Star People Legacy

by Smith, T. L.

  Star People

  Legacy

  T. L. Smith

  This book is a work of fiction. All characters, places, organizations and events are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblances are entirely coincidental.

  Star People Legacy

  Copyright © 2015 by T. L. Smith

  All rights reserved.

  Cover Design by T. L. Smith

  Cover Art contributing photographers:

  Alexeys/iStock by Getty Images

  Chesterf/iStock by Getty Images

  NASA/CXC/JPL-Caltech/STScI

  ISBN-13: 978-1508725077

  ISBN-10: 1508725071

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Life sends us down many paths and hopefully there are people there to guide and support our journey.

  I give a huge thanks to my mother, Patsy, who never discouraged me from doing what I wanted, even if secretly she thought I was crazy for wanting to be a writer.

  A hug to the rest of my family for cheering me on from the sidelines: Denita, Adam, Devion, Jayden and Kullen. Alan Stevens, my step-brother, who crossed the country to help out while I was laid up and trying desperately to finish this book. My brother Bill, who introduced me to Science Fiction and let me raid his library. Rick and Brenda Rodriguez, for being my friends when I needed to clear my head, define characters, or just goof off.

  A special thanks to Gini Koch, my BFF and a fabulous author, who is always supportive and blunt with her critiques. Every writer needs someone to tell them the truth.

  My critique and Beta readers for doing the same, Heather Palmer, Sandra Bowen and Brenda Rodriguez.

  The Wyked Women Who Write, who make Cons and book-signings a blast, and collaborate over booze and cupcakes.

  And always, I thank the readers who share in my insanity.

  Read on!

  CHAPTER

  1

  “Slow down!” I shouted in my helmet mike. “I’m not scrapping you up if you roll.”

  Sgt. Lutz heard me, slowing a bit and correcting his assent up the ravine. I tapped at the other link on my helmet mike, hooking up to HQ. “Capt. Castle checking in. Ascending to S5-RS3.”

  “Confirmed Capt. Castle.” The voice was a member of Alpha team. They’d head out tomorrow to check Sector Six. “Coming in tonight, Captain?”

  “That’s the plan. Might even make it before dark.”

  “I’ll let the desk know. Be careful, Beth.”

  “Always.” I tapped out and followed Lutz up the mountain trail. He was the one I had to keep an eye on. He’d been assigned my range partner four months ago and was still new at this.

  Most guys thought 4-wheeling was some natural-born talent they were supposed to automatically possess, and didn’t like being shown up by a girl.

  In the first week Lutz rolled his bike, into a cactus, and had to be airlifted back to the base. Hundreds of cactus spines later, and a lot of ribbing from the team, he learned respect for the bikes, terrain and my warnings.

  Unlike Lutz, I’d grown up on wheels, with four brothers in the desert south of Tucson. Told to watch over me, they only heard the words ‘watch me’ and willingly let me learn the hard way. Within limits. They knew they’d get walloped by our dad if I got seriously hurt. I earned a lot of bruises and abrasions, until I figured out how to handle myself.

  So getting assigned to the Border Alliance Team was great. My duty hours were spent 4-wheeling and camping the western Tinajas Mountains of the Goldwater Bombing range, right down to the Mexican border. Easy duty after a stint in the middle-east.

  I saw Lutz’ right rear wheel spinning out. “Go left. You’re in alluvial gravel.” I ducked behind my windshield as rocks came flying at me.

  “Got ya, Cap.” He shifted to the other side of the path. Yeah, you did. I rolled up after him. We reached heavier rock, making our accent easier.

  As part of the 2050 U.N. Border Alliance Act, relief stations were set up in some of the most geographically dangerous sections of desert. The top of accessible mountains had been leveled off and flagged. On top of these points were lean-to structures and storage boxes. All of this to assist illegal immigration.

