Tuesday's Gold (Shining Stars and Silver Bullets Book 1)

  Tuesday’s Gold

  Jason Lethcoe

  Copyright © 2018 Jason Lethcoe/Wizardtree Publishing

  All rights reserved.

  ISBN-10: 1717571204

  ISBN-13: 978-1717571205

  To Ray Bradbury

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  I wrote this book several years ago, sometime around June of 2013. Since that time, Westworld arrived on the scene and you might notice many of the same themes in this work.

  The “collective unconscious” is a funny thing and I suppose there were others thinking along the same lines as I was, for we have all entered into a new era with the development of artificial intelligence and there are many questions as to where that new frontier might lead to. Will robots take over the world? Or will they help and benefit mankind?

  I think the future is up to us and although it might change more rapidly than many of us are prepared for, to me, the moral implications of such developments deserve to be thought about.

  I hope you’ll enjoy this journey.

  1 MALO

  There was a delicate strumming of a Spanish guitar on a desert breeze. Next came a roar of a fission engine and the scream of air brakes.

  And then, silence.

  A figure emerged from the inside of a ship so black it seemed constructed of shadows and ink. It was no ordinary ship. This vessel had been designed by its captain to punch a hole in the sky and thread a universe of stars and destruction behind it.

  Miguel Santos could see the figure raise his head and tilt it towards the scorching, desert wind, sniffing the dusty breeze for an elusive scent.

  It was a disturbing sight. And Miguel knew what it meant. The figure outside the sleek ship obviously possessed strange, otherworldly powers.

  He’d heard rumors of people that had added “enhancements,” to their human senses, parts that were mechanical in origin and engineered to give one abilities far superior to the senses that they’d been born with. Enhanced smell, sight and hearing were the most common. And the people who chose to have the alterations done were nearly always criminals or bounty hunters of one kind or another.

  Miguel knew just by looking at the figure in the distance that whatever the man had done to change his physiology would make running away nearly impossible and death a near certainty. And worse still, he recognized the man. It was someone he knew personally.

  It was Ernesto Malo, a man wanted in nine galaxies for crimes so atrocious that they had become legendary. Miguel carefully placed his great grandfather's guitar in its battered case. He wiped the sweat from his forehead with an old cloth kept beneath his wide brimmed hat.

  I must warn Rosa.

  The urgent thought played itself over and over again as he rose from the stone bench near the fountain, the same place he played every day after his siesta. The fountain burbled softly behind him as he rushed down the windswept streets of Thorny Gulch, his sandals kicking up little wisps of green dust as he made his way to the hotel.

  The advanced technology inside Madam Sophia's stood in sharp contrast to the rustic looking village that surrounded it. But today Miguel took no relief from the blast of arctic air in the temperature-controlled hotel, nor did he take time to marvel at the gorgeous androids that beckoned from the upper balcony. He had only one thing on his mind.

  He must find Rosa and warn her before it was too late!

  "Miguel? Where you goin' honey?" A throaty voice called.

  Miguel glanced over at Valhalla, his favorite. She was dressed in scarlet; her velvet trimmed gown a wedding cake and her hair a piled high like a mountain of swirled frosting.

  Her eyes were the only things that betrayed her perfect similitude of humanity. They shone like silver coins… irises that nobody could mistake for a true human’s. This affectation was created by the android makers with the idea that the wives of important clients wouldn't think of the girls at Sophia's as competition. It was supposed to be a reminder that the artificial women were simply playthings, dolls… recreational hobbies for their wandering eyed businessmen.

  They weren’t human. And that made everything okay.

  But recently, there had been stories of many clients who had fallen in love, and there were increasingly common instances of lonely men running off with android women. Everyone agreed that androids and humans shouldn’t mix.

  But Miguel Santos thought differently.

  Rushing upstairs, Miguel wove through a sea of working girls and their clients who were lounging in the parlor in various stages of undress. The room was thick with the smoke of artificial cigars, and the clientele seemed oblivious of the danger that had landed just outside.

