Firstborn of the Frontier

Four dozen spicy saurian skewers slathered in cloves, honey, and spice for a sweet and savoury heat.

Six racks of hoggidilla ribs seasoned with a custom dry rub and grilled over charcoal until the meat slides right off the bone.

Two sides of muskari brisket, smoked long and slow over starmelon logs for sweet and smoky flavour that pairs well with Aunty Ray’s special BBQ sauce.

Twenty massive Jaibex lamb chops in a vinaigrette reduction, cooked medium rare but ready to throw back onto the grill if any heretics want it well done.

One bramble elk steak waiting in the wings, saved special for Errol to make up for the one he missed out on after bagging that elk on our way up to Meadowbrook.

Mac and cheese. Coleslaw. Baked beans. Potate salad. Cowboy caviar. And last, but not least, a whole slew of clove-butter flatbread ready to grill hot and fresh so my guests can mop all that saucy food up with it. That right there is all the fixings of a proper American barbeque, or at least as close as you can get here on the Frontier. It’s about all you’ll ever hear from old timers whenever anyone throws a barbeque, how things were so much better back home and how much they miss the ‘proper’ fixings. Cornbread for one, beef and chicken for another, though I could never bring myself to eat Cowie or his kin. Besides, most say muskari is just as good, while those brave enough to try saurian say it’s better than chicken. Juicier and more tender, with less gristle to boot, though them fat frilly lizards are an ugly bunch to be sure. Plenty delicious though, as is everything else I’ve prepared for the first barbeque I done ever hosted, with invites going out to all my friends and the boots who went out to Pleasant Dunes

Even those who turned tail halfway there and came running back to New Hope. Might be they was the smart ones, though that was probably clear from the start. Ain’t no one ever accused the Rangers of being too smart, now have they?

“Whew,” Aunty Ray says, waving her hand all about to fan away the smoke as she looks over my shoulder at the grill. “Goin’ on eighteen years and I still ain’t used to how much work goes into throwin’ a proper shin-dig. Lookit you rollin’ out all them stacks of flatbread dough. You really gonna need that many?”

“Well you know how it is,” I say, flashing a grin with a face no doubt covered in flour as I look up from the prep station. “Better to overprepare than under deliver. Besides, not like I gotta cook it all. Can grill ‘em up as needed and freeze what’s left when we done.” Not that I expect to have all that much left over, not with forty plus young and hungry guests on the way. Still, she ain’t wrong in saying it’s a whole lot of work, so I add, “Thanks for all the help Aunty Ray. Promise I won’t make a habit of puttin’ you to work every Sunday. How’s every other Sunday sound?”

Tweaking my nose with a smile, Aunty Ray follows up with a pinch of my cheeks that is gentle as can be. “Ain’t no thanks needed, not now and not ever. Besides, it’s nice to see you invitin’ friends over for a spot of fun, so you do this often as you like.” Turning her cheek towards me, she gives it a little tap-tap and says, “You can just pay me in sugar like you used to.”

Even though she’s like a mother to me, I can’t help but flush red with embarrassment at the thought of kissing her cheek. “Aw, c’mon Aunty Ray…”

“None of yer gripin’ now.” Tapping her cheek again, she stands there and waits for her due payment, and I know her well enough to know she ain’t gonna leave until she gets it. “Pucker up and plant one right ‘ere before I charge you extra interest.” Knowing guests could be arriving any moment now, I take a quick glance around to make sure there are no witnesses besides Chrissy and the animals before giving Aunty Ray a quick peck on the cheek. One which earns me a pout and a glare as she huffs and sucks her teeth. Wrapping her arms over mine, she hugs me tight and plants a big, wet kiss on my cheek before drawing back with a smile. “That’s how it’s done,” she says, while I laugh and squirm in her grasp before giving up and sinking into her embrace. “It’s nice havin’ you home,” she says, resting her chin on my shoulder with a sigh. “Guess it had to end sooner or later. You sure you ready to start workin’ so soon though? You still look like death warmed over in the mornin’ light, all pale and shaky as you are. It’s hard work layin’ a pipeline five feet under, full ten-hour days toilin’ from sun up to sun down, and you still need an afternoon nap to keep yourself from fallin’ asleep at the dinner table.”

“I don’t need the nap,” I say, although even I gotta admit she got a good point. “I just enjoy them is all. That’s what these last two weeks have been all about, rest and recouperation, but I’m startin’ to go stir crazy sittin’ around with nothin’ to keep me busy.”

“Nothin’?” Pulling back from the hug, Aunty Ray gives me a look and asks, “Naps and nights aside, you ain’t sat still for more than five minutes since the day you got back, always putterin’ around here and there to get your steps in. In the last ten days, you’ve mended the fences, cleaned the gutters, sheared the wallies, fixed the leaky barn roof, and chopped enough firewood to see us through this winter and the next. All on top of takin’ over the lion’s share of Tina’s chores mind you, leavin’ her untethered and free to fritter all her time away.”

