He came in a shower of light, a beam that shot out from the orbiting starship and set him precisely in the centre of the town square. It was lucky the bandits shot him before he had fully formed; the round passed right through. His look of surprise, however, is etched, forever, on my memory.

  And then I screamed, and knocked over an entire rack of beer, shattering the bottles on the cobbles, and drawing the bandits’ attention. Always a bad idea. I ran—and the bandits ran after me.

  By the time they thought to look back, the starman had disappeared…which brought me to the now very obvious flaw in my plan: I’d just wrecked a large part of their next shipment. Deliberately. In full sight of everyone. Trouble did not begin to describe the mess I’d just landed myself in.

  The bandits relied on their beer to keep the money coming in. Not enough beer meant not enough money—and not enough money meant they’d start selling villagers—but not me. I was probably for the chopping block. There hadn’t been a decent spectacle for days, and I’d just given them a great excuse.

  Well, crap.

  I made it through the front door of the nearest house, the sound of booted feet pounding after me. No one tried to stop me; they were too busy diving for cover, and I didn’t blame them. If the bandits couldn’t catch me, the next nearest person was just going to have to do. I skidded down the hall, through the kitchen, and out the back through the laundry, slamming doors behind me as I went.

  The bandits would either have to stop and open them, or—the sound of a door being reduced to kindling came from behind me—yep, or they could do that. Double crap. I was an archivist, not an athlete. Despite that, I hung a sharp left, taking the narrow back street that gave everyone access to their garages, and then dodging to the right when I got to the end.

  Shoppers’ Row. Not a bad choice. I was across the street and through the bakery door just as the apprentice took out the sign to show it was open for business. He took one look at the speed I was going and dropped the sign, bolting for the alley running down the side of the shop. I don’t think he even looked to see what was chasing me. Smart move.

  I knocked over tables, hoping to create more obstacles, and left Mr. Roderick curling up behind one, in an attempt to not be seen. He didn’t even complain that I’d spilled his coffee. The baker’s assistant crawled under her counter, and the senior apprentice went down in a shower of hot bread rolls and clattering pans as I shoved him out of my way. So much for not being an athlete. I wondered how I was going to record this.

  Glass shattered and more wood splintered as the bandits demolished another door, and I wondered if I was going to survive to record this. I really hoped they didn’t catch up, but I didn’t want them to stop, either. I reached out and swept a row of empty bread tins onto the floor. The baker didn’t bother shouting at me. He grabbed his fallen apprentice and the journeyman baker, and pulled them into the store room.

  I don’t think he was very happy with me.

  Too bad. I was definitely not happy with me, either, and I would be having stern words with myself, but only if I could make it out of the village and into Blacklegs’ Forest before the bandits caught me. And, maybe, only if I survived the first couple of days in the forest, itself.

  Blacklegs. The thought almost made me give up, then and there. The bandits hadn’t come out of the forest. They’d come in shuttles and landers from the ship that had supposedly left orbit a week ago. I wished they’d tried hiding in Blackleg’s first, though, because nothing came out of there.

  The back of the bakery took me into another laneway. I thought of making a break for the gate, but the bandits manned that, now. It would be closed before I reached it, and I’d be caught in double-quick time. That only left the pasture and, if I was lucky, a gap in the hedge.

  If I was doubly lucky, the hedge would even let me through. I was banking on that. Well, on that and the small device I kept tucked in my pocket. I was breathing hard by the time I reached the end of the lane, and already I could hear the sound of heavy steps gaining.

  Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

  Dammitall.

  I grabbed the edge of the nearest wall, and used it to make a tight turn around the corner, then took a diagonal across the street, and made it down the side of another building. I was pretty sure I’d been quick enough, but it wouldn’t take them long to work it out. There weren’t that many places I could have gone to ground.

  Gone to ground. For a moment, I thought about trying it, just stopping and taking cover, but there were at least two problems with that. The first was that I was breathing too hard to stay hidden. They’d hear me in seconds and I’d be discovered and done. The second was their tech.

  Bandits. Landers. You remember right?

