by R. L. Wolf
"I'll be the finest lawman ever, Pa," promised Colt.
Pa whispered into Colt's ear. "They are no more lawmen than you are a farmer. Remember, not everything is always as it appears. Keep your wits about you, boy."
Colt's tears threatened to overwhelm him, and his mind was too clouded to understand what Pa was trying to say. Pa pushed Colt back and brushed the hair out of his son's eyes.
"You need a haircut, boy," said Pa, forcing a smile.
Colt grinned. Pa always knew just the right thing to say to make him feel better. Colt pulled the door open and walked out onto the porch. The Gunslinger that had promoted Colt stood in the yard waiting. Colt walked across the yard looking at the old rusted wagon his mother planted flowers in every spring. It seemed only yesterday he’d played with that wagon. Colt stopped in front of the Gunslinger and lifted his head. The day after the incident in town, a Dart ship landed at the farm with instructions he was to report to the Gunslinger Academy for training. They gave him one month to get ready.
"Colton Cyness reporting, Sir," said Colt, wiping the tears from his eyes.
"Don't ever be ashamed of loving your family, boy," said the Gunslinger, looking at the gun belt in Colt's hands, and then the family gun on Colt's hip. "I see. Well, let me look at your gun," ordered the Gunslinger.
Colt pulled his family gun from its holster. "It belonged to my great-great-great grandfather," said Colt, handing the Cetti revolver to the Gunslinger.
The Gunslinger inspected the revolver carefully. It was sleek and light weight, and a faded engraving of a running fox adorned the grip.
"This gun belonged to a Scout Runner during the Cettise Dynasty. That would certainly explain how your grandfather was able to claim so much territory during the Land Run." The Gunslinger handed the gun back to Colt. "Nobody could have kept pace with a Scout Runner. Interesting how the ancestors arrange things to work out. It is only right your grandfather's gun should again see the light of day, and be worn by you. The other gun belonged to my First Deputy, and I suppose it's only proper you should give it to your First Merit. I look forward to seeing which one it will be."
"Yes, Sir," said Colt, starting to turn around.
"Don't look back, you'll only make it harder on your folks. Now mount up," ordered the Gunslinger.
Colt nodded and walked past the man and up the ramp into the transport. Webbed seats lined both sides of the ship in two rows facing inward with six boys already strapped in. Four of the boys were about the same age as Colt, but two of the boys at the front nearest the flight deck were older, they had the scraggly beards of a boy nearing manhood.
The four younger boys stared at Colt, not in a bad way, but as if they were expecting him to jump up and fly around, or do something else miraculous. The two older boys, though, glared at Colt with open hostility. The older boys wore dusters faded from years of use, and one of the older boys even rubbed his fists against his eyes and made the ‘boohoo’ mimicking insult.
Colt sat next to one of the boys his age and ignored the older boys. He didn't want to gain enemies before he even started at the Academy. Maybe they will keep the older boys away from us, thought Colt. The ramp raised and Colt caught a glimpse of his folks standing on the porch holding on to each other. Colt hoped this wasn't the last time he would see them.
The ship's engine screamed as they spun-up for launch. Colt fiddled with the tangle of restraining straps. He had never been in a ship larger than the old Dart ship they used on the plantation to dust crops. The straps would not cooperate, and he worried he might be thrown out of the seat. Colt glanced at the harness on the boy next to him, trying to figure it out.
"Like this," said the boy, unbuckling his straps and showing Colt how to fasten them.
Colt figured it out and strapped himself into the seat. "Thanks," said Colt, holding his hand out. "My name's Colton Cyness, but most call me Colt."
"I know who you are," said the boy, grinning. "Heck, everyone in the Tri-Alliance knows who you are."
"They do?" asked Colt.
The boy took Colt's hand and shook it. "I'm Toran'Sar, just call me Toran."
"You're a Carinian," said Colt, shaking the boy’s hand. It felt rubbery and odd, but the amphibian boy matched Colt’s strength with an equally firm grip.
"Yeah, the dark green skin gives it away, and you’re the hero of the Four Corners ambush," replied Toran, twisting in his seat to face Colt.
