by J. N. Chaney
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Deadland Drifter Copyright © 2020 by Variant Publications
Book design and layout copyright © 2020 by JN Chaney
This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living, dead, or undead, is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved.
No part of this publication can be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, without permission in writing from JN Chaney.
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Deadland Drifter
Book 1 in the Deadland Drifter Series
J.N. Chaney
Ell Leigh Clarke
Book Description
Deadland Drifter
Deadland Drifter #1
When a dental appointment goes sideways, former Union Operative Jack Burner wakes to find himself drugged, and imprisoned.
And he's given a choice: assassinate an Admiral... or allow himself to be killed.
With no other option, Jack reluctantly accepts the mission, only to find himself being trailed by a mysterious blonde woman... and she may or may not want him dead.
As if dealing with a terrorist group wasn't enough.
With the fate of the Admiral and thousands of lives on hanging in the balance, Jack stands in the middle of an event that could ignite a war on the edge of the Deadlands and Union Space.
Despite his exceptional abilities, training, and tenancy, even Jack has little to no chance of preventing this particular powder keg from exploding.
He's going to need a miracle.
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Epilogue
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About The Authors
1
Tooth-30 Dental Practice, Firstlanding, Zanpus C145, the Deadlands
Jack Burner sat in the waiting room, eyes fixed on a broadcasting holo screen, pretending to be interested in the mindless drivel that passed for entertainment. He was certain it was mostly used to keep patients from noticing just how uncomfortable their surroundings actually were. Uniform seats were arranged in neat rows, upholstered in faux padding to make them appear more comfortable than the cheap metal chairs they were. An overly bright light illuminated sterile tile floors and white walls. A waft of stale coffee and cleaning product assaulted his nostrils.
He kept his gaze pointed at the screen to avoid tipping anyone off that he was actually taking in every minute detail of his surroundings. It was a habit he had cultivated over the many years when his survival depended on his ability to notice, connect, and synthesize the intel he collected.
Nothing stood out as unusual for this independent dental practice.
Not that there were all that many out here in the Deadlands, even on a planet this close to Union territory. The Union liked to make claims on frontier space, but C145 was Deadlands through and through, and most of the people who chose to settle here did it specifically to stay out of the way of the military. Union military, at least. C145 had plenty of its own Security to protect it from Ravagers who dared to get close—important for a planet that had grown into a “center of civilization.” Sarkonians hadn’t bothered with Zanpus, but only because it held no value for them.
Tooth-30 Dentistry was in Firstlanding, the largest city on C145, built from the planet’s first colony. It had decent reviews on the gal-net and was the only practice Burner had found that had been willing to squeeze him in for an emergency appointment. As a rule, Burner avoided all manner of doctors, including dentists, when he could. They created records, and records went against his policy of being a ghost without a trail. The dull ache in the bottom-right of his mouth warranted an exception though.
“Mr. Lian?” The receptionis
t held up a small data pad. “Would you mind providing some information?”
Burner stood up and approached the reception counter. Frank Lian was one of his aliases, an alternate identity he had spent considerable time constructing a history for. If the dentistry decided to run a check on him, they’d find a good credit record, a solid employment history in construction, and medical records with enough accurate information to prevent any accidents during treatment. Frank even had a presence on the gal-net to give life to the persona.
The receptionist, whose name tag read “Melinda” in sparkling pink lettering, smiled brightly at him as he took the pad. It was the perfect, all-white smile you only see in holo vids and in dentist’s offices. At first glance she appeared to be in her early 20s, but the faintest lines at the corner of her eyes belied that story. She was attractive, if trying a little too hard with the excessive make-up and jewelry. A tan line on her ring finger pointed to a recent divorce, so it was no surprise she was looking to feel desirable.
Burner tapped the relevant information into the data pad: Frank’s Union ID Number, current address, and emergency contact information (a contact who would turn out to be another of Burner’s aliases) and handed it back to her. It almost slipped from Melinda’s fingers, and she fumbled with it for a moment before catching it.
She chuckled, a light laugh that was meant to come across as flirty. “Sorry. I’m clumsy today.”
Burner watched with mild interest. He noticed that something about him was flustering her. Her eyes were fixed on him, her breathing wasn’t steady, and her smile seemed more plastered on than real. He reminded himself that she was a recent divorcee, and he considered himself a reasonably good-looking man, with a body brought into peak physical condition by the military. It wouldn’t be the first time a woman acted strangely because she was attracted to him.
Melinda quickly regained her composure as she typed a few things into the console in front of her. “And how will you be paying for everything today? Do you have insurance?”
Burner shook his head then tapped his pocket. “I’ll pay up front. Just tell me what the cost of the procedure is going to be.”
There was a crashing noise from the back office that caused her to jump. “I should go check on the doctor. Excuse me.”
Burner returned to his seat and did his best to mind his own business, but the part of his brain that was always reading people could not be turned off. In the seat in the far corner of the room, a woman who was here with her son had a small twitch in her right eye and some discoloration on her bottom lip. Those were signs of heavy use of Terrinprol, a drug that was popular among the locals for the high levels of energy it provided, though at the cost of being highly addictive. Near the front doors, a dental assistant in a pink smock and an anesthesiologist were discussing work schedules. Their body language, the way their eyes kept catching each other’s and their lips tugged up at the corners, pointed to a romantic involvement. The distance they carefully kept between them and the way they kept their arms in front of them told Burner that the relationship was a secret from the rest of the office.
