I messed up… April 6

A couple of weeks ago Amazon had me correct some typos in “And What Goes Around”. After I uploaded the corrections I apparently failed to hit publish at the end of the third page. Thus several people told me the book was not available for sale in the US and Canada. It showed as live but wasn’t. I believe it is corrected now. – Mac’

Snippet F.L. 8

Yeah I know… But this popped into my head and I’ll embed it somewhere in the book when I come back to it.

“Would you like me to build you a garbage truck too?” Alfonso asked with a sneer.

“Don’t go all elitist on me,” Lee said. “You won’t crack smart on garbage trucks if nobody picks up your trash for a couple of months and you need to use your precious time to dispose of it. I’m sure you heard perfectly well that I asked you to design a truck not build one. I know you like building fancy toys that show off your skills. I don’t know anybody else I can trust to do this competently, much less artistically. I know you’ll make it pretty as well as functional because you can’t help yourself. That’s fine but it’s important it be trustworthy and safe for my people. I’m prepared to reward you handsomely to do this for me.”

“I’ve learned to control my acquisitive nature,” Alfonso said. “People who are never satisfied are never happy. You did manage to tempt me by letting me build myself a copy of your new aircar. I had no prospects of ever affording such a luxury from building sports planes. I’ve increased my prices on those as much as the market will bear, but they’d never pay me that well.”

“I’m not so sure,” Lee said. “All the influx of rich people from Home have really driven prices up. Haven’t you gotten any work from them?”
“A couple of contracts after our aircars are done,” Alfonso said with a dismissive wave.

“You put escalator clauses on those linked to inflation I hope?”

“I said I wasn’t greedy. That doesn’t mean I’m stupid. But as much as I appreciate your custom, and the side gig we’re setting up, I’m not keen to sit on my butt and design stuff I’ll never get to build. Life is too short to do stuff that isn’t fun,” Alfonso said.

“Exactly!” Lee agreed.

Alfonso blinked a couple of times and obviously couldn’t parse that any way that she wasn’t contradicting herself.

“I’m offering more life, all out of proportion to the little bit of it I’m asking you to use. They are within a couple of months of offering basic life extension therapy for Derf. It’s in testing for any untoward reactions right now. It will be expensive until it is much more common and available from several sources. I’ll buy you the premium version – a lifetime subscription for future versions and add-ons. Tell me that isn’t a deal,” Lee challenged him.

Alfonso sighed. “I should just refuse to talk to you if I don’t want to get sucked into whatever you want. If I agree to listen, I might as well just ask what you want, and be resigned to accommodating you from the start.”

“You just don’t want anyone to doubt your independence,” Lee said. “You value that part of your reputation as much as being known for quality. I’m not going to damage that. I’ll be careful to structure our contracts so nobody knows exactly how much I’m paying you. Payment in kind makes it easier. I want you to be happy to work for me.”

Alfonso looked sour. “Happy is asking a lot. People think you’re a fool if you are all mindlessly chipper and cheerful all the time.”

“I hear what you’re saying. Some people would think you aren’t serious. Not me. You can still play curmudgeon with your public if you want and grin on the inside.”

“I suppose,” Alfonso allowed. “Tell me how they determine it’s safe. I’ve no desire to think I bought extra years and then discover it kills you early instead. I’m sure they would be very apologetic if that happened, and maybe pay a fine, but that would mean more to my heirs than me.”

“Keep this to yourself. I’m not sure Dr. Ames wants it talked around. He did the same with humans. He found Derf with a terminal disease and offered them a large cash payment for trying out particular gene mods. They have near nothing to lose and a lot of them do have family they would like to leave better off financially.”

“That makes perfect sense to me,” Alfonso said. “Why would you need to keep that quiet?”

“People can be strange,” Lee said. “He was sure some would feel he was taking advantage of their situation.”

“Well, he is, but not to their harm.”

