Clash of Steel: Bayonet Books Anthology, #10

By J. R. Handley, Rick Partlow, Nathan Pedde and 10 more

A hundred tons of steel and more firepower than the devil himself… they should be invincible, but armored combat is brutal and mistakes are fatal.

Within, mech jockeys and tread heads take on the world one powerful blast at a time, risking it all for duty, fame, and glory.

 

But deep down, they fear a savage contradiction:

 

Armor can be your salvation.

 

It can also be your worst nightmare.

 

Which will hold true? Climb into the commander's hatch and find out. Buy a copy of this amazing anthology today. You deserve answers!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Bayonet Books
• Release date: Sep 19, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223569404

Book preview

CLASH OF STEEL

BAYONET BOOKS ANTHOLOGY

BOOK TEN

J. R. HANDLEY G CLATWORTHY ASHLEY R. POLLARD STEVEN KONECNI CRAIG MARTELLE EZEKIEL JAMES BOSTON BLAINE LEE PARDOE RICK PARTLOW ROBERT TILLSLEY ZANE VOSS JAMES M. WARD MICHAEL WALLEY NATHAN PEDDE KEITH HEDGER

Bayonet Books

All characters in this book are fictitious. This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters, and incidents are the product of the authors’ imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. All rights are reserved under the international and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

© 2023 G. Clatworthy, © 2023 Steven Konecni, © 2023 Ashley Pollard, © 2023 Rick Partlow, © 2023 Blaine Lee Pardoe, © 2023 Craig Martelle, © 2023 Robert Tillsley, © 2023 J. R. Handley & James Ward, © 2023 Keith Hedger, © 2023 Michael Walley, © 2023 Sean Young, © 2023 Nathan Pedde, © 2023 Zane Voss

CONTENTS

Priscilla, Mech of the Desert

G Clatworthy

Indian Summer Rain

Ashley R. Pollard

Twelve Minutes

Steven Konecni

Without My Armor, I Am Nothing

Craig Martelle

The Dangers of Being a Xenobiologist

Ezekiel James Boston

Bring The Hate

Keith Hedger

Episode I: The Trope Wars

Blaine Lee Pardoe

Steel and Fire

Rick Partlow

Clay Breath

Robert Tillsley

Laugh or Cry

Zane Voss

THE WRATH OF THE MARTIAN

Nathan Pedde

The Eternal Watch

James M. Ward & J. R. Handley

The Promise

Michael Walley

Also by Bayonet Books

PRISCILLA, MECH OF THE DESERT

G CLATWORTHY

Scavenging in the desert, Clark’s happy with only his X-250 mech, Priscilla, for company. But when he rescues a kid from being eaten alive, he learns that he’ll face anything the desert can throw up to protect her and get her back to her family.

This story is dedicated to my husband who wants his own mech and has filled our games room with models because he can’t have a life-sized one. It is written in UK English and contains cursing.

PRISCILLA, MECH OF THE DESERT

I believe in you. Now, repeat after me: Fuck.

The cockpit filled with the harsh noise of mechanical beeps and whirs not dissimilar to the noise he imagined a cat would make if you shut it in a toolbox. Clark covered his ears.

###### POLITENESS PROTOCOL BREACH. ###### UNABLE TO ADD WORD TO DICTIONARY.

Clark laughed as the beeps turned into his mech’s smooth female voice. Never mind, Priss, we’ll get there. Maybe I’ll find you a new drive when we get your replacement arm. OK, scan the field. Let’s see what we got.

The mech stayed stubbornly still. Clark sighed. Please, would you scan the field?

SCAN INITIATED.

He rolled his eyes as the two-tonne mech made the scan, then focused on the blinking screen in front of him. Back up a minute. What was that? The mech replayed the footage. Hot damn! It’s an X-250, just like you. Let’s get closer and see if we don’t get lucky.

Priscilla, his dented X-250 with one working arm, strode forward with clunky strides while Clark busied himself gathering his tools. The abandoned mech lay in a pile of metal junk, the brainchild of some long-dead politician. Clark couldn’t remember the dead president’s name, but whoever he was, he’d bribed states to donate parkland for his electronic graveyards. Local officials had signed up in droves. Thank fuck. It meant Clark could find spare parts for his mech.