“All things that needed doin’,” I say, feeling more than a little defensive at having my sore spots poked, because she’s not wrong. I hate sitting around doing nothing, and there’s a whole lot of nothing to do here at home. “Well, not the firewood, but that was homework given to me by none other than the Marshal himself. You got a problem with that, then you gonna hafta take it up with him.”

“Don’t you go tryin’ to scare me by throwin’ big names around. I know all the same people you do, and a fair few more to boot.” Giving me a good poke in the cheek, Aunty Ray adds, “And I doubt he told you to chop wood until you were ready to drop. Probably asked you to familiarize yourself with that Conjure Weapon Spell, meaning sit around and study it, but you never could sit still.”

“Could if I wanted to,” I say with a shrug and a smile. “But how else are you supposed to familiarize yourself with a Spell if you don’t use it? Not to mention how the Spell only useful if I can get it to Echo, and it can’t do that unless I swing it first so it got something to Echo off of.” Which is harder than it sounds. The Echoed movement don’t come stock with the Spell, similar to how splitting my Mage Hands ain’t standard, but I think I can figure it out with another month or three. Got no real basis for making the claim besides general self-confidence, but ain’t like I gotta learn the Echo to get what I need from the Spell. It’d just be useful to know is all.

Still feels odd Conjuring up a copy of the very hatchet that done took my left hand though, as the real one is little more than scrap metal and ashes underneath a whole pile of stone and sands back in Pleasant Dunes. Yea, Fireball ain’t great at damaging objects and the like, but that’s only in comparison to how effective it is against people. Saw that firsthand in the recording of the event, especially since I knew to look for the boiling fat underneath my targets’ skins. Blackened to a crisp from the inside out, rather than the outside in like with the medium rare chops I got sitting warm on the grill. Forget well done; I served up Vanguard National charred and extra crispy, which is what I call a debt paid in full, so I got no qualms about wielding that same hatchet again.

Well… At least not enough to bother learning how to Conjure something else. Only need the Spell to know how to Modify the Mage Hand Cantrip anyways, so no sense putting too much effort into Conjuring something entirely different just because I got a hang-up about hatchets now.

Aunty Ray don’t know none of this, least not in its entirety. Only the broad strokes, so she don’t think anything of me practicing with the hatchet, nor has she asked where mine went. Hasn’t asked much about my time in Pleasant Dunes either, though I can tell she’s burning with questions. She’s better off not knowing, because what she does know already keeps her awake some nights, so why give her more to worry about? Even then, it don’t stop her from being concerned, and I can see it in her eyes as she reads something in my expression, one that’s still bright and smiling as it was when we started, but ain’t fooling her one whit.

So I do what I always do, and pretend I don’t notice, while she pretends to believe the story I’m telling about being 100% all right. “Made good progress with the Spell already,” I say, gesturing over at the pile of firewood I stacked next to the barn wall. “Barely split any logs the first day I was at it, but you can see my improvement right there.” Furthest from where we stand, the firewood is all uneven and misshapen, with some short, others fat, and still more that are just chopped to all heck and chipped enough to burn. All chopped manually mind you, and not clean and neat neither, since I ain’t all that used to swinging left-handed. Don’t take away from my progress though, because the stacks of wood closer to us are looking right proper and uniform, a feat I’m proud of even if it ain’t nothing but firewood stacked against the barn.

Shows that even without no custom Spell, I can still be of use, even if I can’t be the Firstborn no more. A good thing too, because neither me nor Uncle Teddy thinks our chances of success are high. We’re both too pragmatic to believe otherwise, even if we won’t admit it, since it gives us a reason to keep our lessons going, and that’s fine with us.

“I’m proud of how far you’ve come in so short a time,” Aunty Ray says, her arms still wrapped around mine and chin back on my shoulder as she gives me a good squeeze for extra effect. “All I’m sayin’ is maybe you ought to take it easy another week or two before throwin’ yourself into work. Hard labour ain’t called that because it’s easy, and you could use a few more weeks of good eatin’ to make up for what you lost.” Freeing me from her embrace with a sigh, she pinches my sides and sets me to squirming away as she adds, “Wasn’t like you had all that much to lose to begin with. Uncanny is what that is, how you eat and eat and eat, yet never seem to put on any weight. You already all skin and bones, so how you gonna look after a week of hard labour, eating whatever gruel and hardtack they care to feed you?”

That’s always her number one concern, making sure I have enough to eat, and it’s a wonder I ain’t as big as a barn and twice as wide to boot. “Tell you what,” I say, after slipping away from her tickling with a smile. “I’ll pack up whatever leftovers into a freeze box and bring it out with me when I leave tomorrow mornin’. In fact, maybe we ought to save that whole tray of slab pie you got cooling on the window still over there, just to make sure I got enough to good eats to make it through the whole week.”

