“Padre,” says the outlaw next to me at the bar. “I need yer help.”
Gold glints at the corners of his mouth. He reeks of trail dust, manure, sweat, and tobacco. The bartender bot drifts toward the till and a silent alarm. The conversations
Getting shot in the chest wasn’t everything I hoped it would be. The slug burrowed in my breastplate, and oil—not blood—spurted everywhere. Following protocol, I fell backward and writhed on the ground.
But I wasn’t really feeling it. Literally. My plasticine body did not have pain receptors, and even the oil was just for show.
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The fish revolted, and it was glorious. Bluetooth, mudfish, and desert trout swarmed the river and frothed its waters. Paddlesturges and red cripes leaped in the air and landed, flopping, upon my deck.
The mining bot at my stern sent me a warning.
E81921: PR05P3CT0R, dredge buckets are under attack.
But I already
“In the tales of them that came before, there’s talk of the otherworldly, spectral kite.” Pop’s cybernetic eye stared down the empty barrel of his gun. The rest of the parts stretched across his lap. “The settlers said you could see clean through the bird’s skin, past its bones, straight to its beating heart.
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“In the tales of them that came before, there’s talk of the Santa Maria buried in the vast Noachis Desert, where yucca and sage cling to its thirsty soil. Nobody knows how the starship got stranded there, only that it crossed a great distance in search of treasure.”
As a galaxy of stars spiraled overhead
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