I grabbed my shirt and pulled it off. It was too hot to sleep fully dressed.

  I could feel Megan’s intense gaze. Did she like what she was seeing or not? I wasn’t sure, but what I did know is I was getting tired of her crap. “Look, go to sleep. We’ll figure out what to do next in the morning—if we’re not dead yet.”

  She stared at me for another long moment, then shrugged. “Fine.”

  “I’m not asking for trust,” I said, settling back down by the dying fire. “Just a little cooperation until I find the Preacher.”

  Megan didn’t reply. She just laid down, putting her back to me. Her butt was… completely bare. Was that normal on this planet? To sleep nude? Maybe so, due to the climate. Like those ancient Greeks who wore a robe—or nothing at all.

  It was distracting to say the least. I sighed and closed my eyes, trying to quiet my racing thoughts.

  I laid there, staring up at the alien stars. Every now and then, I glanced over at Megan. Her back was still turned to me. I couldn’t deny the attraction I felt, the primal pull of her. Life on this planet seemed to be short and brutal. You had to take your moments of pleasure where you could find them…

  I reached out, my hand resting lightly on her shoulder. She tensed for a moment, then relaxed into my touch.

  Oh… Now I got it. Finally…

  I’d been a moron. She wanted to be touched—she just couldn’t say so. Different strokes for different folks… every planet did the whole courtship thing their own way.

  I gently pulled her close, feeling the heat of her body against mine.

  We came together under the starlit sky. It didn’t take long for us to become a tangle of limbs and sweat-slicked skin. She didn’t talk at all, not a word. That was nice.

  Her body was a work of art, all lean muscle and tanned curves. It was the kind of body you only got by living on the land, working with your hands every day, all day.

  I explored every inch of her, savoring the taste of her skin, the sound of her pleasure.

  Nearby, her walker let out a series of odd mechanical chirps and whirs. I wondered if it could sense what was happening. Maybe it’s shitty AI was concerned for its mistress.

  But then Megan’s lips found mine again and all thoughts of the machine vanished from my mind.

  Later, we laid there in silence, catching our breath. I knew this changed things between us, but I didn’t regret it. In a place like Haven-7, you had to hold onto whatever moments of connection you could find.

  * * *

  The first rays of dawn filtered through the sparse trees, waking me up.

  Something was off. The camp was too quiet. I rolled over, reaching for Megan, but my hand met empty air. She was gone.

  Goddammit.

  I sat up, scanning the camp. No sign of her. No sign of her walker either. Or the guns. She’d taken everything, leaving me with nothing but my buzzblade.

  I cursed under my breath, knowing I shouldn’t have trusted her fully. She was a Duster, and she had her own ideas.

  Climbing to my feet, I stretched out the kinks in my muscles. I had to keep moving. I had to find Silas and get some answers. Then maybe, just maybe, I’d track down Megan—if she was still alive at that point.

  I started walking, picking a direction at random. Downhill seemed as good a bet as any. The forest thinned out as I went, giving way to rocky terrain and scrubby brush.

  Hours passed. The fat orange sun climbed higher in the sky. My throat was parched, my stomach growling. I hadn’t eaten since yesterday. I needed to find water, food, shelter. In that order.

  I crested a rise and saw a road cutting through the landscape below. That gave me a rare glimmer of hope. Roads meant people. And people meant supplies.

  Following the road, my boots led me to a collection of buildings. A farm, from the looks of it.

  As I got closer, I saw a name painted on a weathered sign. Gritstone Homestead. That name rang a bell. I’d heard about this place, probably from Dr. Renn.

  Hadn’t there been a massacre here? The act that had started the Duster rebellion?

  I approached cautiously, my hand on my buzzblade. It was quiet. No sounds of animals, no voices, no signs of life.

  I smelled something bad right away. Pushing open the gate, I stepped into the yard. That’s when I saw the bodies. Dozens of them, strewn across the ground. Men, women, children. All of them dead.

  Shot, stabbed, burned. It was a scene out of a nightmare. The stench of death hung heavy in the air.