“You wish mister,” Aunty Ray retorts, waving me away with a smile. “I made that for you to share, not to stuff your face with instead of eatin’ good and proper meals. Nutrition, that’s what a growin’ boy needs, not sugar enough to rot your teeth.”

Now usually, I’d make a quip about how my big ol’ brain needs it, what with how many Spells I sling on the daily, but this time, all I can think about is how Marcus warned me of the same. Thankfully, Chrissy comes strolling in to the rescue as she throws her arms around her mama and gives her a big kiss, no doubt wanting her fair share of affection after an afternoon watching us both putter about. Gives me time to fix my game face back on while Aunty Ray showers Chrissy with hugs and kisses, and not a moment too soon either, as I glance away from the mother-daughter pair just in time to spot Danny’s bright red curls and hunched, gangly frame coming down the street with a backpack slung over his shoulder and both sisters in tow.

There’s a good reason me and Danny get along so well. Even though we don’t look it, we’re birds of a feather, with much more in common than most would think. For one, we both understand what it’s like to be the dependable older brother, and his burden might be even heavier than my own. I always had Aunty Ray to rely on, who was more than capable of taking care of all three of us all on her own. Sure, she might’ve given up on a lucrative career taming and training horses after Uncle Raleigh passed away, but it’s not like she was left broke, destitute, and helpless after the fact. Far from it, as between wally wool, bee honey, cow’s milk, and her skills with leatherwork, she kept us clothed and fed without ever having to rely on no charity, loans, or government handouts. The money I gave her was just icing on the cake, welcome to be sure, but not necessary for our continued survival.

On the other hand, Danny’s mama, bless her heart, is what others would call a homemaker. She can manage the household just fine, and does it well far as I can tell, having raised a son and two daughters to be proud of. Thing is, she don’t got much in the way of marketable skills, meaning she got no way of earning without a husband to provide for her. Seems silly to base your entire skillset around having a partner to depend on, but apparently that was how they did things back in the old world. A lot of older women are stuck in the same boat as Danny’s mama, which don’t make much sense at all seeing how they’d signed up for a life on the Frontier, one in which nothing was guaranteed, not even your personal safety. Don’t see why anyone incapable of taking care of themselves would want to come all this way to put their lives in the hands of somebody else, but then again, most townies got that same mindset regardless of gender. Instead of spending weekends at the shooting range prepping to fight off Abby when they come, most would rather sit around smoking and drinking while chit-chatting about nothing at all, like they sitting safe inside a city with whole armies of soldiers to protect them, instead of right smack dab in the centre of the Bulwark, the first and last line of defense against the Divide.

Don’t know if I’d call that brave or stupid, living life the way they do, but I suppose I’ll have plenty of time to find out firsthand.

That’s another big reason why I like Danny so much. Man was dealt a bad hand and made the most of it without complaint, taking over his daddy’s business at the tender age of fifteen and making a name for himself in the trade. Same as me really, save in a different profession, and I can respect the time, effort, and dedication he’s put in to get where he’s at. Most of his daddy’s long-time clients up and left after he passed, but Danny won some of them back with sheer grit and perseverance, on top of skill enough to stand out from the crowd regardless of age or experience. That’s why I keep going back to him whenever I need work done. Wasn’t my charitable heart that led me to ask him to install the Big Stick up top of my wagon and fix it so it don’t tear the roof apart with every shot. That there is a weapon that could mean the difference between life and death, and might well have done just that for Tina and everyone else in Pleasant Dunes, so I would never have let Danny work on it if I didn’t trust his skills. He might not be the best Artificer in town, but he’s the most versatile one around, able to do almost all the work I bring him and willing to put in the extra effort to learn when something outside his wheelhouse comes up.

Still scares me something fierce, thinking of Tina standing the up top of the wagon while the berserk horde of greenies came charging down the street towards her. Making the call to stand firm instead of retreating back into the mountains should’ve been enough to earn Wayne a Bolt to the head, but at the time, I was more concerned about Marcus’ death and so relieved everyone had made it out alive and well that I wasn’t thinking clearly. Sure, them chemical explosives were enough boom to hold them waves of Abby back, but them townies were willing to risk the lives of every Ranger and boot standing down there on the streets, and Wayne let it happen.

Turned out fine, but all it takes is one orc to make it through the hail of Bolts and into the firing line, and then all hell would’ve broken loose. Could be them boots and Rangers hold firm, or they could break and scatter as more orcs come pouring in hot on the heels of the trailblazer. Make no mistake, close combat specialists are a rarity even among the Rangers, and I imagine Sergeant Begaye likely ranks highly among them, but even he can’t hold off more than two or three orcs at a time on open ground. What’s more, if those greenies had gotten in good and close, then I wouldn’t have put it past them Vanguard National types to start lobbing grenades into the crowd, and I doubt I’m the only one who thinks that way. Yea, giving the order to stand and fight cost Wayne a lot of goodwill among his men, which might well be why they didn’t say word one to me the whole way home.

