A Gate over New Dakota ---STEEMIT EXCLUSIVE SERIES--- PART 3.1

An old west tale... in space. 

3.1

     The map in the Pad told her the great big broken red rock in the sky was Roosevelt. 

     There were other moons hovering above the most absolutely enormous sky Ayame had ever seen. There was Arthur off to the left, Reagan below and Jackson way, way up, above. 

     Roosevelt was the prettiest though, big and red and fascinating. It somehow gave her solace through the too long night, reminding her of something back home she couldn’t quite recall. The hard ground and the foul monster on the other side of the fire it had built became a bit, if only a bit, more bearable thanks to that great gorgeous moon.

     She couldn’t see Clinton, the one that had started this whole mess. The pad told her it was below her somewhere, far from eye sight. She might be able to see it during the day. 

     The big cockroach never seemed to sleep. It sat across from the fire, ridiculous hat taken off, its’ four hideous eyes always glaring right at her. At least that’s what it seemed they were doing, for all she knew it could be sleeping, they never bloody blinked.  

     The Cyber-Equines, horses the monster had called them, were grazing a few yards away. She could see a brief flash of green every time they burned something organic and consumed it. 

     Her guide called itself Rha-Nak-Tay, it told her in its broken mongrel English that it knew the way to her contact, to Morgan Rake. 

     She had her doubts.

     Ayame didn’t know much about navigating anything other than street numbers but something told her, some tiny voice somewhere in the distance, told her things just weren’t right. 

     The map in the Pad told her so also. 

    She checked it, looked past the horses to the rise she could plainly see under the red of Roosevelt, peered over to her right where it dipped and things just continued to not make any bloody sense. 

     Rake’s Ranch was in a flat plain, there were trees. This was hilly, dry ground, some plants but no trees at all. 

     If only the GPS worked in this backwater world, then she would be certain, then she could make her accusation. 

     And where the bloody hell would that get her?

     Weapon, she needed a weapon. 

     A rock, there were plenty of rocks. 

     She looked around her, trying with great bloody effort not to look as terrified as she suddenly felt. She could use a big one to burst open that big ugly bug head. 

End Part 3.1