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.

Behind it, the tractor was pulling a pair of long, wide trailers. Each of them was comparable in size to a spacious prefab – the drop-and-go homes that were so popular on burgeoning colony planets and places where the infrastructure was still unreliable. They had everything a person needed to live comfortably, and these trailers were no different. As he drove past the lead truck, Cal could see the shining solar panels and the round satellite dishes on the roofs. The trailers were connected to the tractor – and to one another – by bundles of insulated cables and industrial hitching machinery. Tanks for fuel, water, and other necessities hung beneath them and bridged the gap between the two sets of six wheels. They seemed impossibly heavy, but the planet’s lenient gravity helped take a little of the load off. Everything on Franklin was just... bigger.

In many ways, it seemed more like an overland train than a truck, its sheer scale bringing to mind images of giant industrial machines that one might expect to encounter in a quarry or a spaceport. It wasn’t the only vehicle in the formation – some half dozen similar trucks trailed behind it, forming a loose convoy. Together, they formed a mobile town, moving the ranching community and everything that they needed to do their jobs along with the herd. They could traverse thousands of kilometers, only needing to stop for resupply on occasion, crossing the planet in search of the most favorable grazing land for their cattle.

The trucks were all currently parked, having just launched the bike squadron, but they seemed to be gearing up to get moving again. People were stowing folding deck chairs and collapsing awnings that jutted from the sides of the hab trailers, packing away their coolers, a few pausing to wave to the buggy.

Cal passed the veterinary truck, which was responsible for managing the health of the herd, identifiable by its white livery and the green medical cross painted on its flank. They dealt with everything from injuries and births to vaccinations. One of its trailers was enclosed for surgeries, while the other was open to the air, fitted with squeeze chutes accessible via a ramp at the rear. One of the doctors was treating a pregnant cow, the hydraulic chute closing around its distended belly to keep it gently but securely in place so that it couldn’t thrash around. It wouldn’t be hard for such a large animal to crush a human handler otherwise.

Behind that was another hab truck, and further along was the carrier. Just like the portable hospital, this truck served as their mobile garage. One trailer was equipped with a scaffold and a hydraulic lift for servicing the more conventionally sized vehicles in the fleet, the enclosure fitted with stowage areas for tools and spare parts. There was also a long crane arm for recovering damaged vehicles – the outriggers that helped keep it stable extended onto the grass.

The second trailer had a three-tiered car carrier similar to something one might expect to see transporting vehicles to dealerships. This one was filled with scout buggies like the one Cal was driving, smaller pickups designed for supply runs, and other support and maintenance vehicles. The trailer was spacious enough to fit them eight deep and three wide, using a mechanism reminiscent of an automated parking garage to shuffle them around on sleds, bringing them down to the ramp when needed.

Cal made a wide turn and approached the trailer from the rear, driving up the ramp and onto one of the waiting sleds, shutting off his engine. His boots clunked against the metal grating as he hopped out, reaching into the back briefly to collect his rifle and a solitary rucksack. The rest of his gear could remain in the car. Accustomed to the process by now, Kevin hopped out of the passenger side, his claws clicking as he trotted along to follow his master.

They made their way back down the ramp and onto the grass, Cal taking a moment to enjoy the feeling of the breeze blowing through his hair. Just across from him was the control truck, its trailers laden with racks of stowed drones – both the airborne and motorcycle varieties. It had a hab module trailer that had been converted into a command center, clusters of antennae and a slowly spinning radar dish mounted atop its roof.

He walked towards the hab that had been his home for these last months, marked with a large number three that was stenciled onto its side in faded white paint. Like the others, it had a long antenna array for communication, its small windows glinting in the sunlight. The person who shared the living space with him – roommate seemed too generous of a term – was outside loading some cargo into a stowage bin that hung below the drive train. She paused to wipe the sweat from her brow as Cal approached, turning to greet him. She had straw-blonde hair that was tied back in a bun to keep it out of her way, her cheeks freckled and tinted pink from the sun, her work coveralls stained with black oil. She was one of the engineers who maintained the fleet and all of its equipment.

“Darrel said you spotted six of those damned things?” she began. Cassie’s Franklin drawl would immediately place her as a local to anyone who heard it.

“Yeah, about two klicks out from the herd,” Cal replied, watching as Kevin bounded over to meet her. She beamed at the hound, reaching down to rub his sagging cheeks, baby-talking him as he licked her face affectionately. As ferocious as Kevin might look, he was a giant baby around people. “They said they wanted to drive the cattle North to keep clear of them.”

“Where there are a few, there are always more,” she sighed as she turned Kevin’s massive skull aside and gave him a shove to send him on his way. “I wouldn’t be surprised if there’s another pack or two trackin’ our scent.”

“Not worried about some polecats, are you, Cass?” he asked with a grin.

“I’ll be a helluva lot happier once we get the herd back to the city,” she replied, planting her gloved hands on her hips. “Now, enough smart talk from you. Help me stow this gear before we cast off. You know Darrel hates it when we dawdle.”

“Alright, alright,” he conceded as he moved over to join her.

