“Damn it all.”
James Marshal spat out a bit of blood on the deck of his ship, putting his trusted revolver in its holster.
His eyes were locked on the 3 bodies of his hired crew, all shot to death. One through the head, two through the chest.
The entire bridge of his ship, a battle scene, bullet holes in the consoles, the chairs, the plates of the deck. He was lucky to be alive, well sort of.
With not much formality he walked over to the bodies, nudging them with his brown boots.
The first one, the instigator, a worthless thug. He hated that man, but he didn’t want to kill him. Business is business after all and even the worst cowards can find themselves useful when flying between sectors.
A gaze upward at the glass, an entire world splayed out. He was in orbit lock in the atmosphere, as he had been for the past two days. The surviving consoles on the ship pulsing with red warnings that the ship was dead. No fuel and a busted engine.
He didn’t need reminding, they had run out of fuel before they got home. Ran out of money to call a tow. Now he ran out of allies to help him haul his goods.
James took to dragging the bodies one by one down the hall, leaving a trail of blood as he piled them in their rooms. It was a last bit of respect, even if they had forced him to kill them.
He was a mess, covered in blood some of it his own, his hair slicked with sweat. The interior of the ship had stale muggy air. In spite of this, a cigarette was retrieved from his shirt pocket, the white stained crimson making him look worse for the ware. He lit up and decided to use up some of the precious little oxygen left.
He decided to head to the Port side, a single life-pod was left, room for one. It was a metal coffin, but he was dead anyway if he did nothing.
With a tap of the console next to him, the small tube opened up. He snuffed the cigarette on the wall of the ship and with another command the ship’s emergency power cut off. He crawled in and soon the metal coffin consumed him and spat him out into the atmosphere.
His ship combusted from the inside as a nice send-off.
The ride down to the planet’s surface was bumpy, he was rattled around in the pod despite the cushion, there was only so much it could absorb.
The impact wasn't any better, by some stupid luck, or curse his pod bounced through several skeleton buildings. He came to a stop at the middle of a street, leaving a nice trail behind him of destruction.
James emerged from the pod, feeling like he was kicked by twenty angry mules. The dead city surrounded him on all ends. It was hot, deathly quiet except for the echoes of debris that was rattled loose by his entry.
“What a load of shit” he announced to the ghost city, his captive audience, it echoed in return to him, as if in mockery.
James grabbed a canvas duffel bag from the coffin pod that delivered him here. He’d have to find his way home. Inside the bag, medical supplies, water, rations and a trusty black hat, one that was passed down through his family line. It was a cattle ranchers’ Stetson. His home being a stead in the clearing of the city world many called the Junkyard.
Once a thriving ecumenopolis, it was a ghost city. There were signs of battle everywhere. Skeletons bleached by sunlight, weapons, destroyed buildings. He remembered it well.
Each step through the empty streets reminded him of his time defending New Eden as it was once called. He saw the stained blood on the streets, in the windows, black now but a reminder of the violence that consumed this world.
James tried to keep himself focused, despite the absolute emptiness of the city, his thoughts kept pulling him away but he knew that would be fatal.
The Blood-skulls tended to run rampant, looking for survivors while scavenging weapons for their cache. He hated those green skinned abominations. Savages who had more fun skinning than actually making a living. They were in some part, his rivals for his own job, which like them, relied on scavenging the remains off this dead world.
Well dead world was not completely true, there was one bit of civilization left, at least cohesively.
Ironreach, his destination was what he called home now. Finding his way there would be a challenge. He did not know what part of the planet he landed on, The deeper problem was that ruins were in every direction. He was in a maze and miles upon miles were the same buildings, towering over the streets. Nature had begun to reclaim the concrete structures, vines, wildflowers and animals began to return.
James walked down the street for miles, not a single sign he could find that could tell him where he was. All he could see was the name of the street; Eden Boulevard. It meant nothing, there were many streets named that in the times before.
He took a seat and pulled out his canteen, taking a bit from the warm stale water which was better than nothing. If he was lucky he might be able to find running water somewhere in the city. Many areas were severed from their lines of power and water. Strategic bombings had made sure to starve out sectors.
His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of metal clanging, His head shot up and he gazed back to see a small shadow of a figure running away through an alleyway.
“Well guess I ain’t alone.” His hand remained on his revolver, as he picked himself up and went to investigate. Though it might be a lure from one of the Green-skins or perhaps even one of the remaining humans, he could at least find some sort of camp to relax at.
The shadow ran along the maze of alleyways, the shadow of the buildings a nice relief from the brutal sun, but also dangerous. In this world, staying in the open sometimes was safer.
James had his revolver drawn, both hands upon it. He made sure to reload it before going in deeper. The winding maze of concrete was littered with small shops with broken windows, the remnants of trash and the lowest rungs of society on New Eden used to congregate in the shadow of the buildings.
Each hollowed out shop and house was a point that he could be ambushed in. He moved with extreme caution, checking every angle and moving quietly. Upon a cross section he saw the glow of unnatural orange light. He took a step and the ricochet of a bullet clipped the wall next to him. He jumped back and took cover, unable to see where it came from.
“Hey whoa now, ain’t no reason to fire. I ain’t meanin’ harm unless yer a green skin or knife ear, If that’s the case come out and I’ll be happy t’ put a hole or two ‘n ya.”
His bluff was to make sure he wasn’t mistaken as one of the blood skulls or any other nasty xenos that tended to visit this planet.
A voice returned. “I can see ya ain’t a green skin or a knifey. What the hell ya want?”
The voice was female, sharp as steel and pointed.
“Ma’am I’m lost, ship went Ka-put in atmo and now I’m down ‘er tryin’ to get shelter ‘n a way back home. Here, I’ll prove ya I aint meanin’ harm.” Jame replied and tossed his revolver right over the fresh bullet hole in the concrete.
He froze as cold steel was in the back of his neck. “Good boy. Walk.” The same voice he heard echo down the street was a decoy, he was being trailed this entire time and didn’t even notice.
“Fuck” the curse was low as he raised his hands in surrender.