Cotton-mouthed and stomach grumbling. Someone leaned on the counter in the kitchen as they ate a bowl of noodle salad. Only the stove hood light was on as she slurped down her late-night snack.

  Dawn wiped the crust from her eyes. “Eve? I thought you had your own apartment.”

  Not Eve.

  “Seems you girls let the lease slip,” her mother Jenelle said. “So I guess I’m with you now.”

  “Mom? What are you doing here?”

  “Pascal got me out. Said you and Evie had a place where I’d be safe. While I was reluctant to leave, he said he needed my help. And from the look of things, he’s not wrong.”

  “Does Eve know you’re here?”

  “Where do you think I got the salad? But she was groggy. Looks like she took a tranquilizer and is likewise dealing with injuries. So, are you going to tell your mother what happened or not? Because Pascal says it’s a secret.”

  “Where is he?”

  Jenelle stabbed her fork in the air toward the closed bedroom door. Dawn opened it to find Pascal under the sheets in bed, asleep.

  She closed the door and joined her mother in the kitchen. “What did you make him do?”

  “Nothing. He showed up at the end of visiting hours and insisted I follow him. He had somehow managed to secure a keycard to the maintenance yard. From there, he led me outside. He said it was an emergency. Something about a friend in danger, and he insisted.”

  “They’re going to be looking for you, mom. And him. You have to go back. Explain this was your idea.”

  “I won’t do any such thing. I see you all got into trouble. Now, how about you let your mother help?”

  Epilogue

  Somehow, Pascal knew their mother had contacts with one of the transit companies. His solution, extracted after a thorough confrontation the next morning by Dawn and Eve, was to send a fleet of robot trucks to the redoubt, or close enough to it, and to help evacuate Quint and his community.

  Never mind the fact that most of them were in stasis. And the trucks wouldn’t be close enough to pick up anyone who wasn’t able-bodied. And the custodian wouldn’t allow anyone to go.

  Who knew if they were even alive?

  But Jenelle had promised to contact Transom to see what was needed to get the ball rolling. Meanwhile, Dawn collected what they had from Captain Fields and made her own phone calls.

  Detective Satoko first. He had some names of midlevel Commonwealth services with good reputations. New Pacific also had a couple of news agencies who would bite at a story like this. Satoko advised against taking it to the media. It would cause more problems than you hope to solve, he had said.

  Dawn sent out the data from the sheriff’s tablet to both agencies, and a few of the smaller ones, for good measure.

  A teaser article in a clickbait blog showed up that afternoon. Reilly-Bigg Military Overreach in Northern Farm Community. Massacre Rumors Denied by Senior Officials. Story to come.

  It was a start as far as comforting Pascal. He had helped his friend. Quint and his community would be safe, Dawn assured him.

  Pascal paced while chewing his thumbnails. “You want me to calm down?”

  “We’re all here and doing what we can,” Dawn said. “What happened to my bike?”

  He wouldn’t make eye contact. “I parked it at the bus station. Then I traded it. A guard at mom’s jail wanted it and let me copy her key card. I’m...sorry.”

  “I wasn’t planning on doing much riding anytime soon.” She produced the bauble she had taken from the grounds above the redoubt. The flattened aluminum circle was crude, yet somehow pleasing to the eye. She placed it on a bare shelf near the door. “Can I use this space, Pas?”

  He nodded. “What’s that?”

  “Maybe Quint made it. Or one of his family. I forgot I had it.”

  “Now it’s your first new button.”

  “I guess it is.”

  Their mom was putting lunch on the table. Marinated milkfish and garlic rice from a nearby deli. She had gone out without asking, and Dawn didn’t know where she had gotten the credits to pay for it.

  “Find your sister. Tell her lunch is ready.”

  Dawn found Eve upstairs in her apartment.

  She imagined Eve Moriti living with spartan simplicity: plain walls, a bedroll on the floor, and maybe a vid screen and couch. Instead, the walls were adorned with metallic-print vinyl, bright landscapes, and colored lights. Three couches dominated the center of the room around a table with a large three-dimensional puzzle of a mountain. The kitchen was a mess, with pots and dishes soaking.

