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    Lost Dreams: Last Stand, #1
    Lost Dreams: Last Stand, #1
    Lost Dreams: Last Stand, #1
    Ebook145 pages1 hour

    Lost Dreams: Last Stand, #1

    By Blaze Ward

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    About this ebook

    Tessa and her crew want to stay out of debt. Maybe get a little ahead. Even if that involves looting wrecks and occasionally robbing banks.

     

    When three new passengers bring a passel of trouble with them, Tessa and the gang must define what family means. And what they will do to protect it.

     

    Last Stand is a shiny, new space western science fiction adventure series full of bright characters, messy worlds, and all manner of ethical conundrums. Start here with Lost Dreams and then move on to Ghost Towns. If you dare.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherKnotted Road Press
    Release dateJan 10, 2023
    ISBN9781644703236
    Lost Dreams: Last Stand, #1
    Author

    Blaze Ward

    Blaze Ward writes science fiction in the Alexandria Station universe (Jessica Keller, The Science Officer,  The Story Road, etc.) as well as several other science fiction universes, such as Star Dragon, the Dominion, and more. He also writes odd bits of high fantasy with swords and orcs. In addition, he is the Editor and Publisher of Boundary Shock Quarterly Magazine. You can find out more at his website www.blazeward.com, as well as Facebook, Goodreads, and other places. Blaze's works are available as ebooks, paper, and audio, and can be found at a variety of online vendors. His newsletter comes out regularly, and you can also follow his blog on his website. He really enjoys interacting with fans, and looks forward to any and all questions—even ones about his books!

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      Book preview

      Lost Dreams - Blaze Ward

      Lost Dreams

      Lost Dreams

      Last Stand

      Episode One

      Blaze Ward

      Knotted Road Press

      Contents

      Scene One

      Scene Two

      Scene Three

      Scene Four

      Scene Five

      Scene Six

      Scene Seven

      Scene Eight

      Scene Nine

      Scene Ten

      Scene Eleven

      Scene Twelve

      Scene Thirteen

      Scene Fourteen

      Scene Fifteen

      Scene Sixteen

      Scene Seventeen

      Scene Eighteen

      Scene Nineteen

      Read More

      About the Author

      Also by Blaze Ward

      About Knotted Road Press

      Scene One

      Tessa glanced over when Wyatt started muttering under his breath. The bridge of her little star freighter Last Stand was crowded with three of them in here, so Tessa was close enough to listen to Wyatt bitching. Or punch him in the mouth.

      It was Wyatt.

      Fin flew and didn’t look up. But he also knew Wyatt. They’d been together as a team for more than two years now. Or rather, Tessa had been married to Fin and co-owner of the Randovall Nucleonautics Light Tumbrel named Last Stand for three years. Wyatt Nakada had come along a bit later.

      Bit of a complication when she and Fin had been getting chased across the Hawkswold Sector by some bounty hunters over something of a misunderstanding and Wyatt had gotten himself crossways with a different set of armed hooligans and they’d all ended up at the same saloon one afternoon.

      A quick consensus of purpose, a little gunplay, and they’d all gotten away.

      She listened to the man grumble. He was always like this.

      Say it, Tessa ordered, looking over.

      She was the captain of the vessel and the crew. Fin liked to tell anyone and everyone that he was a happily kept man. Wyatt pretended to be dumber than he was so nobody asked him to take on responsibilities for anything bigger than laundry or dishes. The man couldn’t cook worth a damn.

      Wyatt stopped watching the horizon out the front windshield and turned hard eyes towards her.

      Have we considered going straight? he asked in a sour, grumbly voice.

      Tessa wanted to laugh at those words coming from him, but she held her peace.

      Fin did laugh, but those two had a weird relationship.

      We tried that, Big Guy, her husband reminded both of them on the small bridge as he dove the ship out of the sky. Didn’t work all that well as I recall. Too many people out there. Not enough work after the war. Assholes in charge like folks desperate enough to ignore laws.

      Wyatt looked like he’d sucked a lime dry.

      Spill, Tessa said, softening her tone.

      Wyatt could be a son of a bitch. An amoral, mercenary punk of a man, but he also sent a significant portion of his paycheck home to his mother on a monthly basis. Claimed she needed it to survive, with his dad dead. He’d been a loyal crew member for two years at this point, prickliness and grumbling notwithstanding.

      And he was big and strong, a giant who loomed over most people.

      Got a bad feeling, boss, he finally said. Dunno why. Just do.

      Somebody wake up on the wrong side of the palace this morning? Fin asked brightly. Teasing the big man. Not many people could get away with that. Fin was one of them.

      Wyatt was one of the biggest humans Tessa had ever met. Shade under two meters. Hundred and twenty kilos before gear. Black hair short on his head and thick like a pelt everywhere else she’d seen. Couple of days of stubble on his face. Much lighter skin than Tessa, almost pale, but he was from Lorastir, and she had come from one of the darker minority groups of Zaddinul, back in the before.

      Fin, on the other hand, was pretty and blond. Kept his Van Dyke trimmed and precise. Twenty-five centimeters shorter than Wyatt and only barely more than half as heavy. Ten centimeters shorter than Tessa.