Or maybe they was under strict orders from Captain Jung, because none of the Drill Sergeants spoke much to me either. Who knows. Maybe one day, I’ll even find the courage to ask her, though I doubt our paths will cross much moving forward.

Pushing aside all my morose thoughts of the future, I stride out to greet Danny with a smile. “Thanks for coming out,” I say, clapping him on the shoulder before giving his sisters a smile and a nod. Not too friendly a smile mind you, as they still Danny’s sisters, and I don’t want him to worry none. Course, he don’t have to worry at all, seeing how his sisters take after him, and that ain’t a compliment. “Nikky. Manda. Good to see you both.”

“Thanks for inviting us,” the two unrefined little gremlins chime, before running over to greet Chrissy and Aunty Ray, though I suspect they’re more interested in the kiccaws, wallies, and marties hanging about.

“Grab you a drink?” I ask, leading Danny over to the picnic bench which I got fully stocked next to my little stone shack of a house. Waving away the begging marties, I say, “Got cider, sweet tea, juice, chicory coffee, and a couple cases of fizzy sarsaparilla.” Danny’s eyes light up at the mention of the last, and I grab him a bottle out of the ice bucket before he even has to ask.

“Thanks Howie,” he says, taking short pull of the drink with a smile. “Feels like forever since I’ve had one of these.”

“Then have a few more while you here. Don’t be shy. Couple bottles of fizz ain’t thanks enough for them flashbangs you sold me. Real lifesavers those,” I add, dropping my smile a moment to show my sincerity.

Danny being Danny can’t just nod and take the thanks. He’s gotta get all quiet and emotional about it, glancing at my severed stump of a hand before looking away right quick and staring at his bottle instead. He don’t say anything, but I can tell he’s working his way up to it, so I keep quiet and putter about organizing things nice and neatly on the drinks table. “They say you killed a whole lot of people in Pleasant Dunes,” he begins, his voice barely more than a whisper. “My ma didn’t want us coming here after found out. Said you set a whole building full of people on fire and laughed while you watched it burn. Heard it from miss Elise, who heard it from Mrs. Peterson, who looks after the younger brother of a boot who was there.”

Amazing how stories will grow with each retelling. “I killed a lot of people, yea,” I say, unwilling to turn my head ever so slightly to see what sort of expression he got on at the moment, because he might well be the only real friend I got. “And the building did catch fire, yea, but you can’t put that on me.” Not without proof at least. Sure, I set it ablaze, but there was a whole gaggle of drunks and smokers in that building, so ain’t no one knows I done it for certain. Besides, it’s not like I left anyone for the fire to kill, though it was a close thing with Ron and Laura. “As for laughing, that there just ain’t true.” Waving my stump in front of me, I add, “Wasn’t in much of a laughing mood, as you can probably guess.”

“…Meaning you killed a bunch of people before the building went up in flames.”

God damn it. I spent so long prepping to answer any questions the Marshal, Sherrif, Judge, or Aunty Ray had for me, and I done forgot to prep for Danny. Man knows me better than most, because I used to tell him almost everything after our daddies passed since he was the one person I thought would understand. “Yea,” I say. “Yea I did.” Ain’t a problem admitting as much. Got that on recording now, don’t I? Besides, Danny ain’t one to talk, though I suppose he’ll try to convince his mama, and she a gossip same as miss Elise. “But make no mistake Danny. I didn’t go lookin’ for trouble with Vanguard National. I walked myself into a bad fight thinking it could end peacefully so long as I showed them my belly and accepted their terms, and you seen what they did. They took me for a sheep and tuned me up before lopping off my hand. Thought they could get away with it clean because they took me for a victim, but I proved them wrong, now didn’t they? Killed everyone there because I wouldn’t have walked out otherwise, and if I could do it all over again, the only thing I’d do different is kill ‘em sooner. They didn’t deserve any better Danny, even if the law might say otherwise, though the Accords most certainly don’t.”

“That’s what I told my ma,” Danny says, and I see his shadow shift as he nods to himself. “That you wouldn’t have killed those people if you didn’t have proper justification, and the Marshal wouldn’t have let you off if you wasn’t clear by way of the Accords. Ma didn’t get it though. Kept saying there’s no good reason to take so many lives, how that sort of bloodshed would stain even the purest soul black and whatnot.” That takes me by surprise, because I always thought Danny’s Ma loved me. Seeing my expression, Danny gives a little shrug. “It’s been the talk of the town these past few weeks, though I notice no one who was there is saying much of anything at all.”