“I agree. Some people got the false idea life extension is rejuvenation, and if you had a nasty cancer or something like an aneurysm it would treat it. It doesn’t work that way. The metabolic and immunological pathways are so similar in Humans and Derf we’re confident we won’t have any of the gross errors they made in early human LET. Dr. Ames has always been insistent that he won’t install a gene mode for which he doesn’t have an undo.”

Ah, he does sound sufficiently cautious,” Alfonso allowed. He stopped short of saying yes. Lee just sat silent and let him stew on it. She’d sold it all she was going to.

When the pause grew uncomfortable Alfonso started fidgeting with his hands.

“If I’m going to the trouble to design this truck we might as well license the design for anyone else who wants one, and pick up a little coin,” he suggested.

Lee took that for a yes.

“I don’t need an exclusive on it,” Lee agreed. “I would like at least one more copy to take to a supporter on Providence. How about if we have the same folks building the aircars to your design make the trucks?”

“They would probably need a new dedicated building,” Alfonso said. “I’ve been there and they are tight for space already.”

“Then we should build them new place and move the truck production to the old building,” Lee said. “If I have to finance the building and equipment, I want the same deal as the aircars. You get a straight ten percent add on fee.”

Alonso blinked.

“I’ve already agreed to design it. A per vehicle fee add-on is just found money for me.”

“You’re right, and you really aren’t greedy,” Lee said. She offered her hand to swipe.

“Done,” Alonso agreed and brushed her palm.

A Reluctant Sovereign – published tomorrow

I’ll put it up tonight but it takes some time to propagate through their system. Here’s the cover.
Can’t get link to work. Sorry.

Snippet of Fair Trade sequel

“Does anybody want to chat with me?” Jed asked the assembled Tigers. He hoped some of the snarky flavor of the invitation was retained in translation. The Tiger had overnight to think on how to deal with him. Maybe they learned something.

One of the Tigers stepped forward. He didn’t kneel in submission but he lowered himself with all his legs tucked in close, sphinx like. It wasn’t submission but it sent the message he wasn’t poised to attack.

“We lack understanding of your kind. Going through the translator makes it worse. We know few of his words and he knows few of our words. We do not know who is dominant between your kinds. We have no reason to trust his translation. He claims to fear you and yet he’s still here. Are the People now your slaves?”

“They are not. You had plenty of time and opportunity to learn their language. You were too arrogant to think you’d ever need to know it. You can explain arrogant if you try,” Jed said to the dismayed translator. “Try valued yourselves too high or other variations.”

“If you don’t like speaking through him, I will assign you a human to teach you English. It’s the dominant language of transportation and business on our world. When the People found our world, it was the obvious choice to learn.”

“He asks why you have more than one language and how many you use? I confessed I have no knowledge of that.” He didn’t ask his assigned assistant.

“We have hundreds. Every independent country has at least one. Some have several they acquired over the centuries as they were conquered by successive invaders. Some countries conquered an area and their language and a few customs were the only things they left behind by the time they in turn failed or were conquered. We humans don’t especially like each other and tend to retain our identity over generations and kill outsiders. The last couple of wars we had killed millions and ravaged continents. We’ve been reluctant to repeat that now that a single weapon shot can destroy large cities. We may be mean but we’re not suicidal.”

They talked with the translator a long time before getting back to Jed.

“They doubt your statement about the power of your weapons,” the translator said.

“They will find the demonstration of it convincing if they want to do it the hard way. It’s amusing if they think I need to lie to the likes of them. Do they demean themselves to tell their prey and slaves falsehoods?”

“Are you sane by the standards of your species?” the translator eventually asked.

“We have no agreed standard that holds from one group to another,” Jed said. “Nor does it matter. You have to deal with me or risk how sane the next human you deal with will be. You are going to deal with humans now that we know you exist.”

“Why do you call us Tigers?” Which seemed to be off on a tangent and the translator again ignored his Earth trained counterpart.

“The People who found us called you Tigers in English. Looking at our videos it was the most frightening Earth predator they saw. Here, we brought a fractional data base of Earth knowledge. I’ll show you the creature.”

