The Narrow Path To War

by D L Frizzell

  "There is more than one way through the Plutonic Ridge," Norio said. "The Narrow was simply the easiest route."

  "That's not encouraging," Seneca said.

  "Well, if that's considered the easy way," Niko shrugged, "then I don't think we have too much to worry about."

  "We'll see," Seneca replied. "What do you plan to do now, Alex? I see you're wearing your badge again."

  "Kate didn't really want it," Alex said.

  "You were of the same mind a few days ago. What do you think you'll do with it?" Niko asked.

  "Well," Alex looked thoughtfully at the others. "It looks like there's still a need for a marshal in this area." He polished the badge with his sleeve and looked at it for a long moment. "I think I'll keep it for now."

  "I'll drink to that," Seneca smiled. Everyone raised their shot glasses and swallowed the contents in one gulp. As the fermented sap hit their throats, each of them gave in to raspy coughing fits. The only exception was Kate. She swallowed it and seemed underwhelmed. She raised her eyebrows when everyone stared at her through bleary eyes.

  "Mine is better," she said.

  Epilogue

  Marshal Hugh Redland leaned against a tree near the pond at the base of the Crumbles where Jaeger was drinking, his shirt soaked in blood. Kate had almost completely severed his thumb at the base knuckle. He cursed her silently.

  The sliced appendage dangled upside down beneath his hand. There was no hope of saving it. The flesh was dead. Eventually, it would fester. Infection would then endanger his entire hand. For now, though, it clung to him, even if only by a thin strip of muscle. It still had a thumbprint. His thumbprint. It was even soft to the touch. The thumb was still part of him, even if he could no longer feel sensation there. He could even stand to trim the nail one last time if he thought it would help. But this wasn’t just a thumb he was losing, it was all the abilities it granted him. No longer would he be able to wield a blade or choke an adversary while shoving a pistol barrel in their mouth.

  Redland’s anger flared when a fly landed on his exposed tendons to feed. As he shooed the insect away, he knew it would get no better. He reached around his waist to pull the machete from its sheath with his right hand. It felt wrong holding it that way, but he had no choice. He carefully balanced the dead thumb on a branch before him and angled it so the connecting flesh was directly against the wood. He gripped the machete with his right hand and tested the grip. He felt the urge to stop, as any man who was about to amputate his own finger would, but knew it had to be done. Looking at the branch, easily twice the thickness of his thumb, he lifted the machete.

  He felt the branch shudder as the blade passed through it cleanly. He barely felt his thumb come off but howled nonetheless when he saw it lying in the dirt at his feet. He slumped to the ground and cradled the severed digit in his right hand. As the sense of loss faded, a new thought filled his head.

  Revenge.

  THE END

  And now, a sneak peek at

  Stars Beneath My Feet

  Book Two in the Marshals of Arion saga:

  Wake up, Alex Vonn!

  As tired as I was, and feeling more than a little dizzy, I couldn’t help but get annoyed. Flashes of light, first on my left, then my right, kept flickering in the corners of my eyes. I folded a wobbly arm over my black wide-brimmed hat and pressed down on both sides, squeezing my eyes shut so I could get a little more sleep.

  A rapid staccato of splintering wood under me, accompanied by the sound of popping springs, made me think my bed was collapsing. The accompanying sensation of falling might have been expected, for a moment at least, but it felt very much as if the bed had fallen so fast as to drop out from under me. I jerked my head up to see what was going on.

  It took me a few seconds to recognize the four blue discs surrounding me, each about the size of a garbage can lid with decorative swirls covering their gouged metallic surfaces. They were lashed to wooden struts by aluminum cables, which then connected to an ancient motorcycle frame. I was lying backwards atop this contraption.

  That’s when the realization hit me: I was not on a bed. I was not even in a hotel. I was on my aerobike, a one-person maglev vehicle, a great many meters above a green expanse of foliage.

  The aerobike lurched again, this time going upward. I grabbed my hat to keep from losing it and noticed that those flickering lights were actually the sun. In eight thousand years, the sun hadn’t so much as budged from its position above Arion’s north pole. Now it twirled around my aerobike like a ball at the end of a tether. I shook my head in an attempt to clear my mind.