He looped his canvas backpack over his shoulder and opened the hatch. Clark cocked his gun and waited. Nothing. The only sign of life was the large birds circling overhead in the dusty sky.

I ain’t dead yet, he growled at them, but they merely cawed and kept up their vigil, beady eyes watching for any corpses lying on the sandy ground.

OK, Priss, looks like the coast’s clear. You keep guard, you hear. He waited for the tell-tale beep that signalled she’d received his command. Please, would you kindly keep watch for me while I attempt to find you a replacement arm, your majesty?

THERE’S NO NEED FOR SARCASM.

Clark huffed and descended the twelve steps to the ground. He checked again, using his rifle’s scope to scan for any sign of movement. You couldn’t be too careful in these junkyards. He patted Priscilla twice for luck or out of habit, he’d forgotten which, slung his rifle over his shoulder, and strolled forward to the abandoned mech. It was in worse shape than his own, and his shoulders slumped.

Maybe he’d get lucky. Lord knows they needed a break. With a final look around, he unscrewed a panel and plugged in his diagnostic kit. The mech blinked to life. Good, so there’s some juice in you. Now let’s see what’s wrong with you.

He whistled softly as the diagnostics filled his screen with error codes: memory full, hydraulic pressure leakage in the legs… The list scrolled on. Phewie, that’s more error codes than sand mites in a desert. Now, let’s pop your hatch and see if there’s anything worthwhile inside.

He pressed a button, and the hatch creaked open, leaving a trail of rust particles in its wake. He shook his head and ducked inside. The chair was busted, and the screens flickered on and off. But were those custom steering controls? He extracted his screwdriver from the toolkit, twirled it, and disconnected the red leather steering column.

Humming a half-remembered tune, he tested out the arms. They groaned against the weight of the junk before popping through. He rotated them and nodded. They weren’t pretty, but the hydraulics worked. He pressed the button sequence to disconnect the right arm. It popped off with a steaming click, and he grinned.

Okey dokey, let’s see if you’ve got anything else for us, mister. He considered a replacement screen for the scanner, but he already had a dozen stored up, and thirteen felt like overkill. His eyes lit on a green glow behind a glass. Hot damn! A mirror crystal.

He unscrewed the glass panel with a curse and grabbed the crystal, feeling its warmth against his palm. This would fetch a pretty penny at the Exchange. He grinned, already feeling the hot liquor sliding down his throat. He pocketed the gem and climbed out of the mech.

Squinting against the sun, he judged the time. An hour until sundown. Enough time to snag the arm and get to safety before the critters came out. He frowned something nudging at his brain. The birds had gone. He swore and ducked down.

There wasn’t much that scared the waste vultures, but people desperate enough to kill them for food certainly did. Junkers. He scanned left and right, then he saw it. Movement less than a hundred metres to his left. Clark judged the distance to his mech. He could make it. He took a half step in that direction when the wind carried the voices to him.

What do with it?

Baby child, good to eat, yes.

Muffled cries floated over to him. He hesitated a moment. Maybe it wasn’t a child, probably just some poor dumb animal stuck in the desert. Was that words he could hear? He gripped his rifle. He couldn’t let the junkers eat a child.

He crouched and scuttled closer, keeping tight to the heaps of metal that rose up on either side. From behind the remains of some old-fashioned vehicle, he used his scope. A small child with purple hair looked up in terror at the masked junkers as they debated what to do with her. He took two deep breaths and crept closer, staying behind the inhuman junkers, out of their eyeline.

Clark aimed and shot a truck. The noise of the bullet hitting the metal reverberated through the late afternoon air.

Whassa that? The junkers both turned, and one of them ran over to investigate, waving his gun slash club above his head and shouting the traditional junker war cry of ‘AAAAAAAAHHHHHH.’

Clark hit the other one on the back of the head with the butt of his rifle and pulled down the gag over the kid’s mouth. He blinked in surprise at the small lizardkin staring back at him with enormous eyes. You got anywhere to go, kid? he whispered, cutting through her bonds with his knife.

She shook her head. The junker let out a howl of annoyance and raced back from the truck. He let out another howl that echoed over the scrap heap as the rest of its clan joined in.

OK, looks like you’re coming with me. Run! Clark fired off two shots behind him and sprinted for his mech. The lizardkin darted in front of him on all fours, her slim body winding over the metal so fast it was almost like she flew.

