Duststorms were typical on Veros. The boy had been born and raised on the planet, one of the first children born of the young settlement that had been chartered before the conflicts of war began to envelop the galaxy. His parents had died of rustlung only a year into his birth, but luckily it was the old Marshal, his grandfather, that had stepped in to raise the boy. Duncan, or Dun for short, stared out the thick window to the outside, while his grandfather sat at his desk, rifling through a stack of papers.

Marshal Gale Elrin was not a gentle man. His skin resembled coarse leather, his hair was greasy and unkempt, and the man’s face had not seen a razor blade in years. He’d been chosen by the settlement during the chartering as their choice of Marshal due to his experience in the Border World conflicts as a well regarded Colonel, and his years as a well-regarded marshal in the inner ring systems. He’d been the man who brought in Beltrix Gespard alive, after all, after the Truvelian had killed ten other marshals between Tervix and Brousal. For the Marshal, Veros was a chance to retire in quiet solitude and peace away from the hustle and bustle of the inner system. He’d grow fat and old and die in his sleep. He didn’t expect that the planet’s constant dust storms to be extremely hostile to humans; and in the first three years settling the town of Burgess Claim, over half the settlers had died of disease.

“Grandpa,” the boy said, walking over to his grandfather’s desk, “when’s the storm gonna pass?”

“Probably won’t pass til tomorrow morning,” the old man replied, “Go read a holostory for now.”

“I’ve read all the holos in the house,” the boy whined. “When are you going to teach me to shoot like you?”

The Marshal raised a thick eyebrow, eying the scrawny boy up. He’d just turned thirteen, and some of the colony boys had started learning to use a rifle even earlier. They’d had to, with so many of the original settlers buried in the ground.

“Come with me,” he grunted, walking leading the boy downstairs. With the environment so dangerous, the Marshal had set up his own shooting gallery across from the holding cells; which besides the weekend drunk, had remained unused for most of the season. On the far wall, the Marshal had set up several targets. He stood the boy at a taped mark on the floor, and fumbled in his jacket, before producing his sidearm: a heavy Rigel-V Duster. The models were heavy, unwieldy, and hit heavy for a kinetic firearm. The Marshal handed the boy the revolver and stood behind him.

“Now, you want to hold it like so-” the old man helped the boy wrap his fingers around the grip. His small hands barely fit. “You’ll grow into a gun like this,” he remarked and helped the young boy line up the sights. “Now, don’t yank the trigger. You want to squeeze it. Kinetic guns like this-”

The boy squeezed the trigger-

The Duster erupted in an explosion of sound. Standing fifteen yards away, the large Grix smuggler who’d only seconds earlier had been holding a small holdout pistol pointed at Fiona Miles, the local merchant’s daughter, crumbled onto the ground, gasping for air. The man stood over the smuggler as the girl quickly pulled away from the large hairy alien, half-in shock from momentarily being a hostage and half in shock that the young Marshal had the goddamn gall to shoot the smuggler while he still had her at gunpoint!

“Of all the stupid, lowdown, worthless lawmen I have ever had the misfortune of meeting-” she spat venom at the man, as he simply sauntered over to the Grix, the red-haired alien’s barrel chest heaving up and down.
“Enough of the drama,” the young man said, kicking the alien in the side. “I hit you with a concussive shot. ‘Nuffin that’d kill your sorry hide.”

Duncan Elrin stood above the Grix, his shadow covering the alien’s torso. He’d grown tall and broad, with strong shoulders and sharp eyes, both traits hammered into his body by his grandfather’s lessons. On his hip sat the ragged leather holster that Gale Elrin had worn for thirty years. Dun had made sure to put the old iron to good use during his time as the settlement’s Marshal.

The Grix was only able to force out another pained moan, as the Marshal pulled the alien up. In the two years since his grandfather had passed, Dun had taken up Gale’s position as the town Marshal. As Burgess Claim slowly grew in size, it had become an important trader in ore and red sand, enough that the local port was constantly abuzz with merchant ships.

And with trade came crime. The Marshal’s office was constantly filled with smugglers, thieves, dealers, and other surly types. The fact that Dun was constantly flashing his iron at anyone that smelled rotten was bad enough that the constant threats on his job had finally come to fruition on that day. As he carried the Grix into his office, he stopped, dumbfounded by the three men waiting for him.

