Beyond the Stars: At Galaxy's Edge

What you thought you knew about vampires is wrong... so very, very wrong.

Over a thousand years ago, the first human stumbled across a crashed Kurtherian alien ship, and was enhanced to help the alien race fight a war. Unfortunately, he left the ship confused, in pain and incompletely modified. His next twelve centuries and beyond created additional changed humans... what folklore called Vampires.

Bethany Anne, chosen as the final Matriarch to be charged with the responsibility for all Vampires, helped clean up issues between Vampires and Werewolves and prepared for the defense of Earth. Now, she has taken the fight out among the stars. She created a group to enforce the law‌—‌enhanced humans to track down and exact justice in her name. And one time, Ranger Tabitha was told to go on a non-vacation, vacation.

Because sometimes the only way to rest is to get rid of restless energy.

CHAPTER ONE

One Problem, One Ranger.

I WALKED INTO Rossini’s Bar on Planet Bectal with what my boss calls a physical ailment‌—‌a short temper and a bad case of I-don’t-give-a-shit. I was grumping to him for the third monthly meeting in a row about nothing to do when he came to check on me in my area of the sector. As my doctor, he prescribed a two-month vacation.

My boss knows me too damned well.

He isn’t going to lose my services for the three months. It’s three because I need two weeks travel both ways, and he knows I know he’s still getting work out of me. So, he can kiss my ass on the actual travel time. I booked that on the nicest, most expensive luxury liner on this side of the Galaxy for my vacation, everything else was going to be work. Perhaps fun work, but work nonetheless.

Here on Bectal’s world, I would just be doing my job. Some vacation. Poking the alien equivalent of anthills, looking under disgusting rocks and kicking over dilapidated buildings to see what maggots from the local equivalent of the criminal world squirmed away. Hoping to be faster than I could figure out what the hell they’ve done wrong and if necessary, shoot them.

My usual area of responsibility was two solar systems back and one up and damned if it wasn’t getting too boring. It had taken me thirty years, but I’d finally gotten most organizations to understand The Queen Bitch’s Rule for her Rangers which is ‘One Problem-One Ranger.’ The corollary to it, from my boss, is Rangers have no limits for our backup, it just can’t be another Ranger.

One time, on the Sver’an planet, I got into a shouting match with the equivalent of the local Warlord. I hadn’t wanted to lay waste to half a city just to pull out his good-for-absolutely-nothing second cousin from his whatever-the-hell the third parent was called in their family group.

So, in front of him and his men, I told him I would call for a battalion of the Queen Bitch’s Guardians if he didn’t produce the miscreant.

That rat-faced POS just stared at me and called my bluff. He didn’t know us Rangers very well. So I did.

Call, that is.

Because as a Ranger, we have a direct link to the Queen Bitch herself, Bethany Anne. The conversation back then went something like this:

“Tet’gurky, you will produce your psychotic murdering little prick from god-knows-what-you-call-the-baby-momma or I’ll call in a battalion of the Queen’s Guardians to pull his useless ass out of this city.”

I was rather angry at the time. It was my third time to this hellhole of a planet, and those living here were having problems with the Queen’s version of justice. Which is to say, ‘be nice to each other, or else.’ Some alien species had a real problem with the nice part. Oh, it isn’t that they don’t understand the concept, it is pretty universal, it’s that they have lived so long on the, ‘those who have strength rule,’ corollary that when someone comes along with more strength, they have to test it.

A lot.

All the damn time‌—‌it was starting to piss me off. Sure, the first time a people test Bethany Anne’s rules I get it. By the second time, I’m wondering if this area just didn’t get the memo (and I call to make sure the PR department sent the damn memo.) By the third time, it’s just a case of who is backing down first, them, or me.

It sure the hell isn’t going to be me.

So, it was my third time speaking to Tet’gurky so I figured he had to have read the memo, and they had done the research, and the rumors about Bethany Anne’s Guardians had to have made their way around the planet from the fighting two solar years back.

But the little prick answered me, “Do it, Ranger Tabitha.” He waved his furry little arms around his Warren with the other fifteen leaders of his clan, “I don’t think we are so significant to the Queen Bitch that she would waste such valuable resources as a battalion of her finest soldiers to locate one little problem child.”

“He’s not a child, Tet’gurky, he’s created his own little psychopaths with baby mommas,” I answered.

“You say psychopath, we say the strongest is always right. He was the strongest.” Tet’gurky’s sibilant laughter spread to the fifteen little rat-faced throats around him, and it pissed me off.

It wasn’t my job to kill them all, no matter how upset I was at being laughed at. My job was bringing the little bastard to justice for killing someone on the world under my jurisdiction. So, fuck’em.

Bethany Anne?

Hello, Tabitha!

Do you have a second to chat? I asked. While she is a friend, she’s still the Queen and even after a hundred and fifty years, I treat her as my liege first, my friend second.

Yes, I’m en route to check on a diplomatic impasse. We’re in the middle of a transition, recalculating the heading. I fucking hate this shit. Some of the ships with us are so damned slow.

Well, if you didn’t ride in the fastest chariot, perhaps you wouldn’t be so impatient.