"I'm what?" asked Colt, raising his brows.
"Don't you watch the Vids?" asked Toran. "It's been on the news all month. They've shown the Charge of Colton Cyness something like five-hundred times. You're a legend!"
The other three boys sitting across from Colt were listening intently. One of the boys leaned closer and pointed his finger at Colt like it was a gun.
"You killed my horse," said the boy, mimicking Colt's voice. "You don't get to surrender."
The four boys turned their heads together and pretended to spit and said, "Justice."
Colt grinned at the friendly mimicking and shrugged.
"We don't watch the Vids," said Colt. "Pa says it turns your brain into a potato."
The boys ignored Colt's discomfort and continued.
"When your horse was still in the air jumping over that dead horse—"
"And you were standing in the stirrups—"
The boys were finishing each other sentences, excited to share their enthusiasm with someone else.
"And you shot that outlaw in a window from one-hundred twenty feet—"
"They say the outlaw was dead before your horse landed—"
"That picture is on every newspaper and magazine—"
"I cut it out and put it up in my room back home—"
"My favorite picture is the one where his horse reared up for the second charge—"
"Oh, yeah, that was a great one—"
"No, the best is when he got shot three times and didn't even flinch—"
"Yeah, you know those outlaws were saying, "Oh, sheep crap, who is this—"
"Nine outlaws gunned down, six from horseback, that's never been done by any Gunslinger before, ever, its epic history—"
Colt listened while the boys rattled on. He wasn't needed for this conversation. Someone had made the whole thing into a tall tale, and the story was getting bigger by the second. Colt wondered now if the heroes in the books he read were exaggerated too.
"We are all Gunslingers. I bet you guys have done some interesting stuff," said Colt.
The boys stopped talking and stared at Colt as if a snake had just popped out his ear and slithered around on the floor.
"We ain't Gunslingers," said Toran. "You and them two older boys are Gunslingers. We're just Merits."
"That Gunslinger mentioned Merits. What are they?" asked Colt, not mentioning that Toran's country accent was obviously fake. Colt didn't think there were any cowboys on the ocean world of Carina, but Toran probably idolized the lifestyle and watched all the old cowboy movies.
A rusty-haired boy across from Colt held his hand out. "We're Merits, pleased to meet you. I'm Austin Bennet."
Colt shook his hand, and then the large dark-skinned boy on the end leaned over and held his hand out.
"Hi, I'm Garth Cooper."
"Nice to meet you," said Colt, shaking his hand, a massive paw-like thing with fingers. "I don't recognize your species."
"Not many of us on this side of the galaxy," said Garth. "I'm a Cormon."
"Oh, the giants," said Colt.
"I've been called worse," replied Garth, smiling.
One of the older boys at the end of the row unfastened his harness and walked over to the younger boys. He smiled the cruel smile of someone that gets pleasure from pulling the legs off frogs.
"I know what you are," said the older boy to Colt. "I'm going to make sure everyone knows you're just a dumb farmhand that doesn't know his place."
The last younger boy on the end, the one Colt didn't know his name yet, unfastened hi
s harness and jumped up to face the older boy. The younger boy had a wild mane of dark hair. He was much shorter than the older boy, but his broad shoulders and barrel chest made it clear he could crush the older boy if he got his arms around him. The older boy drew his revolver and pressed it against the younger boy's forehead. Colt hit the release on his seat harness and stood, drawing his revolver at the same time, and aiming at the older boy.
"I'm not afraid of you, Tanner," said the younger boy.
"You best teach your Merits who their betters are, farmhand," said Tanner, the older boy.
"I think you better point your gun another direction," said Colt, his voice quiet and deadly.
The older boy glared the most hateful glare Colt had ever seen from another person. Colt was no stranger to dealing with unruly workers on the plantation, and this older boy was no different. Colt and the older boy stared at each other, waiting for the other to make the first move.
"Okay boys, knock it off," said a Gunslinger, entering the passenger cabin. "If you two are done comparing who has the biggest gun, get back to your seats. We're leaving the atmosphere in a minute."
Colt holstered his revolver first but kept his hand on the weapon.