  I fell backward as a new wave of dizziness struck me, only to discover the field pack I’d been using as a pillow was no longer there to support me. My head bounced on the leather seat with a thud, and I found myself staring upward into the cloudless blue sky. Arion’s two artificial moons, ‘Big Hand’ and ‘Little Hand’, raced around one another in a tight circle, their strobing electronic beacons tracing red and green arcs like a dog chasing its tail.

  It finally dawned on me. They’re not spinning. I am.

  I guessed that my aerobike had gotten thrown out of equilibrium by a stray magnetic eddy. The guy who sold me the magnetically levitated vehicle last year said it was immune to the frequent anomalies that erupted from the planet, but now I thought he was just telling me whatever it took to get my money. Damn salesman. If I ever wanted a chance to beat him senseless, I’d need to get the bike under control. To do that, I’d have to turn around and take the controls.

  I couldn’t move. A wave of panic washed over me as I flailed my arms and legs. Something had me tied down. I twisted to get a better look and saw my pistol and its holster tangled in the strands of the aerobike’s cargo net.

  Shit.

  Sitting up would probably pull the knot tighter, so I forced myself to wait a beat and consider my options. The net was designed to resist tearing, so yanking on it was out of the question. I had a fleeting thought to unbuckle my belt, but put that idea out of my mind as well. The last thing I wanted was to disarm myself, even if for only a moment. Besides, I had another weapon on my belt. It sat sheathed on my left thigh. My falcata, the long, forward-curved blade that completed my rig, hung between the net’s strands, free from obstruction. I could pull it free and cut myself loose. Throwing a glance to the sun as it circled around me, I had second thoughts about that, too. The net was the only thing preventing me from falling off the bike. Maybe you should counteract the bike’s spin first, I told myself, and then deal with the cargo net.

  I leaned on one arm, pressing my hat firmly onto my head so I wouldn’t lose it, and looked over my shoulder to see what the aerobike’s controls might tell me. The little red gauges were jammed to the stops one second, and then jerked back and forth the next. When the dials didn’t calm down after a few seconds, I reached the unfortunate conclusion that I had not been caught in a simple magnetic eddy. I was in the middle of a magnetic storm. I won’t share my choice of words at that moment, but they were descriptive and appropriate for the situation.

  Risking another bout of dizziness, I looked below the aerobike to see how much trouble I was in. The bright green shadow palms of the Rekeire Plain, which normally resembled a tightly-packed collection of velvety umbrellas, were now a circular blur. I could see my field pack’s dark outline atop one of the fronds below. At least it hadn’t fallen through the canopy. I was much heavier, though, and would likely fall through them from my current altitude of about fifty meters.

  Magnetic storms occur frequently on the planet Arion, manifesting themselves in different ways depending on the local geography. In one region, they might draw great plumes of iron dust from the ground and create swirling tornadoes of superheated plasma that we call gusters. In other areas, electro-geysers shoot from the ground and scorch organic material to cinders. There are also storms called magnetic quakes, or just magquakes, which occur all over the planet and resemble what the Founder’s would have called earthqu
akes back in the Solar System. Now, if an occasional tremor was all we had to worry about, they wouldn’t be so bad. There’s one thing for sure, though, if an object has any magnetic components, it can be thrown into the air with disastrous results.

  Like my aerobike.

  Given the current circumstances, I doubted I could do much to get the aerobike under control, so freeing myself from the net jumped back to the top of my to-do list. I fumbled with the falcata’s lanyard, thinking I could cut away the net, but the lurching, spinning aerobike made it impossible to unlace. That was just as well, since the untamed forces of this miserable planet solved the problem a moment later. The g-forces were too much for the clips that held the net in place, so they let go all at once.

