Guns of Mars 1
A Martian action-adventure by The Legend Chuck Dixon
CHAPTER ONE
Kal Keddaq rested his full ten-foot height prone on the slope of a ring of ochre sand that surrounded a shallow depression. His rifle was cradled in the crooks of his upper set of arms. Raised on four elbows, he lifted his head until his eyes cleared the lip of the bowl to scan the broad plain to the south. He was careful to tilt his head back in order that the protruding ears atop his head be less visible.
All he could see was an uninterrupted horizon against an orange sky. The sun was setting, and the cold would be upon him once more. The days were shorter and nights longer as he rode farther to the north. The sand was still warm beneath him. The last of the sun’s rays touched the thick green flesh of his back, a mottled mix of olive and jade. He might risk a fire later if he were certain he’d shaken the man pursuing him.
Kal knew, deep in his bones, that he had not lost the man who’d been tracking him over the dead sea floor for the past three days. His only chance to escape the bounty man was to keep heading north to one of the settlements that ringed the pole. Even that was a risk as he could run out of water for himself or his mounts before ever reaching one of them. And there was every chance his kind would not be welcome in the mostly human polar refuges.
He turned on his side to glance back at the two thoats grazing on patches of yellow lichen at the bottom of the bowl. The larger one was his saddle mount. The second was a pack animal bearing his remaining supplies and his last skin of water.
Before returning to his vigil, Kal removed a telescopticon from a pouch on his harness. He set his rifle aside and extended the scope to its full length before fitting an eye to the lens cup. Shifting from left to right he fixed his gaze on the uninterrupted line of the horizon. Dervishes of dust danced across the plain as the night winds stirred the talc surface. Kal blinked a few times and strained to sharpen his sight.
There, past the curtain of swirling sand, the last light of the setting sun caught a thread of dust rising in the far distance. Kal squeezed his dry eyes shut and pressed his better eye to the cup once more.
Through the haze he could make out a dark figure at the base of the golden column. A lifetime of living in the near featureless barrens of the Great Sand Sea had trained his eyes to recognize details that might be missed by another. More from the approaching shape’s motion than any details he could make out, Kal recognized it as a man riding atop a thoat. From that distinct swaying cadence, he knew the man rode his mount at a walk. Even so, he would reach Kal’s position by the time the sun set. Kal collapsed the spyglass shut and returned it to its pouch.
“Damn this man,” Kal muttered as he snatched up his rifle and slid on sandaled feet to the floor of the bowl.