“Gag order from above,” I reply with a shrug. Was done partially to keep me safe, but mostly because the Rangers lost a Captain, a Lieutenant, and an Artificer in Pleasant Dunes and the higher ups don’t want anyone knowing the exact details. Would be a real bad look if folks found out a decorated Lieutenant Ranger was in the pocket of a slave driving, drug dealing, explosive manufacturing outlaw and had to be put down by a kid who wasn’t even a boot. “You know how it is with Feds. Need to know basis and all.”

“And we common folk don’t need to know,” Danny adds, his lips pursed in a grimace. “Thing is, that makes it look like the Rangers are covering up for what you done, and that don’t sit well with a lot of folks.”

I scoff. “As if. Anyone who thinks the Marshal would cover up a crime I committed ain’t ever met the man.”

“Or maybe you’re the one who doesn’t know him well enough.” Giving me a look, that same one I give outlaws too dumb to leave breathing, Danny says, “You’re the closest thing he’s got to family, Howie. If that isn’t reason enough for a man to go against the grain, then nothing is.”

“…Fair enough.” Conceding the point with a sigh, I shrug and say, “Don’t know what you tellin’ me all this for though. Not like me coming out and saying different is gonna change things much. I walked out of Pleasant Dunes with a big body count and short one hand, but clean as a whistle in the eyes of the Accords.”

“I’m just tellin’ you which way the wind’s blowing is all.” Matching my shrug, Danny adds, “Tensions with the Qin aren’t helping either, not with them watching so close as we expand south towards their settlements. Hasn’t been any fighting just yet, but there’s whispers of it on the horizon, or so the papers say.” Holding up a hand to forestall my objection, he say, “I know you got nothing to do with the Qin, but others don’t think the same, and I heard some folks are whispering about starting a petition to have you 86’ed from town for being a clear and present threat to public safety.”

“On what grounds? My race? Ain’t that against the constitution?” Everything else he’s mentioned can be waved off as townie talk, but this here is different because it parrots the statute in Federal Law concerning Freeholding landowners, which is what I count as. I pay American taxes and live in an American town, but I ain’t American in the end, meaning I don’t got all the same rights and protections as a full citizen. Under certain circumstances, like the one Danny mentioned just now, I could very well be stripped of all my rights as a freeholder and exiled from any and all Federal settlements, and ain’t much I could do about it if a Judge signs off on it.

“On the grounds that you killed a lot of men in Pleasant Dunes,” Danny replies, giving me a variant of the same look he done gave me earlier. “That tends to put the scare in us common folk, and not without reason.”

“You scared Danny?” Soon as I ask it, I wish I could take the words back, but better to know where I stand with the man before moving forward. The question takes him by surprise, as does my tone, a cold and harsh one he ain’t ever heard from me before, the remnants of the Yellow Devil leaking out even though I thought I done put him well away. “Worried I’ll snap and go postal in the middle of town?”

Rather than answer right away, Danny looks me in the eye, and I ain’t sure what it is he sees. After a long second, he says, “I dunno Howie. Should I be?”

Part of me wants to say no, get angry that he’d even think that of me, but the pragmatist inside can’t help but commiserate with his position. “Well, you know how it is,” I drawl, heaving a sigh and letting my pique drain away. “Hope for the best.”

“And prepare for the worst.” Flashing a smile like I didn’t just tell him I might well be a ticking time bomb, Danny says, “Good. I’d worry more if all did was cry victim and claim innocence, because then I’d think you had a guilty conscience.”

“What about now?”

“Now I know you have a guilty conscience,” Danny says, without so much as missing a beat, then pauses to take a long sip of his drink. “Which is good, because that’s how it should be after what you been through. You might be the Firstborn, but underneath all that swagger and bluster, you’re still human yet.” Giving me a fist bump to the shoulder, Danny adds, “Don’t worry too much about what folks are saying. That’s all it is really. Talk. They scared is all, but they got no good basis to have you exiled, and the Marshal would never let it happen regardless.”

Much as I’d love to get all heated and angry, unleashing that all on Danny won’t do nothing to change facts, so I swallow it all and heave another sigh instead. “Yea, well maybe it’s better this way, bein’ a social pariah and all. Least I won’t have to work so hard at smiling all the time.”

Danny don’t know what to say about that, so he takes another sip of his drink and falls silent. Then, without any preamble, he reaches into his backpack and says, “Oh right. I need measurements of your arm, so you mind if we do that first before I forget again?”

“Uh… sure? What for though?”

