The Last Gunfighter Of Space
The Last Gunfighter
of Space
Cade Stryker Series, Book 1
By
Ty Patterson
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The Last Gunfighter of Space is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced, or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Copyright © 2017 by Ty Patterson
All rights reserved
Published by Three Aces Publishing
Visit the author site: http://www.typatterson.com
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Original Cover Design: Nathan Wampler
Interior Formatting: Tugboat Design
Table of Contents
Books by Ty Patterson
Acknowledgments
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Chapter 61
Chapter 62
Chapter 63
Chapter 64
Chapter 65
Chapter 66
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Coming Soon Zeb Carter
Author’s Message
About the Author
Books by Ty Patterson
Warriors Series Shorts
This is a series of novellas that link to the Warriors Series thrillers
Zulu Hour, Warriors Series Shorts, Book 1 (set before The Warrior)
The Watcher, Warriors Series Shorts, Book 2 (set between The Warrior and The Warrior Code)
The Shadow, Warriors Series Shorts, Book 3 (set before The Warrior)
The Man From Congo, Warriors Series Shorts, Book 4
Warriors Series Shorts, Boxset I, Books 1-4
The Texan, Warriors Series Shorts, Book 5
The Heavies, Warriors Series Shorts, Book 6
The Cab Driver, Warriors Series Shorts, Book 7
Gemini Series
Dividing Zero, Gemini Series, Book 1
Defending Cain, Gemini Series, Book 2
I Am Missing, Gemini Series, Book 3
Warriors Series
The Warrior, Warriors series, Book 1
The Reluctant Warrior, Warriors series, Book 2
The Warrior Code, Warriors series, Book 3
The Warrior’s Debt, Warriors series, Book 4
Flay, Warriors series, Book 5
Behind You, Warriors series, Book 6
Hunting You, Warriors series, Book 7
Zero, Warriors series, Book 8
Death Club, Warriors series, Book 9
Trigger Break, Warriors series, Book 10
Scorched Earth, Warriors series, Book 11
Run!, Warriors series, Book 12
Warriors series Boxset, Books 1-4
Warriors series Boxset II, Books 5-8
Warriors series Boxset III, Books 1-8
Cade Stryker Series
The Last Gunfigther of Space, Cade Stryker series, Book 1
Zeb Carter Series
Zeb Carter, Zeb Carter series, Book 1
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Acknowledgments
No book is a single person’s product. I am privileged that The Last Gunfighter of Space has benefited from the input of several great people.
Molly Birch, David T. Blake, Tracy Boulet, Patricia Burke, Mark Campbell, Tricia Cullerton, Claire Forgacs, Dave Davis, Sylvia Foster, Cary Lory Becker, Charlie Carrick, Pat Ellis, Dori Barrett, Simon Alphonso, Dave Davis, V. Elizabeth Perry, Ann Finn, Pete Bennett, Eric Blackburn, Margaret Harvey, David Hay, Jim Lambert, Suzanne Jackson Mickelson, Tricia Terry Pellman, Jimmy Smith, Theresa, and Brad Werths, who are my beta readers and who helped shape my book, my launch team for supporting me, Doreen Martens for her editing, and Donna Rich for her proofreading.
Dedications
To Michelle Rose Dunn, Debbie Bruns Gallant, Tom Gallant, and Cheri Gerhardt, for supporting me.
To the women and men who explored new lands and those who ventured into space.
Following the light of the sun, we left the Old World
—Christopher Columbus
Chapter 1
The rider kneed his mount to a halt and surveyed the town from a distance.
It was similar to hundreds of such burgs in the West.
A single street with a boardwalk. Dusty twin tracks marking where carriages passed. The ground beaten down by the tread of horses and pedestrians.
Establishments on each side.
A bar. Wooden roof and front. Batwing doors. Doug’s Drinking Hole. Black writing on a white
board, nailed to its front.
A bank.
A general store. Fred’s Emporium, a hand-painted sign proclaimed from its roof.
A hotel on the opposite side. Farther away, there seemed to be a blacksmith. More buildings that the rider couldn’t make out from he where he was.
