The scattered blades of grass in the open field were flattened to the ground as the Nordic Troll’s thrusters eased the ship to the ground. The ship gently nestled in a cloud of dust, which slowly dissipated as the engines wound down to rest.

Minutes later the main cargo door slowly swung down to rest on the ground. A small powered cargo loader rolled down the ramp carrying Gerrin and his main henchman and co-owner of the ship, Jamie Reilly. Strapped across the small cargo platform on the back of the loader lay the gangster boss McMillan, bound in a fetal position with a hood over his head.

Gerrin looked around and said “Town’s that way-“. Turning, he said “-so we go this way. Intel says there’s a spider-hole five miles along the ridge, that should hold him for a good long while.”

Reilly looked at him. “One of those hideouts used by the Independents during the war?”

“Yup”, Gerrin answered. “Cortex chatter said smugglers used it ‘till recently to hole up in when the heat’s on”.

“What happened to the smugglers?”

“Caught, killed, lying low somewhere else, who knows?”

“Oh, that’s very reassuring”, Riley added dryly.

“Let’s get moving”. Raising his comm box, Gerrin announced “Loomie, we’ll be back in two hours. If you don’t see or hear from us in three, you take the ship and come get us. Use the locator beacon on the loader. Got it?”

“Copy, cap’n”, Loomie’s reply came back. “Ju ni hao yun (good luck)”.

“We’ll be fine”, Gerrin responded. Turning to mount the loader, he said “Let’s ride”.

They rode for the first hour through rough fields and dry washes toward the designated coordinates. The hot dusty wind that blew across the desert was annoying but tolerable. Their prisoner, McMillan, grunted loudly every time the loader hit a bump or a rut, which was often,