  Eve and Linus occupied two of the couches. Both had fresh dressings on their wounds.

  “Should I leave?” Linus asked. “Your little sister’s got that look in her eyes, sarge. I think I should leave.”

  Dawn perched on the edge of a couch cushion across from them. “You’re fine. Mom wants you downstairs for lunch.”

  Eve adjusted the pillow beneath her head. “Not going to happen. Pascal wanted her here; she’s his responsibility.”

  “Have you even spoken with her?”

  “No. And I’m not planning on it. Enjoy lunch.”

  “I’m in no hurry to be down there either.”

  “So you came up here?”

  When a moment passed without Dawn answering, Linus grinned. “Aww, how sweet. You two going to kiss and make up?”

  Eve scowled. “On second thought, get out.”

  Linus put a pair of ear buds in and rolled onto his side, away from them.

  “Well, Dawn? There’s a third couch if you need a place. Don’t think I won’t charge rent. Plus, I already paid for your checkup. The doc wasn’t cheap.”

  “And mom stays free?”

  “Pascal’s place, his choice.”

  “I’m not sure any of us are ready for this. And you haven’t exactly been clear on who might be after you and your merry troupe.”

  “We’re safe as long as we stay in New Pacific. Once we leave, the gloves come off.”

  Dawn checked the couch. A spoon with dried on foodstuffs rested between the cushions. “I’ll think about it.”

  She went out to the balcony and spent a moment watching the children play at a game of tag. A pair of girls shrieked as they evaded a boy who was “it”.

  A tired-looking woman carried a basket of folded clothes from the laundry room. Knick-knacks in windows. Potted tomato plants and roses. Frayed door mats. A red heart and hammer logo sticker on a door, the emblem for a Commonwealth cricket team. Another neighbor appeared, an older man carrying groceries. He had trouble with his lock, but got it open before Dawn could move to help.

  Her implant flagged a message popping into an inbox. It was her Dawn Moriti folder and the text was from Detective Satoko. She called him.

  He chuckled when he picked up. “I was curious if you even checked messages. How many IDs do you keep track of?”

  “What do you want?”

  “Hey, relax. Know this is a long shot. But seeing how you were in town and willing to show up with a bounty using your real name, I did some digging. You have no New Pacific warrants, so you can breathe easy.”

  “I know. If you’re trolling for information, check for bounties. I’m not clean.”

  “Be glad that I’m not greedy, then. I had something else. Thought I’d float something past you. The lead on Reilly-Bigg got some attention. Seems an interested party was keen on hearing all about what they were up to.”

  “I gave you what you need to open a case.”

  “Let me finish. This party wanted to know who dug this up.”

  “When you talk like that, I get nervous. This isn’t a Commonwealth exec you’re talking about, but another corp, isn’t it?”

  “You should have come to work with us. But our pay is peanuts. This party...they’ve expressed interest in talking to you for some similar work. Said it will be worth your while.”

  “I’m listening.”

  Author Note

  Dawn Moriti’s journey started in The Seraph Engine, Book One of my Old Chrome series.

  Old Chrome follows Miles Kim’s adventure as he flees Meridian-controlled River City to rekindle his relationship with his son, Dillan, in Seraph. He’s an ex-cop who finds trouble, and sometimes trouble finds him. Dawn Moriti is one flavor of trouble, an ally, foil, and occasionally an antagonist.

  After seven novels, I decided she needed her own story, and I’m happy you found her tale.

  There’s more on the horizon for Dawn, Eve, Pascal, Jenelle, and Linus. I hope you tag along for their next adventure.

  If you have time, please take a moment to leave a review. Even a brief comment or rating helps small press and independent authors find new readers.

  Keep reading for a sample chapter of The Seraph Engine.

  The Seraph Engine - Chapter One

  There were three things Miles Kim didn’t like about the bandits who had stopped the atomic grav train bound for Seraph.