Hustler’s Rock. That was the town’s name, population two hundred.
The rider stretched and looked around.
Ranches surrounded the town. Lush valleys, with white dots he knew were cattle.
The town had been around for a while. It had started off as a trading post for settlers as they migrated West.
Then someone had discovered the river and the valley nearby. And almost overnight, the town’s population had doubled. Then tripled.
First came the ranchers, with their herds. The establishments grew to service them. The bar followed. Then the general store, which also doubled as the post office.
‘What d’you say, hoss?’ He removed his Stetson and wiped his hair down. ‘Should we stop for a drink? My throat sure needs irrigation.’
His mount flicked its ears back in response, without a whinny or snicker. The horse knew the rider would do as he pleased. And it looked like, right then, a drink was high up on his list.
Not that the horse minded. It could do with some hay and water. They had traveled far, mostly through desert.
It started again when the rider clicked his teeth, puffs of dust arising as they walked into the town.
The mustang was black with a white patch on its right shoulder, muscles moving sleekly beneath its skin.
The rider, lean, well-muscled, blond-haired and blue-eyed, swayed on it with the ease of familiarity.
He guided the animal to the rail in front of the bar and dismounted.
He looped the reins lightly, taking his time, observing the town.
Mounted ranch hands drifted in, too, some of them dismounting beside him. A carriage rolled across their path, driven by a woman dressed in white. Her eyes cut to the lone rider, and she nodded lightly when he bobbed his head in greeting.
A man in a suit bustled out of the bank. A farmer loaded a wagon outside the general store.
Hustler’s Rock wasn’t a peaceable town. It had a history of gunfights. Thirty men had died there in one year.
There was no law. No sheriff. Ranchers ruled the town. What they said was law.
Just a drink, the rider promised himself.
Nevertheless, he hitched up his gunbelt, in which his Colts were holstered and strapped to each thigh, climbed to the wooden porch, and passed through the batwing doors.
Inside, it was cool, a faint smell of sawdust in the air.
Four men playing poker at a corner table.
One man snoring at another.
A cowboy cleaning his gun. Sipping his drink.
Three men were bellied up at the bar, chatting idly.
All patrons turned for a moment when the rider entered, watched him briefly, went back to their business.
The stranger spun a coin on the polished oak. A mirror on the wall reflected shelves lined by bottles and glasses that gleamed in the light.
The bartender, a balding, burly man with sharp eyes, caught his dollar deftly and brought out a bottle.
He eyed the rider as he filled a glass.
‘Seen you somewhere.’
‘Maybe,’ the rider replied carelessly.
He drank deeply, savoring the fiery warmth that spread through him.
He closed his eyes for a moment, subliminally aware of the bartender speaking.
A hush had spread through the room when he opened them.
‘You are Cade Stryker.’
Chapter 2
Cade didn’t respond.
He knew everyone had heard the bartender, even though he had spoken softly.
‘I saw you in Abilene,’ Doug said, leaning forward. Sweat glistened on his forehead. ‘You saved my life in Dodge. I was the—’
‘Stryker!’
A chair crashed.
Cade turned slowly, keeping his hands away from his guns.
The cowhand had risen, his eyes wild with fury.
Hands twitching.
‘You killed my brother. In Abilene.’ His jaw was working. ‘Tate. Jim Tate. You gunned him down. And fled like a coward.’
‘That’s Kyle Tate. His dad’s the largest rancher in town. Get out—now,’ Doug whispered behind Cade.
‘It was a fair fight,’ Cade said mildly, remembering the shootout earlier that year.
I shouldn’t have stopped. Someone, somewhere, recognizes me. Always.
‘A gunslinger against a cowhand? Sure, it was a fair fight,’ Tate sneered.
‘Your brother was cheating. I called him out. He drew first. There were witnesses.’
‘Stryker’s right, Kyle. I was there. The sheriff said the same,’ the bartender intervened.
‘Stay out of this, Doug. If you know what’s good for you,’ the cowhand snarled.
‘Why did you run, if it was a fair fight?’ he rounded on the newcomer.
‘Because your dad was organizing a hanging party,’ Cade snorted. He reached behind him, grabbed his glass, and downed his drink.