Yeah, well, some things don’t change with age. But, enough about me, what’s up with you? You rarely call just to say ‘hi.’

Sorry about that. Bethany Anne was right. I did rarely call just to chat. I’ve got a problem here on Sver’an where I’m trying to pull out a POS. I either need to get help from the local Warlord, who is related to the little creep, or drop a lot of shock and awe to make them produce the freak. Or actually tear apart this city to get to him. So, I told him to produce, or I’d request help.

He called your bluff, did he? Bethany Anne laughed.

Yes! Little turd-magnet says he doesn’t think his little cousin-or-other is important enough for you to support me.

Tabitha, have you changed your body recently to grow red hair? she asked me.

No, why? I responded, confused.

Because your language when you change your body to grow red hair reverts back to when we first met.

Oh, hadn’t noticed.

Either way, tell him that I will speak to him within two galactic-standard hours, and he will produce his cousin. If I’m waiting more than five minutes, I’ll find his cousin, and he and his men are forfeit. Please keep the area calm until then.

Wait, what? I just need a battalion. I’m not asking you to show up.

I understand, but think about your reputation. When you threaten a Queen’s Battalion on this nowhere little planet, and the Queen Bitch shows up?

Yeah, but which rep? The one with the criminals, or the one in the Rangers? I complained. My group is going to laugh their asses off.

Well, the rep with the Rangers is your own to deal with. Besides, Barnabas is going to think this is funny as hell.

Yeah, well he would. I grumped.

All right, Pilot says the new course is locked in and I’ve told the group I’ll catch back up to them on the third jump. Besides, you can tell the other Rangers I was bored.

You are bored, I told her.

See! When you tell the truth, the truth will set you free.

With that, she closed off our connection.

I looked back over at Tet’gurky, a clearly noticeable annoyance showing on my face.

“What?” he asked, an expression I’d learned was glee for his kind, “Did she tell you to figure it out on your own?” He gave that shitty laugh again, and his group took it up. Sixteen annoying hissing laughs.

“No,” I told him, “She said to tell you she would be here within two galactic-standard hours, and you would either produce him within five minutes, or every one of your lives here are forfeit,” I smiled sardonically back at him.

Tet’gurky’s laughing stopped abruptly and his face turned angry, “She didn’t! You lie to continue this negotiation.” He was leaning towards me. I wanted to punch his nose out the other side of his skull.

“No, you ass,” I reached into my duster and pulled out a clock timer. It’s a rolled up little piece of plastic maybe ten inches long and four tall. I had my cyber-core program it to two galactic standard hours. That was about three and a half hours on this world. I walked over to the wall to the left of his desk. We had been bitching at each other in the back room of a bar. It had seven round tables in it and five of them were filled. I took a knife from under my coat and pinned the clock to the wall, stabbing it hard to hold it in place, turned to the table next to me, grabbed a chair and sat down. “When that reaches zero, if the Queen hasn’t shown up, I’ll leave.”

The men all looked back to Tet’gurky, for guidance, I guessed. “So, that is a Ranger’s promise?” he asked. Apparently, rat-face had been studying.

I nodded, “Yes, it is. More, it’s a promise from Ranger Tabitha specifically.” I had cultivated the hell out of never personally swearing on my name unless I knew something would happen. “If she isn’t here within two hours, I walk without your cousin. However, if she is here within two hours, she expects your cousin to be here as well. I’m sure you know the ‘or else’ if that doesn’t happen,” I smiled at him. To a lot of aliens, a human smiling is a scary sight. Sver’an smile showing their teeth during negotiations as well, so no psychological benefit to me.

“What if I have him brought nearby, are you going to grab him and leave?” Tet’gurky asked, “Is this another Ranger trick?” he hissed, a little worry cracking through his mask of boldness.

Well, shit. He had been researching the Rangers, and specifically me. I enjoyed tricking the hell out of my foes. It kept the many years of my life interesting.

“Nope, no trick. I’ve talked with the Queen, and she should be here soon. I guess she was in the neighborhood... and bored.” I faked a yawn and looked back up at the clock. Three minutes had elapsed. Shit, this was going to be one long ass boring two hours.

Then again, I started to see Tet’gurky sweat, so maybe it wasn’t.

I reached under my duster for another knife and began to clean my fingernails with it. It was all show. This knife was dull. The knives I actually use would slice my fool fingers off at the tip, and I’d have to grow them back. Which, frankly, for fingers is an annoying pain in the ass as it makes it difficult to grab shit. The other Rangers think it’s funny as hell to give you a sphere large enough you need the non-existent tips of your fingers to grab.

Last time it happened to me, I used a type of glue to grab it with my palm and gave them the smallest-fingered rude gesture ever.

Just after I got inducted into the Rangers, back on Earth before we closed the door on that rat-infested place... Huh, rats, I guess everything’s coming up rats for me right now. Anyway, I digress. Back when I was on Earth and had just been inducted into the Rangers, I did all I could to study the original Texas Rangers.

Then the stories about the Lone Ranger and finally American westerns in general as I’m originally from South America on that world. I never wore a cowboy duster until we left Earth and I started doing this job on other planets.