“Well I was thinking,” he begins, pulling out a length of shaved wood with two pieces of twine already attached and pulling off the leather cover so he can tie both around my stump. Does it without so much as blinking, even though most work real hard to avoid even looking at my missing hand, and it show’s how Danny’s got more steel than it seems. There’s no discomfort in his actions, no hesitation or wince as he takes it all in, just the facts and nothing more. “You know my skitterbots?” He asks, as if anyone could forget those spider-like robots that scurry around him while he works. “I figured I could teach you to make something like that, so you have something better than a plain old clamp of a prosthesis, or worse, something that just looks like a hand but doesn’t do anything at all.”

“Silly that,” I say, though now that I think about it, might not be so silly after all, not when it still feels like my wrist is locked up tight and my missing fingers are digging into a palm that ain’t there anymore. It doesn’t always hurt, only sometimes, mostly when I forget my hand is gone and then I’m reminded of the facts again. Maybe a fake hand will make trick my brain into forgetting more often, and not remembering the pain of my trusty hatchet cleaving straight through bone and muscle with little precision and plenty of force.

“Yea,” Danny says, already lost in his thoughts and not really paying attention to anything I’ve got to say or the thoughts running through my head. “Anyway, the official term is automaton, which in this context means a moving mechanical device powered and controlled using Arcanic methods. You remember how it works?”

“Vaguely.” Dredging up his past explanations, I struggle to put what he said into plain old English, mostly because I don’t really understand it to begin with. “It’s uhh… a sorta-summoned but actually crafted contraption that’s linked to my Spirit, which I use to infuse it with … designated commands stored inside crystals as strings of one and zeroes?”

“Close enough.” Which means I’m way off the mark, but Danny don’t see no point in correcting me. “So yea, it won’t be like having a hand again, something you can control with a thought. You’ll have to pre-program a set of routines, one for say making a fist, another for grabbing a cup, and more still for clapping, snapping, or whatever else you want to do. Then instead of intuitively reaching for a cup and having the automaton grasp it, you’ll have to position it within reach of the cup, then run the subroutine for picking up a cup. It sounds extra complicated, but it isn’t really, just a different way of thinking that you’ll get used to pretty quick, and eventually even learn to write up new programs on the fly as needed.”

Huh. Never knew he had to pay so much attention to his skitterbots, because they always moved about like they had minds of their own and coordinated seamlessly with his movements. Sure, he said they weren’t golems, but I always assumed they had some measure of autonomy at the very least. Why else would they run around on the walls and ceilings like they do? Before I can ask though, Danny finishes taking his measurements and keeps right on talking. “I’d have to teach you how to make one, because that’s the only way you can interface with it using your own Spirit, but you know how to Etch well enough, so it shouldn’t take too long to pick it up. The language you can learn as we go, and I can even help you write up the first few programs, though keep in mind, there’s no guarantee this will work out. Even if it does, it still won’t be anywhere near as good as having a hand, what with the extra focus and lag time between giving a command and executing it. It’ll be a massive undertaking to try and replicate the full range of motion of an actual hand, so don’t even try. In fact, you’d probably be better off not making it a hand at all. A clamp or even a mechanical tendril would offer more functionality, or you could even have them be fully independent like mine, and use it to… I dunno. Grab things you can’t reach, or whatever it is you need done.”

Like shoot a Bolt, if I mount a gun onto it like I keep telling Danny to do. “Hmm… Sounds interesting,” I say, trying to think up a reason not to learn something new and coming up empty. Even if it fails and doesn’t work out, a new skill ain’t nothing to turn my nose up at, especially seeing how I don’t have many marketable ones under my belt. Plus, if I can get them skitterbots to shoot and reload on their own, then my days of roaming the Frontier might not be entirely behind me once I get a bit of advanced Spellslinging under my belt, which is the best news I’ve heard in weeks.

In short? This here is a ray of hope, of which there has been little to none of in recent days.

Grinning from ear to ear, I throw an arm around Danny’s shoulder and pull him in for a sorta hug, which he sorta returns in a manly sorta way. “Thanks Danny,” I say. “If you’re game to teach, then I’m game to learn, and right grateful for it too. You a real one, you know that?”

“Shut up,” he says, elbowing me away with a grin. “You’ve done more for me without thinking twice, like telling me to sell my Flashbang formula to the Rangers quick as can be. Papers went through two weeks ago, so I’m sitting flush for the next little bit. Doubly so since I hear a company downriver just unveiled their own flashbangs, so I would’ve lost out big time if I didn’t act when I did.”

“That was just advice Danny. You the one who done all the hard work.” Changing the subject so we don’t keep going back and forth like this, I ask, “So… that programming language you mentioned. It ain’t all ones and zeroes is it?”

“Sort of, but not really. Oh right. I brought you some books to read up on it.”

