a born Leader, and any who doubted her capability as Commander would quickly be put in their place by Shaney and her devoted Rangers. The slender Chica had not only helped found the Rangers, she led them with a bold and capable hand. She earned every Ranger’s respect with her horsemanship, fast draw, and can-do attitude—and Evangelo was always there by her side. Now, out of all those devoted Rangers, Shaney had chosen Evangelo to take this assignment as a special, and no one else in the Rangers organization was to know about it. Not even Chief...

His mind dwelt on that moment, and it fueled his determination.

Please, Evangelo— Shaney rose from her desk and pushed back the brim of her white cowboy hat to gaze up at him, her blue eyes burning her brand on his heart; I know you’ve got your doubts. But you’re the only man I trust. You’ve never let me down. She laid her slender hand on the silver star pinned to his chest, and the heat from her touch melted his resolve...

He wondered if she asked him because he was the most qualified, or because she knew he would move Heaven and Earth for her? Frowning, he pulled down his hat and kept riding north into the bitter wind; he wasn’t sure if he was Shaney’s Knight Errant or her Court Jester.

Evangelo scowled. He wouldn’t usually have taken any case like this. Going outside of Ranger Chain of Command was risky business, but Shaney said she had concerns about corruption in the ranks. If Shaney was finally seeing it, Evangelo knew it was already way beyond corruption. He had warned her so many times about Chief Emmanuel’s moral shortcomings... but Shaney was all innocence. He shook his head—Shaney was simply was too trusting.

He loved that about her.

The Ranger couldn’t help it if he stuttered sometimes around Shaney; she would stare at him with those blue eyes, and his words would get all tangled around his tongue, and he would trip over them... Now she was asking for his help, and Evangelo was going to by God give it. He opened his case notes:

...

#OPERATION: MACGUFFIN

#PRIORITY: URGENT

#ASSIGNED BY: CLASSIFIED

#ASSIGNED TO: CLASSIFIED

...

From the safety of her own Cabin, behind closed doors, Commander Shaney briefed Evangelo: last Saturday, Shaney had reviewed a radio message received by Ranger Tatum from Reunion’s Warden Howell. It seemed routine; the Warden was assigning a Special Agent to retrieve a Fugitive—just another Bounty Hunter chasing a runaway prisoner. The message notified headquarters that the Agent would be under Ranger Jurisdiction; it was common practice for any Bounty Hunter outside of their area of home Jurisdiction. This new Agent would notify the Rangers of his arrival by activating the Beacon at Checkpoint Blue and await the Ranger Escort there...

Usually, this process took a few days as Agents made their way through the dangerous Wildlands before checking in at the designated rendezvous point—but new Agents usually didn’t mind cooling their heels in the comfort of the Ranger Checkpoint stations. Besides, the Bounty Hunters had no choice. No one was allowed to wander the Co-op without explicit permission from the System and its enforcers, the Tejas Co-op Rangers.

Unfortunately, official communications had recently been hampered by the untimely death of Checkpoint Black’s Server Beacon. Their old one had been malfunctioning sporadically for weeks, and the ancient tech finally gave up the cyber-ghost and died the Thursday of last week. Fortunately, a new replacement Server-Beacon had been scavenged and delivered to Checkpoint Black on Wednesday morning. It was then that Shaney discovered the truth: she intercepted a message that blew the lid off the Warden’s whole carefully concealed can of worms.

According to Shaney’s source, Judge Leona had been assassinated Saturday, before the radio message was sent. This shocking news had been kept secret from the Rangers, along with the identity of Warden Howell’s Special Agent—the notoriously dangerous Watcher of Reunion.

The Watcher—aka Prisoner #7, aka Saul Azarian...

The most infamous troublemaker of the Tejas Co-op, and the crown jewel of the Co-op Camp Prison System, the Watcher was unwilling Guardian of the Gate of Reunion. Chained, chemically restrained, and threatened through his aging grandmother, the Watcher was Judge Leona’s Damocletian Sword, as dangerous to the System as he was to anything that dared to breach the Gate at Reunion Camp. This alone was enough to warrant an investigation. But this was not the most shocking revelation of the intercept:

Shaney’s source said the assassin was an Afterling.