First, because they weren’t fashionable on Earth. I mean, how the hell do you get respect for being a Ranger when everyone looks at you and asks if you’re trying to copy the movie The Matrix? Out here, no one knows about the Matrix, and considering the second and third films from that series, that’s a blessing.

Second, because I didn’t need to keep so much shit on me back then, including special vials of blood in case I became someone’s bitch in a fight. It doesn’t happen often, but every now and then someone is as fast as me, or stronger than me or just downright sneakier than me.

I’m ok with faster or stronger, but sneakier pisses me off.

Now I’ve got a damned military arsenal secreted about my body, including the body armor hidden underneath all these body hugging clothes. With the Kurtherian Nanites I’ve got running through my system, I can change my appearance over time and adjust my body.

Unfortunately, it isn’t quick.

Takes up to a month sometimes depending on what I’m doing. Hair? Well, it will grow twice normal, but that’s only an inch a month for me. So, if I change color, it could take a year to get to a foot without dyeing my hair which I can do, but it feels fake. When I go red, which I occasionally do, it’s because I’m really, really bored, and I need action.

Depending on the solar system and what they think about humans‌—‌if they’ve ever seen a human‌—‌I’ll change my body. Bigger tits, smaller tits, hips big or small. I can only do slight changes to my height up or down. The nanites do not like adjusting my perfect genetic height. I know this because I tried once to get taller for two damned decades.

Obstinate little nanite bastards.

Within fifteen minutes, three of Tet’gurky’s guys left the room. I could hear a mewling little prick get tossed on a bed some thirty minutes later, bitching behind a gag of some kind. I kept cleaning my fingernails and making sure no one was planning on a hole and run.

As in, plug me full of holes and run.

Because, if that shit did happen, then I was going to get some serious payback. The armor repulses most damage, but it still throws me around. Kinetic force disperses around my body and somewhat into the ground, but it never gets rid of all of it. I can stand most all pistols and a good many of the rifles. Those crew mounted weapons? I do my dead level best to dodge the shit out of them. One sent me through a fourth-story window. At the time, I hadn’t thought to have any sort of anti-gravity options.

So, it was a fight between me and gravity, and gravity kicked my ass. God, I hurt for hours. When I hit the street after landing, looking up at the recently opened window (opened compliments of my body) all I could do was to lift my hand and flip them off and groan. It took me another five minutes to give a shit about rolling over.

So, back to Tet’gurky’s little pug-rat-face. Knowing that the Queen Bitch was on her way went down like a stripper on a pole for a twenty-dollar bill.

Sorry, old Earth colloquialism. Um, like a Kothrin eating a Vulheren. There, I’ve been open-minded for once.

Before Bethany Anne even entered the room, Tet’gurky’s cousin was brought in, tied up like a Christmas present. I guess when the ArchAngel II arrives, people sit up and take notice. There isn’t a prettier and nastier looking BattleShip in my opinion, and every world nearby and many of those far away know what that ship looks like.

Because let’s face it, Bethany Anne is fair, but she doesn’t fuck around. She’s fun, but she isn’t someone to pull a prank on anyone but friends. She is the ultimate ‘here is the deal’ type person and she will pack a punch to make sure you learn.

Like now.

I watched as all of the guys who had been in here went quiet. I guess it matters when someone personally could demolish your world on their say-so.

Jeez, people get so bent out of shape over that one thing.

Rangers don’t get the same level of respect. The Law rarely does, it seems. I have learned that the Law, with Her gun stuck up a criminal’s ass, gets a fuck-ton of respect immediately.

The first through the door was John Grimes, one of the Queen’s Guards and known as a Queen’s Bitch. One of her original four. Behind him was Darryl. The two of them checked out the room as Scott walked in, through the room, and then out a back door to see what was on the other side. That meant Eric was outside somewhere.

I tipped my head and smiled at them. Darryl’s smile broke out, and he headed my way, “Hey squirt!” he said, and I started to stand up only to find myself pulled up into a big bear hug greeting.

“That had better,” I told Darryl, my nose impaling his huge African-American chest, “be a gun, not you happy to see me!” I finished before he busted out laughing and put me down. He ruffled my hair and turned around to view the room when Bethany Anne walked in.

“Gott Verdammt, what a fucking piece of work your airspace is,” she told no one in particular as she entered the building. She noticed the unlucky prick all roped up, “This the POS you need, Tabitha?” she asked me, pointing to the present who was bitching up a storm behind the gag. One of the guys near him kicked him to shut him up.

I popped Darryl in his chest, hitting hard enough for him to feel that shit in the morning.

“Damn, you eat your Wheaties this morning, Tabbie?” he grunted at me, rubbing his chest as I passed him up walking towards my gift.

I reached into my coat, three pockets over and one down to pull out a little pen device. I put it up to mister-tied-up-and-not-going-anywhere and clicked one end as I held the other near his neck under his hair and pushed against his skin. The light turned green. I pulled it up and connected with my cyber-unit. It all checked out.

“Yeah, this is the guy I need,” I told Bethany Anne. She reached down and picked him up with one arm. She made a small ‘push’ motion, and the body disappeared.

