Title: Space Cowboy Survival Guide
Author: Heather Long
Release Date: December 13, 2016
Format: Digital
Genres: Action/Adventure,
Science Fiction, Space Opera
Rule #42 – Don’t
be a hero. Heroes do shit for free and get themselves killed. It’s a lose-lose
proposition.
From his leather Stetson to
his long coat and choice of weapons, Shaw Sullivan is just a space cowboy who
lives by his own code. A loner by choice, he accepted the contract to conduct a
stellar census under duress…it was the only way to save his family’s ranch.
Sullivan has four years to
complete the mission, and he has zero intentions of letting anything get in his
way least of all a desperate woman who wants to hire him to be a hero.
Read an excerpt
from SPACE COWBOY SURVIVAL GUIDE:
Chapter 1
Rule #5 One good sob story
deserves another.
They say every story starts
somewhere. Shaw Sullivan's could have begun when he was born. Wasn’t that when
everyone’s story technically began? Or did his story start elsewhere? Does a
person’s story begin with them or does it begin with their parents? If it
begins with their parents does it begin with all of their forefathers? And if
that's the case, maybe all stories were rooted on Earth.
It didn't really matter.
For Shaw Sullivan, his story definitely started on Earth—the one place he
wished he could return to, where his family's ranch remained, and all of his
life's work awaited him. When mounting debt drove him to accept an indentured
servitude offer, he’d left. The only hope for saving his family’s ranch rested
on his shoulders. A ranch his father and his father's father and his father's
father's father going back more than 500 years survived from worked. It didn't
matter if humans were in the stars, and it didn't matter that colony worlds
enumerating into the hundreds existed. No, what mattered to Shaw Sullivan was
his ranch. A ranch he only had four years to save.
Of course, as he studied
the Earth Analog he currently stood on through a field glass, a part of him had
to really wonder what was the point ? The place was a shithole. Farms barely
eking out an existence stretched around the perimeter. Their main spaceport was
an empty field next to a ramshackle building, which seemed cobbled together
from the remnants of the landing pods the colonists had used when they first
arrived. As far as he could tell, EA-114 had settled during the Corbin Space
Rush. By that reckoning, the original settlers arrived sometime between 2045
and 2095, give or take. Since it was in 2225, these people had spent nearly 200
years building nothing.
Easing his Stetson back
from his face, Shaw let the sun—or what passed for sunlight—warm his skin. The
air seemed almost too clammy. Maybe he'd come at the wrong time of year to
appreciate this so-called untouched beauty? Then again, maybe the land was
exactly what he’d come to expect—the poor remnants of the poor settlers’ fatal
mistake. They traveled to the stars to find a planet to call their own and
established a colony without backup support or industry then had to survive
literally on their crops or starve.
He pulled out a small
recorder and began to make some notations on the census reports he needed to
file. Each planet required notes on population density, on production values,
on geography and natural resources, and, on their current governing structures.
As far as he could tell, this planet didn't have much worth an entry. His
initial scans from space only showed a population numbering below 10,000—not a
very high number in the immediate region, though the overall planetary
population was closer to 40,000. The spaceport was their most populous area.
He glanced back at the
ramshackle container pod office, or whatever they wanted to call it. It was the
most modern of the structures he could see. Everything else had been
constructed from local materials.
“Captain Sullivan, sir,” a
male voice called out to him.
Shaw pivoted to face the
man. It took a minute to place his name—as far as he could recall, the man had
actually introduced himself when he had arrived to take Shaw's order for fuel.
That brought up another question for Shaw—where the hell did these people get
their fuel?
“It was Winston, right?”
Shaw walked toward him, sliding the recorder into the pocket of his duster.
The red, jowl-faced man
nodded. “Yes sir. I was just checking the requisition for your fuel. Really
sorry to say we only have maybe third of what you're requesting.”
Unsurprised, Shaw nodded.
Didn't actually need the fuel, but putting in an order usually got him some
results as far as on the local resources. He learned that on the last three
planets he visited. He also made it a point not to tell them why he was there
or what he was doing for a living. On the first planet, honesty damn near got
him shot. Twice.
“Any other dealers? We can
reach out to Eden.” The neighboring settlement might be located a few thousand
klicks away, but at least EA-114 had other settlements.