  First, one of the robbers, a rangy puke wearing a tattered duster and a paisley bandana around his mouth, had punched the porter, who had unlocked the passenger car to let the two men in. The porter’s nose gushed blood as he cowered with the riders at the frontmost seats.

  Second, both the little girls across from Miles who had been crying and fussing during the first half of their five-hour journey but had been finally distracted by their dad playing travel bingo and singing Tagalog lullabies were crying again. Their parents had them huddled and were attempting to calm them down.

  And third, Miles was going to miss his appointment with the man who was scheduled to kill him.

  The lanky bandit who had done the punching shoved his partner forward. The second robber was shorter, smaller, and, now that Miles glimpsed his face, looked about twelve years old. The kid held a burner in one hand and a pillowcase in the other.

  “Give everything in your pockets to him,” the lanky bandit shouted. There was an electronic buzz to his voice. An augmentation? “Anyone who hesitates gets a hole in the head.”

  Most of the passengers sat stunned, some gasped, and the man sitting next to Miles began to mewl softly. The family across from Miles shrank as if they hoped to disappear altogether. But not everyone was cowed, and this worried Miles.

  On a seat right behind the family of four was a woman wearing a plum waistcoat and a matching petite riding hat. She had been staring at Miles throughout the ride, which wasn’t unusual, but she hadn’t looked away when he caught her. Instead she had given him a bemused smile. She spent most of the trip writing on her device, using a purple fingernail as a stylus.

  And at the back of the passenger car was a marshal transporting a prisoner. Miles had spotted them instantly when boarding, the marshal trying to keep low key with his prisoner’s manacles concealed beneath a coat. But there was no hiding the fist-sized weapon on the marshal’s hip or the badge clipped to his belt. The prisoner got cuffed every time he tried to strike up a conversation with anyone.

  As Miles glanced back between the seats, the marshal adjusted himself and his weapon rig.

  Eyes forward again, Miles stifled a curse.

  Of all the ways a bandit might relieve the travelers on board the Seraph Express of their pocket credits, jumping on board a train waving a burner about while shouting “this is a stickup” was easily the worst. And the last thing he needed was to be caught in a firefight with a trigger-happy hero.

  The kid went from passenger to passenger with his gun pointing unsteadily. His voice held a prepubescent pitch when he screeched, “Hand it over!” He made it to the family across the aisle. The mother dropped in what they had without comment.

  Miles scooched down in his chair, keeping his head bowed so his black round-rim hat would cover most of his face. The young bandit’s feet were visible as he continued past, collecting devices, wallets, and jewelry. The kid had his back to Miles and was finishing with the opposite side of the car, robbing the woman with the purple hat and then a group of four older women who gave up their belongings with little more than reproachful glares.

  Someone outside was shouting. Yellow sands swirled beyond the window, but whoever was out there wasn’t visible. Because the track and train were elevated, Miles would have to crane his neck to see, and he wanted nothing upsetting the robbers.

  Miles stole another glance back as the kid made it to the marshal. The kid was hurrying now. He barely paused as the marshal dropped a wallet and device into the proffered loot bag without comment. The kid skipped the prisoner and a few of the other passengers.

  The marshal’s steel-eyed glare followed, which the kid missed as he approached the seats directly behind Miles.

  Meanwhile, the gangly robber at the front of the car had vanished outside.

  Amateurs.

  What did amaze Miles was the fact the robbers had stopped the train. The Insight module installed in his head gave the specifics of the train’s nuclear engine, the weight of the cars, and how fast they had been going. A bullet train leaves River City via Devil’s Bridge on its way to Seraph going 600 kph. How long will it take to reach your destination if a rangy puke and a boy not old enough to shave hit the brakes somewhere past the halfway point?

  “Enough with the infodump, Insight,” he muttered.

  With a hard double blink, the barrage of data vanished. The train was big, had been cruising faster than anything most of these new generation planet-born kids had seen, and it wouldn’t stop for anything. Passengers couldn’t leave unless they busted out a tamper-proof window and jumped.

