“Nine riders!” Cecil blurted as she flew into the kitchen through the back door.

  “One is from the meeting, and the other—I think—is the Governor? And the rest are soldiers.”

  Cal nodded, still watching the screen.

  Sierra noticed and blushed, then tried to think of something they wouldn’t have seen from the cameras, which were mounted high in the trees, giving mostly top-down angles of their visitors.

  “One of the soldiers, the one by the Governor, is old. Older than you, Uncle Cal.”

  Cal nodded again. Someone important, then.

  “His uniform is fancy,” she continued, “and the one next to him has a pistol on.”

  Cal had noted that himself.

  He counted off their visitors:

  Governor.

  His lieutenant.

  A military honcho—Naval, by the uniform.

  And his assistant or whatever, the one with the pistol.

  And five bootlickers.

  With rifles.

  Thugs.

  Why did they think they needed thugs?

  Five, no less.

  One or two—three at the outside—made sense. Frontier wasn’t a core world. There were a few animals that could do damage; and while first-generation colonists were well-behaved—having been vetted and fearing violation of their contracts—anyone born on Frontier? They weren’t beholden to their parents’ agreements.

  Some of them could get a little rowdy.

  But still.

  Five armed escorts?

  Why?

  —

  Cal stood on the porch, flanked by his posse.

  Maria and Vannah to one side, Cecil on the other.

  Junkrat sat at his heel, silent, offering no insight to his thoughts.

  Tracer had run to greet her new friends and was now rolling around on the ground beside the invaders. Trying to convince them she was the best dog ever and they should love her.

  The cats had scattered.

  Nugget, for his part, did not like the intruding herd’s lead horse. The stallion had come off the trail full of bluster and confidence, like he owned the place. So Nugget stood at the edge of the paddock and glared at him. Just to make sure he knew he didn’t.

  —

  Sierra was the only one armed, her pistol tucked firmly into its holster—her hand resting on its butt.

  She had removed the small leather strap that looped over the hammer. The one that kept it from working loose while she rode. It would be a problem if she needed to draw.

  Cal had watched her slip the loop off with a grin. Debating how a good parent would handle this moment. Then he decided it wasn’t a useful consideration.

  Other people’s kids weren’t invincible.

  Neither are you—or Maria, a voice reminded him.

  “Cecil,” he cautioned.

  “They’re bullies.” She glared toward the trailhead.

  Cal wondered if he had overdone the anti-bullying lessons.

  “Maria doesn't have a bracelet.”

  Sierra furrowed her brow, turned to him.

  “Yeah…” she mumbled. “Ok.” She slipped the loop back over her revolver’s hammer, arms crossing over her chest.

  Maria edged closer to Cal—until their shoulders touched.

  —

  The Governor and his Lieutenant led the group, seemingly unconcerned by the situation. Though both, along with the military boys, took note of the armed child. And the Rottweiler.

  The bureaucrats were passingly familiar with Cal. He was, after all, a team player.

  “Mr. Callahan!” the Governor called warmly as he approached on horseback. “Your home is lovely! Perfectly in style! Did you build this fencing yourself?”

  Cal ignored the question. “Gentlemen.” His tone was flat—not rude, but not welcoming. “I expected a call before a visit.”

  The Lieutenant Governor looked offended but didn’t get the chance to say so.

  The Governor responded immediately, “Of course, of course! Only polite! Unfortunately, the nature of the meeting raised security concerns. The Admiral here wouldn’t allow it!”

  Cal cut his eyes to the older man.

  Over sixty, Cal guessed.

  Sharpest uniform in the bunch.

  Medals on his chest. Some kind of fancy yellow rope on one shoulder.

  It wasn’t over the top.

  He didn’t look like the little dictator generals from Mars that made the news now and again; covered in so many medals they must have been fighting wars from the womb. But he was clearly a guy with some awards. Cal didn’t know how to decode any of it. But he knew ribbons meant service and medals were rare.

  This guy had a good number of both.

  And he had a beard. Which you didn’t get to do in the military unless you were somebody significant. Somebody who didn’t answer to anyone else. At least, not anyone who cared about facial hair.

  The Admiral acknowledged Cal’s gaze with a nod.

  “Mr. Callahan, we have quite a lot to discuss. May we approach?”

  Cal nodded back. “Not enough room in the house for your escort. They can wait outside.”

  And without waiting for a response, he turned and moved back into the house.

  Everyone but Sierra and Junkrat followed. They waited, then came in behind the guests.

  —

  As they found seats in the dining room—Vannah fetching two chairs off the front porch and bringing them in—Cal watched the escort through the windows.

  It wasn’t reassuring.

  They weren’t lazy.

  And they weren’t bored.

  These guys had been given a mission.

  Two of them dismounted and took positions at the front and back doors—directly in front of them. The other three remained mounted, spreading out at intervals around the house, facing outward, alert.

  Cal didn’t like this shit at all.