  Well, they could just use a locator to find me. It hunted out life signs, and I’d seen it do the job before.

  So. No stopping. No hiding. No hoping to stay in the village and remain unchopped. Blacklegs’ it was. I cut across the garden at the back of the building, hauled myself over the low stone wall that separated the property from the public park beyond, and took off for the field.

  The cattle track ran along the back of the park. It was dry and rutted, reminding me that it hadn’t rained for a week, and we were way overdue for a storm. Great. Just what I didn’t need.

  I stumbled on the uneven path, and had to watch where I put my feet. It meant I couldn’t check the sky. I did risk a glance towards the gate. Last thing I needed to do was to run into more bandits.

  What I wanted to do was look behind me, to see how many were on my tail—and how close they’d gotten. I didn’t bother. The track led up to the gate, and I scrambled over. The gap was on the other side of the field—I mean, where else would it be? The only problem I could see was the herd of mariner cattle between me and it—and how could I have forgotten how much the beasts didn’t like being disturbed?

  There was a shout from behind me, and the gate rattled. Part of me was relieved they hadn’t gone through the gate the same way they had gone through the doors, but only part of me. If they’d smashed the gate, they’d have been too busy trying to stop the cattle from getting out, to come after me. As it was, I wasn’t sure I’d make it to the hedge before they caught me up.

  Now, I did take a moment to glance back. Yup. They were there. And they were just as big as they had been when I knocked over the beer shipment. And just as ugly. And just as angry. And just as determined to lay some serious hands on me. So, not going to happen.

  I took off across the field. Just because the bandits hadn’t broken the gate, didn’t mean it had to stay that way, now, did it? The first of our mariner cows raised its head to see what was making so much noise in its field. It took one look at me, and tossed its storm-grey head, showing me horns striated in cream and black.

  I took as deep a breath as I could manage, and made the same high-pitched bleat I’d heard the calves make when they saw something new, and it scared the crap out of them. The sound came out a little breathless, but it was a close match. It was close enough for the mariner to give an enquiring moo and look behind me.

  Anyone who says cows are stupid hasn’t worked with them long enough—and even archivists take a turn in the yards. Cows are pretty cluey when they need to be—and the mariner breed was clueyer than most. I made the bleating sound, again, and more heads looked from me to the bandits chasing me. Then the heads turned, and bodies followed.

  I guess the bandits looked more menacing than I did—that, and they weren’t sounding like a frightened calf. I ran past the first beast, and it let me go; it didn’t even try to catch me with its horns. That didn’t mean the rest would do the same, though. Cattle moved toward me, and I took a breath, letting out another frightened bleat.

  That was pretty much going to be my last scared critter sound, though. I was too puffed to make another. The mariners eyed me, but the bandits had the biggest part of their attention. To my surprise, the herd parted, giving me a clear path ahead. I didn’t stop to see what they did next; I just kept running. I was over half way to the hedge, when the first angry bellow rang out behind me.

  It almost made me stop. It did make my heart stutter with fear, and I glanced back over my shoulder. Not a single cow was looking my way. The bellow came again, and a bandit shouted angrily in reply. Well, that was going to keep them busy. I pushed my legs back into a run, and looked for the gap in the hedge.

  I knew it was there. I’d seen my little brother pull our mother through it—and that had been the last time I’d seen them. I’d been supposed to go with them, but a bandit patrol had seen me in the field and called me over, and I’d turned back to answer them, buying my family the time they needed to reach Blacklegs’ Forest without me.

  I’d convinced the bandits of innocent intentions, with a story about a lost puppy, and they’d escorted me back to the street without letting me continue my ‘search.’ By the time any of them had thought to look for the puppy, my family was gone.

  If my folks had had any sense, they’d have made their way into Blacklegs’ and tried to find somewhere to hide out until the next supply ship came by. We were a young colony.

  We’d set down not long ago, because this world had clean fodder for the mariners, and good soil, making it a rare space for safe food production—which the home-worlds needed. It also had a bunch of yet-to-be-exploited resources. There’d be a supply ship. It was in the company contract.