Enemy hostiles. Engage.

The robot didn’t move an inch. He clambered inside after the lizardkin and closed the hatch as misshapen junkers streamed out of the scrap, their bodies coated with rubbish.

Priscilla, they are going to kill us if you don’t take them out! He swore and shook the controls before he remembered. Please!

That politeness protocol was going to get him killed one of these days. Priscilla whirred into action, her artillery gunning down the scavengers with mechanical precision. One jumped onto the command module, spoiling his vision. Clark gave a one-fingered salute and turned on the wipers with accompanying water jets.

The yellow-skinned creature gave a cry halfway between pain and surprise as the pressurised jet shot straight up his wazoo, knocking him loose. Clark laughed.

Remind me to re-pressurise your jets, Priss.

NOTE TAKEN.

Now, let’s get outta here. Hold on, kiddo. He pressed the boost button, and the mech strutted forward at double speed, the jerking motion making him bounce in the chair. Once they were closer to town, he set the autopilot on and turned round. The small lizardkin stared up at him.

This close, he could see that the purple fronds on her head weren’t hair but a reptilian crest. She wore an oversized faded linen top over brown leggings. Her sleeves covered her hands, but her green scaled feet stuck out from the bottom of her trousers, dark claws clipping on the metal floor of the cockpit.

Got a name?

Ar’laz.

OK, Ar’laz, I’m Clark. This here is my mech, Priscilla.

PLEASED TO MEET YOU. The mech’s female voice sounded over the internal speakers.

She’s mighty keen on manners.

H-hello. The child’s voice rasped over her dry tongue.

You want a drink or something? He handed her his canteen, and the girl gulped down the tepid water. Slow down; you’ll make yerself sick. Now, you got family? Somewhere I can take you?

She pointed to the west, where the red sun crested the horizon.

The wilds, is that it?

The girl nodded and wiped her mouth with the back of her sleeve.

How far?

She shrugged and blinked up at him with huge green eyes. He looked away, unable to meet the gaze of such an innocent. Well, he was going to do better. He would be there for this child.

We-ell, Clark rubbed the back of his neck. The sun’s setting, and that means the critters’ll be out. So I reckon the best place for you is back in town with me for tonight, and then we’ll head out tomorrow first thing.

He slipped back into the chair and steered Priscilla back to the town. They were still five clicks out, and the sun set fast out here. He watched the mech’s shadow lengthen on the rocky ground as they plodded to the spot that marked the town.

They got five hundred metres away when the shield stopped them. Clark opened his hatch and squinted.

Come on Roy, it’s me. Open the shield.

From the lookout tower came a familiar voice. No can do. You know the rules. Be back by sunset.

I’ll give you rules. I gotta child in here with me. You want her to spend the night out here?

Nothing I can do.

Sonofa… he trailed off as the girl stared up at him. Behind him, the sun dipped below the horizon, and the sky turned bruised purple as night fought to chase away the light. Maybe they’d get lucky. Critters didn’t always come this close to town.

A guttural howl told him his luck had just run out.

Hold on, kid, this is about to get rocky.

He checked the scanner. A dozen large dots tracked across the radar screen. There was always a chance it was more latecomers like him. He leaned against the cockpit window, his breath steaming up the thick glass. A shadow darted between rocks and disappeared. He swore. Closer than he’d hoped.

The howl sounded again, and this time it echoed across the desert as critters took it up and passed on the message: food.

Break it down for me, please, Priss.

SEVEN HOSTILES… EIGHT HOSTILES… NINE HOSTILES. CLASSIFICATION: DESERT WOLVES. CHANCE OF SURVIVAL SEVENTY PER CENT.

Priss, arm the cannon, please. Let’s give these critters something to howl about.

CANNON ARMED.

Fire at anything that moves.

The gun roared with bursts of light, and the satisfying yelps told Clark that the mech had hit. He glanced at the scanner. Shit. More of them coming in hot. The mech couldn’t get them all, and the critters could tear chunks out of her if they got her surrounded. He picked up the kid by the back of her tattered clothes and shoved her into the cockpit seat.

This is the real deal, kiddo. If anything comes through that hatch that isn’t me, press the red button.

TWELVE HOSTILES.

The lizardkin nodded, eyes wider than before. With that, he pressed the button to open the hatch, cocked his rifle, and squinted out into the dark desert.