  I moved from body to body, checking for any signs of life. But there were none. They were all long dead. From the looks of it, some of the bodies had been taken. Dragged away, leaving trails of blood in the dirt.

  Standing there, surrounded by death, I tried to make sense of it all. Why had the Techborn done this?

  There were no obvious answers. All I knew is that I was alone, unarmed, and a long way from anything resembling safety. I had to keep moving, keep searching for the truth.

  Because one thing was clear. Haven-7 was a powder keg waiting to blow. And I was standing right in the middle of it.

  Chapter 10

  I stood at the edge of Gritstone Homestead. What a frigging mess. I’d seen bad things, mind you. Sometimes… colonists go nuts. That’s just how it is. Humanity in general was prone to that, of course. Our history was peppered with butchery and debauchery…

  Still, to see a civilian massacre firsthand—it was never easy.

  These people were isolated. All colonists had to live in an environment that wasn’t natural to humankind. Things often went badly, and there was no law enforcement coming out from Earth to see that justice was done. Except for XCU, that is. Guys like me didn’t have the resources to fix things the right way, we had to do it on the cheap. That was especially true with all the sagging budgets back home.

  The silence was total, except for the sighing of the wind. I wanted to get out of here—but I had to make sure I wasn’t overlooking some useful information.

  After taking a few steps into the barnyard, something made me pause. A figure was approaching, a man in a pristine white suit. He looked out of place among the blood and dirt.

  As he got closer, I saw the suit was covered in gadgets and devices. Sensors, scanners, who knows what else. This was no ordinary man. He was wearing a dust-repelling suit, he had to be. That kind of tech was rare on Earth, much less some dirt world out here on the edge of colonized space.

  The fancy man stopped a few feet away, his eyes boring into me. They were cold, calculating, like he was dissecting me with his gaze.

  “A visitor?” he said, smooth as silk. “I’ve been expecting you.”

  I tensed, my hand inching towards my buzzblade. “Who are you?”

  “Doctor Malcus Graven,” he replied. He had skinny hands, even in gloves. His face had sunken eyes and sunken cheeks. He looked almost like one of these corpses that littered the barnyard. “Who might you be?”

  “The name is Tanner.”

  He gave me a sickly-sweet smile that didn’t fit his face at all. “I have a proposition for you, Mr. Tanner.”

  Graven? I’d heard that name before… Oh yes, the Techborn geneticist. Brandt had talked about him. He was the crazy frigger responsible for the Tuskers.

  I looked him over, taking in the high-tech gear, the air of cold intellect. This was a man who saw people as puzzles to be solved. Or specimens to be studied.

  “Not interested,” I said, taking a step back. “I’ve heard about what happens to people who get involved with your… experiments.”

  Graven chuckled, a humorless sound. “You misunderstand me. I’m not here to harm you. Quite the opposite, in fact.”

  He took another step closer, his eyes gleaming with a strange intensity. “I’ve been watching for one of your kind. An unusual sort, cast into the middle of a local conflict. You have skills, you’re resilient. You’re a rare breed.”

  I didn’t like the sound of any of this. Graven was known for his experiments, his obsession with creating the perfect being.

  “Thanks for the compliments,” I said. “But I’m not looking to be your lab rat.”

  Graven shook his head. He had a freaky smile going on now. “You’re thinking too small, Mr. Tanner. I’m offering you a chance to be part of something greater. To help shape the future of Haven-7.”

  I looked around at the bodies, the blood-soaked ground. “If this is your idea of the future, I want no part of it.”

  Graven sighed, as if dealing with a petulant child. “These Dusters were a necessary sacrifice. Their deaths will pave the way for a new era. One where the strong survive and the weak perish in an accelerated manner.”

  I stared at Graven, trying to size him up. He was talking about genetics, about survival of the fittest. It all sounded like a bunch of pseudo-scientific nonsense to me.

  “You’ve seen my Revenants, yes?” he said.

  “Your what?”

  “I believe the neurotypicals refer to them as Tuskers.”

  “Oh yeah. Big, ugly, dumb… I’ve seen them.”