  This was not expected.

  And it seemed wholly uncalled for.

  He had figured the Governor would come.

  Maybe with some suits.

  Possibly a Major or Colonel—or whatever the Naval equivalent was.

  Cal was really only familiar with the local Colonial Military ranks.

  Someone high enough to be worth his time.

  But an Admiral?

  With, as Cal had learned after the Admiral muttered orders to him, his Executive Officer, who was himself a Lieutenant Commander apparently.

  Which meant the Admiral had a major command.

  Possibly his own ship.

  Cal was regretting a lot of decisions at the moment.

  His eyes cut to Maria—not everything, though.

  —

  The adults sat around the kitchen table. Before their guests arrived, Cal had Vannah extend the built-in leaf, making the table about a foot longer than usual.

  This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

  Cecil had decided she wouldn’t get yelled at for sitting on the kitchen counter right now, so she perched there, printing a cookie to nibble on—earning a glare from her sister for it.

  Vannah stood nearly out of the kitchen entirely, lingering in the entryway to the living room.

  The Governor had opened with pleasantries, but the Admiral let it go on for only a moment before giving a subtle nod to his XO. The XO immediately inserted himself into the conversation:

  “Mr. Callahan, I have no concept of what it takes to operate a ranch, especially one of this size, but I imagine you’re a busy man. And, as you rightly pointed out, we did not extend the courtesy of notifying you before our arrival. So we will try not to waste your time today.”

  Cal nodded. He appreciated the message but thought it was a lot of words to say very little.

  “You and your daughters seem to have made contact with humanity’s first—and to date, only—intelligent alien species. And I am told you are in possession of an AI representative, created specifically to negotiate with humanity. Apparently, in a bracelet your eldest child wears.”

  There was a hint of judgment in that last part that Cal didn’t appreciate. “That’s about it,” he said, keeping it short in protest.

  Their guests’ eyes all turned to Savannah, who blushed slightly.

  “Her name is Brenda,” she told them.

  Someone snorted, but she didn’t see who. The Admiral nodded.

  “Is she here now?”

  “I am,” Brenda answered. “Savannah, can you move me a bit closer? They’re on the edge of my conversational range.”

  Savannah stepped forward, moving between Cal and Maria’s seats.

  Maria wrapped an arm around her waist.

  —

  The conversation that followed was dry.

  The most important revelation was that the Squid had sent a relay, positioned about four light-hours outside Frontier’s solar system. It was capable of FTL communication with a matching relay on the edge of Squidspace.

  This was how they hoped Humanity would respond—through the relay. From there, they would seek formal first contact.

  Beyond that, Brenda advised the Callahans not to disclose her ship’s location. She politely explained the fusion core safeguard and stressed that the ship’s fate should be negotiated with her ‘originating culture’.

  Outside of facilitating first contact, she continued to answer only limited questions.

  To Cal’s surprise, the AI never mentioned the bracelets—their functionality, or their intended recipients.

  But eventually, the Admiral asked.

  —

  “May I see the device the AI is being stored in?”

  Savannah’s eyes flicked to her uncle, widening slightly.

  “The device cannot be removed at the present time,” Brenda lied.

  Cal was very conflicted.

  “It cannot be removed?” The XO sounded skeptical.

  Brenda took the lead again. “There is a significant mental component to operating the devices. The children have not yet mastered them.”

  Cal kept his expression neutral—ignoring Vannah’s searching look.

  Instead, he focused on the Admiral.

  Who was focused on Vannah.

  The XO scoffed. “Why were they placed on children to begin with? That seems irresponsible—foolish, even.”

  Cal’s gaze snapped to the XO. “You’re a guest in my home. Remember that, or I’ll escort you out.”

  The XO puffed up, mouth half-open—then thought better of it.

  His posture deflated slightly.

  “I apologize for my poor choice of phrasing.” His tone was forced but controlled.

  “However, neither in your original statement—to the Lieutenant Governor—nor in your account today; did you explain that... curious decision.”

  Cal’s reply was flat. “Which would tell a more clever man all he needs to know—it’s either not important or none of your damn business.”

  He dismissed the XO with a glance and turned back to the Admiral.

  “I am, in fact, a busy man. I think we should wrap this up for today.”

  The Admiral’s eyes never left Savannah.

  “You don’t need to remove the device to show it to us, surely?”

  His voice was gentle but firm, it wasn’t really a question.

  Cal finally met Savannah’s eyes, giving her a slight nod.

  They were a bit cornered here.

  Reluctantly, Savannah raised her arm and pulled back her sleeve.

  The Lieutenant Governor didn’t bother hiding his reaction. “That’s not possible!”

  Cal shrugged. “Apparently, it is.”

  —

  The Admiral nodded, finally seeming ready to contribute something substantial to the meeting.

  “Following your visit to the Governor’s Residence, we reviewed the security logs. The scans made it immediately clear that the devices in your children's possession were unique—”

  “And valuable,” the Lieutenant Governor interrupted, whispering too loudly.