An Afterling? They were the realm of fantasy—not reality. But Shaney swore it was true. And what was even more mind-boggling, Shaney said she had been looking for this creature on behalf of an unnamed Client.

Clients. The little Ranger grimaced. He hated the way Chief Emmanuel was hiring out Ranger services to LandLords and Officials; the idea that Rangers could be used as hired guns reeked of corruption. Evangelo had made official complaint to Shaney when this practice started five years ago, but Shaney just said she would make sure the practice didn’t get out of hand. Any services the Rangers provided would be paid in much-needed goods from the plantations and camps, and Ranger influence on the plantations would keep any pockets of resistance to the System at bay.

The Ranger sighed. Chief Emmanuel was Shaney’s favorite, but at least Chief hadn’t weaseled his way into Shaney’s bed—yet. Evangelo was certain Shaney had kept fraternization out of her chain of command; she had told Evangelo repeatedly that the bond of Ranger to Ranger was sacrosanct and shouldn’t be tainted by romance. She always said it just as Evangelo would draw close to her, hat in his hand, eyes pleading...

He sighed again. I’m a fool.

It would have helped had Shaney not kept him within arm’s reach constantly, at her beck and call. You’re my Right-Hand Man! she would quip gaily to him, shoulder to shoulder as they shoed horses or rode out to deliver foals. Shaney loved horses even more than she loved the Rangers, and that gave Evangelo an added advantage: he was the only one besides Shaney who knew how to train horses.

It was Evangelo who had found and gentled the first horses after the Happening. His expertise allowed him to round up horses and train their riders. Shaney couldn’t help but admire that in the little Ranger, and he became her favorite Cowboy. He cherished that role, and it became his life.

The Ranger Horse Ranch was their own shared personal project, and under Evangelo’s leadership it had become the Pride of the System Star. Rounding up horses, directing the breeding program, training horses and Rangers to work together, running the Ranch—it was round-the-clock work. Evangelo still had administrative duties in scheduling and command, but rarely ever left the Ranch nowadays. Shaney made it clear: Evangelo’s duty was now to Shaney and their Horses. The Ranch and horses were their family, and Evangelo was now a family man.

But he still missed being out on the trail with Shaney. Long ago, before Chief Emmanuel had entered the scene, Evangelo had ridden with Shaney to help tame the Wildlands. Running and gunning through hell or high water, it was Captain Evangelo who rode with Commander Shaney to save the day—

Jealousy rose up in his throat, bitterness choking the sweetness of that memory.

Everyone had always assumed it would be Evangelo in line to succeed Chief Levi. But after Chief Levi’s unexpected demise, that snotty surfer upstart, Chief Emmanuel, rose to power and took the reins of the Rangers. As a consolation prize, Shaney assigned Evangelo to his permanent position as foreman at the Ranger Horse Ranch. Evangelo hated to be pulled off his patrols and duties; the little Ranger felt he had a duty to lead from the front.

But it was a plum assignment, nestled in the wooded arroyos of Checkpoint Black, and offered the chance to be surrounded by his beloved horses twenty-four hours a day. It also meant that he would be stationed with Shaney. When Commander Shaney asked Evangelo to be her Right-Hand Man at the Ranch, he jumped at the chance, hopeful it would allow him to finally win her heart. Unfortunately, Evangelo knew now what he didn’t know then: if he was Shaney’s Right-Hand Man, Chief Emmanuel was her Left-Hand Man—and the Right Hand didn’t know what the Left Hand was doing.

Now Shaney was asking her Right-Hand Man to find out what her Left-Hand Man was hiding behind her back.