The man sopped at his face
with a handkerchief, trying to clean up the sweat. The humidity didn't make it
that hot, just uncomfortable. “They aren’t big allies, but I can call and see
what they've got. Supplies have been pretty scarce these days. Fuel is coming
in at a far more expensive price. So, be happy I’m willing to part with the
fuel I have. It's going to cost.”
Liars, shysters and con
men. Every planet had them. Shaw nodded and went for an understanding
expression—at least he hoped it came across as understanding. Part of him just
wanted to punch the man in his jowly face and get the hell out of there. That,
however, would not be getting his job done. Sure, Earth Prime might not know
what he’d done, but he would. Shaw never welched on a deal.
“I'd be happy to pay it,”
Shaw said. “I really do need the fuel. If you can check with the other towns,
that would be great.”
Winston scowled. Okay, wrong
answer. Apparently, Winston did not want to reach out to the other towns.
“Well, I reckon if you're prepared to pay that price for the third, I could see
if I could scrape together the rest.”
Shock of shockers. Shaw
gave the man a thin smile. “That would be great.”
His answer seemed to add
another layer to Winston's distress and rising temper. The man's already
flushed face, reddened further and his fists clenched, knuckles whitening. So,
offering the man a small fortune for fuel just increased his anger.
Interesting.
“It could take a while.”
Winston practically spat the words out.
“I got all the time in the
world.” Shaw spread his arms. “Think I'll take a stroll, stretch my legs, look
around.”
Winston's face tightened
and his nostrils flared. Yeah, he liked the idea someone walking around even
less than he liked the idea of accepting so much money for fuel.
EA-114 just became a lot
more interesting.
“That won't be a problem,
will it?” Shaw inquired, resting his hand on the butt of his pistol. Hell, if
they wanted him to wander the stars to check out all these different worlds and
see what they had to offer, he might as well be armed. Since they didn't sell
bullets anymore, at least not on home world, he’d gone for the closest thing he
could find—Colt .45 pearl-handled laser pistol. It packed a hell of a punch.
Winston glanced from him to
the weapon, then back again and shook his head. “Not at all.” The lie fell from
his lips as easily as the rain from the sky in a Texas spring storm. Not only
did he have to figure out what they were hiding, he had to watch his back.
He’d already set the
security features on the Gilly. No one was getting on his ship. Whether he was
dead or alive, the Gilly wouldn't open for anyone that wasn't him without with
his code, his DNA, and a little something special that he provided after the
security specialists had finished programming the ship for him.
“I'll check back in with
you later then, Winston.” Shaw raised his hand in half-salute. He set off at an
angle that allowed him to keep his eye on the fuel dealer while also scanning
his surroundings. The main section town stretched out and away from the
spaceport. Mostly farms, as far as he could tell, however he had seen some
shops, or at least what he thought were shops. It didn't appear industrial,
more retail.
If the community was that
poor and fuel that expensive, what were they doing with retail shops?
Never hurt to stir up some
trouble and figure out what their sob story was.
Shaw's boots clicked with
every step he took on the wooden boardwalks lining their tiny town. In some
ways, it amused him, this attempt at 1800s Americana on a world so far from
where they all originated. At the same time, the very familiarity of it all
aggravated him. Not far from his MorningStar ranch, the tiny New Texas town of
Quanto looked exactly the same, right down to the wooden boardwalks and classic
storefronts.
As nostalgia wasn't
something he could afford, he continued strolling and inspecting his
surroundings. The street was dirt, still churned to mud from an earlier rain.
No real sign of pack or herd animals. The only vehicles present were back at
the makeshift port.
Despite his earlier
supposition about living crop to mouth, the planet had been settled long enough
to develop at least some wealth. The first building, a mission of some
kind—Paradise Interfaith Meditation—boasted a closed sign in the window and a
locked door. The dress shop next door also appeared closed, as was the feed and
supply shop.
Odd. All the shops on the
lonely street appeared closed. Closed or abandoned? Even the churned mud had no
footprints.
Shaw scratched his jaw,
crossing the muddy road to the boardwalk on other side of the road, verifying
his boots left prints. Sure enough, he did—and the solo boot heels amplified the
lonely feeling of the not-so-abandoned town. One shop closed, maybe even two,
didn’t seem a cause for suspicion. However, all of them closed? That was worth
investigating. After making a full circuit of the town center, Shaw checked his
datalink, verified his bearings based on the longitude and latitude, angle of
the sun, and the planet’s current rotation pattern around the system’s star.