  Savannah, who already didn’t like him, now thought he seemed covered in a thin, invisible layer of slime.

  The Admiral continued as if no one had spoken.

  “—and that you were not fully disclosing their nature. We would like you to do so.

  Now.”

  The energy in the room shifted.

  Savannah, Sierra, and Maria all stiffened.

  So did the XO.

  The Admiral had just given Callan an order.

  In his own house.

  On his own ranch.

  —

  Cal took it in stride.

  “No.” His tone was final. “They’re SMCs. You can see that. They have some tricks, nothing world-breaking. We’re done here. It’s time for you to go.”

  He stood—not so fast as to startle them, but without hesitation.

  “Next time—you’ll call first.”

  The XO, probably acting on pre-approved orders, chose this moment to assert himself.

  “Mr. Callahan, you are in possession of alien technology, which you have—unbelievably— turned over to the two children in your care—”

  “My daughters–” Cal corrected the shithead. “–Were given the devices by the AI, who neglected to mention that they might be difficult to remove. She has assured us they will be removable in time.”

  The XO barely hesitated. “Well, until such time, your daughters will be accompanying us.”

  —

  Cal noted Cecil, still seated on the counter, had moved her cookie to her offhand.

  Her strong hand was out of sight now.

  But Cal knew she was slipping the loop off her revolver’s hammer again.

  He caught her eye.

  Once he was certain he had her attention, he slowly shifted his gaze to the pistol on the XO’s hip.

  Then back to her.

  Cecil nodded, almost imperceptibly.

  —

  During the AI revolt, humanity invented energy weapons.

  You couldn’t stop a robot by poking enough holes in it to drop its blood pressure like you could a man or an animal. And pain wasn’t a factor. You needed to do real damage and assume armor.

  Cal knew how to clean and maintain the weapons but didn’t really understand their inner workings. Everyone called them Plasma Rifles at first, but these days, they came in rifle, pistol, and even shotgun variants—and Cal was pretty sure none of them actually shot plasma.

  They had a lot of advantages and one major drawback—energy consumption.

  The weapons ran on capacitors—as wide around, and a bit more than half the length, of a man’s finger. They were heavy and took up a lot of space.

  One per shot.

  This was why revolvers and lever-action weapons had made a comeback among civilians—alongside burdensome licensing laws and the red tape for anything the Republic deemed ‘unreasonably dangerous.’

  Capacitors aren’t batteries. Batteries discharge slowly over time.

  Caps can dump all their energy at once—and that’s exactly what these did.

  Like most things in the Republic, they were color-coded.

  -

  Green caps were for training but, to the Republic’s dismay, had become toys.

  Kids and adults alike ran through forests and obstacle courses, shooting each other in mock battles. The velocity had to be kept low to prevent injury, but the shots traveled in straight lines and took skill to land.

  It was a popular pastime.

  Cecil terrorized the other kids—often covered by Vannah, who preferred sniping with her rifle from range when Cecil dragged her along.

  -

  Then there were the orange capacitors—what Cal allowed Cecil to carry.

  What most people carried.

  "Less Likely Lethal."

  Triple Ls.

  Orange caps.

  A headshot—especially at close range—might still kill someone. Probably would kill someone.

  But to the body, or from a distance, they just hurt like hell and carried serious kinetic energy. Designed to disperse rather than penetrate.

  Cal had seen beanbag rounds in old documentaries, especially those covering the anti-fascist riots before the AI revolt. He’d watched people go down from those shots—how long it took them to get back up, the way they got back up, how sometimes they didn’t. He’d looked them up later.

  Beanbag rounds. Rubber bullets

  Old-school orange caps.

  -

  Humans were good at making weapons.

  As long as the core idea was to throw something really fast at someone you don’t like—even if that something was pure energy.

  -

  Red caps were available to civilians.

  Some were for hunting—maximum velocity, pinpoint accuracy.

  Some were for home defense—designed with lower penetration to protect bystanders.

  Most were simply made to kill as efficiently as possible.

  -

  Black caps were military-only.

  Cal had never fired one. Never seen one used on anything living.

  But now and then, someone would get their hands on a box. And you could find the results deep in the forest.

  Far from town.

  Whole trees—big ones—cut clean in half.

  And the trees behind them, too.

  —

  The room was perfectly still.

  Even the air felt stiff and stifled.

  Cal stood, facing the XO, whose strong hand had inched toward his weapon but had not yet dared touch it.

  His offhand had slipped into a pocket, producing a small black rectangle—now rising toward his face.

  Undoubtedly to summon the thugs.

  Cal grinned, about to live the dream of every idiot who had ever wasted time, energy, and money on home security gimmicks—only to be ridiculed by his kids.

  “Computer,” he said, traces of anticipation in his voice, “lock down Diamondback Ranch.”

  Diamondback Ranch responded.

  Having fun?