  It’s a good thing I have quick reflexes. I threw my arms out to the sides, catching the wooden struts under my armpits. It hurt like hell and a few splinters got through my duster, but that was better than falling what now looked to be sixty meters to the plains below. With the struts holding me up, and my hands being more or less available, I pressed against the struts with the inner part of my arms for a better grip. It took a few moments to untangle the loosened cargo net from my pistol and let it fall. That didn’t mean I was in the clear, not by a long shot. I’d shifted too close to the rear of the aerobike when the net let go. Since magnetically levitated vehicles have a center of gravity like everything else, and since it wasn’t my lucky day, the aerobike began to tip.

  You’d think after six years as a Plainsman Territory Marshal that I’d be better prepared for contingencies like this. I wasn’t. Now I had to think up a solution before the aerobike flipped and dropped me like a side of beef into one of the deadliest ecosystems on the planet.

  The sun still raced around me like a ball at the end of a string. Big Hand and Little Hand were still circling in a tight spiral overhead. The aerobike’s wooden struts sounded as if they were about to snap. Dizzy, but ignoring the world spinning around me, I grabbed the struts with my hands and rocked my legs. The aerobike groaned even more as I did so, but that couldn’t be helped. After the third swing, figuring that I had enough momentum, and kicked my legs up hard. I spread my legs as they topped the struts and planted my boots on the lifting discs. The discs were vibrating like gongs, which meant the local magnetic fields had begun to cavitate. To grossly understate the problem, that’s one more bad thing on a growing list of bad things. Driven by that little bit of extra motivation, I clawed my way onto the aerobike’s seat and grabbed the controls.

  With its center of gravity restored, the aerobike settled into a flat spin, which was only a marginal improvement. The bike’s wooden components creaked as I steered against the rotation, but I figured I’d be okay as long as the aluminum cables held the struts firmly in place. I looked around, confirming that the cables were intact. Now I just needed to straighten the bike’s path, angle the nose downward, and glide to what I hoped would be a soft landing.

  After wrestling the controls for another minute, I got the buffeting under control and headed downward. Even that little bit of luck couldn’t hold out, though. One of the aluminum cables twanged like a broken guitar string. It whipped past the side of my head and snipped the cartilage of my right ear like a pair of scissors. I touched the spot and found that it was already covered in blood. A glance over my shoulder told me that the right rear lifting disc was now somewhat less than fully attached. And here I thought things couldn’t get any worse.

  All things considered, the aerobike still had all four lifting discs attached. A quick test showed that I could still control three of them, so I told myself the problem should be manageable. That ray of optimism lasted all of five seconds. The front left strut exploded, sending splinters flying everywhere. The disc fell and bounced at the end of its mounting cables. My reflexes kicked in fast enough to compensate for the loss, but that didn’t do anything to improve my circumstances. My aerobike seemed to be disintegrating around me, and I hadn’t even gotten down to a survivable altitude. Anyway, the other three discs still provided enough lift for me to stay aloft, even if the bike was shaking like a desert cat in the snow. My forearms going numb from the constant rattling, I squeezed as hard as I could and tipped the aerobike even further into a dive.

  I don’t know why, but I have this innate ability to sense when I’m being watched. Maybe I’ve been a marshal long enough to know, or maybe I’m just paranoid. Still, I knew somebody was down there. If it was something that wanted to eat me, it could damn well wait until my ride had completely fallen apart. Even then, I’d make sure it had to work for the meal.

  I leaned to the right to counterbalance the loss of the front disc and tried adjusting the voltage regulator. The knob was useless, giving me the impression that the potentiometer had been fused. Still, I managed to keep the bike right side up as the ground rushed up toward me. After several breathless moments, I leveled off at five meters above the shadow palms.

  When I took the opportunity to shake a cramp out of my left wrist, I noticed a glint of sunlight between some palm fronds in the distance. I’ve had more gun barrels pointed my direction than anybody has a right to, even a lawman, but my reflexes had been honed by such situations. I instinctively jinked the aerobike to the left. It spun counterclockwise and bucked underneath me.

  Getting the bike under control again would be a little tougher, but my quick action paid off. A bullet whizzed past me instead of through me. Strangely, I heard no gunshot.

