Wages of Cinn
cover art by grandfailure
Roxie Trent is a convicted felon forced to hunt invisible, electromagnetic ghosts on Mars. Kill enough ghosts and you’re set free. But to kill them, Roxie and her fellow convicts must use the highly addictive drug Cinn, which allows them to see across multiple wavelengths. As the ghosts and the drug eradicate her comrades, Roxie must decide what she’s willing to do in order to atone for her crimes—and she has no idea what the ghosts want, or how far her superiors are willing to push her to achieve Cinn’s true purpose…
Wages of Cinn: Excerpt
Roxie followed the black smoke around Pyramid Twelve in a crouched run, revolver held in both hands. With a throat raw from breathing the gritty, unfiltered air, she mouthed hoarse whispers.
“Please don’t be dead. Don’t be dead.”
Someone screamed. She ran faster.
“Bloody hell, just hang on…”
Turning the corner, she stiffened.
An invisible force yanked the pilot from the smoking gravjet and flung him against Pyramid Twelve. The impact snapped his torso at an odd angle, and the corpse thudded into the red sand twenty meters away. So much for saving him. Unless she ate a tab right now, she’d not see the phantom in time to defend herself.
Roxie thumbed through her belt pouch. Only one tab left.
“Shite.”
She hunkered down behind a grid generator and cocked her revolver.
Dust stirred as something moved behind the pyramid.
Windborne sand forced Roxie to tug her goggles back down while aiming her gun. Just what she needed. Almost blinded while trying to get a bead on her target.
She tapped her earbud, but no sound came. The phantom’s presence had already shorted out her ‘tronics, then. No way to call for help now. Gripping the gun in both hands, she crept from the generator to a dish array.
A gurgling noise made her halt.
One of the forms inside the gravjet stirred, moaned, and went limp.
Roxie glimpsed the man’s scorched uniform, the melted flesh sliding off his skull. The stench of charbroiled meat and burnt plastic took her breath. The phantom had burned him quick. It had to be a Class B, one of the stronger types.
They’d been lurking around Cydonia in greater numbers. In the last week alone, eighteen fossil prospectors had been killed, plus two sentries. And now the personnel on that gravjet. At least she’d still get the creds if she shot the phantom.
But she should have saved them. She clenched her teeth and moved on.
Pacing alongside Pyramid Twelve, she scanned the area. Centuries of rust and dirt caked the colonial structure, standing a hundred meters tall. The rest of Cydonia was dotted with pyramids cordoned off for research.
She rolled her eyes. Stupid archaeologists, stirring up phantoms. All those excavation pits just made her job harder; keeping an eye out while not falling into one.
Phantoms often hid inside the ancient ruins. They were invisible to human eyes, showing up only in the electromagnetic spectrum, in ultraviolet. Their natural radiation ruined all ‘tronics in the vicinity, leaving hunters few options with which to see them.
Roxie’s left hand drifted toward her belt and stopped. She had only one tab left.
Best wait until the phantom got close.
If her partner Doggie Boy was doing what the he was supposed to be doing, she might have it cornered behind this pyramid. Roxie drew a thermo grenade from her duster. Last one she had, and it might not even work. But nothing else distracted those things except for technology—and living flesh.
“Here you go, love.”
Roxie pulled the pin and tossed the grenade around the corner. Drawing her duster over her head, she crouched and counted to ten.
A dull thud vibrated the ground. Rusty flakes slid off the pyramid wall.
She counted to five then slowly approached the corner.
Fifty meters ahead, something tossed sand and tools against the pyramid. The grenade’s explosion of infrared light had angered it. Dirty Cool claimed the grenades blinded the phantoms, but whatever. All she cared about was that it was headed for her comrade near Pyramid Thirteen.
She hoped Doggie Boy would be ready.
As Roxie headed between the two pyramids, the plain blurred with blown dust. Unless the things had learned to fly, the phantom had only one way to go: straight into the excavation pits. If she ate a Cinn tab, she’d see it. Then shooting it would be easy.
Her gloved fingers flexed over the belt pouch. Her mouth watered.
Not yet.
“Please don’t be dead. Don’t be dead.”
Someone screamed. She ran faster.
“Bloody hell, just hang on…”
Turning the corner, she stiffened.
An invisible force yanked the pilot from the smoking gravjet and flung him against Pyramid Twelve. The impact snapped his torso at an odd angle, and the corpse thudded into the red sand twenty meters away. So much for saving him. Unless she ate a tab right now, she’d not see the phantom in time to defend herself.
Roxie thumbed through her belt pouch. Only one tab left.
“Shite.”
She hunkered down behind a grid generator and cocked her revolver.
Dust stirred as something moved behind the pyramid.
Windborne sand forced Roxie to tug her goggles back down while aiming her gun. Just what she needed. Almost blinded while trying to get a bead on her target.
She tapped her earbud, but no sound came. The phantom’s presence had already shorted out her ‘tronics, then. No way to call for help now. Gripping the gun in both hands, she crept from the generator to a dish array.
A gurgling noise made her halt.
One of the forms inside the gravjet stirred, moaned, and went limp.
Roxie glimpsed the man’s scorched uniform, the melted flesh sliding off his skull. The stench of charbroiled meat and burnt plastic took her breath. The phantom had burned him quick. It had to be a Class B, one of the stronger types.
They’d been lurking around Cydonia in greater numbers. In the last week alone, eighteen fossil prospectors had been killed, plus two sentries. And now the personnel on that gravjet. At least she’d still get the creds if she shot the phantom.
But she should have saved them. She clenched her teeth and moved on.
Pacing alongside Pyramid Twelve, she scanned the area. Centuries of rust and dirt caked the colonial structure, standing a hundred meters tall. The rest of Cydonia was dotted with pyramids cordoned off for research.
She rolled her eyes. Stupid archaeologists, stirring up phantoms. All those excavation pits just made her job harder; keeping an eye out while not falling into one.
Phantoms often hid inside the ancient ruins. They were invisible to human eyes, showing up only in the electromagnetic spectrum, in ultraviolet. Their natural radiation ruined all ‘tronics in the vicinity, leaving hunters few options with which to see them.
Roxie’s left hand drifted toward her belt and stopped. She had only one tab left.
Best wait until the phantom got close.
If her partner Doggie Boy was doing what the he was supposed to be doing, she might have it cornered behind this pyramid. Roxie drew a thermo grenade from her duster. Last one she had, and it might not even work. But nothing else distracted those things except for technology—and living flesh.
“Here you go, love.”
Roxie pulled the pin and tossed the grenade around the corner. Drawing her duster over her head, she crouched and counted to ten.
A dull thud vibrated the ground. Rusty flakes slid off the pyramid wall.
She counted to five then slowly approached the corner.
Fifty meters ahead, something tossed sand and tools against the pyramid. The grenade’s explosion of infrared light had angered it. Dirty Cool claimed the grenades blinded the phantoms, but whatever. All she cared about was that it was headed for her comrade near Pyramid Thirteen.
She hoped Doggie Boy would be ready.
As Roxie headed between the two pyramids, the plain blurred with blown dust. Unless the things had learned to fly, the phantom had only one way to go: straight into the excavation pits. If she ate a Cinn tab, she’d see it. Then shooting it would be easy.
Her gloved fingers flexed over the belt pouch. Her mouth watered.
Not yet.