It was around midday on a
weekday, based on their solar calendar. His stroll revealed more questions than
answers.
At the Interfaith center,
he paused to stare at the locked doors. It seemed almost universal for faith
centers to be open to its congregants, and an interfaith one would have to be
open nearly all the time to cater to so many different religions. So, why was
it closed? Why were the doors locked?
Sparing a glance over his
shoulder toward the port, Shaw debated going back the Gilly and using the
ship’s scanners to take a deeper look, only that would be cheating.
Abandoning the boardwalk,
he circled the end of the ‘block’ to take a wander beyond the main strip.
Tenements bordered right up against the side of the town. What few people he'd
seen moving while talking to Winston had vanished except for one small girl.
She stared at him with a questioning expression on her face until her mother
swept her inside swiftly then bolted the door. It was definitely bolted, he
heard the slide lock snick closed. Lifting one arm, he sniffed himself. No, he
didn’t stink. Whatever happened in the sleepy little shithole definitely did.
Stripping off his Stetson, he ran his fingers through his hair while he tapped
his hat against his thigh.
Playing dilettante wasn’t
getting him anywhere. The task at hand was a census. The charge of documenting
populations and resources on colony worlds had him traveling to this armpit of
the galaxy. He didn’t want to tell the locals what he was up to, as they
usually rebelled at the idea of anyone reporting on them back to Earth Prime,
whether they had anything to hide or not. One thing hadn’t changed in
centuries—government inspections and investigations were a universal cause for
concern. He needed a good idea of how many people actually lived in this town.
In the debate over whether to knock on the door hiding the mother and her
child, his conscience got the better of him.
Harassing a mom, especially
a scared one, went against the grain.
One hand on his holstered
sidearm, Shaw continued his circuit around the tenements. He didn't think he
looked like someone out to get anyone. Then again, criminals didn't always look
like criminals. Whatever issues these people had to hide… better to find out
now rather than later.
Thirty minutes of wandering
left Shaw in a foul mood. The people here lived almost too poor, despite
verdant fields beyond their little hellhole of a town. The populated area
seemed only remarkable for the plethora of debris and human refuse alongside
the occasional scrub garden with their pitifully sad vegetables straining
toward the gray light of the sun above—a scar left on the face of an idyllic
colony world.
Whoever ran things around
here did a shit job. Having had enough, Shaw strode back toward the scant town
center. Sure enough, all the buildings remain locked with their signs on
closed, no lights showing inside. Checking his datalink again, he accessed the
Gilly’s computer and initiated the scan.
Cheating be damned. His
ship reported in short order with the population number he’d read from space
and heat signatures fanning around him. After studying the readout on his
watch, he returned to the Interfaith Center.
“I wouldn't do that if I
were you,” a hostile voice warned him when he raised his hand to knock on the
door.
Pivoting, Shaw faced the
newcomer. A tall, broad shouldered man, he had a handlebar mustache and a body
odor that struck as soon as the breeze shifted. The only thing that prevented
Shaw from noticing him to begin with was the fact that the wind had been in his
favor. The change in the breeze’s direction damn near gagged Shaw with the
stench.
“What's the problem?” Shaw
asked, dropping his gaze to the dull, flat edged tin star on the man's chest.
“Sheriff?”
“Marshal.” The man
corrected him, and his chest puffed out as he did so. “Locked doors generally
mean people don't want company, son.”
“Fair enough,” Shaw
acknowledged. “However, it's an interfaith center, Sheriff.” Yes, he used the
wrong title on purpose. When the man's cheeks reddened and his eyes bulged as
his nostrils flared, Shaw enjoyed the fact his targeted barb hitting its mark.
“You're not from around
here, son,” was the man's only response.
“Very true, and obviously
so.” Shaw kept his arms loose and didn't approach the ‘marshal.' The man was
off, and he came armed with a sawed off double-barreled shotgun, one Shaw was
willing to bet didn’t come loaded with bird pellets. Hunting laws at home
outlawed the weapons—this far out, though? They could probably use bullets
without any fear of reprisal. The marshal’s boots were filthy and mud spattered
his jeans. The smell on him though—damn—Shaw had gotten a lungful of dead
week-old corpses that didn’t smell this bad.