After revealing a thick stack of textbooks concealed inside his backpack, Danny dumps them in my arms and goes off on a long and lengthy explanation that I don’t follow much of at all. When it’s all said and done, I leave with the understanding of how the skitterbots think in ones and zeros, but I talk to them in English. Except not plain old English, but a very formal English, with specific syntax and punctuation which I need to use if I want it to understand. All of which goes right above my head, but Danny keeps assuring me I’ll pick it up right quick, though I have my own reservations about that. Lots of folks think I’m smart as a whip just because I can do numbers, but math makes sense to me in a way few other things ever did. What’s more, hopeful as I am for what this bodes for the future, I’m worried about getting my hopes up too high, because there ain’t nothing worse than crashing down to those lowest of lowest, except crashing back down to those depths once again.

Ain’t so sure I can crawl my way out even the once, so I’m rightly worried about having try it twice. Still, gotta cling fast to hope, because without hope, what else do I have to hold onto?

“Lookit you two.” Showing off more of that Ranger stealth, Tina appears out of nowhere while me and Danny are chatting it up, and only then do I notice the time. “Gabbin’ away like a pair of gals on their best day. Thanks for comin’ out Danny. Ain’t just sayin’ it either. Haven’t seen Howie in such high spirits for weeks now.”

Shows what she knows. I’m halfway between terrified and anxious without knowing which side to come down on, so I give her a smug look while Danny stammers out a reply that don’t sound much like English at all. Poor man is head over heels, but she don’t even notice. I’ve told him he’s better off turning his affections elsewhere, since Tina’s focused on being a Ranger and won’t lose that focus until she makes Lieutenant at the very least. Can’t rightly help him either, especially seeing how I don’t know much about women, so all I can do is watch him flounder and step in when it looks like all is lost. “Of course I’m happy to see him,” I say, clapping him on the shoulder. “Danny and his sisters are the only ones who bothered to show up on time. Can’t even count on my own sorta-sister to be punctual, or Heaven forbid drop in early to help set up.”

Glancing around, I notice she arrived alone, even though she’d been out all afternoon with a whole slew of boots putting shots in downrange. Say what you will about how things turned out, but Pleasant Dunes lit a fire in most of the boots who were there. Even after Basic started up again, they still get together every day to hit up the range, obstacle courses, or do general PT whenever they got the time, and the results are starting to show. Even Tina ain’t gone full slacker once freed from her chores, and instead spends more time training like a proper boot should.

Which is all good and well, but that don’t excuse her from showing up late to the first barbeque I done ever hosted, or showing up alone when I asked her to invite all her fellow boots in my stead. Couldn’t really go down to the training camp, now could I? Not persona non grata as I am, which is why I tasked Tina to do it. Looking aggrieved as can be, she pouts and apologizes without really meaning it, mostly because she doesn’t really tell me the real reason why. “Sorry for showin’ up late, but better late than never, right? Ooh, fizzy sarsaparilla.” Grabbing herself a bottle, she cracks it open and takes a deep pull, then another as she winces like she got something to say, but knows I won’t want to hear it. “I got a good reason though, so uh… don’t be angry.”

“I ain’t angry,” I say. And I mean it too, though things are trending that way. Not at her, because I sense something is up, and after hearing Danny’s concerns, it’s easy to guess what. “Let’s hear it.”

“Well,” she drawls, digging her toe into the dirt like she was just caught with her hand in the candy jar. “Word around town hasn’t exactly been singin’ you praises, and a lot of folks have been asking us what went down.”

“Okay.”

“And we been told by the higher ups to keep mum,” Tina continues, unable to meet my eyes. “Except even if they didn’t, we wouldn’t have all that much to tell, since ain’t a one of us knows exactly what went down.” Giving me a glare to say she still waiting on me to come clean, Tina blinks first and moves on after a brief contest of wills. “So some of the boots have been trying to piece things together, and uh…”

“Go on.”

“Well,” she drawls, looking over to her mama for help, but Aunty Ray is too busy keeping the peace between the marties and kiccaws to pay us much mind. “The general consensus is that you uhh… started somethin’ with Vanguard National and got in a bad way, then Wayne and Conner got got tryin’ to get you out.”

Now if that don’t stick in my craw, then ain’t nothing ever could. “You sayin’,” I begin, enunciating my words as carefully as I can, “That them boots think I’m to blame for their deaths?” Which ain’t entirely wrong if you look at it a certain, but the context is what matters, because it sounds like they’re saying I done goofed and got two Rangers killed for it.

“More or less,” Tina whispers, and I hate how she looks scared to break the news. Not because she’s thinks I’d ever lash out and hurt her. No, she’s scared for her friends, because while she knows I’d never lay a finger on her, them loose-lipped, hare-brained boots ain’t got that going for them, now do they? Only now do I realize that keeping mum about what went down in Pleasant Dunes ain’t entirely to my benefit, because even though nothing could be further from the truth, the story the boots came up with is an easy pill to swallow. The fiery, hot-tempered Firstborn gets in over his head with them Company types, and two Rangers die heroically saving his bacon. Without knowing any of the details involved, like how Wayne was a dirty, double-dealing rat stuck firmly in Ron’s pocket, that sounds like a perfectly plausible story to anyone who hears it.

