CHAPTER 1: HOME ON THE RANGE
Cal pulled up at the crest of a hill, hitting the ignition button, the rumbling of the buggy's engine petering out. He lifted his sunglasses, leaning out of the window on the driver's side, his faded leather jacket creaking with the motion. There was no door and no glass. The little dune buggy was just large enough to seat two, little more than a metal frame with a hydrogen power plant crammed into the back, its four wheels equipped with chunky tires for all-terrain use. It was light, and it was fast - perfect for quick jaunts across the plains of Franklin.
The grasslands stretched to the horizon in every direction like a vast ocean of green, the way that the wind created flowing waves only furthering the comparison. It was broken up by the shadows of wispy cloud formations that drifted across the deep blue sky overhead, blocking the bright sunlight in places. Far in the distance, he could see mountains rising up, shrouded by the azure haze. Their white-tipped peaks shone like beacons, the melting snow feeding the rivers that snaked down their jagged faces to the prairies below. At point-eight Earth-standard gravity, the planet allowed for some incredible geological formations.
He reached for a pack that was strapped to the roll cage above the vehicle's door, fishing out a pair of binoculars. When he held them up to his eyes, the auto-focus feature kicked in, the lenses whirring as they telescoped outward. After scanning the horizon for a few moments, he spotted a dark, shifting mass. It was ten-thousand head of Franklin longhorns, the individual animals slowly taking shape as his vision adjusted. The cattle stood over six feet at the shoulder and weighed in at almost two tons apiece, making them the largest of their kind in the settled colonies. It wasn't just the mountains that benefited from the low gravity. The herd was grazing beside a shining river that wound its way through the plains, their heads lowered, their impressive horns so large that they looked downright unwieldy. The glint of metal caught his eye, and he lifted the binoculars higher, watching a trio of spotter drones circle high overhead. The little copters were there to keep an eye on the herd, staying out of audible range so as not to disturb them.
"Where are you?" he muttered to himself, turning his gaze away from them. "You picking anything up, Kevin?"
Cal turned in his seat to address the hound that was sitting in the passenger seat beside him, the beast licking its slavering chops between bouts of panting. Working dogs had been used to herd longhorns generations prior, but through Franklin's unique environment and a little selective breeding, the cows had grown so large that the sight of a cattle dog no longer phased them. They
hated
Kevin, though.
Kevin had arrived on the colony as a pup, allegedly purchased from some off-world Rask trader before eventually ending up on Franklin. He was a Razorback - a species native to the arid deserts of Borealis that were commonly bred as war hounds by the world's denizens. He was about four feet at the shoulder, not quite fully grown yet, his appearance somewhere between that of a hyena and a wild pig. His skull was already almost as long as Cal's arm, a set of ivory teeth jutting from his sagging lips reminiscent of a boar's tusks. His pointed ears swiveled as he listened for danger, his dog-like nose twitching, his flat tongue hanging out. Razorbacks had coarse, wiry fur in shades of tan and brown, and along their backs were the sharp quills from which they got their name. Just behind Kevin's studded collar and between his shoulders rose a hump similar to those of camels, the way that the fat wobbled when Cal gave him an affectionate pat on the flank indicating that he was well-fed.
The animal hopped out onto the grass to have a sniff around, the buggy bouncing on its suspension as his weight left it, his clawed paws leaving scratches on the scuffed leather upholstery. They were pack animals not unlike wolves, and they made great scent hounds, along with being formidable guard dogs. As fearsome as he might look, Kevin had been a breeze to train, and he had the personality of an oversized lapdog.
"They can't have wandered far," Cal added, hauling himself out of the vehicle. He reached for the long rifle that was strapped into the cargo bed above the engine, checking the safety briefly before slinging its strap over his shoulder. Keeping the barrel pointed at the ground, he rounded the blocky nose of the buggy and joined Kevin, watching the creature bury his nose in the grass. "The drones spotted them on thermals barely an hour ago."
The hound wandered a few more feet, then lifted his head, his ears pricking up. A low growl emanated from deep within his barrel chest, and Cal took a knee in response, lifting the binoculars again. Maybe two kilometers out was another shape, his lenses zooming in and taking a few moments to focus, automatically stabilizing the image.
Sprawled in a heap on the grass like a pride of lions basking in the Savannah sun was a pack of six
agellusuchus
- commonly referred to by the locals as
polecats
. Franklin had developed its own complex ecosystem long before humans had ever looked up at the stars - it was what made the planet so ideal for ranching. Grasses had conquered the plains that spanned the temperate equator, and herbivores adapted to eat them eventually followed. While the livestock introduced by colonists had unfortunately displaced many of the native herbivore species, the predators that had evolved to prey on them didn't much mind the change in diet. A longhorn was made of meat just the same, and they were large enough to bring one down.