  Miguel pounded on a door labeled, “closet”.

  "Rosa! It's Papi. Open up!"

  A small voice on the other side, whispered, "How do I know it’s you?"

  "Rosa, please. There's no time!"

  "Tell me."

  Miguel's eyes darted to the ceiling, trying to remember his daughter's latest password. It had been her idea, a way to keep her safe in a dangerous house such as this one.

  Miguel tried to ignore his panic. Rosa changed the password three times a day. What was it she had told him earlier? He knew it had to be something from Old Earth. She was obsessive about history.

  Suddenly it came to him.

  "Gas station."

  The door creaked open and the pale face of a nine-year old girl appeared behind it. Miguel's heart skipped as it always did when he saw his daughter's eyes.

  They were silver like her mother’s.

  They were Valhalla's eyes.

  And as far as he knew, there was no precedent for Rosa. The makers had never insinuated that such a thing were even possible… that a human and an android could actually produce a child!

  There had always been rumors of course, rumors of machines that had been built with human characteristics so perfect that they were impossible to differentiate from the real thing. Machines that could eat, drink, sleep. Machines that could grow old and die. Machines that didn’t need charging. Machines that slept and that were even capable of love.

  But such things were only whispered about by social rejects. Up until Rosa’s birth, Miguel had always assumed it was simply wishful thinking by love starved humans that couldn’t find human mates.

  Humans like himself.

  And yet, here Rosa was... an uncanny creation of machine and flesh.

  A miracle.

  "You must go. Now!" Miguel said, rushing inside the sumptuous hotel room. He had arranged the deceptive, “closet” label on the door with Miss Sophia’s help. She wanted to protect Rosa almost as much as he did.

  Miguel rushed to the window and after throwing back the velvet drapes, peered down the street, his gaze straining to see the ship that lay a mile outside of town and to see if the man that it had carried was still there.

  He wasn't.

  "Get your things!" Miguel shouted.

  Rosa stared up at her father, a troubled expression on her face.

  "Why, Papi?"

  "Because I said so! Vamanos!"

  Rosa’s calculated gaze weighed and processed her father's unusual behavior. She couldn't understand why he was acting so differently.

  Human emotion was difficult and unpredictable.

  The sound of a muffled scream followed by the clump of booted feet echoed outside the door. Miguel wheeled from the window, his eyes wide with terror.

  Rosa’s Papi knelt down beside his daughter and placed his rough, brown hands on her shoulders. His eyes burned as he stared into her face, trying to memorize everything about her.

  "R
osa. Do you remember what I told you? About the Shadow Carnival?"

  Rosa nodded. "Yes, Papi."

  "Good girl," Miguel whispered. "Now, I need you to tell someone all that I’ve told you. You must never tell anyone else but her, comprende?"

  "Yes. What is her name?" Rosa asked

  "Her name is Eliza Moche. Can you locate her?"

  The footsteps were closer now. Miguel watched as his daughter tilted her head to the side and her gaze slowly unfocused, her eyes gently rolling back in her head with a barely audible click as she accessed her hidden data banks.

  Miguel’s stomach turned. It was unsettling to see his daughter who seemed so human in every other respect, switch into computer mode.

  “There are ten Eliza Moches on Terra Six,” Rosa said, her gaze refocusing on her father. “How do I know which one to go to?”

  Miguel looked deep into his daughter’s mirror-like eyes. “This Eliza Moche is unlike the others. The left side of her face is covered by a terrible scar. A hierro. Like the brand used on the cattle on the Viejo’s farm.”

  Rosa nodded.

  The sound of footsteps stopped outside the door. A second later, three sharp raps cracked against the wooden planks like rifle shots.

  “He’s here,” Rosa said.

  Miguel rushed to the window and after throwing it wide, lifted Rosa into his arms for a quick, final embrace. The girl responded automatically, hugging him back as she’d been trained to do.