"I said sit down, Tanner," said the Gunslinger. "Unless you want another month of extra duty, it’s a damn embarrassment still having a Gunslinger your age in Phase one."
Tanner's eyes blazed with hatred at Colt, but holstered his revolver and returned to his seat.
"And next time you pull something out of your pants, both of you, it better be to answer the call of nature," warned the Gunslinger, walking down the aisle and checking each of the boys harnesses.
The boy that had faced Tanner sat down and stuck a hand out. "I'm Weston Kane, just call me Wes. It's an honor to be your deputy."
"I don't get it, I thought you said you were Merits?” asked Colt, still angry and eying Tanner.
"That's what a Merit is. We wanted to be Gunslingers since we could swim, or crawl," said Toran, waving his hand at the other three. “But, not everyone can be a Gunslinger, so you take the exam when you turn twelve to be a Merit Deputy, and then you have to wait for a Gunslinger to be found."
"Yep," said Garth. "That's how it works. One Gunslinger and four Deputies make a team."
"I didn't take any test," said Colt, still confused.
"Of course not," replied Austin. "You're a Gunslinger and performed an act of selfless sacrifice, and even better, you were elevated by the Marshal General himself."
Colt had heard of the Marshal General before, but hadn't known that was who the Gunslinger was that promoted him at Four Corners.
"We aren't deputies yet, though," added Wes. "We're Merits until we graduate, and then we're Deputies."
The boys didn't have any more time to talk. The ship accelerated upward, and they were pushed back into the seats. Several minutes later they were in the weightless environment of space, and it only took another ten seconds before the boys released their harnesses. They spent the next several hours pushing each other around the weightless cabin. Austin threw-up in one of the air-sick bags and chased the others around with it until Garth threatened to put the contents back where they came from.
Colt stared out the small window at the vastness of space. It was beautiful. He hadn't dreamed of being a Gunslinger. He wanted to be a space explorer, but at least this was getting him off the farm.
The boys continued to play until one of the adult Gunslingers returned from the flight deck and handed out food-paste tubes, then showed them how to fold out the bunks for nighttime.
"How long is the trip?" asked Wes, hanging upside down in the weightless cabin.
"Three weeks," replied the Gunslinger. "You get two days awake on each end, but the rest of the time you'll be in slow-sleep."
Two days later the boys were trying to figure out how to play a game of Bone Dice in weightlessness and waiting for the Gunslinger to put them to sleep.
"Boys, get back to your seats!" ordered the Marshal, entering the passenger cabin.
There was a loud bang against the hull and the ship shuddered. The boys hurried to the port window and looked out to see the massive bulk of a Caelum Battleship.
"It's the Cae!" shouted Tanner, the older boy that had caused the trouble before. "They'll kill us all!"
Colt glanced at Tanner and leaned over to whisper to Toran. "How'd he get to be a Gunslinger?"
"No clue, but someone made a mistake," replied Toran.
The Marshal glided down the row, pushing the boys back in their seats and passing out Gunslinger Badges. "Put those on now!" ordered the Marshal. "And keep your mouths shut, especially you, Tanner, do you hear?"
There wasn't any more time to give instructions. The side hatch opened, and a squad of Caelum soldiers flooded into the ship. The Caelum walked on the deck plating as easily as if there had been gravity. The Marshal hovered between the boys and the boarding Caelum.
"This is a Gunslinger ship, and we've been broadcasting a clear flight path to the Gunslinger Academy," said the Marshal. "You have no right to board."
A Caelum wearing the rank of lieutenant held his hand up. "We mean you no harm, Marshal, we are searching for a possible stowaway."
Colt watched the Marshal. The expression on the Marshal's face was curious. Colt felt the Marshal might know this lieutenant, and was annoyed at him.
The Lieutenant ignored the Marshal and turned away to order his soldiers to search the ship. One of the soldiers next to the Lieutenant moved past the Marshal and stopped in front of the two older boys first. Tanner was shaking and dropped his head and eyes. Colt shook his head in disgust. Tanner was a coward.
The Caelum soldier continued and stopped in front of Colt. "You're that kid that's been in the news," said the soldier.