He sometimes felt nosy, like he was invading facets of people’s private lives without ever intending to. Every gesture, every glance, every small change in tone gave him leagues of information into that person. In his micro-expression training years ago, he was warned this skill would be like rifling through a person’s purse or browser history. The instructors warned of the ethical consideration of such a skill. But then came his operational days and thoughts of ethics gave way to the habits necessary for results. And survival.
No doubt he would have seen even further into their lives if it wasn’t for the distracting ache in his mouth. It throbbed constantly like a steady drum, pulsing in tune to his heartbeat and demanding his attention. Burner was no stranger to pain, and of the various torments he had been subjected to over the course of his life, this particular instance would have hardly been worth mentioning if it wasn’t for the consistency of it. Plus it made drinking coffee unbearable, something which could not stand.
On the screen, the sitcom ended and a news program started. In this case, “news” was code for propaganda pieces that exalted life free of the Union and how great free commerce was for the daily life of the planet’s citizens. Of course, it failed to mention megacorporations crowding out small business, the poverty rate among the old and infirm, or the dangers of living so close to Ravager territory.
Burner detested Ravagers. Calling them pirates didn’t quite capture the savagery that made them feared the galaxy over. It wasn’t often that they left survivors, but on the rare occasions they did, the people told terrifying stories. Some of it didn’t bear repeating, but Burner had witnessed the aftermath firsthand. It wasn’t an experience he wanted to repeat either.
In any case, the media painted the Union as the great evil, and while Burner didn’t disagree with all their positions, he thought they were being a tad dramatic.
To prove a point about the Union brainwashing its own youth through oversaturated advertising, they played a common Union recruitment ad. The newscasters talked over scenes of strange planets with multicolored beaches, brand new starships with cutting edge technology, and attractive men and women in crisp uniforms standing in line saluting. All the typical things the Union military sold as being par for the course for those that sign up.
Of course, it was all bullshit. Most of the planets you’d end up visiting were either populated enough to be worth supervising or too barren to care about. And while the inflated Union Military budget certainly allowed them to build new starships, only certain units got the best ships.
If you were lucky, they sent you on covert missions. The clandestine kind that involved elite teams sent someplace to do the government’s bidding. A small smile played at the corner of Burner’s mouth but he tamped it down.
As for the good-looking models they had stuffed into uniforms for the ad… well, that part was sometimes true, as Burner himself was proof of. But looks tended to fade fast for those the Union put into the thick of things, as scars from battle, hair loss from stress, and gauntness from addictions to painkillers and performance enhancers were all too common. Burner had been lucky in that regard. While he had his scars, none were on his face or hands where they would be noticeable. He still had a thick head of dark brown hair, which he had allowed to grow out a little now that he no longer had to conform to code, and he had managed to stave off any of the addictions that had claimed many of his peers.
Except caffeine. Burner could hardly operate without a pot of coffee in the morning, and a couple of top-off cups during the day. The first thing he was going to do once his tooth had been dealt with was head over to the local coffee shop and partake in that life-giving elixir.
It was another ten minutes before the receptionist came back out and called for him. “Mr. Lian, the doctor will see you now. Right this way.”
Burner followed her down a narrow hall lined with posters showing the interior layout of the human mouth, various conditions that could affect the teeth, jaw, and tongue, and informationals from expensive tooth care manufacturers that detailed why their overpriced product was better than the competition. They passed a few treatment rooms where dental assistants were performing routine tasks, setting out tools, and giving instructions to floss that would surely go unheeded.
Melinda kept stealing glances at Burner as they walked. It was as if she was trying not to stare at him but had a hard time not looking. He chose to ignore it; she wasn’t giving off any signs of hostility, so she was probably just trying to check him out without being too obvious.
He was led into an office at the very end of the hall. There was a simple reclining patient chair in the center of the room complete with an attached overhead light and power station. A tray with a variety of sterile tools lay out, glinting in the harsh light. A row of cabinets and drawers covered the far wall with an inlaid sink, and a comfortable looking stool was tucked up besid
e the patient chair. Like with the hall, the walls were covered in posters, though these were more focused on simple dental hygiene practices and seemingly targeted at children and idiots.
Melinda waited at the door while Burner took a seat in the treatment chair. “The doctor will be with you in just a moment.” She turned and walked away with short, quick steps.
Burner passed the time while he waited running through this identity’s responses to common small talk. One of the more challenging aspects of maintaining a false identity was keeping all the details straight. Big things, such as employers, family, and religious beliefs were easy enough to remember, but the kinds of things that come up in small talk, such as hobbies, favorite sports teams, entertainment preferences could get muddled, particularly if you had as many aliases as Burner.
Of course, he wasn’t expecting a full-scale interrogation from the dentist. However, it was important that he kept the little things consistent with his aliases, just in case anyone ever came by asking about him.