The pictures of a tiger taking down game got a murmur of appreciation from the crowd. The last shot was of a tiger holding a gazelle by the throat. The photographer zoomed in until all that was visible was the tiger’s frightening eyes, staring at the cinematographer over its bloody muzzle. It was obvious it knew it was being watched.

“They are amazed humans survive on a world with such predators.”

Jed laughed. “Once we invented the pointy stick it was all over for them. They only survive because we’ve set aside territory where they are protected from humans by other humans. They are beautiful and a living history worth preserving. Here, let me show them something else.”

The next video showed children with ice cream cones peering through the bars of a tiger enclosure at a zoo. The next, a circus act where the tamer snapped his whip at a tiger and made it jump through hoops and do tricks. Another still picture showed an ancient Asian man with a weathered face and bright tribal dress leaning on a steel headed spear. A tiger skin robe was draped over his shoulders. The last showed two older gentlemen with brandy snuffers relaxing in a dark paneled English club. Between them and a lit fireplace was an enormous tiger skin rug. The captives were silent at that.

“There are other predators on our planet,” Jed said. “I’ve never seen a wild tiger but where I used to live these are fairly common.”

Jed showed a picture of a hunter posed with a Kodiak bear. The bear’s paw was as big as a serving platter with its claws displayed. The hunter was posed squatting in front of it with a compound bow and several broadhead arrows clamped on a rack so the nature of the weapon was obvious.

“They hold a lottery every year for the privilege of hunting a few,” Jed said. “They control how many can be taken and charge a huge fee so they aren’t made extinct.”

“That’s a muscle powered weapon that throws one of those pointy shafts?” the translator asked Jed.

“Yes, a bow and arrow, but the Tigers didn’t say anything. Are you a mind reader now?”

“I was asking for myself,” he admitted. “Why hunt such a monster with that weapon when I know you have vastly superior?”

“What would be the sport in that?” Jed asked.

The Tiger demanded to know what they were saying. It took a while including extra consultation with the Earth trained subordinate.

“Oddly enough, I don’t understand your last comment at all but the Tigers assured me they do, after I read enough synonyms from our dictionary. They ask if that’s what you would reduce them to, hunting stock?”

“I’d be delighted if I succeeded in preserving them as a species and the cost of it was only a few Tigers and humans hunting each other in the wild. I’m hoping to find terms to do that so others of my species don’t decide they are too much trouble and expense to preserve. The short sighted may decide it makes better sense to burn their worlds bare and exterminate them. I’m a preservationist by philosophy.”

“They are upset you portray yourself as their ally in survival they did not chose. They accuse you enjoyed abusing the medic and want you to know they had to amputate his ruined tail.”

“Oh, boo-hoo. It got their attention. They simply don’t listen without being forced to. They may have never needed allies before. Still, they are awfully damned slow to adapt to a change in necessity. See if you can teach them friends or advocates. Make clear I don’t like them, but they better learn to take any sort of friends where they can find them. They aren’t terribly likable.

“I happen to feel on principle that you don’t destroy what you can never bring back. Plenty of my fellow humans would kill all those tigers or bear I showed without a second thought. I’d find it a loss to walk through the woods and never wonder if one was around the next tree.” Jed smiled. “It adds a delicious uncertainty to your stroll.”

The translator looked at him in horror.

“I think you humans are all insane and it just varies by intensity. The People very, very rarely have those who are addicted to risk because their fear hormones act like a drug. Perhaps you aren’t self-aware of that happening.”

“Oh no. Lots of adrenaline junkies are self-aware,” Jed assured him. “They tend to escalate continually trying to get a bigger thrill. Of course, they die young and spectacularly, but what a ride they enjoy while they are alive!”

The translator just shuddered. That needed no explanation.

“I’m tired of talking today,” Jed decided. “Tell them to decide if they want English instruction. I’ll be back when I can stomach looking at them again.”

He walked out while that was being told and before they could ask more.