“You should ahead on back
over the port. We don't much like strangers around here.”
Not an unusual response to
a stranger in someone’s territory. “Didn’t mean any harm, Sheriff.” He tugged
on the string once more. The animosity combined with the marshal’s stench to
roll over him in choking waves.
“I said I was a marshal,
boy.” He swung the shotgun into a targeted position, aiming it directly at
Shaw. “You’ll move along. Now.”
“That’s downright
unfriendly for a sheriff, considering I am not your boy, and I’m spending my
good, hard earned credits at your port.” Didn’t matter how far apart the colony
worlds were, the first accords made credit chits universal currency and
preferred for financing interstellar purchases.
“Your ship can earn us more
for scrap, too.” Apparently, they were all done playing nice.
Worked for Shaw. The
sheriff closed the distance between them and used the shotgun to gesture for
him to backup. The problem with using a weapon to point meant it wasn’t always
directed at the target. In fact, when the sheriff gave it a jerk again to
motion him away, the barrel aimed at the sky. Shaw caught the barrel, and kept
it pointed upward as he gave it a hard tug and withdrew his pistol in the same
breath.
Startled, the wannabe
lawman released his weapon then gulped when he saw the laser pistol barrel
right between his eyes.
“I’d tell you what you were
doing wrong, but I like to keep my interactions polite.” Not to mention more
words required more breathing in the man’s too smelly presence. “So, let me be
clear. This gun won’t make a bang so much as a sizzle as it fries through your
skull and incinerates what brain matter you might be possessing. You catch my
drift?”
With fumbling fingers, the
man stripped off his abused star and tossed it on the ground. “Ain’t no job
worth this,” the man sputtered. “I quit.”
“Well, I’m sure these
townsfolk will be real interested to hear that you don’t want the job of
protecting them no more. Not seeing it as their loss.” Shaw studied him. Sweat
beaded along the man’s forehead and ran down his face in rivulets. His gaze
kept darting to the interfaith center. Without removing his weapon from the
man’s forehead, Shaw used his chin to gesture the man to walk. Circling with
the man, he flipped the shotgun so it landed with his finger over the trigger
and pointed at the door of the center just as it opened.
“Come on out and join us,
Winston.”
It shouldn’t have surprised
Shaw to learn that the seedy fuel dealer had something going on in the town
considering the unkempt condition of both the so-called port and the town
itself.
Winston stomped out onto
the boardwalk. “You’re going to regret this.”
“I kind of already do,”
Shaw replied and kept his tone even. His datalink vibrated three times. The
scanners on his ship detected three more weapons. “And for that you have my
apology.” He gave Marshal Stinky a shove, sending him right into Winston even
as Shaw threw himself sideways.
The bullets kicked up the
mud and sent it spattering. A meaty thunk, and a less than manly yowl warned
him that the rapid fire projectiles found their mark in one or both of the two
men. A woman’s scream, soon joined by another, filled the building behind him.
Rolling, Shaw brought his
pistol up just as another bullet slammed into the boardwalk next to him,
splintering the wood. Ignoring the sharp pain of a scrape across his cheek, he
targeted where the gunfire came from and returned fire of his own.
The laser had no kick, but
it did make a decent sized hole in the second story of the shop. A man let out
a shout, then tumbled through the glass along with his weapon and hit the mud
with a splat. Rising, Shaw checked his datalink as he caught sight of Winston
trying to crawl away. A blast to his right leg, just above the knee had the man
screaming and aborted his escape effort.
The last two weapons were
coming in at speed from the opposite side of town. Spinning, Shaw had his
pistol and shotgun ready even as the roar of a motor warned him of their
approach. He gave them a split second but, at the sight of their weapons
pointed at him, he opened fire on the bike itself. The fuel tank went up like a
jetpack at launch and flung metal and men into a fiery ball. The rain of debris
left a hell of a mess in the middle of the muddy row.
Another glance at his
datalink screen showed no red signatures for weapons, only orange for people.
The buildings around him were stocked with them, especially the interfaith
center. Moseying down to where Winston left a bloody trail on the path, Shaw
stepped on his wounded leg, making the man let out a whimpering cry.
“It would seem, Winston,
that we’ve come to a parting of ways. The only question I have is do I finish
the task or do I just ask the good people of this town?”
“Go to hell, you bastard.”
