Frontier

Chapter One

My binoculars focus on the cars and motorcycles in front of the shed down there. Men and women exchanging pieces of machinery they will sell to buy weapons and continue their business. Hunters who, like me, dedicate their lives to finding technological remains from the Other Side. Machines coming from Earth Two are worth almost ten times more than the machines from our Earth, although we don't​ have enough resources even to make our primitive machines run smoothly since the Great War had decimated much of our world and Earth Two has exhausted almost all of our resources. But you should know that already. That's just what people talk about these days, a fact Lisa used to hate.

The Hunters can't​ see me up here from the hill, where my visual field covers the entire desert region with its mountains that seem to glow with the hot sun. The temperature has shot up since most of our vegetation has been carried by the Other Side. On some days it is difficult to breathe here, especially when dust storms happen. Some cities have protection against this and a whole structure that makes life bearable, but, as you might imagine, this is only for those few who can afford to pay for such a thing. Former government agents who survive hunting technological remains from a parallel universe don't​ fit into this group, unfortunately.

It is always like this: you give your life for the nation and days later the nation simply buries you in the past. Lisa knew it very well.

The Hunters open the shed and laugh with each other. They must think that they are rich and that all the other independent Hunters they deceived will never catch them. Idiots. They messed with the wrong person.

I keep my binoculars in my bag and put it on my back. Then I take my gun from the holster, take one last look down and start waking through the hill among the rocks that keep me hidden.

My metal leg, even with my pants on, is hot as hell because of the sun. My robotic arm also suffers even with the protection of the coat. Relief only comes with a wind that takes my hair off my face, exposing the large scar on the right side of it, and helps refresh my cyborg body a little. Maybe I should smile, but the right side of my mouth doesn't​ move very well because of the scar and every attempt to smile ends in something weird that looks more like an expression of disgust. And if you think about it, disgust should be the dominant feeling these days.

I slip in a curve and fall down a steep path. Pieces of stone come up to my face mixed with dust and the gun jumps out of my hand. I am at a safe distance from the Hunters so they will not listen to me, but such a mistake can be costly. That's why I take my gun again and keep walking carefully, squatting and leaning on the rocks until finally leaving the hill and reaching the flat ground. There are containers and old cars scattered all the way to the shed that can be used as hiding places.

I keep walking and I sit with my back on a rusty Mustang. A mongrel comes up from behind a van and starts to growl at me. It's possible to see the marks of its rib and it doesn't have one eye. It walks with a limp to my front, as if preparing to attack me, and saliva trickles through its teeth.

"Hey, buddy, you don't​ have to bark," I whisper to it. "I ain't gonna do anything, all right?"

The dog continues to growl.

"Look, I've got something for you."

Then I take out of my bag a piece of meat wrapped in greasy paper that I was saving for later. The dog's good eye quickly shines in interest and I throw my dinner to him. The piece of meat falls next to a barrel and the dog goes to it, giving me time to leave the Mustang and continue walking down to an old Tesla Motors car.

Now I waste no time; I take the binoculars out of my bag and watch the Hunters. They are in seven, all watching the stolen machines inside the shed. My breath gets heavy just thinking that I've been fooled by these motherfuckers.