Starcraft II: Heaven's Devils - By William H. Dietz Page 0,1

while, whatever they turned out to be. This gas shortage certainly wasn’t helping matters—his family’s fuel allotment wasn’t enough for their machines to yield a profitable harvest, so the outlook was grim.

The hollow coughs of a hundred truck ignitions firing in quick succession broke both the silence and Raynor’s train of thought. He turned the key, the engine started, and he put the tanker in gear. Then, having allowed the rig to roll forward for a hundred feet or so, it was time to stop again. He turned the engine off to conserve fuel and waited.

“Real funny,” Omer said, as he finished the puzzle. “I think I’ll hack your fone and delete that file.”

Raynor laughed. “I’d better make a backup then. You never know when a little blackmail might come in handy.”

“Hey, Jim, you still here?” a voice rang out over the speaker mounted above Raynor’s head.

Jim reached for the mic. “Hey, Frank. Yeah, I got a while to go yet.”

Frank Carver was Jim’s teammate on Centerville’s demolition team, a high-octane sport played in the less refined parts of the Koprulu sector that was much like the demolition derbies their ancestors had participated in. Vehicles were built and raced with the dual purpose of winning and destroying opponents’ vehicles. Since the wars started, the game had petered out due to a shortage of fuel and other materials.

“Yeah, me too—it seems even slower than usual today. You going into town tonight?” Frank asked.

“Nope, I can’t,” Raynor replied, “we gotta get the wheat in.”

Omer’s voice crackled through the frequency. “The harvest will be over by the time you get through this line.”

Raynor saw a puff of black vapor as the truck in front of him started up.

“Hey, Omer,” a young man’s voice popped onto the feed, “I hear you’re actually joining the Marine Corps, for real. I had no idea there was a fourth string in the military! Congrats, brother!”

A chorus of guffaws rang out as the trucks shuddered off again.

“Very funny,” Omer said. “When I come back for the victory parade, you’ll be kissing my boots for saving your sorry little asses!”

Raynor laughed, but his smile quickly faded. Despite everything his family had been through, the wars had still seemed so distant. But ever since Raynor’s classmates had begun enlisting, it had started to hit home for him. He’d heard the stories around town; many soldiers never made it home from combat. But Tom was right—he could come back a hero in the end, and Jim would still be driving his half-broken-down robo-harvester, dreaming of a break from the monotony of life. There had been moments during the past few weeks when Raynor actually envied the kid.

Raynor reached up to wipe the sweat from his face; his hand brushed past a new growth of stubble on his cheek! He craned his neck to see his reflection in the side mirror. For years Raynor had wanted to grow a beard like his father’s, and now it was finally coming in. He twisted his face in one direction, then the other, examining his tanned, youthful face, when the sudden roar of a powerful engine blasted him out of his thoughts.

“Jim, look alive!” Omer yelled through the comm.

Raynor glanced at the right side mirror, and saw a big blunt-nosed fueler pulling up next to him, about to swerve in the gap in front of his truck, crowding in ahead of all the others. The tanker’s door said HARNACK TRUCKING.

Raynor quickly put in the clutch and up-shifted but he was too late to fill the gap as the invading truck driver jerked in front of him and stomped on the brake. That forced Raynor and all the rest to do likewise, and within seconds, a percussive string of metal crunching metal resounded behind him.

“Damn it!” Raynor roared, joining the thunder of expletives that rattled the truck’s speakers. The frustration that had built up over the last hour sent adrenaline surging into his bloodstream. Raynor turned the engine off, set the brake, and was out of the cab in a matter of seconds. His boots delivered a muted thump as they hit the hot pavement. He quickly strode the length of the trailer in front of him as other drivers piled out of their trucks.

“Get that sonofabitch!” one of Raynor’s buddies yelled, and most of the gathering crowd echoed their support. One of the local farmers tried to get in his way, but Raynor pushed past and approached the driver’s door, fire coursing through his veins.