Except from the first scene of Idempotence, by Nalin A. Ratnayake.

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He looked eastward, as the last dying rays of that cold, November desert sunset faded, along the ridgeline of the low, rocky hills to the north that divided Rosamond from the grounds of the Mojave Air and Space Port. The perfect place to put one really… out here, there wasn’t anyone much to bother, except for those that chose a life around space travel. And those who just fell into it. Traders, passenger liners, spare parts dealers, maintenance sheds, diners, brothels, weapon stores, and all manner of other commercial interests had sprung up for a fifteen kilometer radius around the space port. To the north, low-rent housing units and pocket communities had sprung up like joshua trees in the desert, all the way to California City. High-speed rail lines brought off-planet passengers and goods to and from Los Angeles, the great clearing house of the southwest of the continent once called America.

Another set of rails made a beeline due southeast from the spaceport, these ones covered by concrete, steel, and patrolled by unmanned air drones. They led straight to the most fortified complex in the whole California Republic – more so than even Los Angeles, San Francisco, and Sacramento. The Dryden Air and Space Development Center. It was hard to imagine that in a different era, just a few decades back, when it was a peaceful flight research center for a nation that no longer existed. But Ren didn’t like thinking about that. Too many memories.

Jager finished his piss about the time a sharp double-crack whipped through the air. The dog glanced up with the owner, but neither jumped or so much as blinked an eyelash in startlement. Far to the southwest, a bright dot leaned into a hard turn and slalomed left and right, bleeding off the last dregs of kinetic energy leftover from orbital velocity as it started a final approach into Mojave. Ren could barely make out the delta wing sillhouette before it dropped below the ridgeline.

The landing drew his eye up the access road to his pocket of the world. Under a darkened night sky now full with pinpoints of light, now low on the horizon, twin beams drew closer. Jager growled.

“Easy boy,” Ren said softly, “We could use some work you know.” He reached to a switch panel on the wall and dialed a radius of ten feet for the dog perimeter. The variable, low-intensity field would make it increasingly uncomfortable for the dog to approach it, as the collar would vibrate at frequencies approaching the natural harmonic the closer he got to the boundary.

Probably another damn blue-collar Earthsider looking for his wife – she fled off-planet with the kids, don’t know why she was unhappy at home, and gosh I’d just like to see them back home safe. Sure, meathead. I’ll find your wife for you. I’ll make sure their safe AWAY from you, lead you along, and charge you by the day plus expenses until the trail mysteriously goes cold. Such men were easily manipulated, no sweat.

All the same…

“Jager, standby.” The dog tensed at the command, and silently slunk to a nearby sagebrush bush. As he lay in the shadows, his black coat blended in with the night. Shutting his eyes, a move designed by the trainers to prevent the refraction from the dogs eyes from being spotted by stray light beams, the dog lay still and waited for further orders. He smelled strangers; the master was nervous. And Jager knew what to do about that.

Ren casually unclipped the holster slung inside his brown leather pilot’s jacket, and flicked the plasteel switch on the side of the pistol to arm the rail charger. He heard the faint schink of the metal bullet being pulled into position by an electromagnet to rest between the twin rails inside the barrel. An electric twinge as he touched the outer chamber with his finger confirmed that the slug would be energized, ready to add a charged bite to the bullet’s kinetic energy at impact.

You couldn’t be too careful these days. He stubbed out the cigarette with his boot as the truck pulled short a quarter mile down the road. Right by the sign that read UNSOLICITED VISITORS MAY BE SHOT. Good choice, buddy.

It was only after the subtle hum of the electric motor faded to nothing did Ren notice that the truck contained not one, but four individuals. And judging by the way the shadows moved, they were armed. Well shit.