“I hope you don’t kiss your
momma with that mouth.” After grinding his foot into the wound once more for
good measure, Shaw leaned over and knocked on the door. “It’s all clear folks.
Y’all can come out now.”
A woman appeared in the open
doorway, her dirty face bruised and tear streaked, but a fiery anger simmered
in her brown eyes. “Who are you?”
Hoping she wasn’t on the
side of the men he’d just dealt with, Shaw nodded to her as politely as he
could manage while still carrying a weapon in each hand. “Shaw Sullivan, ma’am.
Hope I haven’t done more harm than good, but these men didn’t appear to have
your town’s honest interests at heart.”
The woman looked from him
to the downed wannabe lawman who’d taken a bullet to the heart and dropped dead
where he’d fallen then to Winston, who lay in a moaning heap. Pulling the door
open wider, she stepped outside and glanced at the dead man across the street,
then to the still burning wreckage of the bike with what was left of its pair
of extremely dead riders.
Miss Brown Eyes gave Shaw
another look and he backed away a pace respectfully, but he didn’t lower the
weapons. The town had already had five very unpleasant surprises. He didn’t
fancy meeting another unarmed.
She walked over to where
Winston lay muttering pitifully, and lifted her skirt lightly as though taking
care not to get any blood on it before she delivered a swift kick to the man’s
head.
“He’s right,” she called in
a strong voice. “We’re safe! Y’all come on out! We have our town back.”
Shaw nodded to himself,
satisfied with the result until the people spilled out in a chattering flow and
surrounded him. Miss Brown Eyes rushed over to him and threw her arms around
him.
“Our hero!”
Oh, hell no.
Other Books by Heather Long:
THE JUDAS CONTACT
Doctor Ilsa
Blaine
Codename: Doc
Abilities: Designs programmable bioware, enhanced understanding of brain chemistry
Mission: Research, analyze and troubleshoot the team’s active microchips
On the cutting edge of neuroscience, Ilsa is
developing microchips that can be inserted into the brain and deliver
information. The applications are endless, but her current goal is just to get
dogs to return to their owners should they ‘become lost.’ When her college
roommate turns up asking for lunch, she’s hardly prepared for the chaos that
ensues or the revelation her chip changed the world and the lives of five
heroes from the future. And now they need her help…
Garrett Fox
Codename: The Viper
Abilities: toxins, poisons and assassination, he can kill with a touch
Mission: Protect Ilsa Blaine
One of five desperate men sent back in time to
save the future, Garrett volunteers to be the doctor’s guinea pig as she
studies their neuro-chips. It’s not his first time being a lab rat. In close
quarters, the unthinkable happens, an attraction that could kill Ilsa. Drawn
together by science, and on the fast track to destiny, Ilsa must prove to
Garrett he isn’t toxic to everything and save his team from their chips before
they can end them…
Heroes come in
all shapes and sizes. An alliance with Halo has given their leader a taste of
hope. For these five lonely soldiers, the single emotion may prove their most
dangerous threat.
HUNT ME
One Thief...
Wealthy,
titled, and very privileged, Lady Katherine Hardwicke successfully eluded some
of the best thieves in the world in a quest to obtain the Fortunate Buddha. Her
time is running out and her enemies are closing in, and one deliciously enigmatic
man seems determined to get in her way. Will he save her or end her quest
forever?
One Hunt...
Jarod Parker
wears many faces and lies for a living, but when the same thief steals the
Buddha out from beneath his agents not once but twice, this handler returns to
the field. His target? The last woman anyone would suspect of being the thief.
But is he really after the Buddha or has this brilliant woman stolen his heart?
One Choice...
Their sensuous
game of cat and mouse turns deadly when a third player turns up the heat, but
can these two liars come clean with each other or will they lose it all?
About Heather Long:
National bestselling author, Heather Long, likes long walks in the park, science fiction, superheroes, Marines, and men who aren’t douche bags. Her books are filled with heroes and heroines tangled in romance as hot as Texas summertime. From paranormal historical westerns to contemporary military romance, Heather might switch genres, but one thing is true in all of her stories—her characters drive the books. When she’s not wrangling her menagerie of animals, she devotes her time to family and friends she considers family. She believes if you like your heroes so real you could lick the grit off their chest, and your heroines so likable, you’re sure you’ve been friends with women just like them, you’ll enjoy her worlds as much as she does.
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