Now, there is a lot that will freak people, and aliens, out. There are a lot of rumors both true and false about the Queen Bitch that people, using that term loosely, like to argue about. However, none of the rumors prove more controversial than the one where she can make people disappear from the timeline.

It’s all crap. The timeline part I mean, not the disappearing part. Bethany Anne is able to connect through and use the Etheric due to her Kurtherian integrations. She stuck the pain in the ass in the Etheric for show. She would pull him back out when we left so I could take him for trial back on the world I had come from in search of him.

Everyone in the room that didn’t know Bethany Anne was staring at her with wide, frightened eyes. She looked around and then turned to leave. “I need to speak with you, Ranger Tabitha. Is there anything that needs to be handled with Tet’gurky before we leave?”

I had looked over to see that little pain-in-the-ass beg me with his eyes to say no. So, I nodded slightly at him to let him know I saw his request, and now he owed me. I turned to Bethany Anne, shook my head and walked out in front of her.

Minutes later, we were sharing a Pod as we went up to her ship. The E.I. or Electronic Intelligence on my ship the Achoynix lifted off from the space field and followed us. Strangely enough, the bullshit I had received on landing from their air authorities was silent when the ArchAngel II was sitting up there above us. I seriously doubted they would give me so much trouble next time.

CHAPTER TWO

So, back to Rossini’s Bar, Bectal. It’s the usual hive of scum and villainy. No, not really.

Yes, really.

Full of macho alpha types. Doesn’t matter the gender, the type, or the sexual preference, Alphas gotta be Alphas. They have a real itch to scratch when a new face comes into a place.

I’m a new face, and I’m a human face. Most of this part of the galaxy are bipedal beings. Well, except the Queegerts, which I like to call Q-berts. They’re a reddish-orange with an undergrowth of brown. Nowhere as cute as the old video game from my world. They have this hair that goes up the top of their head like a plume. It holds significance and damned if they aren’t touchy as hell about it.

So, anytime one pisses me off, I slap it over. The little Q-berts are about four and a half feet tall, so their hair is eye level and above for me. They are damned dense, so they believe they have the right of way because they are so heavy and hard to move for a lot of species. Their three legs can move them pretty fast.

I’m only five foot four inches, but my nanite-enhanced body can kick the shit out of a Q-bert when I’m pissed. Which is normally anytime they get in my way and babble at me to leave their presence. I tell them, once they land after I kick them, that I’m not in their immediate presence any longer.

One time I had a green Q-bert crawl back out of the trashcan I had just kicked him into. He yelled at me to stand still, so I did. I waited patiently for him to pull off the rotten vegetables and drop them on the sidewalk outside the restaurant I had just left. He turned, lowered his head (and his fancy hair) and started running towards me.

He became a Q-bert kickball, two points for kicking him into the same can once more. Then, stupid ass pulls himself out of the garbage and cleans himself yet again. I had plenty of time to decide whether to kick him or not and decided, this time, I was just dense. So, he comes charging, and I jumped over his ass. When I landed, I turned to watch him continue another ten feet and headbutt a perma-crete wall. The crack could be heard down the alley. I watched as he toppled over and lay prone on the ground.

Perma-crete one, hardheaded Q-bert zero.

I tell you this because while the bar was pretty empty when I got there, two drinks later a Q-bert comes walking in with that Alpha walk that says he is hot shit. I started looking around for a large enough trashcan to use for my goal and found nothing.

Damn.

>>Achronyx, message the owner of Rossini’s bar and provide him a hundred credits. Put damages as the memo for the credit transfer.<<

>>Yes, Tabitha.<<

I waited and took a sip from my drink when a message came up. I turned on the viewer that displayed my messages directly to my eye. Huh, the owner of Rossini’s was named Billet. Nice. I love names I can pronounce. It saves me and them a lot of heartache.

Me because I can pronounce them, them because I don’t change it to something I can pronounce. There are a lot of alien species that get pretty pissy about name pronunciation. I try to tell them that I failed that class (true), and a human’s vocal cords aren’t really designed to handle some languages. (Also true, but I have mods that allow me to deal with them all, I just choose not to.)

Remember, when you want to criticize me for my bad attitude that I’ve had a hundred and fifty years of dealing with sucky situations in localities that are piss poor. I’ve done this while you were probably sitting on your couch eating those damned bonbons. So, kiss my ass about being politically correct.

Both cheeks.

Hey, they are South American ass cheeks, so at least you got something to kiss, sweetheart.

I read the owner’s message back to me. Billet wanted to know why I was sending credits for messing up a bar that wasn’t damaged at the moment. I replied that there was a Queegert in his place that was about to get the shit kicked out of him, and it was definitely going to mess up some of his furniture. So, unless he built the furniture pretty damned solid, it was going to break.

He told me he was watching the security video. I turned and looked up over my right shoulder at the security camera and smiled, then flipped it off.

I have proper manners like that.

Sure as shit, Q-bert walks over, “You are at my table.” Its great eye peering at me, slightly yellow. I was probably no more at his table than if I had chosen the next one over.