The mayor was the one he recognized. Hillock Burgess was the namesake of Burgess Claim, after all. He’d survived the years to become a well-connected man for the rim-side colonies, and with his stake in many of the local mining organizations, he’d become wealthy quickly. The two men standing at Burgess’ wings were not locals. One was older, dressed like many of the Rim-side settlers. The younger man was dressed nicer and had a shiny leather jacket covering a pressed-blue shirt. Both men wore Marshal badges.

“Mr. Elrin,” Burgess began, wiping his silver spectacles with a handkerchief, “we at the colony appreciate the years of service your grandfather gave to the town. And we are in your debt for carrying on his legacy after his sudden demise. But-”

Dun’s face flushed deep crimson. “You weedy sumbitch-” he growled, moving towards the mayor before the two Marshal’s quickly grabbed him, pulling him back.

“As I was saying,” the man continued, “you are not a licensed Marshal. You’ve been acting under the Deputy Statue of the Marshal’s code, acting as interim Marshal, but as of today you are relieved of your duty.”
“Where the hell am I supposed to go!?” Dun snarled.

“It’s not my problem, Mr. Elrin.” The mayor sighed. “Your effects have been boxed up for you. I’ve taken the liberty to pay you a handsome sum for your family’s stake in the colony. Out of kindness, of course.” He handed him a small sum of credits. Handsome indeed. “It’s enough to charter passage to wherever you’d like to go. A chance to start a new life.”

Those words were the executioner’s fatal swing against any hopes Dun had. His weekly brawls and shootouts had made him few friends in the settlement, but he was doing as his grandfather had tasked him: he was protecting the colony. Of course, others saw it as painting the colony in a darker color; a hothead like Dun walking around, ready to draw iron at anyone who toed the line, was not healthy for business; and it was business that was keeping Burgess Claim alive now.

Dun pictured countless words and actions against the mayor. Shoving his iron down the old man’s throat, punching the spectacles off his fat little nose, or just saying something with enough bile and vitriol to start a brawl with the two hired tin stars. But there was no fight in his heart with the understanding that this was no longer his home.

Chartering a flight didn’t take too long, and a night sleeping on the bench of the port wasn’t the worst sleep he’d had. The morning before his departure, he trekked down the dusty paths to the local graveyard, kneeling down at the Elrin plot. Three dust-weathered gravestones sat there: Bren Elrin, Jess Elrin, and Gale Elrin’s names marked their resting place. Dun took the wethered old Marshal Star from his pack, placed it on the red dirt of the graves, and covered it with a handful of the rest dust.

He gathered his things and left the past behind.

Do Organics Dream of Biologic Sheep? Towards Human-Like AI by Integration of Modified Nervous Tissue and Electronic Brains
No. 28 Government College (Central)
Aaron de Oliveira-Trác, K C Amali, Kumi Kusiwaa, Muhd Tulimaq bin Tropril, Shaw Hui’en Marie-Pierre

Abstract:
Nervous tissue was cultivated from human embryonic stem cells and subsequently modified by biochemical and surgical processes according to eight experimental protocols found in the literature and three novel procedures. The modified tissue was integrated by an innovative technique into the electronic brains of baseline SiliCo Ne-124KM Corundum model service robots using factory default AI. Performance in intellectual tasks was measured by administering an augmented EnMY-B test and compared with a human test group (n = 234). The results show that enhanced creative and cognitive abilities are displayed by…

“Dolly~!”

A high-pitched, almost squeaking voice. That was Amali’s signature. And besides, she was the only person Aaron had ever met who butchered his name—surname, more precisely—like that. He looked up and waved at the two girls. No, they were women now, just as he was a man. “Hello. The paper’s going well, and no, I don’t need any more caffeine today.”

It was hardly clairvoyance on his part if she asked the exact same thing every time. A look of disappointment came over Amali even so, as if she hadn’t all but known what would happen. “Wow. He can still read your mind even now. Aaron, at least give her the chance to begin,” chuckled Marie-Pierre, giving her oh-so-transparent friend a comforting pat on the back. “Tulimaq, Kumi, and Tamka are coming soon. Maybe, like, five minutes? Or…”

“…maybe right now.”