Another possible story opening:

Jack’s butt was numb. He stretched and leaned, lifting each cheek without getting up. He felt his coffee cup. It was dead cold. Sixty-eight was too damn old to be putting in ten-hour days, but he was glad of the work. The Second and Greater Depression had wiped out his retirement accounts, even before the previous administration had seized them, or taken them into protective custody to hear them tell it. They were saved in Federal Reserve dollar denominated bonds, so if he cashed them out, they’d only be a tenth of the value in the new United States Greenbacks.

He’d retired briefly, but had to come back to work again if he didn’t accept the settlement on his accounts. He had more in mind thirty hours a week or so, but they seemed to find a lot more for him to do than he’d expected. If he got too busy and unhappy, he realized there were lots of others who would be outright envious of his ability to go back to work.

He’d really have been up the creek if his wife’s life insurance had not been ruled payable at full value in the new notes. He was holding out on taking a settlement, hoping some of the court cases would favor a full payout of his retirement accounts in the new money. A lot of people had signed off on the switch, needing funds to live right now, and accepting a dime on a dollar. He had a little nest egg due to the insurance money, but was very conservative about spending it, after seeing how easily he’d been stripped of almost everything before.

Guys his age usually had trouble finding work, but his age was a benefit with this struggling niche plastics company. His experience with their obsolete computer and older AutoCAD software, let them suck a little more use out of it. The youngsters who came by his cube looked in horror at the six-year-old box. It might be obsolete, but it could easily handle files for the relatively simple plastic parts they were contracted to tool and produce.
If you wanted five million cheap, crappy parts with flash and uncertain material specs, the job was going to Malaysia or Vietnam. If you needed five hundred parts in virgin material, and really needed the dimensions to resemble spec, then Midwestern Molding was the company to shoot your job.

He’d have been delighted to have this computer and its huge high-definition screen twenty years ago. He started out years ago with NASA on a machine that you could instruct to do an operation, like rotate a part, go use the bathroom, refresh your coffee, say hello to your work mates in the coffee room, and still be back at your desk before it was done.

There were five job files waiting for him. None was labeled hot by some miracle, so he skipped down to the third. That file was smaller, perhaps he could finish it off by the end of tomorrow, and have a clean wrap-up for the weekend.

The screen showed a standard three view line drawing print with details, and a 3D rendering rotating in separate window. Jack couldn’t help the big smile that came to his face. It was a long time ago, but you don’t forget a part once you’ve gotten every detail about it in your mind, and designed a tool to make it. He’d worked with this part when he was at NASA. It was a space suit visor.

He looked at the revisions list, and was unsurprised to see it called out a different material. They’d done a lot with plastics since he was a green NASA nerd. The material it called for was stronger and more heat resistant than the original Lexan. The revisions included anti-reflective coating and sapphire on the inside but deep bonded diamond film on the outside. That was a whole new technology they hadn’t dreamed of back then. The gold film was deleted so they must be using separate flip down sun filters and shades.
The seal groove was modified. Likely the seal was new up-to-date material too. There was still room for ejector pins outside the seal groove so this tool as going to practically design itself since he’d done one before. It needed a lot of diamond polishing on the mold to produce the clean optical surfaces. That wasn’t going to be cheap. It was still a highly skilled hand craft, that a robot couldn’t do.

Jack looked at the corner to see who was having it made. Tangent Fabrication. He’d never heard of them but he’d been out of the aerospace game for years. Then his eye caught the part name: Face Shield / Motorcycle Helmet.
“Bullshit!” he said out loud. Then he looked over his shoulders. Sudden paranoia made him want to keep this to himself until he understood why. No way in hell was this for a motorcycle helmet, so what did it mean? Why would anyone make an obsolete space suit part, and lie about what it was?

Jack was so agitated he had to get up – taking his coffee mug and going for a fresh one. The little bit of coffee left was old and burnt. If he made a new pot at 3:30 people would complain about the waste. The price of coffee was out of sight. He just rinsed the mug out and got water from the cooler.
By the time he walked back and sat at his station he was calm again. It was even starting to make a little sense to him. If you needed space suits quickly on the cheap, most NASA research and data was in the public domain. The basic design was pretty good, not like the first suit they used for Mercury which was basically a high-altitude aircraft suit. It was far better than the Apollo suits or even the very early Shuttle suits. Modernize the materials and the basic design was damn decent. But who the hell needed space suits, and wanted to keep it secret?