“Bullshit,” I told him. The interesting thing about Q-berts is they really don’t have much bluff in them, and you can read their feelings on their face.

Like, pissed off and excited.

“Name?” I asked it. Another trait of Q-berts is they usually will have a discussion with you before they kick your ass. They aren’t stupid, but occasionally how thoroughly they consider a situation makes a lot of beings think them slow.

“Donaai,” he told me, “you have until I beat you senseless to get out of that chair.”

“Wow, Donald, not much on options, are you?” I asked and stood up, pulling my coat away from my pistol. He looked down and noticed the gun.

“What? You would use something as barbaric as a pistol instead of your arms?” he sneered at me.

Hey, I’d say the same thing in his place. The pistol I use is rare, and most beings haven’t seen one. Those that have usually don’t forget them. However, many have heard descriptions, and there have been a ton of knockoffs. So many that everyone questions what’s real anymore.

Fucking barbarians.

I answered him while stepping a little to the side and planting my left foot in a solid position. “I’m going to give you exactly zero chances to be wise and only one warning. My name is Tabitha. No last name. This is a Duke’s Ranger Special. While I could pull it and make your future a non-event, I’ve already paid the bar owner a hundred credits for the damage I’m about to cause.”

As Donald was working through everything I just told him, I put my hat down on the table and flipped off the camera again. I acted like I was scratching the back of my head.

I’m subtle that way.

It became obvious Donald had arrived at the conclusion I meant to go toe-to-toe with him instead of shooting his ass. When his eye opened perceptibly, I lashed out with my size sevens and kicked his heavy ass through the table behind him to slam into the bar, knocking off four bottles of booze that crashed to the ground.

That was going to suck to clean up. “Not paying for the booze!” I yelled over my shoulder and walked toward the busted table as Donald was trying to get himself standing again. I pulled my necklace out from under my shirt. Then, I yanked my pistol and stuck the tip on his forehead beneath his hair and bent down to stare into his great eye. “So, I kicked your ass across the floor, busted a table, four bottles of booze I’m not paying for, and I figure I probably have another forty credits on my tab. Am I using that money to pay someone to drag your dead ass out of here, or am I using it to buy you and me a couple of drinks while you answer questions from a Queen’s Ranger?”

At that point, he glanced at my chest. Not because my tits impress him, although it is a nice rack, rather because my badge glittered on its chain hanging from my neck. It’s a death sentence to have a fake Ranger badge.

You can try to scam people with fake Ranger pistols, but our badges are fucking sacrosanct. The only time we come together as a group is when we hear about someone trying to fake being a Ranger. We’ve been known to lay waste to places when that happens.

Nobody pretends to be a Queen’s Ranger and gets away with it.

“Number?” he asked me, staring at the badge.

“Two,” I supplied.

If you know much about Rangers, you know the importance of our number. My boss, Barnabas, is One. I followed him quickly into the group and became number Two. Unfortunately, Three was killed, and Four and Five are both in retirement. Six died of natural causes. Well, let’s just say not duty related causes. Sticking his personal fun stick in the wrong woman caused his girl to go all sorts of ballistic on him.

Queen’s Rangers might be pretty damned indestructible, but make an ass out of your woman and give her a fair amount of time and she will figure out your Achilles heel, and there goes your chance for a long life.

So, the next number still running and gunning is Seven. I saw him last year passing through the Menoah Space Station. We had drinks and talked old times until the bar closed down. Good times.

“I’ll take the drink,” Donald told me. I pulled the pistol back, holstered it, and offered him my hand to help him up. He took it, and I easily yanked him standing again.

He looked me up and down, “I’d heard you Rangers were difficult. I didn’t realize how strong you were, too,” he admitted as the bar’s people got to cleaning up the mess. We walked back over to the table I had used, and we both sat down.

“Just curious, which table do you usually use?” I asked him, to break the ice.

He pointed to my chair, “That chair.”

Well, shit. I guess I was mistaken after all.

CHAPTER THREE

Donald and I had another five drinks together. The good stuff, the strong stuff. The stuff that tastes like American southern sweet tea to me, and puts a Q-bert under the damned table. Alcohol, often useful to lower the inhibitions for many species, doesn’t affect me. Which is a mixed blessing. Unfortunately, it doesn’t affect a Q-bert, either.

Sugar, however, really messes them up. I have no idea what a donut would do to them, a Q-bert would probably have an orgasm right here on the floor. Hell, for a good donut, I’d have an orgasm, too.

Damn, now I need a donut.

However, Donald was cognizant enough to spill the beans that the local pain in the ass was a Therine named some shit I couldn’t pronounce. So, I named him Barney. Yeah, after the purple dinosaur. If you saw a Therine, you would totally find his new name funny as hell.

I paid to put Donald up in one of the cheap rooms to sleep off his stupor. I had fifteen credits on my tab left after I renegotiated with Billet. He wanted me to pay for the bottles of broken booze. I emphatically replied I wasn’t. Three shot out security cameras later, he agreed with me.

>> Achronyx, pull the data on grid Delta 07 by Charlie 02 and show.<<

I reviewed the image sent to my eye. “Fucking castle he has there,” I mumbled to myself.