  Despite continuing political and economic changes in their own countries, immigrants still braved harsh deserts and thieving, murderous Coyotes, just to cross into the United States. Official records listed the Gran Desierto and the Tinajas Mountains as having lower death rates for illegals, but you can’t count for what you can’t find. These mountains could hide what it killed.

  The U.S. Marines maintained the Tinajas and the western border territory on the Goldwater Range. The U.S. Air Force covered the eastern half of the range. The U.S. Army manned several military stretches of the Texas border. The U.S. Border Patrol, restructured in 2022 into a military force, covered all other border lands.

  While some political groups objected vehemently to providing aide, I agreed with the policy. Body retrieval was the worst job ever, especially when it involved children. So we gave them food, water and a prayer to survive, so they could be captured later, alive.

  Cresting the mountain top, I pulled up next to the radio tower. A large Red Cross banner spun with the winds, a visual invitation for anyone needing assistance. Lutz was already off his 4W and looking around the lean-to. “This is getting weird. We’ve got nothing.”

  “Yeah, but we see this. The dead heat of summer changes the migration patterns.” I fluttered the collar of my uniform. “They’re not stupid.” The lightweight fabric wicked off the sweat, but it was still hot as hell out here. “Check the boxes anyway.”

  I pulled out my range scanner, taking a panoramic picture of the area around the mountain. It would identify any movement in the shrubs, where illegals might be trying to get out of the hot sun and wait until the cooler evening hours to move again. “Nothing.”

  “Boxes are full, just like the other ones. I get avoiding the summers here, but nothing in over two weeks, at any of the stations along this route.”

  “Yeah, it is a bit strange.” I gave the area a second sweep, considering scenarios. “We prefer they keep to the usual routes and off the bombing ranges.” Second worst thing than dead illegals was dead illegals that got bombed because a pilot couldn’t see them going a million miles an hour. “I’ll check with Delgado when we get back, see if he knows what’s up. Maybe the Mexican Army has stepped up patrols on their side.”

  “Yeah, like that would ever happen.” Lutz let the storage lid drop, giving the hasp a crank to keep animals from getting into the box. He picked up the handset on the emergency call box. “Sgt. Brandon Lutz reporting. Sector 5, RS3, negative restock.” He hung up when he got a confirmation the call box was working. He grinned as he came back to his 4W. “When do I get to meet this Delgado? We’re range partners, virtually siblings, but I still don’t know how a Marine ended up with Border Patrol?”

  I holstered the scanner. “Sergeant, picking needles out of your ass doesn’t make you my brother and it ain’t nobody’s business who I date.” I jerked my head down the mountain. “We got two more boxes to check before we head back.”

  Lutz snickered. It wasn’t the first time he’d razzed me about Delgado, and it wouldn’t be the last. He fired up his 4W and took the lead again. I liked to be able to see how he handled the bike. He was infinitely better than when he’d started, but we were heading into rougher terrain. I kept enough distance to see anything dangerous and give him a heads up.

  He reached the bottom of the ravine, a natural wash. It wasn’t monsoon season yet and there wasn’t a cloud in the sky, so I had no worries about flash floods. Driving through the wash was easier than the rocky slopes. He spun his tires in loose sand, but I could tell it was for fu
n.

  I did the same thing as I hit the wash, then continued to follow him. We’d go up the wash a few miles to the next relief station. Most of the boxes were near washes. They provided easier footing for the illegals, water if it was the rainy season, and the flags identifying the drop boxes were easy to see. Driving along them was easier too. My mind went to Delgado.

  Lutz was right about our unusual relationship. There was no animosity between the Marines and Border Patrol, any more than there was between us and any other branch of the services. But there wasn’t much of a future either. The military transferred us regularly. I managed to extend this assignment, because of my unique qualifications, but that privilege had its limit. For the first time in any relationship, I didn’t know what to do.

  I hit a dip, bouncing hard. Damn! This was not the time or place to figure it out. I shoved my personal problems down again.