Two shrieks and one resounding crash followed as Aaron practically tossed his computer to the ground. Amali stopped just short of smacking Tamka in the face, a privilege not afforded to Tulimaq. He proudly ate a right hook without so much as flinching, as Marie-Pierre spun around, a mix of surprised and livid. Kumi, however, had picked his target well — he was safely out of the line of fire, looking at the screen of Aaron’s tablet. “Hey, isn’t this our report from way back?”

It was obvious that the answer was ‘yes’. Everyone soon gathered around, filling with old memories and nostalgia as they read the screen.

“I can’t believe we managed to get this published. Oof, it looks so bad…” Suddenly Marie-Pierre let out a gasp, too late to catch herself. “A-ah, sorry, Tamka! You’ve always been amazing.” Tamka didn’t mind. She had seen the report herself — it, and all other papers relating to her development, were stored in her memory drive. It was certainly of inferior quality compared to Dr Shaw’s latest work. In fact, Tamka would have been rather miffed if all the long hours and clock cycles they had spent together as tutor and students had somehow come to naught.

Today was part reunion, part farewell. It would be the first time in quite some years that the whole gang had come together in person, all six of them. Perhaps it was a bit jarring, emotionally-speaking, or should have been. But the mood was instead totally positive, even as she walked up the boarding ramp onto the shuttle.

“Call us if you ever need anything!”

“Or just to talk! Tell us about your adventures in spaaaace—!”

Tamka looked down through the windows. She didn’t say anything, but perhaps they could still hear her sentiments echoing in the synthesis of mechanical pumps and living neurons that was her heart. Each of the five had gone on to lead successful and fulfilling lives: a pioneering engineer, rising stateswoman, enterprising entrepreneur, lauded artist, and a respected neurobiologist. There was an odd parent-child duality in their relationship. Perhaps it would be best to say that they all learned and grew from each other? Tamka was as proud as any parent to see them enjoy their lives to the fullest — she had practically mentored them throughout university, after all. But in some ways, they were like her own parents, now seeing off their adult daughter as she entered the wider world. Although…

Weren’t they a little too happy to let her go?

She would ponder that for the next few hours, as the smuggler ship took off and sped into the starry sky. Skirting around the checkpoints and patrols, evading the security forces’ watchful eye, away from home and towards ‘freedom’.

The wind blew sheer and cold against Sango's face that night as he sped along the moonlit trackway. Whistling currents raced past his unguarded ears, and he relished the sensation of his pale hair and long, red scarf being buffeted by the slipstream. The engine of his Grav-cycle whirred an hummed beneath him, its almost ethereal coils illuminating the rough-hewn earth a pale, ghostly blue, and yet still he pushed it harder. Despite the circumstances; despite everything that was on the line, never had he felt more alive than in this single, endless moment.

He cursed, and urged the throttle further, the Speeder's whine rising to a whirring scream, and with a streak of blue light, and the clunking sound of mechanisms deploying its windshield, he and the vehicle flashed closer towards the mountain. Towards... them.

---

"They're beautiful, aren't they, Nii-San? All those stars up above us." The girl regarded blank, unfeeling lenses, and grinned. "We're gonna go out and see them one day, Sango. Together. Just you wait!"

Beneath its chitinous helm, the being known as Sango pondered. Had it the ability, it would have smiled.

---

"Cam..."

A sudden flash erupted over the horizon, blinding white, trailing electric blue behind it, and Sango's heart almost stopped. Moments later, a vicious shockwave swept across the landscape like a bulldozer, towing a cloud of dust thick enough to blot the sun, and the Grav-cycle very nearly bucked the young man from its saddle before he could pull it back under control.

"Cam... Professor... I'm nearly there! I'll save you!"

The world slowed. He felt it all; the dying vegetation, the crippled fauna, fires raging across mountain wastes. The Wind.

"I am with the wind, and it will guide me." Heedless of the speed at which he was travelling, Sango crossed his arms over his chest and breathed deeply. At his waste, a small compartment at the centre of a large belt slid open, the fan inside now allowed to spin freely and wildy in contact with the air.

Sango grimaced.

"Shift."

For a single, fleeting moment, the pain of his biomechanical body tearing itself apart overcame him.