The bar was beginning to fill up, and most had heard the rumors about the fight earlier. I walked to the door and reviewed the outside drone cameras I had dropped just to make sure nothing unexpected was awaiting me. I pulled open the doors and stepped out into the late afternoon sun. It took me a couple of minutes to locate a runner who could take a message on a micro-crystal. I paid the little twerp two credits and waited another thirty minutes while tracking the runner over to Barney’s place.

I pulled my hair into a small knot behind my head and put my hat back on. I sent Achronyx the order to get into place ten thousand meters up, above the clouds and to prepare four one pound pucks and two three pound pucks.

Back when the Queen was dealing with Earth issues, the team had developed gravitic engines which drove kinetic weapons. The little guys are devastatingly powerful, and small. Barney’s stone walls wouldn’t help him much. Now, if he had some high-powered shields, I’d be in a tighter spot.

Perhaps.

Maybe. I’ve been known to pummel the ground near the shields to see if I can upset the foundations. It does tend to piss off anyone nearby. Fortunately for me, Barney didn’t have anyone near him. Most pricks concerned with their security liked a lot of open space around them. Killing fields.

Time to issue the ultimatum.

I sent commands to all but two of my drone cameras to look around his place as much as possible to give me the layout. I had the other two helping me. One looking behind me and the other in front of me. I’ve had enough situations where I got surprised and been hurt to worry about shit like that. You grow an arm back, you learn caution.

I made it to within a couple of hundred meters when the area became deserted and it was all flat ground to the castle. The rock walls were two stories high. Planet Bectal had carnivorous creatures that didn’t give a shit whether it was rude to eat you or not. Personally, I planned on sleeping on Achronyx up in space unless I had to stay down here for some reason.

Sleeping in space really reduces issues with being surprised while sleeping. I pulled my coat back to allow me access to both pistols.

I made it ten steps before I spotted the two snipers taking position over the right and left sides of the front wall, in the shadows. I double checked the drones before continuing my walk.

I did allow them an opportunity to not target me.

They failed.

I ramped my speed up to high-Vampiric using the Etheric connection and pulled my pistols. I shot at the walls in front of both snipers. The gravitic rail gun technology that Jean Dukes built into the latest versions used rail gun technology to push rods out but also used gravitic micro-Pucks to help control the kick these little bitches have. It allowed the pistols to push a much heavier round at higher velocity without making the recoil too much for even my enhanced body to handle. If the rock had been sandstone, both of those snipers would have been killed.

Fortunately, it was a local equivalent of granite and the explosions and shrapnel probably made those two wet their pants.

If they targeted me again, I’d shoot to kill.

I continued watching. The drone above showed the left was bringing his rifle back on target, namely me. I waited until I could see his helmet and I snapped a shot through it. I could see him fall off the walkway to the courtyard below on the drone video.

The one of the right refused to show itself.

Making sure nothing else looked like it was going to surprise me, I continued towards the building.

Barney was the local badass. Well, he was the representative of the local badass. Barney’s boss was in the city about a hundred galactic stans to the Northwest. About an hour’s flight in a jet aircraft.

He was running gambling and a few other criminal efforts. I wasn’t here for those sins. A Ranger doesn’t walk in and start arresting everyone, we couldn’t possibly do it nor did we always care. No, a Ranger is here to deal with major issues. The nice part is that we choose what’s major.

Like, with Barney. While I personally would think his mottled purple skin should be an issue, I’m not really allowed to choose to badger someone strictly based on looks. I’m human. Therefore I do understand how I might be pre-disposed to not liking how something looks. But I could be annoyed with other endeavors Barney might be involved in.

Especially the rumor that Barney was working in the slave trade.

Once a planet comes under the Queen Bitch’s jurisdiction, she will stop slavery. She’s been known to start at the top and work her way down until the point is made.

Slavery will not be permitted. Period.Fucking.Dot.

On one planet, it actually took six levels of leadership before those in power understood she would condemn everyone until there was nothing left but slaves alive and then they would be free, anyway.

Here, rumor had it Barney was grabbing off-worlders who had come into town and weren’t with a group. Someone off a ship that failed to go back in time, or worse, was drugged to miss their ship.

Usually, the females of species were the targets. The money is better for a female slave.

That stuff pisses me off. As a female of my species, I’d rather not have that kind of attention thrown at me. So, I found myself a minute later looking up at an eleven-foot door. I sure hoped Barney was trying to compensate.

I knocked on the door. It was made out of the local equivalent of ironwood. The only thing I accomplished was scraping my knuckles. Local carnivores had been known to figure out how to push open doors and occasionally break them down to go in for their food.

Apparently, crunchy on the outside with screaming nougat centers is what these nighttime killers like.

However, this hard-ass door wasn’t helping me at the moment. I figure they knew I was here. I could see from my eyes in the sky no one had come out of the main house to cross the courtyard. The guy I had shot was lying on his back on the ground. The other guy was peeking over the parapet with his rifle. I would have thought with his partner dying, he might have gotten the memo.