‘I came for a drink. I found it. I am off.’ He raised his hands peaceably and took a step toward the door.
‘Not so fast,’ Kyle Tate blocked him. ‘That sheriff was your friend. We all know that. Fair fight? Jim wasn’t good with a gun. He was facing you, a stone-cold killer. No way in hell that was fair.’
‘Son—’ Doug cautioned.
‘Shut up!’ the cowhand screamed. ‘Cade Stryker’s a coward.’
Time seemed to stand still.
Then, a rush of movement.
The men at the bar scurried away.
The card players dived out of the way. One of them grabbed the snoring man and shoved him to the floor.
‘He’s killed two men. Fancies himself with a gun,’ Doug mumbled one last time and ducked beneath his bar.
Cade straightened.
I tried talking my way out.
The familiar coldness gripped him.
His senses heightened.
Kyle Tate crouched in front of him. Eyes narrowed. Right hand straight. Close to his gun.
A carriage rattled outside.
A muscle jumped on Tate’s face.
Now!
Cade sensed it. His hand blurred into motion.
Right palm opening smoothly, curving around the walnut grip of his Colt.
The draw clearing leather a split-second later.
Kyle was slow. He was late. Alarm flooded his eyes.
His breathing was harsh as he grabbed his gun, started bringing it up.
Even as Cade’s weapon was straightening, his finger tightening over the trigger.
‘Cade Stryker!’
Chapter 3
Kyle Tate disappeared, leaving behind empty air. The bar shimmered and vanished as well.
Hustler’s Rock followed suit.
‘Hell, Andy,’ Cade smacked his palm against his thigh. ‘I was this close to taking him out.’
Andy. Andromeda. Cade’s spaceship, in which he was standing, his gunbelt around his waist, the twin Colt Peacemakers holstered in leather.
Andy didn’t respond. She threw up screens in the air. To-do lists for the day.
‘You’ve got a doc’s appointment, to check that kidney out. Then those weapons. They’ve been lying in the hold for—’
‘Wait up,’ Cade interrupted. ‘How fast was I? Give me that much at least!’
Andy sighed. ‘Other humans, they repair cars. Or ships. Or pods. They read books. They hang out with friends. What do you do? You recreate the Old West. Gunfights. In which you, Cade Stryker, badass gunslinger, come out on top.’
‘It’s my hobby.’
‘Hobby?’ Most spaceships had robotic voices. Not Andy. She could change pitch, tone, convey derision. Just as she did now, when she snorted. ‘You forget we are in 5050. On Calara. Th
e O.K. Corral showdown was on Earth. In 1881. More than three thousand years—’
‘I can do the math. How fast?’ Cade persisted.
‘By a good second and a half. You would’ve double-tapped him before he got a shot off.’
‘That Kyle,’ Cade mumbled as he headed to his room. ‘He should’ve left me alone. All I wanted was a drink.’
‘You realize it wasn’t real? I helped you create that scene, program Tate.’
Cade slammed the door shut in response.
He stripped and walked to a corner where the floor had a gentle slope.
The ship sensed his mood, turned on a shower at the right temperature and played soothing music.
News screens followed him while he dressed swiftly.
War was still raging on Neatha, the local alien species battling a force of human and bot attackers.
The invaders wanted Esmalt, a rare element that went into the complex chips that were at the heart of every bot on Calara. Neatha, which was a hundred ly—light years—away, was the closest planet that had it.
The AI bots tried negotiating. Neathans were an artistic species. They loved the handicrafts that humans made. However, that love wasn’t enough for them to give up their precious metal.
The bots took humans along with them for the next round of talks.
That didn’t go down well, either.
The AI consulted the humans, a rare occurrence.
The humans shrugged. Back on Earth, the solution would have been obvious: Invasion.
And so, a military force was sent, comprising bots as well as human soldiers.
They underestimated the Neathans, who weren’t just into fine arts. They were a highly advanced race, with military capability to match.
The Calaran force took a severe hit and was pushed back. More troops, more weapons were sent, and the war was now in its third month.
However, that didn’t seem to help much.