      Fin was better dressed, too, but Wyatt preferred to look like a grizzled merc in the field, while Fin was snappy today with his Plus Four breeks in a moss green, accessorized by a bright blue dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up.

      Tessa had turned up the heat on the bridge before they’d dropped out of orbit. Orvan was hotter than comfortable over most of the surface, and the place they were headed was in the deep desert. Fin usually kept his flight deck chilly enough to wear his favorite fur-lined jacket when he flew, and she didn’t need the temperature extremes on top of everything else today.

      Wyatt rolled his eyes and scowled at Fin, but there was nothing behind it. Tessa had broken both of them to the bit early on, so the teasing was genial these days. It was only outsiders who got the sharp edge of anyone’s tongue.

      It’s a job, she reminded Wyatt. Pitiful few of those floating around these days, so we need to keep the folks with money happy.

      Wyatt shrugged.

      Yes, she continued. I know we have Abigail renting part of the flight deck and paying us a nice monthly fee to fly her around this whole sector, but that just barely keeps us in food and parts. So we gotta do things like this. Don’t tell me you’re developing a conscience, Wyatt Nakada.

      That got the start of an angry rise out of him. A flash of hardness that faded just as quickly before he chuckled.

      As intended.

      Shit, no, he countered. Just a bad feeling. It’ll pass.

      Well, if you’re feeling better, there’s a jar of pickles in the cupboard behind you, Fin spoke up. Wanna open it for me? You know how I love fresh pickles when I fly.

      Another roll of the eyes as Tessa watched, but the big fellow opened a compartment and pulled out a jar. Part of the batch from last fall. Sealed damned tight, too, since they had to be able to withstand canning, resting, and the occasional stretch of zero gravity when something on the ship broke.

      Wyatt gripped it and twisted with an audible pop, then screwed it down a little and handed it over Fin’s shoulder.

      Thank you, Fin grinned with his voice, taking the jar and sliding it into the coffee mug holder.

      One hand came off the big piloting wheel and two delicate fingers dipped in like a hummingbird feeding to emerge with a quarter slice of what Fin considered vinegary dill heaven. Tessa wasn’t as deeply entranced with pickles, but you did what you had to in order to preserve the fresh produce that came out of the pots and hydroponics aft. Or trade with other ships that had surpluses so you got prizes.

      Fin munched and hummed as he flew.

      Okay, gang, he said around a mouthful. We’re coming in. Still over the horizon from our target, but I’m not even picking up ground-based weather radar right now, so we appear to be alone. Ought to be on the ground in about ten minutes.

      Tessa nodded to Wyatt, then leaned over to kiss her husband on the top of his head.

      Wyatt grumbled some more, then headed down the stairs to the main deck. Tessa was down a few steps later and caught up with him as they reached the cargo bay aft and opened up the secret compartment that held the armory.

      Doomripper was there, Wyatt’s big, ugly, 6mm military surplus Corwin Arms G-77 assault rifle. Matte black and tougher looking than the man holding it, if that was possible. Wyatt slung it across his back, then pulled out his pistol, Brunhilde, a Bokov B-41 13mm semi-automatic that only somebody big would carry.

      He looked like a merc with all that, plus the armored jacket he was going to wear in spite of temperatures approaching forty degrees Celsius out there.

      Tessa waited for him to step aside before she grabbed her Kuznetsov 11mm Tactical (double action) Revolver, wrapping the belt around her waist and tying the holster around her thigh.

      Corwin Arms Model 27 11mm lever action carbine with 50-cm barrel was next. She cycled the lever just enough to confirm that there was a bullet in the chamber, then closed it and dropped the hammer carefully.

      Why don’t you upgrade from that ancient piece of junk? Wyatt asked, nodding to the carbine in her hands like a cradled child.

      Because it will take any crap ammunition I can find, she reminded him. Same stuff goes in the pistol as well. How many calibers do you have to carry around?

      He grumbled three under his breath. 6mm for the rifle, plus the 24mm grenades he could fire out of the top barrel when he found them. Then the 13mm stuff for his auto-pistol.

      Tessa preferred a single line of bullets across the back of her waist and a speed loader in a pouch opposite the iron. Made you stop and consider your target, instead of hosing down a situation and hoping you hit something.

      Wyatt usually did hit, but keeping that boy in ammunition had been so expensive she’d made him start paying for it himself. Without nearly a big enough raise to offset the difference.

      He was learning, slowly.

      She kept the 11mm.

      Fellow travelers, if you will bring your tray tables to the upright position, we are on final approach, Fin announced over the intercom like a commercial pilot. We at Barton/Sladek Spaceways would like to thank you for flying with us today and look forward to many more ventures.

      It was Tessa’s turn to roll her eyes while Wyatt chuckled. Her husband could be a goof.

      He was, however, the best pilot she knew. And didn’t mind living with an olive-skinned war goddess from the wrong side of the tracks—his words—even though it had caused him to be largely ostracized by his family for marrying so far below his station.

      One of these days, she’d go back to

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