The circumstances surrounding this assignment were extraordinary, to say the least, almost too strange to be real. Coming from any other, ordinary person, Evangelo would have said they were delusional—that the Afterling was a myth, an adorable, feminine manifestation of rumor and mass hysteria. But this was no ordinary Survivor requesting him to investigate; this was Commander Shaney, second in rank only to Chief Emmanuel. She swore it was all true—and she swore Evangelo to secrecy.

Shaney said it with real distress: someone at the highest levels was trying to keep the Rangers away from the scene, probably because they wanted the Afterling for themselves. She confessed her concerns: she said she had long suspected something was foul at Reunion Camp. Corruption was rampant at the highest levels—including Judge Leona and possibly Chief Emmanuel, too. This Afterling could be an important witness, she allowed—but it would be up to the Client to decide what would happen to the Afterling.

Evangelo frowned. He refused to hunt runaways because it seemed wrong for innocent people to be held prisoner. And whether or not this creature was an Afterling—or as he suspected, just a very small Chica who was mistaken for an Afterling—she would be very vulnerable to intimidation and abuse. It bothered him to think of anyone being held in indentured servitude, even if they had agreed under duress to do so, but for some strange reason, it especially bothered him to think of women being abused. Although it was legal, he hated the sexual abuse that accompanied Public Service and Private Contracts, and if Shaney hadn’t personally begged him to take this case, he would have never done so.

He grumbled to himself: That’s just the way of the System...

What had been a means to help Survivors had become a means of controlling them. Evangelo’s love-hate relationship with the governing laws of the Co-op—aka the System—was no secret; everybody in the Rangers knew about it. True, Shaney said she would personally vouch for the Client, that they would cause the Afterling no harm, but... the Ranger knew the ways of men. If the Afterling ran away, maybe she had a good reason.

Perhaps he could find a way to work out a deal in the Afterling’s favor. Unbeknownst to his own Commander or any other Ranger, Evangelo had worked out such deals before, thanks a little help from the shadowy entity known as Ranger Command at the Wildland Express.

His Heads Up-Display popped open with a white text box:

#WESPEEX BEACON SIX - LOCATED

An updated weather report came through:

#TRANSMIT-LOOP CLOSED, ENCRYPTION LVL 3

#WESPEEX COMMLINE

#SOLAR CHARGE 49%

#BEACON 29%

#HANDYWX - 3:37PM CHECKPOINT BLUE cloudy, 35 degrees, wind 31MPH N, humidity 61%

Brrrrr. He checked the Beacon stats—

#DEVICES - 1 online

One device online means my own Ring. Someone had activated the beacon, but if the new Special Agent was here, he was not logged in; he probably did not have access to WeSpeex RingWorld.

Working WeSpeex RingWorlds were a precious and limited resource. Their existence and operations were a closely guarded secret, known only to those deemed worthy of their knowledge by the System—organizational members such as Rangers, Wildland Express Agents, and high-ranking officials like Municipal Leaders, LandLords, and Camp Wardens. Like all other prisoners at any camp, the Watcher would not have been allowed to know about the Rings, much less be allowed to have one.

The Watcher...

This Prisoner-turned-Bounty-Hunter was certainly an interesting case study. The Ranger’s mind picked at the enigmatic puzzle known to the System as Prisoner #7. Widely known to the rest of the Tejas Co-op by the name Judge Leona had given him, the Watcher was the last person this lawman had expected to see wearing a badge. Evangelo had heard about this Macho since the early days of the Co-op, and had met him a time or two entering the gate at Reunion on business with The Judge. At that time, the Ranger noted the Watcher’s movements, wolf-like, silent, always vigilant at the Archway. Rangers were briefed about the Watcher when he ran away several times many years ago, and they were informed about some of his unique capabilities. The Ranger pulled his updated file on his WeSpeex heads-up display:

#DO NOT DISTRIBUTE

#NAME: Saul Azarian: AKA: Watcher. Prisoner #7

#T-SCALE MUTATION LEVEL: 8 (1-10)

#HEIGHT: 6FT 0.25IN

#WEIGHT: 289 lbs

#EYES: Brown

#SKIN: Red/Gold/Scaled, Thick, Hard

#CURRENT LOCATION: In transit

#PREVIOUS LOCATION: Reunion Camp, Tejas Co-op - 43 years, six months

ATH: Transitional - 9 years

BTH: Dallas, Texas - 27 years

A city-dweller, the Ranger remembered with resignation. Probably can’t ride a horse to save his life.