He wrote down Tangent Fabrication, the address, and print number on a Post-it note. He considered putting the CAD file on his key ring drive and decided against it. He wasn’t sure the network administrator wouldn’t see the download. They didn’t run a high security shop. Most of their work was appliance parts and high-end toys. Anybody could reverse engineer them by buying the product and measuring it. But they might be watching his activity to keep track of his productivity.

He had a funny feeling about this. It failed the sniff test and he intended to find out why. In fact, he had a vacation penciled in for next month. It would be worth missing a little fishing time to see what Tangent Fabrication looked like. It was north of Sacramento, along the route he’d be going anyway. He wrote down the revisions on the Post-it and put it in his wallet. Then he pulled a standard base out of the D-M-E catalog and started designing the tool. This was the most interesting thing that had happened to him in years. In that way it wasn’t entirely unwelcome.

A Reluctant Sovereign is done – Next?

I should have a cover soon. I have one choice already. I probably will do a non-series book next. It’s getting harder to extend the April-Family Law series.
I have a couple books already started. I’ll post openings to see what interests you fans. Here is the first:

The trail was uphill. Not steep enough to call it a climb, but enough to force a conservative pace. The woods were dark with the dense closed canopy of old growth. The trail was not groomed or heavily used and had markers only at junctions. A couple times he’d had to look carefully to make sure he wasn’t branching off on a game trail or a clean wash by mistake. The air was cool but humid and thick with the rich odors of a forest floor piled deep with decaying debris. The logs of fallen trees were hidden under deep green caps of moss and low areas were thick with ferns.

That was fine, Robert had seen enough of bare rocky dirt and clay dust in the last six years to last him a lifetime. There were places he favored in New Mexico and Arizona. Someday he’d get back to them. But right now, he didn’t want anything that resembled the plains of Afghanistan.

His tread was too silent for bear country, but walking quietly was a difficult habit to break. He slipped back into a silent stalk if he didn’t think about it constantly, so he had a bell affixed to his walking staff. He wouldn’t mind seeing a bear, if it wasn’t up close and personal. If a bear or he made a really bad error, he had a Ruger Alaskan in .480 Ruger tucked in a clip holster inside his jeans. He wasn’t sure there was such a thing as enough gun for brown bear, but that was as much as he was willing to carry along all day. There was a single speed loader in his left pocket, full of hot hand loads crimped extra deep to hold the bullets in against the savage recoil, but he had no illusions he’d ever get all five rounds off at a charging brownie.

His pack was nothing after the full load-out he’d gotten used to in the service. He had a light bag and a shelter that wasn’t really a full tent, just a tube for the bag and an over flap and bug screen held off his head by one skinny pole. He was going to overnight once near the summit of this trail and descend about twelve kilometers tomorrow to a parking lot. There would be cell phone service there and the canoe livery in town had agreed to provide him an informal taxi service.

The way narrowed as the trail found a steeper grade between a tall bluff to the left and a drop off easing in from the right. The rocky bluff gradually dropped and became a steep slope of ferns. There was no switchback visible cutting across it so he must be very close to where the trail turned left onto the plateau. The plateau itself rose away to the east, but with a much gentler grade across the top than the trail. He’d camp at the far edge tonight before descending tomorrow.

When the slope to his left was only about ten meters high he came to a partial clearing with a jumbles of boulders and a few fallen trees. The climb was steep enough he decided to take a break. The trail curved sharply to the left ahead, no doubt breaking out on the top, and he’d like his break here where it was shady still. He found a natural seat among the boulders and left his pack on leaning back against it with his feet up on another rock. He reached back awkwardly and fetched his water bottle off the side of his pack and sipped. The wind in the trees could be heard this near the top. He could even see it stir the ferns at the top of the slope, but not feel it.

