Outrageous Fortune-Errant Freight Book One

Chapter 1

"I've never known anyone who was what he or she seemed; or at least, was only what he or she seemed. People carry worlds within them."
-Neil Gaiman

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Dyar's Canyon
Eastern Allianz Territories
February 9, 1449 AL

John Pitte ducked a sizzling bolt of plasma, straightened, looked at the acrid, smoking hole the bolt left in the canyon wall, and experienced an immediate surge of anger. Less for almost being killed than for the damage done the multihued strata for which Dyar's Canyon was renowned.

Admittedly, Dyar's Canyon was also renowned for its inhospitable fauna, alkali lakes, and treacherous electrical storms, but John had always felt a perverse fondness for the place. It was dangerous and beautiful and defiant and didn't give a lick for the humans who'd created it.

"What the fecking comb are you waiting for?" Jagati O'Bannion asked, slapping him upside the head as she ran past.

"Sorry," he said, racing after her, "but these people have no respect for nature."

"Report it to the Keepers," she called over her shoulder, fogging the desert's icy air with her breath.

John assumed she was being facetious, and might have said so, but a series of shouts followed by more plasma bursts and a smattering of crossbow bolts had both turning to lay a quick burst of suppressive fire and, in Jagati's case, a blistering stream of curses.

Thankfully, they'd reached a narrower section of the canyon, preventing their pursuers from spreading out to surround them. In addition, the thickening smoke raised by both sides of the fight provided cover, and as soon as it reached sufficient density the two, in silent agreement, held their fire and began their retreat.

Several paces later, the enemy were still shooting at their previous position, so they took off running, weaving single file through the jagged fissure.

As the pair were close in height, the six-foot-tall John topping Jagati by a mere two centimeters, and both in fighting trim, they covered a good distance.

"Come on, come on, come on!" Jagati hissed as she clambered over a tumble of fallen stone, her long legs finding purchase with the speed and agility of a mountain goat.

"I'm come onning," he replied, one hand on the satchel he wore cross-wise over his jacket.

He'd almost reached the top of the rock pile when another shot had him diving the rest of the way over, resulting in an awkward rolling-falling-bruising affair. He continued to roll to his feet with a fresh spate of twinges. "It's entirely possible," he panted, running after his partner, "that taking this job was a mistake."

From the steady stream of epithets drifting back his way, he could only assume Jagati shared his opinion.

"—ing, smog-eating, spawn of a hornet," she finished as he came even with her.

A sideways glance showed the raw umber of her skin matted with the same violet grime which coated their clothes and dusted the spiraling mass of her brown-black curls. Combined with her fierce expression, the end result was rather demonic.

At least she looked threatening. If the back of his hand was any indication, John figured he came off like a victim of some unnamed, wasting disease.

"We're close to the LZ, right?" she asked, slowing as the canyon they traversed narrowed to the width of an airship's crawlspace.

"Almost certainly," he agreed, nudging her onward while he removed the satchel and held it at his side so he could fit through the cramped fissure.