Polecats bore only a passing resemblance to felines, being more similar to Earth's ancient therapsids. They were primitive mammals that had diverged from a reptilian ancestor relatively recently, still sporting a body plan with a long, lizard-like tail and splayed toes. Instead of scales, they were covered in a coat of velvety fur with black and white patterning reminiscent of their namesake, the stripes helping to break up their silhouettes. While they had whiskers and wet noses like felines, they lacked visible ears entirely, and their elongated skulls were more like those of archosaurs. When one of them opened its mouth to yawn, its impressive teeth were put on display, its incisors forming curving sabers designed to sever arteries.
At ten feet, they were a match for a tiger in size and mass, and their upright posture allowed them to gallop at surprising speeds. They would work as a group, isolating a cow from the herd and using their saber teeth to inflict deep lacerations, letting blood loss weaken their quarry before moving in for the killing bite.
Ranching and the displacement of their native food source brought them into frequent conflict with colonists, and a couple of hundred years of interactions hadn't yet instilled any natural fear of humans in them.
"Good thing we're downwind," Cal said, lifting a radio from his belt. Kevin flicked a single ear in his direction as a hiss of static came through its speaker, then plopped down into the grass, keeping a watchful eye. "Homestead, this is Briggs. I have a visual on that pack of polecats the spotters picked up earlier. They're hanging out maybe two klicks South of the herd. I count six big ones, over."
"Roger that," a crackling voice replied. "We'll drive the cattle North and put some distance between us and them. Link up with the convoy whenever you're ready. Over and out."
Cal took one last look at the magnificent beasts, then returned his rifle to its place in the buggy, patting the metal roof to get Kevin's attention. The hound turned his massive head, cocking it at his master expectantly.
"You want to go home and get a treat?" Cal asked.
Kevin rose to his feet and trotted back over to the car, hopping up into the passenger seat and making the vehicle sag under his weight. He waited obediently, his panting breath misting the windshield. Cal slid behind the wheel, hitting the ignition button again and reigniting the engine, the seat vibrating beneath him. There was an electric whir as he kicked it into gear, and they were soon rolling back down the hill, the wind that rushed in through the open frame of the vehicle blowing Kevin's quills.
With the prairie open before him, Cal pressed down on the accelerator pedal, feeling a lurch as the buggy started to gain speed. There was a lot of power in that engine, and it was fueled entirely by hydrogen cells, which were more or less derived from plain old water. The giant springs on the buggy's shocks bounced as they flew across the terrain, but it was a smooth ride, Kevin sticking his massive head out of the window to let his sagging lips and tongue flap about.
Cal knew that the convoy was to the East, so he kept an eye on the horizon, waiting for some sign of the ranchers. It wasn't long before he got it, a whole squadron of bikes coming into view in the distance. As they drew closer, racing past him on their way towards the herd, he got a better look. Just like his buggy, the motorcycles were built with an industrial, almost military ruggedness that was reflected in their heavy frames and massive tires. Two of them were being ridden by ranchers clad in the usual tough denim and leather work clothes, their chassis laden with heavy saddlebags, while another four were unmanned. Instead of riders, they had angular enclosures that housed their electronics, a suite of cameras like the eyes of a spider reflecting the sunlight. The cows might not respond to dogs, but the bikes were a hell of a lot larger and louder, and they got the job done well enough.
With direction from the riders, the group of drone bikes veered off, heading North to drive the herd further up the river. They'd coordinate with the spotters to ensure that no stragglers got left behind to serve as dinner for the polecats. One of the men raised a hand to greet Cal as he blew past, and Cal returned the greeting with a honk of his horn.
Cal had been embedded with the ranchers for about a year as part of his work, and he had come to know them very well in that time. It was hard not to when everyone lived and worked together in such close proximity. Watching the bikes shrink away in his rearview mirror, he kept heading East, enjoying the sensation of the wind in his hair. Being able to go flat out with nothing to crash into for miles never ceased to be exhilarating.
After a few minutes, another shape rose up ahead of him, its silhouette standing out starkly against the blue backdrop. It might have been mistaken for a building from a distance, but as one drew closer, they would soon realize that it had wheels.
At the front was a massive tractor with a cab that was elevated some three meters off the ground, its slanted windows giving the driver a clear view of the path ahead, forming a wedge shape that culminated in a row of headlights atop the vehicle. The cab was shifted slightly to the right, with the rest of the space on the left taken up by a massive grille that served as an air intake to cool the engines. It rode high on its massive wheels, each one of them easily as tall as a man, made from a honeycomb mesh that eliminated the possibility of flats. It was only accessible from a set of retractable stairs that had to be dropped down to ground level.