He listened carefully now that he wasn’t moving but there was no sound of small forest creatures. Once he thought he caught something calling aloud but it was too faint and though he strained to hear it didn’t repeat. He replaced the water and roused himself to finish his climb, easing off the rocks and stretching. He’d gone no more than two steps before the outcry clearly repeated from up-slope, but it seemed a voice, no animal.

He looked up again as a dark figure hurled over the edge, dark and hard to distinguish any details as it tumbled down slope crushing a groove through the perfect carpet of ferns. He watched mouth open in wonder as it rolled loosely into the clearing and fetched up against a log with a thump that made him grimace. It was a woman dressed in dark tight clothing and normal enough except for a certain frail fairy grace. She had the limp sprawl of the unconscious.

A curse pulled his eyes back to the slope again as a larger figure in digi-cam hurled off the top of the rise with even less control than the woman. His trajectory didn’t dump him into the concealing ferns until about half way down the slope and he made much more noise rolling to a stop that missed the log against which the woman had fetched up. The man had a standard issue M4 and hadn’t lost it because it was hung on a harness across his chest. He was visibly rattled and struggled to get to a sitting position although one leg was bent under him awkwardly. He looked wild eyed and tried to bring the rifle to bear on Bob, failing when he fell back on his side and jammed the muzzle in the dirt.

“Easy fella,” Bob pleaded, showing him his palms. “I’m not part of your operation, whatever it is. I’m just a hiker.” The man ignored that and although obviously hurt was determined to bring the rifle up while lying on his left side. The fellow was laying a good three meters away and seeing the wavering muzzle come up again he had no choice but to draw on him. The Ruger only had a two-and-a-half-inch barrel so the flare of unburned powder threw a flame a quarter of the distance to the man. The blast of a full hot load was deafening. He hit right center of mass, but the way the man was thrown back and was still moving told him he had on armor. He probably had a hard breast plate to stop something this heavy.

To his left the woman’s face appeared over the log shocked with eyes wide and tiny mouth a circle. It distracted him for a moment but the soldier who had been flat on his back was digging a heel in pushing himself away from Bob, to get the leg folded under him straightened out, and was up on one elbow already. His grip on the rifle and intense stare at Bob said he hadn’t given up.

Bob took careful aim right up his crotch where there would be no armor and a straight avenue up his torso to vital organs. The muzzle blast was even worse when he was anticipating it and the recoil punishing. The woman looked back and forth between him and the soldier confused.

The crack of a bullet passing in front of his face was so close the shock-wave slapped him. He turned to see another trooper standing on the top of the bluff correcting his aim when a flare of white light burst on the man’s chest and send him tumbling down the same path of crushed ferns marking the slope now. That was weird but he had no time to question it.

The woman looked over her shoulder at him with a euphoric crazed expression and raised two fingers, not in a V but together – keeping score. He returned her regard and solemnly held up one finger and then moved his hand over in a little hop to repeat it, one and one he meant to say. She seemed to find that amusing. There was a scuff and a bruise rising from her eye to her ear. The black gun in her hand was impossibly small but she made no effort to point it at him, which was an improvement on the soldier’s attitude.

“I don’t appreciate being sucked into whatever is going on,” he told the woman. “I didn’t want to shoot this stupid son of a bitch, but he wasn’t going to give up.” He stopped and stripped the body of magazines and unclipped the M4 and made sure the muzzle was clear of dirt. If there were more of them coming, he’s need more than a short-barreled pistol. There were two fragmentation grenades in the man’s vest, he hesitated thinking of the legal consequences, and then jammed them in his own pockets. They hardly mattered on top of shooting a man.

“Are there more coming?” he asked the woman. She had got up if a bit wobbly and was watching him strip the man of weapons and ammo with obvious curiosity.

“I don’t know. Very likely. As you said, they don’t give up easily. I didn’t want to shoot anybody either,” she assured him. “Or I wouldn’t have ran. Why are you taking these things?” she asked of his looting.

“If I have to have to fight with more of these fellows, I need something more than a pistol. This is an excellent weapon and I’ve trained with it,” he indicated the M4. Finding a small radio smashed it under his heel in case it had a tracer in it.