  Graven flashed me some teeth. I got the feeling he didn’t like anyone insulting his abominations. Too bad.

  “Yes… a near-perfect blend of human and alien DNA. I enhanced them with a local species that’s stupid and relatively harmless. Now, they’re stronger, faster, and tougher than either species alone. That’s my vision, you see. Humanity isn’t meant to colonize the stars unchanged. We need to adapt.”

  I thought of the Tuskers I’d seen in action. They were formidable fighters, but there was something unnatural about them. Something wrong. Genetic freaks.

  “You’re playing with genes,” I said, shaking my head. “Messing with nature like that, it rarely ends well. Playing around with DNA is worse than unleashing AI.”

  Graven just smiled, like he knew something I didn’t. “Nature is merely a starting point, Mr. Tanner. With science, we can improve upon it. Create something better.”

  One step closer. No weapons in his hands…

  I was about to tell him where he could find a tight, dark home for his science when I heard a sound behind me. A faint whirring, like the hum of a machine.

  I spun around, my hand going for my buzzblade—but it was too late. A dozen Techborn troops were approaching from outside the farmyard, their weapons trained on me.

  They were dressed in sleek, black armor—the opposite of Malcus. Their faces were hidden behind tinted visors. Each one held a shredder in his hands.

  My first thought was to rush forward and kill Malcus—or maybe take him prisoner. I went with that instinct and sprinted right at him.

  The look on his face made my day. He’d sprung his trap, but now there was some maniac charging at him with a knife.

  There was a lot of jangling and cursing behind me, but I knew if they fired now, the Techborn stiffs would have to risk hitting and killing Malcus—not just me. From everything I’d seen of these Techborn bastards, they were pretty big on their lords. They held their fire and raced after me.

  The man in the white suit finally lost his smug smile. He backpedaled—but it was already too late for that. I was younger, stronger, and in great shape. I sprang on him and put my knife to his throat in one smooth motion.

  I was about to spout out my list of demands—but I never got the chance.

  Before I could react, one of the troops behind me fired something new. A net of crackling energy shot out, wrapping around me like a cocoon. It nailed old Malcus, too, but he seemed to be unaffected. Was his white suit protecting him? Or one of his gadgets? There was no way of knowing, and it didn’t matter much.

  I tried to move, but my muscles wouldn’t respond. It was like being paralyzed.

  Sheer force of will drove my thumb, nudging the switch on. The blade in my hand began to hum.

  Another moment of surprise and shock gripped Malcus. He was staring into my eyes. We were up close and personal—like we were slow-dancing or something.

  I tried to kill him. I seriously did. Sure, I knew that act might be my last. The Techborn thugs who were even now swirling around, putting hands on us, couldn’t have been too happy with my attempt.

  But I didn’t care. My rage was up. It was this same instinct that left me unemployed every year or so.

  My buzzblade didn’t quite reach the good doctor’s throat. What a pity.

  I hit the ground hard a moment later, my body twitching as the energy coursed through me. I could see old Doc Graven standing over me. His weird smile was back, and it seemed to be even bigger than before.

  “Impressive, Mr. Tanner!” he said, his voice distant through the haze of pain. “You’re everything I hoped for and more. I can’t wait to see what we can achieve together.”

  I wanted to spit in his face, to tell him to go to hell, but I couldn’t even speak. I pissed myself and chewed on my tongue instead.

  The world was going dark around the edges, my vision tunneling.

  The last thing I saw before I blacked out was Graven’s face.

  Those eyes. They gleamed with a perturbed light. I was now certain this guy was a bonafide loon.

  Chapter 11

  The world slowly came back into focus. My pounding headache was my only companion.

  I was in a moving cage of some kind. What was it with these colonists and cages?

  The metal bars were rough and rusted. The floor beneath me jolted and swayed. I had to be on a wagon, or something…

  Sitting up, I ignored the pain in my head. The cage was indeed on a wagon. A big, rickety thing that looked like it had seen better days. It was being pulled by two Tuskers, and their stench was already making me squinch my eyes.