  It was a convincing gesture.

  Then, without hesitation, Miguel threw his daughter out of the second story window. At the same instant the door behind him was kicked in with a shuddering, Boom!

  Miguel didn’t look down to see what had happened to Rosa. Instead, he wheeled around to face the one who had come looking for him.

  Although it had been two decades since he’d last seen him, young Ernesto Malo still had the same, fierce expression he’d worn as a seven-year old child.

  “You know why I’m here,” Malo said.

  “It’s been a long time amigo,” Miguel said.

  "And you’ve been busy looking for the treasure during that time,” Malo said. He continued to advance towards Miguel, his face betraying no hint of emotion.

  Miguel neared the window and hazarded a quick glance to the dusty street below. He observed, with satisfaction, that his daughter was nowhere to be seen.

  "You were always like a younger brother to me Ernesto, and it pains me to keep secrets from you."

  “We’ve never been brothers, not after the day the outlaw died. It has been everyone for themselves since that time and you know that as well as I do.”

  Miguel bit his lip. He hoped that by buying a little time talking with Malo Rosa would have time to get away.

  “But why does it have to be that way? If the treasure truly exists, why cannot there be enough for all three of us? I’m sure that Eliza would agree…”

  Malo raised a black-gloved hand, silencing him. “No. The only thing we agreed upon was that the treasure goes to the one who finds it first. Tell me everything that you know.”

  Miguel shook his head sadly. “You know that I won’t.”

  The tall man glanced around the room, noticing the collection of odds and ends. There were photos of Old Earth pasted on the walls and an ancient vidscreen. On the rickety desk next to a mirror was a hair brush and ribbons. Then his dark eyes landed on a photo of Miguel standing next to a little girl.

  Something clicked.

  He advanced slowly towards Miguel, his eyes never leaving the other man’s own. “I’ve heard things about you Miguel, things about that strange daughter of yours. Where is she? I’d like to talk to her…”

  Miguel stiffened. “She’s not here. Leave her out of this.”

  “Oh, but you and I both know that I can’t. I’m thinking that she just might just have the information that I’m looking for.”

  Malo noticed the reaction this produced in Miguel Santos. He was good at reading subtle gestures, especially the ones produced by fear. Miguel’s eyes widened and his breathing quickened, a sure sign that he’d narrowed in on his target.

  Malo spoke again, his voice measured and slow, “Where is your daughter, Santos?”

  Miguel knew that it was probably useless to try to change Malo’s mind and decided the only option that he had left was to continue to buy as much time for Rosa to escape as possible. His daughter’s life was at stake! He decided to try a different approach.

  “I’ve heard about you, you know,” Miguel said softly. “You’ve earned a reputation. Like the Chupacabra… you have done a lot of killing and are very hard to catch.”

  Malo didn’t say a word. His eyes bore into Miguel, unblinking.

  Dead eyes, Miguel thought. Like a shark’s. He tried to keep his composure, knowing that if he showed any fear to this man he would probably be dead. Even as a child, Miguel had known that Malo was different. He would often torture small animals for pleasure and when he and Eliza had tried to stop him, the boy would only laugh.

  I wonder if he still finds it funny when he hurts his victims. Miguel suppressed a shudder at the thought. This killer had moved beyond torturing small animals a long time ago.

  When Malo spoke, his voice was flat and devoid of emotion.

  “It’s true. I have done a lot of killing. And as far as killing you, well, that will happen regardless of your intention to cooperate or not. It’s just a matter of how painful you want it to be.”

  The corner of Ernesto Malo’s lips twitched, the closest he ever came to a smile. Then he removed an anti-matter knife from his inner vest pocket. Miguel’s eyes widened at the deadly beam it carried, aglow with sinister intent.

  “I think you’ll find your tongue much looser than you realize.”

  2 ELIZA MOCHE

  She didn’t want the whiskey.