“Why is that all you are carrying then?” she asked reasonably.

“I didn’t plan on fighting anyone,” he said a bit irritated. “I didn’t even expect to see anyone out here. I was looking forward to the solitude, but that is shot to hell and gone for sure! I had the pistol in case I ran into a Grizzly.”

“What is a Grizzly?” she asked with perfect innocence.

That stopped him dead. He looked up at her unbelieving. “If you don’t know what a Grizzly is you have no business out in these woods. A Grizzly is a bear. A carnivore that stands half again as tall as me and weighs as much as fourteen hundred pounds.” He demonstrated what he meant baring his teeth and pulling both hands up with fingers curled into claws. “They can run three or four times as fast as you can and would regard you as a refreshing little appetizer. Would you like to meet one?”

“I’m starting to think no,” she allowed. “I’m not clear on pounds – how many pounds are you?” she asked giving him an appraising look.

“Well, that’s a really personal question, but since we are close enough to be killing folks together, I’m a hundred and eighty-five pounds bare assed naked of an average morning.”

“Seven times your mass?” she asked incredulous.

“Yeah, for a big one. Maybe you’ll luck out and run into a skinny one.”

She looked around the woods with new eyes. She was smart enough to be scared. He liked smart in a woman. She also had her hand back on the little bulge in a pocket that must be her gun. Smart again.

“I’m going to get the other guy’s mags too. You figure to take off on your own or are you looking to partner with me to get out of here?”

“Partner is together?” she asked dubious. “Forever or for a time?” She asked.

“I had in mind until we are clear of this mess. You want to negotiate later we can, but I’d like to be gone from here before a couple hundred of these guy’s close friends show up,” he said nodding at the corpses.

The second soldier he went to strip was burned. He’d never seen a wound like that before. It looked like the man’s chest just exploded. Like he imagined a lightning strike might look. The man had no unit patches or rank insignia, no flag or name tag either. That scared him all over again.

“You want the other rifle? He asked as he stuffed the second soldier’s magazines in his ruck. “You just have a pistol too,” he pointed out.

There was a sudden roar of rotor blades and whining turbines and a huge helicopter passed across the small patch of open sky at the top of the much abused slope, barely clearing the trees. There was a flurry of leaves and twigs from the canopy and he could follow its sound as it slowed and came back around in a circle to hover up over the edge of the plateau. It was a dark dull gray and there were no marking on it. He knew looking into the tunnel of trees by eyeball they were hidden in deep shadow, but he also knew the crew had thermal sensors and could see them glowing like neon on their screens.

He chambered a round intending to go down shooting, but he had no illusions he’d prevail seeing the barrel of a cannon pivot towards them on the helicopters snout. He was looking for an intake duct to send a burst down, hoping to ruin a turbine.

The woman raised her gun faster than him, twisting a knob hard clockwise where the hammer should be. When she squeezed off a shot a mirror appeared in the air around her muzzle. A big round mirror near a meter across. He could see her face perfectly reflected in the back of it, lips a thin line of concentration.

Beyond the mirror an eye dazzling white hot line impaled the helicopter and extended unimpeded into the sky. The vegetation rolled back from the displaced air of that beam like a tank cannons muzzle blast. It made his pistol sound like a .22. The concussion slapped him so hard it hurt.

He watched as in slow motion the rotor blades spun off in various directions. The cabin split in two and was pushed to each side by an expanding fireball. The whole tail section seemed to hang there like it was deciding whether to follow, and slowly rolled over and fell somewhere up on the plateau. They stood together while heavy chunks of machinery fell with thuds, one huge rotor blade going past overhead with a whoosh, followed by shards of burning plastic and twisted shreds of smoking sheet metal raining down all around them, nothing crushing them miraculously. His vision had a dark purple line seared in it like the mother of all flash blobs.

“I apologize for insulting your cute little pistol.” he said very formally and gave her a little bow. They both stood and laughed in manic relief at death so closely avoided. He didn’t offer her the rifle again

“I will partner for a time,” she allowed. “Lead on if you will.”