Want to get to know Pauder a little better? Here’s a free bonus scene from the Backworlds universe. The story setting is shortly after Stopover At the Backworlds’ Edge (Book 2) ends.
Ashes and Dust
The night rarely granted Pauder rest, especially since the recent visit by the Fo’wo’s. The enemy claimed some nonsense about secrets on Pardeep Station. There was no such thing, except for the ones he had buried so deeply his past had become a secret to himself.
From his bed inside a tower in his home, he gazed out at his barren moon bathed in the light from Azta. Azta was Pardeep’s center—the ice giant Pardeep danced around in a steady orbit. The gases making up the ice giant glowed in a heartwarming blue, a blue to stir any human heart with a nostalgia no one could remember. Azta wasn’t stingy with the light it shared with Pardeep and rarely gave the moon the gift of full darkness. Sometimes he resented the light, wanting to wallow in the darkness squeezing on his heart and mind in a constant grating grip.
The enemy didn’t give him any peace, either. He thought he would be safe on this wretched moon far from anything important and holding onto nothing of value, except for what remained of his sanity. He rose and dressed, sliding on his fatigues and boots. One by one, he slipped his five war medals over his head, kissing them, remembering his brothers and sisters in arms, those who hadn’t lived long enough to walk with ghosts.
Outside, his breath added the only clouds ever to grace Pardeep Station. Not enough water existed on this arid moon for anything so luxurious as a cloud. He trotted out to check on his caches, the places he stashed weapons just in case. Just in case had arrived two weeks ago and his weapons had been too far away to do anyone any good. Maybe he’d move some of the ordnance to the docking tower. But he didn’t want the weapons anywhere the enemy could find them or reach them. The docks weren’t a good idea.
“Keep the best ones on you,” Resitar said. “Then they is always handy.”
“I shouldn’t listen ta ya,” Pauder replied. “Yar dead. Ya died decades ago. I saw ya blow up.”
“Doesn’t mean I don’t have anything to say.”
Pauder stared at the spot the voice materialized from. “Get out of my head, Resitar. Ya was always a bad scout. That’s why I followed ya everywhere. The lieutenant knew ya needed watching.”
“Your neighbors need watching.”
“I know.” Pauder moved on to each cache in turn, checking the bits and bobs he set around each one as sentries. If they remained undisturbed, he knew no one had been here. To be certain, he pulled out his tab and reviewed how the scatter of the bits and bobs matched the image of the last time he’d been there. Each image matched. The Fo’wo’s hadn’t found his weapons, nor their snitcher.
His gaze shifted across the dusty dunes in the direction of Meelo’s farm. He knew she was as shattered inside as he was, but had never pegged her for a Fo’wo agent. He had been as stunned as the others.
“I’m off my game,” he muttered. “Been hanging out with that big goo of a bartender too much.” Craze had a soft spot for most sob stories, especially when the tale was told by a gal. Craze was too young to learn to guard his heart better. Pauder tried to tell him, but Craze never listened.
“The young rarely do what their elders advise,” his father said from across the years and across star systems. He sometimes joined Pauder on these treks across the dunes.
“Not today, Paps. I need a clear head.”
“To do what?”
“I don’t know exactly, but I have ta check up on the snitcher.” He waved the ghost of his father away. Sometimes Pauder would sit a spell and wallow in old sentiments with his paps, but those moments didn’t come often. Pauder had quit handing out his heart ages ago. He didn’t intend to start again.
At the farm, Meelo tended to her fields. Apparently, night didn’t give her much peace and rest either. She wrestled with a stubborn rootbagger and fell on her butt. Swearing, she lumbered back onto her feet, swiping dust off her backside. She kicked at the rootbagger, but it still didn’t budge.
“Why isn’t ya using the harvester?” Pauder asked as he approached.
Despite it still being night, she squinted at him as if the sun shone in her eyes. Her eyes watered a bit too, as if stuck in brightness. “Y-you is up early.”
“Ditto.” He plucked the rootbagger from the dirt and set it in her bin. Like Azta reflected sunlight, she reflected Pauder. The same echoes of grief, horror, and trauma danced in the twitches of her eyelids and cheeks. He wondered if she spoke to ghosts too.
“I-I I’m not going to break our agreement. I won’t talk to the Fo’wo’s again without you being there,” she said.
Nodding, he went over by her shed, which badly needed patching, and examined the harvester. After locating her toolbox, he removed the air intake and cleaned out the dust. Once reassembled, the harvester started right up. He searched the shed for epoxy or resin to fill in the holes in the shed, but didn’t see any. He returned to Meelo in the field, smiling at the three filled bins, proud his moon could produce something.
“Harvester is repaired. Ya got ta keep the dust out of it. Yar shed doesn’t do squat to protect it in a dust storm.”
She swiped the dirt staining her hands on her coat. She wore a black wool coat with more pockets than Pauder could count. Each pocket was made from a different fabric. He figured the pockets meant something like his medals. “R-Rainly is out, ‘n she’s the only one who will trade with me.”
“That’s your fault,” Resitar said from behind Meelo. “You made everyone distrust her ‘n let it be known they’d meet your wrath if they had dealings with her.”
Pauder scowled and raked his sharp fingers over his bald head. “I’ll be by later ta fix the shed.”
“N-no need. I can leave with Doc next time she comes in.”
“Why would ya do that? The Fo’wo’s won’t let ya be. I’m yar best shot a future free of them murderous dastards.” Hate bubbled in a roiling heat from deep inside him. He caught a faint reflection of the same loathing in her eyes before she returned to her usual state of resignation.
“I-I I’m not always sure I want a future,” she whispered.
“Ditto, missy. But our neighbors need us. Me, ta keep us from being killed stupidly. Ya, ta keep us fed.”
“I-I don’t want to be needed, ‘n I certainly don’t want to need anyone else.”
“Me either.” For a second, he saw everything he lost beside her and in her. Her ghosts and his mingled. He stared down at the dirt, hoping she didn’t notice, but Resitar kept poking him. “Meelo, this is a good place for folks like you ‘n me. Some just see ashes ‘n dust. We see a chance to heal. Maybe… sometimes. But don’t forget who ya is in the process. Yar a Backworlder. We gotta look out for each other.”
The words left him before he could think better of them. He couldn’t decide if he was trying to convince her or himself. The silence that followed felt like a wound, raw and exposed. He wondered if the fragile idea of healing was worth it. Maybe this was what he had fought for in the war, or maybe it was just another battle with no winners.
Growling, he left to get a can of resin from his place.