Well, unfortunately, I don’t give others many chances to get it right when it comes to my life. I un-holstered my right pistol and dialed the slug throwing power down to three. Watching the sniper from my little drone, I waited until he had pulled his rifle from his eye to lean over further. I ducked out from under the door overhang and shot him between the eyes. His rifle dropped, but his body stayed up on the wall, half on each side, hanging there like a pair of shoes over a power line.

“Barney, I’m going to give you to the count of ten to be out here, opening your door for me. Or, it’s going to suck for you big time!” I screamed this in English, the Intergalactic equivalent of a forgotten language.

“One...Two...Ten!” I yelled before I reached inside my coat for a small sticker. It was square with a red circle and a button on it. I peeled off the circle and placed it in the middle of the door.

>>Achronyx, send down a one pound Puck set at level three to hit the target I’m activating now.<< I pushed the button and made sure that no one was looking to sneak up on me.

I made it around the corner before the one-pound Puck slammed into the front gate. Damn! I felt the vibrations from over here.

Someone was going to need a new entrance.

I looked around the corner and sure enough, the front door area was still full of dust and splinters flying everywhere. I assumed everyone had their guns trained in that direction and reached into my duster for my hand spikes. Over the many decades I’ve been playing amongst the stars, I’ve requested all sorts of shit from the mad scientists from Team BMW and Jean Dukes. One or the other usually comes through for me.

Well, except helping me grow taller. Damned Mother Nature screwed me over on that one. You know how hard it is to impress someone when you’re five foot four? Shit, John Grimes comes in at about six and a half, and people shut up.

I need to work on my menace, that’s my problem.

Whatever. I slapped the control that runs through my suit. It helps with both protection and weight. I looked up.

>>Achronyx, reduce weight eighty-percent.<<

I jumped up and slammed my hands into the stone before I shot past the top of the wall. I had to put one up, one down so my legs didn’t keep going. Sometimes I forget the basics.

I pulled myself up and looked over to see everything as it should be. Which is to say deserted between the main building and the outer gate. One of the snipers on the ground, one hanging ass up over on the wall at the other corner.

I noticed a window open and a big ass barrel getting stuck through, followed by a shield attached to the barrel. A thermal bloom protector.

Damned de damn damn. This is a bit of a harsh welcome and completely uncalled for.

>>Achronyx, target the window with the crew served laser sticking out. Make this a one-pound Puck as well, thirty-five percent power. See if you’re good enough to slam between the thermal bloom protector and the window.<<

>>Tabitha, you know this will kill anyone in the room unless they are in personal armor, correct?<<

I hate when E.I.’s lecture me on shit I knew before they were created.

>>Yes. Half of my attacks are calculated to cause the results you always warn me about.<<

>>That is because half of your efforts have spectacularly unique results.<<

Smartass. Even when he’s proper, I know he’s laughing in his cybernetic mind.

>>Just do it!<<

>>Incoming.<< A moment later I got a ‘duck’ command, and I dropped beneath the top of the wall.

I heard the first slam, then felt the concussive BOOM and smirked.

Right up until the point when I forgot the concussive boom might affect me. My spikes lost their grip in the rock, and I was falling.

>>ACHRONYX!<< That was how much I got out before my 18lbs hit the ground. I rolled with the landing and was up in a second, but it’s damned embarrassing, frankly.

>>Yes?<<

I swear to God that damned computer knew what was going to happen and just failed to warn me.

>>Achronyx, how about the next time something like this comes up, make sure to actually warn me about the SHIT I might not be thinking about? Let’s see, oh, for example, like fucking falling from twenty feet in the air, you asshole!<<

>>Tabitha, there is a substantial hole in the building. Three micro-drones have gone in, and there are no combatants in the top level at this time.<<

>>Did.You.Hear.My.Command!<<

>>Yes.<<

>>Fine. Remember what I said. Now put my weight back to normal for this shithole.<<

After pulling my pistols, I walked back to the front and went through the damaged front gate and then to the massive hole in the building. I saw what remained of the laser barrel laying off to one side, smoking. The rocks and debris from the hole were strewn all over the courtyard. More rocks and debris, including body parts, cluttered the room I poked my head in.

Damn, that was a mess. The wooden walls had blood and unwanted meat by-products everywhere.

I stepped through the hole in the wall, over a couple of large chunks of rocks and... other stuff. I wrinkled my nose. It isn’t like this stuff is new, and thank god I don’t throw up, but it isn’t ever pleasant.

I put my left pistol back in its holster and walked down a hallway. The drones ahead swept right around a corner.

Then I had no feedback, they stopped working.

Dammit. I yanked my pistol back out and dialed up the power. I kept the right pistol about as powerful as a .45 back on Earth. I aimed the left one at the end of the hallway then moved it a little right. Jacking up the gravitic offset, I let loose a barrage of shots, each one inching right. The wood and other building materials used in this building wasn’t going to stop these rounds. I fired about thirty. I did all of this shooting in the space of five seconds. You have to love Jean Duke’s rail-guns.