  The next relief station was coming up. Lutz slowed down, looking for the trail. This deep into the mountains the only paths were created by wild animals, illegals or us. I checked out the sandy wash for footprints. Nothing.

  Reaching the summit took a lot longer this time. Coming from the Mexico side was easier, but the U.S. face of this particular section of the range had a lot of steep drop offs. It took us a good hour to reach the top.

  I did the scans while Lutz checked the site. He slammed the lid on the storage box. “Not a single bottle of water missing. I might be new, but I can smell wrong and this totally reeks.”

  “I agree, but let me check out a few things before raising any alarms.” Lutz scowled at me as he got back on his 4W. I ignored him, calling HQ. “This is Capt. Castle. Moving on to final check point.”

  “Confirmed Team Bravo.”

  “Come on Sargent, one more checkpoint. Then back to base and a cold beer.”

  He looked out at the final hilltop, the flag visible from this point, as were the other three. “I tell you, I got a sick feeling about this.” He continued to scowl. “Last thing I want is to find a ditch of bodies.”

  CHAPTER

  2

  Relief Station Five was the most dangerous. It was the closest to the Mexican border. Sometimes we got shot at from across the fence. Bad shots, or they were only trying to scare us. Border Patrol often reported the same attacks, and a few with fatal results.

  We returned to the dried up mountain wash, but this time I took the lead. As we reached a fork in the wash, I noticed something odd. Stopping my 4W, I waved Lutz to join me.

  I also grabbed a stick, whacking the rocks as I edged along the side of the wash. “Go away, my little friends.” As a kid I learned to warn rattlesnakes of my presence. They much more preferred to leave of their own accord, than be stepped on or otherwise surprised.

  Lutz followed me a few yards into the other wash. “What’s up?”

  I knelt down, looking at the ground. “See the patterns in the sand?” I mimicked them with my hand. “Someone was through here and attempted to hide it.”

  He knelt down, looking at the swishes. “I see what you’re pointing at, but I don’t get it.”

  I shook my head. “People get this idea that if you rake out the sand behind you, you can hide your footprints, but I can see the swiping movements. The patterns aren’t natural.”

  Seeing a loose branch of Palo Verde, I broke off the limb. “Walk out and back.”

  Lutz did what I asked. Then I did the swishing, wiping out his footsteps. “That’s what you have left.”

  “Ohhhh-kay, I see it.” He shifted to look up the wash. “Someone did the same thing.”

  “Yeah.” I walked out to where I’d started the swishes. “If you want to do it right, you have to alternate swishes with whacks.” I randomly beat the tracks to show him what I meant. “Now it looks more like tumbleweed rolled through here, than some deliberate attempt to hide footsteps.”

  “Intel teach you all this?

  “No, playing hide-n-seek with my brothers.” I tossed the stick away.

  “Wow, Cap, you had one strange childhood.” He laughed as he examined my handiwork.

  You wouldn’t believe it. I headed back for my 4W. “Let’s see how far this goes.”

  He followed me. “I assume the swishes told you they went up the wash, not down it?”

  “Angles and depths.” I eased my vehicle along the wash’s edge, keeping my eyes on the sand marks. The further we went, the more consistency I saw in the marks. My back started to itch and a shiver crept over me. “Okay, sergeant. Something definitely does stink.”

  I rolled to a stop and got off my 4W, sticking close to the wash edge where Terote trees provided some cover. “Hold, while I get a scan of this.” I got at an angle where the light showed the grooves in the sand. I followed a track long enough to show the predictable repeats in the patterns. “This is artificial.”

  “I thought we already established that.” Lutz’s voice sputtered in my headphones.

  “You’re cracking up. Check your frequency.”

  “I’m getting static from you too.”

  Tapping at the controls on my helmet I could see our channel wasn’t running at peak. I tried retuning it, but only got more noise, until I started walking back in his direction. “Hmmm, something’s interfering on this frequency.”

  “Clearer now. What about base?”