“How’s that buggy been treatin’ ya?” she asked as she passed him a crate. “Is the accelerator still sticky?”

“Nah, whatever magic you worked seems to have done the trick,” he grunted as he lifted it into the open bin.

“I guess this is gonna be your last cattle drive, then,” she mused. “You’re leavin’ us when we get back to civilization, right?”

“I guess so,” he replied as she handed him a heavy toolbox. “My job here is done. I’ve collected all the data I need, and the report is already written, so all I have to do now is hand it off to the government.”

“What’s your conclusion?” she asked, pausing to heft a cooler off the grass. “Are we treatin’ the local wildlife with enough respect, or are the feds gonna classify everythin’?”

“Local herbivore populations have actually been increasing since the government started creating preserves,” he began, happy to be talking about his area of expertise again. “I’ve recorded a lot more native fauna than the data suggested. I think that, as long as we keep it up, their populations should recover. They’ll never return to pre-colonial levels as long as the ranching industry exists, mind you, but they’ll be healthy and stable enough that we can stop fretting about them.”

“Should give the polecats somethin’ else to chew on, too,” Cassie added.

“I don’t think they’re all that discerning about where their meals come from, but yeah,” he replied as he flipped the stowage bin’s lid shut and secured it. “More abundant local fauna means fewer cattle ending up on the menu.”

“Accordin’ to Darrel, we should hunt the bastards to extinction and damn the local wildlife,” she chuckled. She knew that it would get a rise out of Cal, grinning at him as he scowled.

“Yeah, well, Darrel isn’t in charge of wildlife conservation efforts. He’s in charge of driving trucks, and that’s where he belongs if you ask me.”

“For someone who gets so defensive, you sure do shoot a lot of polecats,” Cass said with a nod to the gun that was slung over his shoulder.

“There are plenty of those fuckers,” he grumbled. “With all the cows they eat, they’re the opposite of endangered. Just because I’m an ecologist, that doesn’t mean I can’t also shoot things that try to eat me. As long as you have the right permits – which you do – you can mow them down with machine guns for all I care.”

“You know,” Cassie began, looking him up and down with a smile. “When they told us that some wildlife consultant from the city was gonna be bunkin’ with us, I figured you’d be a real pain in the ass. I thought you’d cry about every dead polecat and give us the stink eye when we had cookouts, but you’ve pulled your weight. You’re alright, Briggs.”

“Your approval means everything to me, of course,” he replied sarcastically. She leaned in to give him a friendly punch on the shoulder, then gestured to the truck.

“C’mon now, before we have to be told twice.”

They climbed the three-meter collapsible ladder that led to the entrance to the forward hab, Kevin bounding up behind them, leaping the steps three or four at a time. Once he was inside, Cassie hit a panel beside the door, and the steps folded flush against the chassis. The hound trotted over to his bed in the sleeping area, turning on the spot for a few moments before settling in. He reached for one of the beef bones that Cal had given him to chew and started to gnaw, the giant chunk of femur already pocked with scars from the razorback’s teeth. In some ways, Kevin had adapted even more quickly to the new routine than Cal had.

The interior of the hab was something akin to an RV or a camper, but the living space was comparable in volume to a shipping container. Just like a prefab, it had all of the amenities that one would expect. There were beds that folded flush against the walls, a small shower cubicle with a privacy screen, even a kitchenette area with a little dining table and all of the appliances one might expect. The main difference was how everything had to be secured. All of the cupboards were held shut with locks or straps, and every cup or plate was secured with magnets. It reminded him of long-haul voyages on spacecraft, where every little thing had to be bolted down or strapped behind cargo netting to prevent it from floating away if the AG plates failed. It was spacious and downright luxurious for what it was – he’d certainly endured far worse during previous expeditions.

With two people to a hab, and when the rather spacious sleepers above the cabs were taken into account, the convoy could comfortably carry about twenty people. Their entourage was a tad smaller at seventeen, but that was all they needed to get the job done.

Cassie hit the button on an intercom on the wall, letting her speak to the driver in the cab.

“Alright, Harry,” she began. “You can tell Darrel we’re all packed up.”

“Roger that,” a voice replied. “We’ll be underway soon.”

Cal and Cassie sat down in some nearby chairs that were positioned in front of a wall-mounted TV in what passed for the living room. The convoy didn’t exactly reach high speeds, and they didn’t make quick turns, so there wasn’t really any reason to strap in. They could go about their business as long as Harry didn’t brake suddenly.

Cal felt a lurch as the vehicle began to move, the massive hydrogen turbine engines that powered the huge truck spinning to life and making the floor vibrate. They were similar to those used on UNN battle tanks, according to what Cal had overheard during mealtime.

“Nothin’ to do but put our feet up for a while,” Cassie said as she kicked off her leather work boots. Leather jackets, boots, upholstery, bags – it was a plentiful resource on Franklin.

They drove until nightfall, following the cattle as the drones herded them up the river, only stopping once they had crossed and the stars were out. Like a wagon fort of old, the seven trucks formed a closed ring to encircle their makeshift camp with a defensive wall, the golden light that filtered out through the windows and the open doors of the habs making it feel like a town square.

