Star People Legacy by Smith, T.L. (feel good books to read .txt) 📕

Star People

Legacy

T. L. Smith

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

Star People Legacy

Copyright © 2015 by T. L. Smith

All rights reserved.

Cover Design by T. L. Smith

Cover Art contributing photographers:

Alexeys/iStock by Getty Images

Chesterf/iStock by Getty Images

NASA/CXC/JPL-Caltech/STScI

ISBN-13: 978-1508725077

ISBN-10: 1508725071

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Read on!

CHAPTER

1

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah, it is a bit strange.” I gave the area a second sweep, considering scenarios. “We prefer they keep to the usual routes and off the bombing ranges.”