Priss, I need a flare. I gotta see to be able to hit something.

The dull thwump of the flare was lost in the gunfire, but it lit up the night sky, showing at least half a dozen gaping mouths filled with row after row of jagged teeth. He aimed into their gaping maws and took down three with concentrated bursts of bullets.

A fourth zagged right at the last second, and Clark’s shot went wide. The critter bunched its muscular black legs and leapt. He caught the movement just in time and held up his gun in front of his face. Its teeth gnashed on the rifle butt, crunching the polished wooden stock. He kicked out, his steel-toed boots thudding into its scaly stomach. It yelped and released the rifle.

Priscilla! Hard left if you please!

The mech whirled round, and the critter’s paws scrabbled on the metal ladder before it flew out. It crashed into another beast before skidding along the rocky desert ground. He raised the hatch and flung his gun to the floor.

Critters jumped up, their claws scraping at the window. Clark curled his lip. They were even uglier up close. The mech rocked under the impact as the animals attacked. This was too dicey.

TWENTY HOSTILES. CHANCES OF SURVIVAL: THIRTY PER CENT.

Priss, switch on the outboard speakers for me, would ya please?

SPEAKERS ACTIVATED.

Roy, if you don’t open this shield, I’m gonna tell Darleen why them hogs got let loose last week, and you know she’s gonna ask whatchoo was doing with Kylie in that sty.

Alright, jeez. Shield opening thirty degrees. Haul ass Clark or that piece of junk you call home’ll be chopped in two.

You heard him, Priss. Move it.

FULL ACCELERATION.

Clark kept his eyes on the shield, waiting for the gap to open. A chink appeared, barely big enough for a car to pass through, let alone the mech, but it was all he could hope for. He pressed the boosters and held on as the mech sped through the gap.

Close it up! he yelled.

A fizzing sound told him that the shield had closed. He whooped with joy, then froze at the unmistakable growl of a critter. He turned the mech round in a series of plodding steps. One single animal pawed the ground, its yellow eyes filled with hatred.

He locked the target system onto its scaly hide and fired up the plasma sword. With two quick clicks, Priscilla lunged forward and swept her plasma blade up one-handed, cleaving the beast in two.

Hot damn! Clark fist-bumped the control panel. Let’s park her up and find somewhere to sleep.

He walked Priscilla up to the wooden sign that had the words ‘mech holding bag’ scrawled over it in flaking paint. He parked her up next to a rusty X-400 model – Dale was in town – then checked her charge and set her in guard mode for the night.

Clark gestured to the lizardkin to follow him and locked the mech with his fingerprint before heading down Main Street. The name was grander than the dusty road that split the ramshackle town in two. It was lined with bars, gambling halls, whorehouses, and the other necessities found in every frontier town through the desert lands. He entered the swing doors of his usual establishment and sauntered over to the bar.

Ar’laz stared with those wide eyes at the people drinking and gaming.

Pull up your hood, kiddo.

She obliged, and he steered her to the bar, where he ordered a whisky and a soda for the lizardkin. Ar’laz took the glass and lowered her face, covering enough to flick her blue tongue into the fizzy drink. She spluttered at the bubbles and kept her eyes on the bartender as he eyed her.

Ain’t had a lizardkin in here before. It house trained?

She won’t cause any problems.

No, it’s you I’m worried ‘bout, Clark. I take it you’re behind the dead critters outside town.

News spread fast. He cradled his whisky and met the bartender’s silver eyes. What can I say? I make things interesting.

The bartender snorted.

Where’s Dale?

The bartender’s robotic eye swivelled, and he yelled, Georgette! Don’t think I can’t see you creepin’ over the bar to steal that wine! Sit back down, or I’ll get Madeline out to do the talking.

Behind him, Georgette sank back onto her stool, a sheepish look on her wrinkled face. Theft averted, the bartender turned back to Clark. What makes you think he wants to see you?

Clark slipped the mirror crystal from his pocket. Both the bartender’s eyes focused on the shining gem. He let out a low whistle. Aren’t you a lucky son’o… he paused at the lizardkin’s keen expression, …mother. He’s out back.

Clark nodded and downed his whisky. Come on, kiddo. He led them through the throng of people tough enough or desperate enough to make their lives out here and headed through a slatted wooden door to the private suite.