#CURRENT SYSTEM ASSIGNMENT: Recovery Agent for Fugitive Classified

#JURISDICTION: Ranger

#PREVIOUS SYSTEM ASSIGNMENT: Public Servant, Security, Reunion Camp

#SOCIETY VALUE: Classified

#SOCIETY SCORE: 102 (updated 10/12)

Evangelo scratched his head. Pretty impressive gains for a prisoner who had a Society Score of—257 as of his last dossier update two months ago. When the file was first compiled some forty years ago, the Watcher was reprobate and dangerous, constantly butting heads with the System and everyone in Authority at Reunion Camp. But in this latest mission debriefing, Shaney said that Azarian had been recommended for Citizenship just prior to Leona’s assassination, thanks to some last-minute Society Score recommendations from high-ranking anonymous benefactors.

The Ranger skimmed through the details, skipping forward to the summaries:

#MORAL COMPASS: NEUTRAL

#PSYCHOLOGICAL PROFILE: Azarian is a skeptical independent alpha, manipulative, impulsive, iconoclastic; domineering, violent, and unpredictable. Not a team player. A loner by nature, he will rarely form alliances but will attempt to control his environment and other persons allowed to enter his circle. A casual liar when in his best interest. Rejects any Authority but his own. Rules are for other people, and he makes the rules.

#SUMMARY: Azarian is ultimately a bodyguard who uses his unique physical and investigative skills to locate, assess, and eliminate individual or systemic threats, and to protect a subject or subjects. Will seek out a subject to protect if none are assigned. He is best approached from a neutral stance; dangerous, cunning, and unpredictable, he enjoys conflict and will initiate aggression when given a reason, but will fall back to protective/defensive stance when given a subject to protect. His need to protect can be used to control him.

#LANGUAGE CONSIDERATIONS: Cannot speak due to Happening-related medical condition.

Evangelo grunted in sympathy. Even though it was fifty-four years past, the Happening still wreaked medical havoc on all remaining humans. Survivors had to overcome the limitations and irritations that the Happening wrought upon them. That unexplained world-wide event almost eradicated all humanity, wiped their out women, and left the few remaining Survivors hairless, ageless, and mutated. The Ranger reached up under his hat to scratch the leathery skin of his own bald pate and contemplated the nature of the Watcher’s infirmity. We’ll have to find a way to communicate easily...

#STRENGTHS: Hand-to-hand, close combat weapons, close- to medium-range firearms

#WEAKNESSES: Overconfident. Arrogant.

#KEY POINT: Don’t get close- LS/RE

According to Shaney’s intelligence, the Watcher had responded to the Afterling’s assassination of Judge Leona as he had been trained by the System. The Watcher shot three Sentinels dead when they threatened the Citizens of Reunion, and even though it went against the system per se, Evangelo considered it a plus. Azarian had been working as a protector of the Camp for forty-three years and he never wavered in his duties to protect the innocent bystanders of Reunion Camp. In light of the situational lack of leadership, and the threat to the other prisoners, Azarian’s dispatch of the Sentinels was the proper response. The downside: the Watcher was a Public Servant who outright killed three Sentinels using his remarkable skills and training. This made him very valuable and very dangerous. The little Ranger furrowed his brow. Could the Watcher of Reunion be re-integrated into the System completely, or was he irredeemable?

There was no way to know. Either way it went, Reunion’s Warden had recommended Azarian personally, so it was on him.

Coming up the rise, from the south, the Ranger saw it climb into view—he could hear the piano ringing, calling the faithful home, and his heart sang the song:

There’s a Church in the Valley by the WildWood,

no lovelier spot in the vale,

No spot is so dear to my childhood

as the little brown church in the dale

Oh come, come, come...