  She’d told the man three times that she didn’t drink and that she was only seventeen years old, but like most of the male species, he didn’t get the message.

  Eliza Moche looked up from her cards, her gaze burning twin holes into the dolt who stood hovering next to the table. He was dressed in an expensive suit of clothes, something bought off world, she assumed, since there were no tailors on Terra Six capable of such finery. He had features that most women would have found attractive, a big jaw covered with fashionable stubble and piercing blue eyes.

  But to Eliza Moche, he just looked like everyone else.

  “Come on, honey! That’s no way to treat a gennelman,” he slurred.

  Before she could do anything to stop him the man reached over and ran his fingers along her good cheek.

  Eliza gritted her teeth as she set down her hand. She glanced briefly at the cards before laying them down on the table. Too bad, she thought. It was a shame to waste a full house dealing with the likes of this idiot.

  Eliza stood, raising herself to her full height of five feet, two inches. As she did, she turned her face to the left, exposing for the first time her other cheek to the drunken „gentleman” The man’s reaction was immediate. His eyes widened at the face he’d momentarily thought beautiful and he nearly dropped his bottle of whiskey.

  Eliza enjoyed the effect. As a child, she’s spent every waking moment trying to hide her ruined cheek, even wearing her long, auburn curls loose and combing them down over the side of her face. She’d agonized over her ugliness and the painful memory that had caused it. But now she wore her disfigurement openly. It was a shield. An ugly force field that for the most part did what she intended it to do… to repel unwelcome attention.

  It took everything to control her raging emotions as Eliza casually slipped her crocheted shawl aside and lowered a hand to her hip, exposing the gleaming handle of her Wesson Mega-Repeater.

  Instead of backing away like most men did, something changed in the well-dressed man’s appearance when he saw that she carried a weapon. His eyes glinted as he looked at her with a new kind of appraisal.

  “Now what’s an
ugly girl like you doin’ with a dangerous toy like that,” he mocked.

  Eliza’s emerald green eyes narrowed. “I've learned that it's better to be ugly and alive.”

  A palpable tension suddenly filled the casino. The other players quickly moved away from the poker table where Eliza had been sitting, joining the other patrons as they made a hasty exit. The sounds of slamming doors filled the elegant room. The well-dressed clientele on this side of the planet were unaccustomed to violence.

  Something tugged at Eliza’s sleeve. She knew who it was by the feel of its strange, web fingered grip, but she didn’t glance down at the warty, off- worlder”at her elbow. Instead, she kept her gaze locked on the “gentleman” waiting to make a move.

  “We don’t ap-p-prove of this k-kind of thing at the Muh-Maximus, miss. Kindly take your d-disagreement outside,” the creature said. Its voice translator gave the alien’s speech a strange, warped quality like it had been run through a static filled, electronic speaker.

  “He shouldn’t have touched me,” she said flatly. “His fault, not mine.”

  The alien pit boss turned pale and scampered away underneath a blackjack table. Once there, it curled its segmented, blue carapace into a ball, reacting just like a frightened pill bug. Eliza ignored the creature's panicked whimpers and continued her stare down.

  “Oh, you picked a fine day to challenge me, Missy,” the “ man”replied.

  Eliza noticed that all traces of his slurring speech had mysteriously disappeared when he saw the gun she carried. “I’m feeling fast today. Hades, I’ve already killed five men and haven’t even had breakfast yet.”

  The man stroked the handles of a pair of small, fission-powered revolvers that he wore at his hips.

  Eliza recognized the weapons. They were incredibly rare, expensive and totally illegal. Each gun fired blasts of pure nuclear energy capable of leveling an entire building.

  Eliza didn’t flinch. Instead, she centered herself and quietly entered a state of deep meditation. In her heightened state of awareness, all of the casino’s holographic slot machine’s painted plums, cherries, and oranges seemed motionless, like surreal fruit hanging from trees on a windless day.