Four heads looked up from the card table, eyes narrowed, and hands went to guns at their belts. Dale nodded, and three of them left the room, bumping past Clark on their way out.

Dale kicked back in his chair and eyed the tall man. You got some nerve coming here to see me.

That was an honest trade.

Dale’s gun was out faster than a sand snake strike. Crooked batteries ain’t no honest trade. I sold some to the Zimmor Clan. Clark winced. You can imagine they weren’t best pleased when the things set fire.

I scavenged those batteries from the scrap heaps, I didn’t know–

Luckily for you, I had a score to settle with the Clan, and taking out two of their gunner bots was the perfect payback. He laid two badges on the table. Clark recognised the lightning-shaped Z of the Zimmor clan. They didn’t part from those badges unless they left the clan, and they only left in a box.

So, we’re even?

Not yet. Dale’s eyes narrowed as he took in the quivering child behind Clark’s legs. Who’s the kid?

Lizardkin. Found her in the desert. I want to get her home.

"You’re wasting your time. If you can cross over to the wilds, her family will likely eat you before you can say, ‘Hi, I rescued your kid.’"

Clark ignored the high-pitched imitation of his voice. I didn’t know you cared.

Hah! True. What’s it to me how you choose to die? So, why are you here?

I need parts. Priscilla’s arm seized up, and junkers chased me off before I could get a new one.

Come see me tomorrow. No promises.

Clark nodded and herded the kid back into the bar. The bartender’s robotic eye widened.

You’re still alive?

Looks that way. Got a room?

He nodded and handed over a key.

Clark ignored the come-ons from the women and men that lined the creaky wooden steps and headed up to the room. You couldn’t say much about the rooms at the Corral, but at least they were clean. He wedged a chair against the door, sank onto a straw mattress, and closed his eyes.

Dawn flared into the room like gunfire. Hot and heavy and aimed right at his eyes. He groaned and rolled out of the sunbeam that lasered through the gap in the hessian curtains, knowing that sleep wouldn’t come back this morning but still not wanting to get up.

A small growl came from across the room. He eyed the small lizardkin, curled up in a ball, eyes open and staring at him.

Hungry, are you? Come on then. The food here won’t kill you, but you might wish it did. He laughed at his own joke and made his way downstairs, the child skittering behind him.

Clark selected a table free from snoring drunks and waved to the bartender for some food. Two bowls of slop were plonked on the table a minute later, grey and thick. You didn’t ask questions about the food out here in the frontier town where nothing was wasted. He forced it down as the lizardkin gobbled her dish like she hadn’t eaten in a week. Without a word, he swallowed his mouthful and offered her the rest of his bowl. She took it and murmured her thanks before scraping the bowl clean.

Breakfast done, he tossed some coins to the barkeep and headed out to Dale’s Emporium of Wonders. A fancy name for a dirty pawn shop, but sooner or later, everyone came to Dale. Clark pushed open the door to the sound of a dull, clunking bell and ducked under hanging metal limbs, strung up like skeletal spiders guarding a web of ropes and pulleys. A desert bike shone above them, catching the dawn light on its red paint. The lizardkin stayed close to his side, her eyes wide as saucers as she gazed up at Dale’s wonders.

Look who the critter dragged in. Wasn’t sure you’d have the guts to show up. Dale looked up from where he sat, polishing his gun.

I need parts: an arm for my mech. Bullets. And rations.

Water too, if you’ve still got this fool notion to get to the wilds. It don’t come cheap.

I never expected it to.

You good for it?

Clark emptied his coin pouch onto the oiled countertop. Dale didn’t even bother to look at the coins. With a sigh, Clark pulled out the mirror crystal. Dale reached for it, but Clark closed his fist around the small rock.

Payment on receipt.

Dale grinned and stood. He bustled around the store, grabbing ration packs and water tablets before stopping by a large, ratcheted winch on the wall, which he turned to lower a large mechanical arm down from the ceiling. Once it was at waist height, he returned to the counter and started piling the merchandise onto a transport bot.

Behind Clark, the door clunked open.

Clark leaned against the counter and slitted his eyes, waiting for Dale to finish. Somewhere, there was a place where a man could sleep until noon, where the sun wasn’t hot as all hell, and shade was plentiful. He dreamed of it until the familiar click of a cocking gun flashed in his ears. He snapped his eyes open, and his fingers went to his gun belt.