  “Are you freaking kidding me?” I growled under my breath. Somebody was actually trying to kill me – with a silencer, no less - even before the magquake was finished with its own attempt on my life. I knew my list of surviving enemies was probably a lot longer than my list of friends, but come on! My first impulse was to make the best possible speed toward the horizon, damaged aerobike or not, magquake or not, and get away without any unwanted holes in my body. But something else inside me refused to run away without an appropriate response. I eased the yoke back, feeling increased vibration in the chassis as I dumped forward momentum and came to a stop. A quick look over the side showed that I still had my lifting discs, although one of them spun like a top at the end of its cable.

  It then occurred to me that stopping made me an easy target. If I really wanted that person’s head, I’d have to turn the tables somehow. And oh, did I have an idea. Just a few minutes ago, I’d been concerned about predators under the canopy. Now they could just as easily work to my advantage. I grinned with satisfaction as I unholstered my pistol. I fired all eight rounds into the sky. “Come and get it!” I yelled as the shots boomed out. I didn’t know who the asshole with the silenced rifle was, but I had a feeling they were going to get some unwelcome visitors very soon.

  The gauges on the aerobike’s dashboard were still going nuts, but the little vehicle had proved to be a lot sturdier than I’d given it credit for. Maybe I wouldn’t beat the crap out of that salesman after all. Just to be prudent and avoid further pot shots, I coaxed a little speed out of the shaky vehicle and made for the horizon. I’d lost the opening in the palms anyway, so it was just as likely that I was as concealed against my attacker as he was to me. As I brought the bike’s nose around, I imagined the stunned look on his face when every hungry carnivore in the region came to see what the ruckus was all about.

  For some reason, fate never gives me an easy win. I heard my own screech of surprise as the planet’s magnetic fields launched me into the sky again. I swore as the g-forces pressed down on me for several long seconds.

  I should have landed when I had the chance.

  My eyes darted to each of the three remaining lifting discs. They were all shaking visibly now. Whatever stirred up this magnetic storm, it came from deep within Arion’s core, and it was growing stronger. The fourth disc, the one that had been connected to the shattered strut, now raced ahead of the bike as if it were a kite in a high wind.

  In retrospect, taking a shortcut across the Rekeire Plains had been a really bad idea. I g
lanced back at the foliage getting smaller behind me. Once again, I fought with the aerobike’s controls. Now they were completely unresponsive. My altitude was higher than I could estimate and the aerobike showed no signs of stopping. I suppose I should have considered my next decision a little more carefully, but instincts outpaced my brain. Admittedly, that’s a character flaw that hasn’t always served me well. Just ask anybody who knows me. But sometimes, you just have to act. The two wires connecting the battery to the voltage regulator were in easy reach below the seat. I yanked them loose.

  The results were immediate, but not what I’d hoped for. The aerobike crested its ballistic arc through the sky and started to lose altitude. Fast. It lost whatever stabilizing force had kept its flight in check up to that point, and yes, it also started spinning again.

  Strangely, the splintering noises I’d heard the first time around were replaced by more of a grinding sound. I guessed the aerobike’s wooden crossmembers must be so shredded that they had separated into their individual fiber strands. Seeing the error of my impulsive act, I leaned forward to re-attach the flailing battery cables. If only it were that easy. With the increased jarring, I had to grab the old motorcycle frame on both sides to stay on the seat. As the cables were flailing about, and arcs of electricity shot out whenever they came close to the bike’s battery, I wasn’t sure I could manage it.

  I never got the chance to make a decision, because the bike’s already-weakened rear lifting disc tore loose and sailed away like a clay pigeon. After a brief curse at my continuing rotten luck, I focused all my energies on keeping the aerobike from flipping over.

  As the aerobike neared the foliage below, it veered to one side and decelerated. I was still falling, just not as fast. Was I about to get launched into the sky again? I still didn’t like the thought of being stranded in the middle of a hostile nowhere, but this was one rollercoaster I didn’t want to ride a second time. I looked down and saw my hat resting on the canopy below. When did I lose that? I wondered. Seeing that my field pack was nearby, still supported easily upon the weight of the shadow palms, I considered jumping.