Backwoods Station - Bootleg sci fi sample chapter

BACKWOODS STATION – BOOTLEG

Sterling walked through the door of Fenix station and nodded to Madge behind her desk as she tried to ignore him.

"Morning Madge," he tipped the brim of his hat.

The action earned him a sniff of disapproval and what sounded like a harrumph as she cleared her throat.

"Sterling!" Pete yelled across the almost empty room.

Dominique glanced up from the file in front of her and watched as Sterling ambled back to the Chief Deputy's office.

"You bellowed?"

"Hell yeah I bellowed. You see, I have to yell Sterling. It's the only fucking way to get through to you."

Sterling glanced at the digital clock on the wall.

"I'm not late, Pete."

"You dragging ass in half way through a work day is not the issue here," Pete pushed back from his desk.

The wooden chair creaked under his weight as he shifted to put his feet up on the desk.

"Then what is?"

"What is what?" Pete put both hands behind his head and gave a satisfied smirk of a grunt.

"You're just messing with me?"

"How was your coffee this morning Sterling?"

"A couple quarts low," Sterling answered. "But I aim to make up for it in the next hour or so."

"That sounds like a hell of a plan," Pete kept smirking.

"But?"

"But I think I've got something better for you to do."

He used the heel of his shoe to shove a manila folder across the smooth surface of the plank desk.  Sterling picked it up and folded it open.

"Wit-Sec is sending us a squealer," Pete crowed.

"That ain't normal," said Sterling, eye crinkled in concentration as he studied the single sheet of paper ensconced in the folder.

""Nothing normal about this witness," said Pete. "Seems they need extra safe keeping."

"And the powers that be think that's going to happen out here?"

Pete moved his feet and sat up.

"Hell, the powers that be are in the crosshairs. These are some of your old buddies."

"That's not in the file."

"I know," Pete grinned. "I redacted it."

"Redacted?"

"That means to pull out a lot of information."

"I know what redacted means," Sterling grumbled.

"I'm doing this as a favor to the Chief in Musk. Man, you are grumpy without your coffee."

"I tried to warn you."

"Yeah, well, you can pick up another round on your way to the station. The witness is going to be on the next train in."

"And you want me baby sitting? What the hell am I supposed to do with a witness way out here?"

"Find a room and lay low I suspect," said Pete. "It's protocol."

Sterling waved the thin folder in the air.

"This ain't protocol."

Pete cackled.

"Don't I know it. But I'm told this witness is a golden egg, and since you nearly got my station burned down again, you're pulling the duty."

"It's still here, ain't it."

Pete glanced over his shoulder at the clock.

"You better hurry, or you won't get your coffee."

"Damn it Pete," said Sterling.

But he dropped the file on the desk and hurried through the long row of desks past Madge. She growled at him as he left, but he ignored her. If he hurried, he could still get two to-go cups of Jamil's finest dark roast.

And that nectar just might make the day get a little better.

CHAPTER

It didn't.

The coffee was as good as ever. Jamil was an artist, a craftsman who took great pride in brewing the finest cup of coffee on the red planet.

And while Sterling hadn't tasted all of the java the world had to offer, he was still impressed with Jamil's. If it wasn't the very best, he couldn't find a reason to argue it wasn't.

The second cup was still warm in his hand by the time the train arrived and he started searching passengers.

Not many people got off in Backwoods Station.

When he arrived a few short weeks ago, banished to the tiny Galactic Marshal's station on the edge of the dome that kept Martian colonists safe in the harsh atmosphere, he was the only person to disembark.

This morning, there were five.

He knew what he was searching for though and smiled a grim smile.

There was only one woman in the mix, getting off from the car just behind the mag-lev electric engine by herself.

Sterling pushed off the pole he was leaning against and began to walk toward her.

So did three of the men who got off the train before her.

He watched them spread into a triangle formation, or diamond, he thought, if she was the fourth point.

Then their hands pawed at bulges in the small of their backs and pulled out sleek matte blaster pistols.

She didn't even have time to scream.

Sterling dropped the cup of coffee and drew, trigger swishing as the end of the barrel cleared the holster.

His first two shots blew through the man on the right, then the man in the middle. The third guy jumped, surprised at the ambush that interrupted his ambush and began to turn.

Sterling shot him in the shoulder.

The assassin spun around, mouth open in a wide O. Sterling shot him in the throat as he fell, then spun around to secure his surroundings.

Smart people were running from the uncrowded station.

One of the men who had gotten of the train stood and stared, both hands raised in the air.

Sterling glanced down at the spilled coffee and sent up a silent prayer of mourning as the woman drew a breath.

"Galactic Marshal, ma’am," he pulled aside his jacket to show her the silver star on his belt.

"You shot those men so fast," she gushed.

"Did I?"

"I saw you drop the cup," she was on the verge of hyperventilating. "You shot them before it landed."

"Maybe," Sterling kept his eyes moving, hunting for the next threat.

"You're supposed to have an escort," he grumbled.

"There," the woman pointed over her shoulder.

A dumpy looking scarecrow of a man, short and thin with an overlarge head spilled out of the train opening, one hand clutching the front of his pants, the other holding a blaster that looked too large for his hand.

It wavered in the air and settled on Sterling.

"Now you just hold it right there, Mister!" his high pitched voice cracked, big head bobbling on a scrawny neck as he tried to take in the three dead bodies on the platform floor.

One of the assassins stirred and clutched at the polished metal under him.

"Don't move," the escort squeaked.

"You talking to him or me?" Sterling held up his blaster sideways, tilting his body to make a smaller target, just in case the man decided to shoot.

"You. Both. Where's Pete?"

"He sent me," said Sterling.

"He's a Marshal," said the woman as she stood still, both hands up even though she was the one being escorted.

"Where's your tin?" the man warbled.

Sterling shifted open his coat to show the star on his belt.

The skinny man nodded and shifted his aim to the squirming man on the platform.

"Assassins," he stated.

"Surprised they didn't try something on the train."

"Probably knew what they were up against," Knotts squeaked. "I'm Knotts."

"Jennings," Sterling slid his blaster back in his holster.

"I should have known by the hat."

"You want to point that thing somewhere else?"

Knotts looked at the gun in his hand and flinched, as if he was surprised it was still there. He lowered it, but didn't put it away.

Sterling stepped to the man on the platform and edged him over with the tip of his boot.

"You shot me in the back," the man gasped.  The tips of his fingers probed the gaping seared hole in his chest.

"You should have turned around," said Sterling. "I would have shot you in the front."

"Who sent you?" Knotts bent over into the man's face.

"I think we know who sent them," said the woman.

"He's got to say it," Knotts explained.

The man on the platform floor took a shallow breath and then stopped breathing.

"I don't think he's talking," said Sterling.

"I'll make him talk," Knotts said as he reached down to grab the man by the collar. "Oh."

He let go and stepped back.

"I guess he's done talking," said Sterling.

"Did Pete send you?" Knotts stared at Sterling. "Why you?"

"I think it was his idea of a joke."

"I don't think that's funny," said Knotts.

"Neither did they," said Sterling as he nodded at the three bodies. "Come on ma ‘me. Let's get you off the street."

He motioned the woman and Knotts to follow him. They stepped around the puddle of coffee as miniaturized robots scurried from vents in the wall to clean up the mess. One bounced between the three bodies as it tried to clean up the blood on the metal.

Obviously I'm going to change Knott's name. Plus there are 37k more words to follow.

Help me get a cover?  Venmo a couple of bucks.