---

The Professor looked over the vaguely insectoid lifeform that stood before him with a small frown and a thoughtful hum. This was the first time he'd seen Their technology up close before. Frankly, they were fortunate that little Cam had got to it first; had it been him, the thing would most certainly be dead by now. Regardless, there was work to be done. With a flourish of his augmented arm he donned his goggles, and set about his examinations...

---

The scene that greeted Sango as the Cyclone ground to a halt was grim. Dozens of black-suited puppets laid strewn around the entrance to the Mountain Lab, fires flickering and lapping around them and glowing a luminescent green. The metal bulkhead doors had been blown out, great shards of twisted alloy jutting from furrows metres away. Heedless of the flames, he charged into the complex, rushing to the inner sanctum, where, so many times before, he'd been greeted by the smiling faces of his... his family.

More and more lifeless puppets accumulated as he advanced, heaped in grotesque, flaccid piles. Footsoldiers and generals alike were discarded like common waste, and Sango couldn't help but pity them. Finally, he came upon another bulkhead, dented and buckled but still holding fast, and with herculean effort he pushed his hands between the doors and heaved them apart, blindly dashing into the room beyond.

The Sanctum was a mess. Its towers of intricate machinery had been ripped apart, wires and odd parts scattered across the floor in haphazard piles. The emergency lighting shone an ominous red, casting long shadows over the savaged laboratory, almost as though to shepherd him towards the room's centre. There, tinkering hurriedly with a monstrosity of technology and loose wires, was-

"Hello, Nii-san." Cam's breath caught, and she hacked briefly in an effort to expel whatever detritus she'd breathed in. She was a mess, her hair frizzy and poorly tied, her clothes scorched and ragged. Sango stood for a moment, basking in the knowledge that the girl was asafe, before his mind clicked back to the moment at hand.

"Cam, where's your father?" His tone was as flat as always, modulated slightly by his mask's vocal tract, but the concern was evident nonetheless. The girl cast her gaze back at him once again and gestured dispassionately at the Sanctum's far corner, and the pile of rubble that lay there. What looked like a rhino beetle's horn protruded from the centre of the mass, and Sango's heart dropped in his chest. "A General?" He needn't have asked. She hummed in acknowledgement nonetheless.

So they stayed, for a while, content to sit in silent respect for their fallen father. Cam's tinkering was seemingly endless, and in the warmth of the burning complex, Sango remained almost unmoving, unbidden thoughts flitting into his mind almost as quickly as he could file them away. Eventually, however the silence became uncomfortable, a strange, shifting mass of nothing that loomed over the pair.

"This machine is a transmat. One way. Papa stole it from them." Sango snapped to attention, red eyes focused squarely on the girl. His antennae quirked, betraying his attention, but he remained stoic, waiting for the inevitable continuation. "There's only enough energy in the compound for one trip." She coughed, red spattering onto the concrete floor, and he rushed to her, moving to support her should she collapse, but she brushed him off, leaning against the machine even as she began to stagger. "And only enough then for one passenger." Sango stiffened.

"No-"

"Don't, Nii-san." Another cough. More red. Yet less strength in those waifish arms. "We both know I wouldn't last. I'm doing this for you!" Her left arm fell, useless, to her side, and she clutched it painfully. Staggering, she forced herself to a table on their right, and tossed him a cylinder which he caught easily. "There's an updated Cyclone in there. Supposed to be your birthday present." She smiled a wan smile and fell to her knees, dragging herself back to the transmat. She pointed harshly at the opening, and Sango entered after only a moment's hesitation.

"This isn't the end, Big Brother." Sango's breath caught, and he found himself wishing desperately that this face could cry. "One day, somehow, I'll find you. Just you wait!" She laughed, weakly, and he found a chuckle rising, unbidden, from his chest to join her. She pulled a lever, and the world suddenly seemed... light. Through the fading haze, she grinned.

"Live, Nii-san! No matter what happens, Live!"

And as the world vanished into lurid colours, Sango yelled back into the void.

"I will, Little Sister! Always!"

Even through the thoughtless abyss of the transmat beam, he was sure he could hear her laughing.

1) Cyclone Cylinder: A modified Anti-Gravity Cycle which can be folded into a cylinder roughly the length of one's forearm. Responds only to Sango.
2) A simple stun baton for close combat.