  The wagon lurched again, and I grabbed the bars to steady myself. The Tuskers were setting a brutal pace. Their big, lumpy feet pounded against the hard-packed earth.

  I looked around, taking in my fellow prisoners. There were about a dozen of us, all crammed into this tiny space. Most were obvious Dusters. Everyone had clothes that were dirty and torn—if they had clothes at all.

  “Where are they taking us?” I heard someone whisper.

  “Labor camps—if we’re lucky,” another replied. “It could be worse.”

  I didn’t want to think about what ‘worse’ might mean. Graven’s words echoed in my head. Experiments. Genetics. I had a feeling we were about to find out firsthand what the mad doctor had in mind.

  The wagon hit a particularly rough patch, and I was thrown against the bars. The metal dug into my skin, leaving bruises. I gritted my teeth, refusing to show any weakness.

  “You’re Tanner, right?” a voice said from beside me. I turned to see a young man, his face dirty and bruised. “Heard you were some kind of hero back at Fishjumper Lake.”

  I shrugged, wincing as the movement sent pain lancing through my shoulders. “I was just passing through.”

  The man snorted and spat. His spittle didn’t make it all the way out to the dusty road. Instead, it slimed the rusty bars of our shared prison.

  “I bet you’re not all that, but I’m glad to hear you tried.” He held out a hand, his fingers calloused and scarred. “Name’s Jace. Jace Ryder.”

  I shook his hand, feeling the strength in his grip. “Dane Tanner. Though I guess you already knew that.”

  Jace chuckled. “Word travels fast in these parts. Especially when the rumor involves a stranger killing Techborn and Tuskers.”

  I leaned back against the bars, trying to find a comfortable position. It was a lost cause. The cage was too small, too cramped. The stench of the Tuskers was making my head spin.

  “Any idea where they’re taking us?” I asked.

  Jace shook his head. “No one knows for sure. But there are rumors. Whispers of a place down deep inside Arabella. A Techborn slaughterhouse. That’s where they conduct their worst experiments.”

  The wagon lurched and swayed, each bump sending a jolt of pain through my battered body. I gritted my teeth, trying to ignore the ache in my muscles, the throbbing in my head. This was no time for weakness.

  Beside the wagon, a sleek machine glided effortlessly over the rough terrain. It was a walker, but not like any I’d ever seen. This one was all smooth lines and gleaming metal, a far cry from the rusted heaps the Dusters rode. It moved with a predatory grace, its movements fluid and precise. It looked more like a prowling tiger than a mechanical ostrich.

  Perched atop the unique walker was none other than Malcus Graven himself. The man looked like he was out for a Sunday ride, not overseeing a bunch of prisoners being hauled off to God knows where. He had that same thin smile on his face, and those cold eyes were fixed upon me.

  “Ah, Mr. Tanner,” he called out. He dragged out my name as if tasting it. “I must say, I’m curious about you. You’re no simpleton dirt-farmer, are you?”

  I didn’t answer. I just stared straight ahead. I really, really wished I’d been able to saw his head off before I’d passed out.

  Malcus didn’t seem to mind my bad attitude. He just kept talking, like he was having a one-sided conversation. “A man of your talents, your savagery... it’s rare to find someone of such caliber out here in the wastes.”

  I couldn’t help but make a blatting noise with my lips at that. Talents? Resilience? The man made me sound like some kind of superhero. On Haven-7, there had to be a lot of tough survivor types running around. This place wasn’t like Earth. Back home everyone was either a street urchin, or a fat rabbit with VR goggles and fast thumbs who talked to his walls all day long in a tiny apartment.

  “Tell me, where exactly are you from?” Malcus continued, leaning forward on his walker.

  My mind came up with unspeakable words. Two of them were Earth and XCU. Instead, a lie won out. “The bush,” I said. “I’m a bushman. Nothing else.”

  “A bushman, hmm? What might bring a savage back to civilization? And so close to the Techborn lands, the center of our colony’s civilization? This is a long way from the bush.”

  I shrugged, immediately regretting having said anything at all. “Just passing through.”