ENTER THE SANDMEN
Copyright © 2016, 2017 William Schlichter
All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without prior written permission of the publisher.
This book is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogue are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Published by Indigo
an imprint of BHC Press
Library of Congress Control Number:
2016908321
Print edition ISBN numbers:
ISBN-13: 978-1-946006-93-6
ISBN-10: 1-946006-93-9
also available in hardcover and trade softcover editions
Visit the author at:
www.bhcpress.com
Cover design, interior book design,
and eBook design
by Blue Harvest Creative
www.blueharvestcreative.com
Silver Dragon emblem design by
BHC Illustrator Alli Kappen
No Room In Hell
The Good, The Bad, and The Undead
Book 1
400 Miles to Graceland
Book 2
The Silver Dragon Chronicles
The Dark Side
Book 2
The Fifth Planet
Book 3
Thank you, Katie Dejarnette,
for your invaluable time spent editing my work,
and having to deal with me as a writer.
My visions would not reach the
final stage of fruition without
the team of BHC Press.
Thank you.
Say your prayers, little one; don’t forget,
my son, to include everyone.
Tuck you in; warm within;
keep you free from sin;
till the Sandman he comes;
sleep with one eye open,
gripping your pillow tight.
Exit: light; enter: night; take my hand,
we’re off to never-never land.
Enter Sandman—Metallica
Thirty years after the Battle of the Twin Suns…
DARK BROWN STRANDS of hair fall into Amye’s sight line. Her attempt to blow the strings from her eye fails, and she must take her hands off the rifle to pull the tendrils back into the makeshift ponytail.
The wind blows her hair back across her face.
“Should’ve brought a hair tie.”
The voice echoes in her head until she glances at her doe-eyed sister crouching next to her. Kymberlynn should have never been allowed to accompany her as a backup spotter. The weapon has been designed for a single sniper to operate it, making Kymberlynn’s presence unnecessary.
No amount of training prepares a person to deal with annoying siblings on a military mission. Amye wipes her palms on her pants to dry the sweat beads before she grips the weapon.
“Shorter hair would thin your pudgy face.” Kymberlynn munches down on a sugar-coated food bar.
Amye would just as soon swing the rifle around and shoot her sister in the stomach, but she considers her choice and reminds Kymberlynn, “He likes long hair on his women.”
“So you think. You’ve never seen him with a woman since you met him. He does nothing but train and learn how to function in our world. The one time—the one moment—when he might have actually made a pass at you, you stormed from the room so fast he had no chance to check out your ass.”
Amye peers through the telescopic sight, enhancing her vision across the canyon.
The dry riverbed was once home to water powerful enough to cut a trench over two miles wide and three miles deep. Now plants clump together in the arid region, clinging to what life they hoard from leeching miniscule moisture from the air. The image in the scope tracks across the riverbed. When it crosses flora it chirps, surrounding the image in blue light and prints out a technical readout of the life form. Amye slides the scope before the information registers. She cares nothing for plants. A lizard, so thin and smashed flat it could be mistaken for a rock, scampers toward a plant. The scope registers the red heat-filled image of the creature burrowing into the chloroplast tissue and drinking water. Above the lizard, the cold metal of a shuttle craft draws her attention. The Tri-Star Federation logo shines on the side of the vehicle. Amye searches the area for the owners.
“There are two north of the craft!” Kymberlynn exclaims.
Amye doesn’t need this. She has to concentrate. No matter how advanced the calculating computer built into the rifle is, she must still operate the weapon manually. It takes all of her mental prowess to keep focused on the task, despite Kymberlynn’s attempts to intercede. Not an unattainable shot for her to make, but its level of difficulty ranks just under impossible.
Amye checks the temperature. She adjusts the scope, allowing for the heavier gravity on this planet. She does the math in her head, but this rifle’s design removes the necessity for turning any green grunt into an expert marksman. The Commander—her captain—wants an impressive demonstration, and she performs distance shots with precise proficiency.
Kymberlynn’s at best a distraction, at worst the bane of any sister’s existence. Perfect in every way, and no matter what she tries, she completes it flawlessly on the first attempt. Amye wishes she would have stayed on Tartarus instead of joining the same crew as her blood. Her uneventful life would be uncomplicated, and Kymberlynn would have the dream piloting job she’s always felt Amye prevented her from getting.
“Are you sure you’ll hit them from here? It’s almost a three-mile distance across, with heavy cross-current winds. You can’t even keep the hair from your eyes with this wind.”
“Your encouragement’s always welcome, Sis.” Amye says Sis as a substitute for bloated sea hag.
“Unlike me, you have little value to the crew. I’m an expert-rated pilot, and you’ve nothing to offer the team our captain’s building. He wants a crew of the best, and you turned him away from what you’re best at.”
“Enjoying coupling with males isn’t a skill.” Amye adjusts the scope to find the shuttle’s owners. “Pretending to enjoy it when a man flounders at it takes talent.” Amye sticks a beef stick in her mouth, lodging the meat between her cheek and gum, letting the saliva create