  Yet here they were, going 0 kph at a few minutes to noon and over an hour from their destination.

  The mewling man next to him surrendered his valuables.

  “Let me see your hands, old timer,” the kid said.

  Miles raised them. Wouldn’t look up.

  “Device? Wallet? Come on, come on, come on!”

  The kid sounded even younger than before. Was he reciting lines from a serial? Moving as slow as he could, Miles dipped a hand into his suit coat and removed a pocketbook which contained his credit chips. The bandit wiggled the pillowcase so Miles could drop it in.

  “What about your mobile device?” the young bandit asked. “Come on!”

  “I don’t carry one.”

  The kid reached over the mewling man, who let out a fresh squeak, and patted Miles down. He held the gun awkwardly and it would have been an easy grab. As advertised, the young bandit found nothing worth taking, and he left alone the paper card and envelope Miles kept in his inside suit pocket.

  Miles caught a whiff of booze.

  The bandit’s hand gripping the burner looked soft and the fingernails trimmed. But what Miles thought was a glove on the kid’s bag hand turned out to be a synthetic limb. Graphene-steel composite, tough, high density, but without fake skin, so the implant wasn’t high end.

  With the gun, the kid tapped the lapel of Miles’ black suit. “You look like you’re dressed up for a funeral.”

  “Maybe I am.”

  It was the first good look Miles had of the kid’s face. Barely a hint of stubble on his chin. Sunburned cheeks.

  The kid flipped Miles’ hat off and gasped.

  Despite the burner pointing at him, Miles tried not to grin. It was a reaction he was used to. Was it the metal plates visible beneath the grafts of fake skin? The deactivated ports behind his jawline where an old school input cable could be plugged? Or the white right eye which contrasted with his hazel left eye? An experienced observer would know an ocular range finder and targeting system with no cosmetic pretensions when they saw one. Everything attached to his head was old, the type of thing the meat-and-metal hacks slapped on the soldiers to get them back into the thick of things. While Meridian had its share of cyborgs, there weren’t many like Miles Kim walking around these days.

  “They don’t make ‘em as pretty as me anymore,” Miles said to the kid.

  The burner kept waving near his face. The kid almost fumbled his weapon as he adjusted the bag and cinched it beneath an arm. Miles could have snatched it away, but the kid had a finger on the trigger. And the sooner the kid left, the sooner they could get underway.

  The Insight module’s facts began rolling in once more, with an uninvited feed in Miles’ field of vision displaying the characteristics of the robber’s burner: single or burst laser-plasma weapon, capable of ten shots at full power before a battery swap, ergonomic handle, possible encoding restriction feature, snap beam, with pricing options not available as his module wasn’t connected to the net.

  “You got my money. You’re doing great. Now watch that laser,” Miles said.

  “You’re...you’re...”

  “Nobody. And that hand doesn’t look like it fits you. Are we done here, kid? You’re ahead of the game with that sack of loot. Time for you to go.”

  “Don’t call me kid.”

  “I don’t want to call you anything. I want you to take your winnings and get off this train so we can get going. Sound good?”

  The kid still stared.

  The darker corners of Meridian had markets for old tech. Maybe the kid wasn’t in shock but was sizing up a bigger score than a pillowcase full of credit chips and mobile phones. As the bandit’s graphene hand was either a poor fit from a cut-rate surgeon or stolen off someone who no longer needed it, such a robbery might still be on the table.

  Whoever was shouting outside shouted again, louder this time, and there were multiple voices. The young bandit glanced over his shoulder towards the door.

  The lanky robber appeared at the front of the car. “Hurry up!”

  The kid scurried up the aisle. Miles bent down to pick up his hat when the marshal sprang to his feet and produced his palm-sized hand cannon. As the marshal strode past, he raised the weapon.

  Without thinking, Miles pushed past the mewling man and grabbed the marshal, turning the gun towards the ceiling. It fired. The shattering boom sent a shockwave through the train car and hurt Miles’ ears and teeth. Plastic debris rained down on them.

 

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