Even the boots who were there and saw Wayne sucker punch me in the back of the head.

Without needing Tina to fill in the blanks, I figure out the rest on my own. “So now no one wants to be seen with the fool who got two Rangers killed. That how it is?”

“Not no one, but yea. I tried convincin’ them otherwise, but wasn’t like I had much to add to the conversation.”

“I know you went to bat for me Songbird.” Patting her on the shoulder, I strive to keep my rage from bubbling over while my mind works at a hundred miles a minute, struggling to find some way to set the story straight without broadcasting to the world that Wayne was dirty. Try as I might though, there ain’t no proper explanation for anything that went down, not one that sounds more believable than the conclusion those boots made. “Well… shoot.”

“Ain’t nothing to worry about.” A familiar voice sounds out, and I glance past Tina to spot Sarah Jay striding over with an easy smile on her face, looking bold and proud as can be. “Those who matter know better, and those who don’t know don’t matter.” Reaching out to slap hands in greeting, she don’t say anything else, and truth is, ain’t nothing else needs saying.

Well, one thing at least. “Thanks for coming,” I say, before turning to the dark and impassive Errol beside her, who clearly don’t share her sentiments. “Good to see you,” I lie, because it wouldn’t surprise me if he believed that bullshit story in its entirety, even though I told him Wayne was dirty from day one. While introducing myself to Sarah Jay’s younger siblings, I make a mental note to cook his elk steak well-done. By the time I’m done making friends with Mary Ann and little Jimmy, more guests have arrived, people Tina invited last minute which is why she was so late. Marijke and her brother Dieterich show up with their customary lack of good cheer, but the fact that she offers to buy back the guns she sold me before Pleasant Dunes speaks volumes to her big heart. I decline of course, much to her relief, because I ain’t hurting for money and see no reason to get rid of my guns, but it’s the thought that counts.

Next comes Noora alongside a gaggle of local girls, including Josie whose family took Noora in. Glad to see the dusky beauty land on her feet after what went down in Pleasant Dunes, and conflicted as I am by the part she played, I can’t really hold it against her. Not like she had much of a choice, and she didn’t say word one when pressed about the recording, just lied through her teeth and said she ain’t never heard me say none of that. A couple of Tina’s friends from school also show up, people I’ve known for years, but never really hung out with because I wasn’t ever around, so I get to refamiliarizing myself with them. To my surprise, a smattering of boots end up coming around, with guests of their own to help pad the numbers, and though it’s still a far cry from the forty-plus guests I was expecting, I prefer smaller crowds anyways. Makes every face here all the more precious, more genuine, and I make a note of them all. Antoni, Alfred, Micheal, Gabriella, Ike, and Kacey are the ones I know well, while their various friends and squad mates make an appearance too. “Glad you could all make it,” I say, with a genuine grin once the food is served and we’re all hanging out. “You sure you all want to be here though? Smart move is to cut ties and walk away. Could well be risking your future careers, or placements at the very least, as there gonna be some Rangers who don’t like seeing you kick it with a deadbeat like me.”

“If so,” Michael says, in a rare moment of candour, “Then you best keep a spot open for us in the Frontier Born.”

Though the sentiment is lighthearted, the man is serious as the grave, as are the others who meet my eyes with smiles aplenty and leave me utterly speechless. With the odds so stacked against me, I’ve all but given up on my dreams and moved on, but not a single person here thinks I’m down and out for the count. Not Michael, not Sarah Jay, not Danny, hell, not even Errol, who clearly believes I’ve done some sort of wrong, and is fuming to see me get off with a slap on the wrist. There’s no doubt in their minds that this ain’t the end for me, so maybe, just maybe it’s too early to write myself off just yet.

They all ready to bet big on my success, so why am I so reluctant to do the same? I’ve always bet on myself before, even taken some long odds I probably should’ve avoided, but I don’t see what that should change now.

Strange how life is sometimes. Ain’t nothing changed between now and five minutes ago, but with a few simple words and actions, my friends have taken the weight of the world off of my shoulders, and I ain’t feeling so down and out anymore. I’ve been in such a rush to move on with my life and leave my past behind, because I been too afraid to admit the truth out loud. I don’t want to move on, don’t want to give up what I’ve already lost, want to take it all back and be the Firstborn again. Thought people would laugh if they heard it, tell me to be real and accept the truth, but ain’t a person here who thinks that way, which means more than they’ll ever know.

“Alright,” I say, giving each one of them a nod to convey my gratitude, even Errol who scoffs to see it. “Will do.”

Music to my ears it is. The Firstborn’s Frontier Born, a dream I ain’t so ready to give up on just yet.