I kept the left pistol, holstered my right and reached in the duster to pull out two one-inch round eye-drones and tossed them into the air. They quickly went down and to the right to see what was in the hallway. Ouch, three dead, one wounded in the leg and stomach, still aiming a gun at me and then a large door at the end of the hall behind them.

I pulled my right gun and sent the command to impose a dot on the picture as I aimed. When I had my dot on his head, I switched the power up to seventy percent and kicked in the gravitic support. I fired once, and the round slammed into his mouth and out the back of his head.

None left alive.

I sent the drones through the other way to make sure nothing was waiting for me when I turned the corner. I was good. I walked down and did a quick peek before turning. Damn, what a mess.

>>Tabitha, there is a vehicular heat signature that is rapidly leaving to the Southwest from your location.<<

“That fucker left!” I screamed and started running past those on the ground who had given up their lives for that shithead. I gave the commands for the drones to check the door. Nothing on it, and I opened it an inch and a half to let them go in.

It was this building’s version of a garage. There were a handful of hover-bikes, and a space where a small two person jet-car would have been.

>>Achronyx, I’m going to open the small micro-bots. I want you to command them to check out this place, now. I don’t have anyone alive to question so far.<<

And I didn’t. Have anyone to question. It seemed the place either didn’t need them, or they were gone. It took another hour before the little micro-bots found a hidden door in a wall. I jerked around until a quarter hour later I found the mechanism to open it. Although tempted to blow it, I could have killed anyone inside. The door would have blasted into two cages that were ten feet back.

I pulled out my badge and let it hang on my duster, to make sure those inside who knew it would know help arrived.

I opened the door and the smell of unwashed bodies and horrible sanitation hit my nose. My eyes started watering.

>>Achronyx, call Billet and see if he will allow me to hire his people to help clean these ladies up. I count five different species, including one human. I need three rooms for them, and food, water and robes brought here. I’ll get Frank to let me know if we have a mercenary company trustworthy enough to help out here. Then, call Hirotoshi and let him know I want Ryu and half the Tontos to get off their lazy asses and find a fast packet ride over here.<<

I looked around the room and considered my next steps.

>>Let Hirotoshi know I’ve found a playground and a base of operations. The previous owner can kiss my ass, he isn’t getting it back.<<

>>Understood. Billet is willing to support you, but wants assurances that B-ehrunethinee is dead.<<

>>Send him pictures of the front gate, the front room from outside and inside, the hallway with the dead and now this one with the slaves. Next, tell him not to make me enforce laws about offering support. If he wants to argue? Tell him I’ll do the same to his home when I come knocking, I’m not in the mood. He can pee down his leg telling Barney I forced him to deal with me and what a bitch I am.<<

I confirmed no one but the slaves and I were alive in the building and holstered my weapons and started walking into the room with the kidnapped, those that could see me staring at me and my badge.

I looked around and said to no one in particular, “Not like the slaving bastard is going to live long enough to bitch about me, anyway.”

It looked like I would have plenty to do on my vacation.

Q&A with Michael Anderle

What is your favorite word?

Believe – It is opportunistic, hopeful, energizing.

What is your least favorite word?

Loser – it is a label, it judges a person’s actions and abilities all in one.

What turns you on?

Creativity – My personality thrives on creating ideas. They don’t have to be workable, we will get to those later.

What turns you off?

Details – The molasses of life.

What sound or noise do you love?

The sound of raindrops on a tin roof while the cool winds of winter encourage me to stay in bed.

What sound or noise do you hate?

Pain – Whether from voice or the crash of cars... nothing good is happening.

What is your favorite curse word?

Fuck – Noun, verb, adjective... such a Renaissance type of word.

What profession other than your own would you like to attempt?

Special Effects creator.

What profession would you not like to do?

Accountant – Details!

If heaven exists, what would you like to hear God say when you arrive at the pearly gates?

Hey, I was that guy on the side of the street you helped out. Well done, well done indeed.

Have you written your whole life?

No, I did a little in high school. However, I was poorly scored during a literary class and it rather killed my desire to let anyone see anything again. So, I kept that desire under the rug for another thirty years.

Why did you do a series that merges Sci-Fi and Paranormal?

I’m a lifelong reader, and for the last ten years, I’ve really enjoyed the vampire/military sci-fi/space opera genres. I figured if I was going to write something, I wanted to have my cake and eat it, too. I just didn’t realize how hard it would be to market the stories!

How many books have you read over your lifetime?

Thousands? Well, hard to say. I’ll reread my favorites three to five times until I just can’t anymore. However, some of my favorite weekends are when I find a new series with three to five books and have nothing stopping me from reading all weekend.

What is your favorite comic series?

Foxtrot, hands down. It was Bloom County, but the sheer consistency of Foxtrot making me laugh can’t be beat.

What is your Golf Score?

How low can we go? The only game of golf that I like to play is ‘best ball’... That way, the pressure is off.

Where do you write?

I have different restaurants and locations. Obviously, home, home office, bed, couch, the club, Austin’s Taco House, The Salad Bowl (with Mexican food, no salad for me) and the occasional Starbucks.

Who is your favorite author?

Damn, this is a good one. I’m going to have to say fellow Indie Author John Conroe. His characters make me want to go back time and time again.

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