The sign announced itself, as always: SHILO

Home.

His bay horse cantered up easy and nice across the street to the Old Fire Station, where he led it and the palomino into the old barn-like structure. He wanted to make sure they were not in harm’s way, should an unauthorized person be at the little white Church. Removing their saddles, the Ranger hung up their gear and made certain the horses had water and feed—hulled mesquite pods, harvested and stored this last summer. The Norther’s wind howled fiercely outside the old Fire Station—it was sturdy and spacious inside, kept up by the Rangers for their horses. He patted his big Bay, scratching tenderly around his ears—

William, I am expecting to you treat Oro right, but do not let him push you around... your name is William the Conqueror, not Wee Willie, so act like it. William snorted and munched the sweet mesquite pods; he was possibly the most calm horse the Ranger had the pleasure of riding. William was responsive and smooth, a cutting horse, but not overly fast. Like his Survivor partner, William was contemplative and an excellent mount for a sniper. By contrast, Oro was unusual for a draft horse—just a little hard-headed, but large and fast, hot-blooded for such a big animal. The Ranger took a not-so humble pride in his horses; they were the culmination of a lifetime of breeding and training, a special project he and Shaney had started together. They were his children.

Children... he sighed ruefully. When Evangelo was young, he had wanted a family of his own, and it still hurt his heart. There will be no more human children—but the horses will do. He patted the beautiful palomino then left both horses. He crossed the street to a sidewalk under the massive trees sheltering the front of the Church, overwhelming the entrance with their thick, dark-brown branches and waxy evergreen leaves.

Evergreen, just like his love...

He was tired of being in love. He became momentarily bitter; then it left him as it always did, with a fresh, blank canvas for his emotions to paint a new picture.

The Ranger approached the basement door, and tapped on it to announce himself. This is a Ranger Checkpoint. Identify yourself, and prepare to be searched. Evangelo waited for a reply.

No answer. He spoke again. This is Ranger Territory. Identify yourself now— Silence answered him. The Ranger steeled himself for a confrontation: time to face the music.

A brassy blast erupted from somewhere deep inside the Sanctuary.

The Ranger stopped, startled—it sounded for all the world like a Bugle. He waited, then heard it again, clear, piercing, and there was no mistaking it this time—it was the Horn of the Watcher from Reunion Camp. He had heard it once, far away, years ago while on assignment to the Outpost at Reunion. The Watcher is here. The Ranger readied his weapon, and entered via the basement door...

Winchester in his hands, the Ranger crept up, ready for any action that might present itself. Keeping his tread along the wall, the Ranger was able to keep his movements muffled and stop the floor from creaking. He kept his profile low and stayed hidden. Topping the stairs, the Ranger respectfully removed his hat, then surveyed the Sanctuary; no flying bullets presented themselves, and no knife-wielding assailants made themselves known. Likewise, no Agent was seen...

A hand with Bugle waved lazily from the Baptistry. The Ranger crouched down—what sort of non-standard nonsense is this? Is this man drunk? How else to explain a Bugle in the Baptistry? He felt a white-hot anger—who would defile a Sanctuary by getting drunk in it? Then he remembered—the Watcher cannot speak; he is using the Bugle to announce himself. Above the edge of the Baptistry, rough, red hands now beckoned, their owner still hidden in the Baptistry. One hand pointed into the Preacher’s office, then pointing at the other raised hand, directly at the RingWorld upon it.

A Ring? The Watcher has a Ring? Stunned, the Ranger wondered, how did this low-level prisoner get his hands on a RingWorld?

It was even stranger that he wasn’t using the Ring to communicate. Perhaps the Watcher was waiting for proper authorization? The Ranger cleared his throat: Under the authority of the Rangers, you are cleared to use WeSpeex interface to communicate at this Checkpoint. Please comply—

The hand pointed to the ring again, then to the office once more,