Wreckers: A Denver Boyd Novel by George Ellis (ebook reader ink .TXT) 📕

“Because of the oxygen situation,” she added, before cutting the transmission.

We observed a moment of silence in the cabin for the conversation that had just happened. Then Edgar couldn’t take it anymore.

“She better have friends, is all I’m saying,” he said. “And you owe me a ton of credits, Avery.”

Everyone laughed, releasing the tension. Even Gary chuckled, then wondered if they might have some kind of AI he could “get with.”

I turned to Avery with a smile. “Well, you can take the wrecker a billion miles out of the verse, but he’s still just a wrecker,” I said.

“And a heartbreaker,” Avery replied. “So at least that part is new for you.”

I took the jab in stride and told Gary to navigate us toward our new friends.

We had some fixing to do.

Epilogue

There was no hiding from the midday sun. It loomed high above, scalding the man’s leathery, golden-brown neck. He reached up to remove his wide-brimmed hat, then wiped his forehead with his shirt sleeve. When he was younger, he’d been able to spend all afternoon on a horse, roaming the dusty hills of the ranch and surveying his kingdom. These days, he was lucky to be able to make it an hour before he had to turn back and recharge inside with some air conditioning.

At 62, he was simply no match for the 105 degree heat, no matter how in shape he kept himself by working his ranch. It was August in the land previously known as Texas, and that meant furnace-like conditions. He pondered that for a moment, how territory so open and vast could feel so stifling. It reminded him of space that way.

He took a swig of water from his canteen and pushed on. He had a job to do, and he was going to do it. He had lost one of his cattle in the night, and he wasn’t heading back until he found it. The swirling buzzards overhead suggested he might not like what he found.

He crested a hill on his black stallion, Mischief, and looked down into the valley below. He saw the large steer on the downslope. At least what was left of it. Coyotes or perhaps a mountain lion must have attacked it in the night after it wandered off. Half of the large animal was eaten away, the flesh torn from the bone, and what remained would be food for the birds of prey overhead. They would pick it clean in a matter of hours. He’d seen their work before.

Looking down at the dead animal, it occurred to him that he felt no pity for the beast. He had long since given up the childish attachment to the animals on his ranch. Except for his horse and his dogs, they held no emotional sway over him. He would miss the land more than he would miss them. Land. Bedrock, as everybody liked to call it. For millions of years, land was all animals, and eventually humans, had known. They were bound to it. And the land provided all they needed. Hell, it could still provide everything they needed. It was a matter of want. Now, some folks will argue humans are natural explorers, but that was garbage. He knew it was more about the escape than the destination. It was no different than when a person tried to change his life by moving to a new city. It rarely worked.

Despite his own journeys into space, the man felt humanity had lost more than it gained when they started sending ships into that vast black ocean.

As he rode back to the main house, he saw a cloud of dirt rise up across the horizon. He had a visitor. On a motorcycle. The man smiled.

Ten minutes later, the man was leading his stallion to the shaded barn when the motorcycle rider revved through the gates and throttled down. Her long black hair flowed behind her from underneath the helmet.

When she reached the driveway to the house, she parked the bike and stepped off it, a rider in black. She considered the man for a moment, then removed her helmet.

“Jack Largent,” she said, her piercing eyes scanning the surrounding hills and valleys. “This is exactly the kind of ranch I expected to find you on.”

As if on cue, a pair of dogs barked from inside the house. They jumped against the windows, hoping to get a chance to defend their master. Largent motioned toward them. They were brown labs.

“You like dogs?” he asked.

“I don’t know. I’ve never seen one in person before.”

“The best thing about dogs is that they’re loyal. Some people want cute dogs or dogs that don’t shed or dogs that are good with the kids. Me, I want a loyal dog. I want a dog that knows who is in charge at all times.”

The woman nodded, catching his drift. It wasn’t subtle. Largent then smiled as if he had forgotten his manners.

“Look at me, rambling on. You’ve had a long ride and must be hot out here. Wearing all black, too. Looks good but hell for this climate. Come on inside and I’ll get you something cold to drink.”

The house was cool and the iced tea was even cooler. Largent watched as she drank nearly half the glass without a break. She enjoyed the sugary rush as she settled into the leather couch opposite him. She had a sharp jaw and the kind of figure he liked in a woman, Largent thought. And she was relaxing on the couch in a way that made him think she might be willing to be more than just his employee.

“I appreciate you coming all this way, Anna,” he said.

“What’s a few months out of my life?” she replied. “And please, call me Slay. Everyone else does.”

Largent nodded. “Okay, Slay.”

“I have to admit, as much as I like visiting Earth and seeing your ranch, I don’t know why I’m here,” Slay said. “Especially since I lost the drive and Mr. Boyd