Before Colt had a chance to answer, the soldier bent down and ripped the Gunslinger badge off Colt's chest.
"Not so tough now, are you, kid," said the soldier, trying to provoke Colt.
Caelum soldiers came to the farm all the time to steal crops. Colt had seen his Pa handle the soldiers by remaining calm, but Colt wasn't Pa and didn't feel like putting up with the soldier. Colt reached into his pocket and pulled out the Bone Dice. He hung the dice in the air with the Lady Death side facing the soldier.
"How tough will you be when Lady Death comes for you?" asked Colt, and then flicked the dice at the soldier.
The dice hit the soldier's armor and harmlessly bounced off. The soldier let go of the Gunslinger badge, balled his fist up and pulled his arm back to punch the insolent boy. Colt used the moment to grab the Gunslinger badge.
The Lieutenant rushed to grab the soldier's arm before he could hit Colt. The Lieutenant had recognized Colt as well and didn't need the cabin security cameras relaying the beating of a boy Gunslinger hero to the nearest Grackle News Ship.
"I said search for stowaways, not harass children on the way to school. Get back on board and wait for me," ordered the Lieutenant, shoving the soldier back toward the open hatch.
Colt read the Lieutenant's nameplate on his Battle Armor Suit, Lieutenant Fox. Colt would remember that name—it was an odd name for a Caelum.
"I like what you did at that ambush. Good luck at the Academy, Gunslinger," said the Lieutenant, before turning away to finish the search.
"Thank you, Sir," said Colt, pinning the Gunslinger badge back on his shirt.
The Caelum boarding party had no more than left, and the hatch resealed when Wes turned to Garth.
"How tough will you be when Lady Death comes for you?” asked Wes, mimicking Colt.
The other boys pointed at each other, also mimicking Colt. The Gunslinger Marshal shook his head. He suspected he would be hearing Cyness catch phrases for the rest of the year.
"Alright, fun time is over," said the Marshal. "Everyone in their bunks. Time for slow-sleep before you chatterboxes use up all the air."
Colt pushed off from his seat and rolled through the weightlessness and pull
ed himself into the hammock-bunk that would hold him in place for slow-sleep. The Marshal pressed a button on a control panel and a compartment next to each of the sleeping bunks opened. Colt grabbed the mask and slipped it over his face. He heard the hiss of slow-sleep gas in the mask, closed his eyes, and drifted off to sleep.
The Transport slipped into FTL travel and took on the silence of all long distance spacecraft while the crew and passengers slept across the vast reaches of space. Science had solved the problem of oxygen, food, and traversing the distances between stars, but no science could solve the problem of psychological disorders that manifested during long trips. Slow-sleep was necessary for any journey longer than three days. Even the generational Galaxy Class ships required their crew to slow-sleep after a thirty-day rotational shift.
Colt opened his eyes. The breathing mask was gone, and a Gunslinger was looking down on him.
"Take it slow," said the Gunslinger, checking Colt's pulse. "Your muscles will be a little stiff."
Sunlight was flooding in through the windows, warming the cabin comfortably. Colt sat up, and a wave of dizziness washed over him. He lay back down and waited for it to pass. He could see the others floating over to the window to look outside. Colt tried sitting up again. The dizziness passed, and he rolled out of the bunk.
"Oh, no!" said Toran, looking out the window.
"What's wrong?" asked Colt, pushing himself over to the window.
Austin and Garth were wrestling for one of the windows up front. Austin was losing.
"Is it an ice world?" asked Wes, wiping condensation from the window.
"No, it's a desert planet,” said Toran. “I'm going to die."
"But its white," insisted Wes.
"That's a salt desert," replied Toran. "I’ve seen pictures before."
"Oh crap, dude," said Wes. "Bad luck for you, Fish Boy."
Toran tried to punch Wes, but the weightlessness just pushed them away from each other.
"I can see a small ocean," said Colt. "How often do you need water?"
"I'll dehydrate faster than you guys, but if I keep my lungs moist I'll be fine," said Toran, reaching out and grabbing the floating Austin that Garth just threw across the cabin.