  “HQ, this is Team Bravo. Do you read me? HQ… this is Bravo…” I waited for even a burst of static indicating they heard me, but the airwaves were dead. Shit! This isn’t right at all. “There’s no reason to be unable to reach the base, let alone each other when we were only a few meters apart.”

  Lutz was up on his foot rests, looking through binoculars. “There’s a tower right there. We should be hearing something.”

  Being out of com range was bad enough. Being out of range when something was wonky... “We need to get out of here.”

  The words barely left my mouth before there was the scrunching of gravel up the wash. From around the bend came a Hummer SUV painted in desert camo. They threw up gravel and dust as they skid to a stop. Seeing them gave me a moment of relief. Someone was running an exercise out here and HQ didn’t think to tell us.

  Just then two more Hummers rolled up behind us, blocking us in. As they got out of their vehicles, relief was sucked out of me. Lutz was almost as fast as I was at drawing our weapons, covering my back as I faced the first group of men. Also armed and guns pointed at us.

  “This is the Yuma Proving Grounds. Unless you can provide proper documentation, you are trespassing on government property, a federal offense.” Judging from positions and posture, I picked out the leader of this group and planted the bead of my weapon’s targeting system in the middle of his forehead. “You’ve got ten seconds to drop your weapons and identify yourselves. Eight, seven, six…”

  Shoot, shoot now! That thought and the counting were competing with each other. Eight men in non-military camo fatigues outgunned us, but we couldn’t show any weakness. We were Marines and this was our turf. “Five...” I had a bead on the man and the marksmen pins proved I could put him down in one shot, and his driver, before his people started shooting.

  The man didn’t take his eyes off me, but put his hand on his driver’s gun, pulling it down as he took a step closer to me. “Capt. Castle. No need for threats.”

  What the fuck? I almost said it out loud, but held steady. “Knowing my name doesn’t impress me. Three seconds.”

  He held one hand out, reaching to the shirt pocket. “I’ve got my credentials right here.”

  I held my fire as he approached. “Stop right there. Put them on that rock and back off.” I kept my bead on him. He complied, dropping folded pages on a large boulder.

  He backed away as I made my way to the rock. “We’re here legally, running security for a research program.”

  “And that makes you think you can draw weapons on us?” I shook out the papers. I’d worked with enough civilian contractors to know they looked real. Military. A compa
ny’s name at the top, a general’s signature, located at the pentagon, DOD certification, nature of business… Top Secret. As if the red letters boldly slashed across the pages didn’t already tell me that.

  “As you can see, my papers are in order, so you can lower your weapons.”

  “You first.” I tossed the papers back, not carrying that they hit the ground. “You’re the guests and you pulled guns in our house.”

  He cocked his head at me, giving me a slight smile that wasn’t friendly in the least. “For the last mile you’ve left base territory and are on the federal reservation.”

  “Don’t try to pull that crap on me. The entire mountain range falls under our jurisdiction. Our fucking house, so holster your weapons or I call for backup.”

  “Go ahead.” He continued that smile.

  He knew I had no com.

  After a few more seconds he let the smile shift, not faking the friendly anymore. “Get back on your RVs and roll out of here. No harm, no foul.”

  This wasn’t a situation where I could stand my ground. “Sgt. Lutz. Mount up.”

  He hesitated, but did as I ordered. I kept my gun on this gang’s leader. That smirk was back on his face as he nodded. “Good choice. And I suggest you keep this encounter to yourselves. I’m sure, Capt. Castle, you know the penalty for blowing a Top Secret operation.”

  “You file your reports and I’ll file mine.” I backed towards my 4W.

  He followed after me. “No reports. I’m trying to be nice just letting you go. You file a report and by dinnertime you’ll be in handcuffs. My bosses will bury you and anyone you tell in a hole until our mission is over, and likely forget you’re there.”

  “Threats? Really?” I swung my leg over the saddle, without dropping the bead on his forehead. “You just keep being the inhospitable guest.”