The ranchers had extended covered awnings from some of the trucks, bringing out coolers and folding chairs, setting them up around a large campfire that had been built at the center of the fort. They were grilling meat over the open flames and passing around cold beers, enjoying their last night on the plains before they returned to the city. Everyone was present save for a drone operator who was monitoring the herd, and one of the vets, who was still tending to the pregnant cow.

Cal was sitting between Cassie and Harry – their driver, while Darrel flipped steaks on a makeshift grill nearby. Darrel was an old hand and the de facto leader of their outfit, his face just as tanned and weatherbeaten as the ten-gallon hat that never seemed to leave his head. The rest of the employees were ringing the fire, sipping at their drinks and sharing stories as they watched the glowing embers float up into the night sky. At times like this, the crew almost felt like a big family, and it made Cal sad to have to leave them.

“The first batch is done,” Darrel declared, his gravelly voice carrying over the sound of the crackling fire. “Medium rare. Anyone who asks for well-done is getting left behind to explain their poor decision makin’ to the polecats.”

“I’ll take one,” Cal said, hopping out of his seat.

“Careful, kid,” Darrel warned as he slapped one of the dripping steaks onto a paper plate. “At this rate, I might actually start likin’ you before we have to cut you loose.”

Kevin sat down beside the grill, the hound’s eyes following the plate as Darrel handed it off to Cal, slobber dripping from his jaws. He gave Darrel a whine, the old rancher sparing him a sideways glance.

“Alright, alright,” he grumbled as he tossed one of the steaks to the grass. “Ain’t like we don’t have plenty to go around.”

Kevin lay down beside the fire and began to chew, wolfing the meat down in only a few bites before rolling onto his side and basking in the warmth of the flames. He’d even managed to get Darrel to soften up and start sneaking him table scraps – no wonder his hump was getting so fat.

“I’ll take one for Sawyer,” Harry declared, Darrel passing him a pair of plates. “He has to be working up an appetite watching those spotter cams.”

“Make sure he’s not on his damned phone again!” Darrel called after him. “The company pays him to watch cattle, not intranet videos!”

“I’ll remind him!” Harry chuckled as he walked over to the control trailer.

Cal sat back down in his chair and cracked open a fresh beer from the nearest cooler, feeling the cold liquid travel all the way down to his stomach. Kevin crept his way over and sat down beside his master, cocking his head as Cal began to cut off a piece of steak.

“It’s no use giving me puppy dog eyes,” Cal said, pausing to bring a juicy morsel of meat to his mouth. “You’ve had some already. And don’t go bothering anybody else. Stay, Kevin.”

Seeming to understand that the jig was up, the dog grumbled, lying down in the grass again next to the chairs.

“I think I’m gonna miss that dog more than I’ll miss you,” Cassie said as she gestured to the hound with her beer. “Sure you don’t wanna leave him with us? It’d be a good life for him out here, y’know. He’d have plenty of space to run around, important work to do, and all the beef he can eat.”

“It had crossed my mind,” Cal admitted as he watched the dog yawn, exposing those ivory tusks. “He’s a daddy’s boy, though. I think he’d pine for me. Besides, wherever the government sends me next, I’m sure he’ll do just fine. With all these new game preserves and wildlife reservations cropping up, there’s going to be a lot of work for consultants like myself.”

“That’s what you’d call yourself?” she continued, raising an eyebrow at him. “A consultant?”

“On paper, I’m a conservation biologist,” he said with an exaggerated flair.

“If you say so,” she said, smirking at him as she took a drink.

Kevin suddenly lifted his head, his ears pricked up in the way they tended to do when something was amiss.

“What is it, Kev?” Cal asked as his brow began to furrow.

A moment later, the bellow of an animal in distress echoed across the campsite, Cal almost jumping out of his seat in alarm. The murmur of conversations died down, everyone turning their heads in the direction of the veterinary truck.

“Sounds like Bessie’s calving!” Cassie said, leaning over to give Cal a nudge. “That there is what we in the business call bovine parturition. She picked a hell of a time for it, too. Girl can’t give us an evenin’ to ourselves.”

“Will you lazy assholes put down your beer cans and come help me with this?” one of the vets yelled from across the camp. “Better get some scrubs if you don’t want to spend the rest of the night smelling like placenta!”

Two of the medical staff hopped out of their seats and started to jog over to lend a hand, another loud bellow of pain filling the air.

“You want to go take a look?” Cassie joked, taking a wet bite out of her steak. “Or would it spoil your appetite?”

“I think I’ll sit this one out,” Cal muttered, reaching down to give Kevin a reassuring pat on the head. “Don’t worry, Kev – she’s in good hands. It’s nothing you need to worry about.”

The dog still seemed bothered, his ears flattening against his head as another cry rang out.

“Sounds like she might be havin’ a little trouble,” Cassie said, her tone suddenly less playful. “The birth shouldn’t be takin’ this long.”

It had been close to an hour and the cow was still in labor, its cries now conveying a palpable exhaustion. Cal hadn’t even known that an animal could sound so tired.