A flash of light on a metallic Z told him who he was dealing with. The Zimmor Clan. The moustached man reached into his pocket and pulled out a silver six-shooter. Dale raised his hands. Clark drew his gun lightning-fast and aimed it at the lone gunner.

You don’t want to do that, Clark said.

Ain’t got no trouble with you, mister. Just leave out the door.

Clark glanced around, his gun still aimed at moustache. He couldn’t see the kid and hoped she’d scuttled off to hide somewhere in one of the dingy corners of the shop.

Can’t do that.

Don’t be a hero. The voice came from behind him. Clark turned his head and looked straight down the barrel of a laser rifle. The Zimmor Clan had resources. Behind the gun was a man wearing the largest hat Clark had ever seen. With a look at Dale, Clark shrugged and pointed his gun at the ceiling.

Let’s all calm down. No one’s a hero.

Good. Big hat motioned with the gun, and Clark stepped to one side, gun still pointing up. An unnecessarily large step that took him directly under one of the pulleys. Clark pulled the trigger, and the bike swung down, thwacking big hat in the face. He collapsed, setting off a spray of laser fire. Clark dived to the side, gun up, and shot moustache in the side.

The other man sunk in on himself, his shot going wide. Dale strode around the counter and kicked the gun out of his hand.

Those low-life sons of… he caught sight of the child sidling up to them, mothers. Well, Clark, you saved my life. The arm is yours and the rations.

Thank y–

For the price of one mirror crystal and first pick of your next salvage.

Figured. Clark handed it over, paused with his fingers still on the jewel. Fitted?

Fine.

Dale finished loading up the transporter and whistled all the way to the mech bay. He had trussed up the two clan members and shoved their badges where the sun don’t shine as a message. Clark shook his head. He had no use for warfare between folks, not when there were bigger horrors out in the desert.

He leaned against a building, enjoying the shade and the slight coolness of the air before the full blaze of the sun’s heat while Dale worked. The lizard girl chased a large bug that hopped over the dirt at the edge of town. He watched with a morbid fascination as she caught and ate the creature. One leg hung from her mouth, still twitching.

Folks from the town nodded as they picked up their own mechs and went about the day’s tasks. His lips curved up as he saw Darleen chasing Roy across Main Street with a frying pan.

A woman strode over and took up a position next to him. S’pose we got you to thank for the dead critters outside the shield this morning.

On instinct, his gaze travelled to the fight spot from last night. The bodies were already gone. Nothing was wasted in the desert. He tipped his hat to her. Word travels fast.

And the one inside the shield.

Ah.

That shield is in place for a reason, Clark. I can’t have you disrespecting our rules because you can’t get back in time.

There was a child.

Her face softened for a moment, and he pointed out the lizardkin who now stood next to Dale, passing him tools as the man whistled a tuneless song.

Meera –

Quick as a laser shot, her face shuttered again. That’s Sheriff Lane to you. And regardless, the rules stand. You’re banished from the town for a full moon cycle.

Come on! I got an order to fill next week.

Then you can find somewhere else to make the drop. With that, she strode off. His gaze flicked down her body as she walked away. He couldn’t help it; she was the one that got away. Or…his hand went to his jaw… if he was being honest with himself, the one that slapped him so hard across the face he could still feel the sting of it if the wind blew right, then left without a word. He didn’t blame her. Telling a dame you wanted to keep things light and were glad she’d miscarried after two years together would do that. He could blame the drink, but the truth was it was all him, unable to deal with the heartache, unable to support her when she needed it. No, the only person to blame was himself.

He tore his eyes away from the Sheriff and focused on his mech.

Trouble with the missus? Dale asked.

You know it ain’t like that. Come on, Dale. I want to get moving before the sun peaks.

Dale gave a final turn of the wrench and wiped his hands on an oil-stained rag. All done. I hear there’s sand dogs to the West.

Clark nodded, appreciating the intel.

Remember, I get first pick of your next salvage. Maybe you’ll find something good out by those scaly bas– he paused and looked at the young lizardkin next to him –folks. Maybe even a sand bear’s tooth.

You don’t believe in that fairy story?

Dale shrugged. All I know is that if you get one, I’ve got a buyer who’ll pay enough so we can both take a vacation at the Oasis.