Everything in the 'verse seemed to be working against him that day. If the boy truly believed in Gods and such, he might have been wondering what those beings had in store for him; it was too damn hot to be able to focus on such things. The twin suns had the skies to themselves, so everything that fell in their unrelenting gaze was scorching and steaming. Although this was nothing new to the colony's settlers, the boy wondered if he would ever get used to it.
The ground seared his skin as he shifted his position, but he dared not move to a more sheltered area. Although the rays of the suns continued to find him exposed to the elements, his present perch provided the most direct line of sight while hiding him from even the keenest eye on the ground below.
Ever so slightly, he adjusted the brace that held the rifle barrel so that it angled upwards the slightest of degrees. His eyebrow ached as he search for his target through the mounted looking glass. A flash of metal caught his eye and he inched the scope back until he spotted this target. He locked the brace into place, held it for a moment, and relaxed, releasing his grip on the barrel.
Slowly, he rolled away from the rifle and reach for his waterskin. Fresh water mixed with sweat as he sought to quench his thirst, gulping greedily then drinking steadily. Sealing his waterskin, he reached for his binoculars and draped himself over the boulder behind him. He eyeballed his target in the valley below, then raised the binoculars for a closer look.
The building stood white and stark against the unyielding landscape. The whitewashed wooden walls were worn and chipped from the monthly sandstorms, the windows were cracked and etched, and the steeple had a few shingles missing. And yet, despite the constant harassment from its environment, the church still stood quiet and resolute. "Not unlike its holy man," he thought, bringing the building into sharper focus.
Suddenly, the front doors opened and two men stepped out into the sun. The first man was a stranger, but he was dressed in the grey uniform of an Alliance officer. The boy released one hand from the binoculars, pointed his finger at the distant image of the Alliance officer and whispered "Bang."
A second man appeared and closed the doors behind him. He was tall, thin, and his grey hair was pulled back tightly behind his head, creating furrows of grey against his dark skin. His skin tone was one of the few things that was not a product of the intense rays of this planet's twin suns.
At the sight of him, the boy hissed with a sharp intake of breath and grinned. This day was working out better than he thought, even though he knew his ideas would only lead to painful trouble. Somehow, painful trouble can be worth it if you piss off the right people.
The boy cast a final look at the two men as they continued a conversation that had obviously begun within the shaded confines of the church and was now reaching its peak. The tone of the conversation was matching the heat of the weather as the gestures became sharper, quicker. Each man seemed to be trying to end the argument, only to be cut off by the other man. The boy even thought he could start to hear what they were saying, as the odd word echoed in the valley below. Time for a distraction, he grinned.
He dropped the binoculars into his pack and gently retook his position with his rifle so as not to knock it from its carefully-acquired target. The young sharp shooter took a final look at his target, took a deep breath, and squeezed the trigger.
He didn't need this binoculars to gauge the reaction of the two men below, but he scrambled to his pack as quickly as he could. He could still hear the echoing blast repeating endlessly, but quieter on each replay. Eyeballing the church, his raised the binoculars and spied the metal cross on the steeple. The force of ricocheting bullet had twisted the cross on its steeple at almost a 90 degree angle. Increasing the zoom factor, the boy laughed as he spied the deep dent the bullet had left in the horizontal cross-piece.
Swinging his gaze down, he also spied the two men who were laying face down in the dirt. The old man looked up cautiously at the church and froze when he saw the cross at its new angle. The Alliance officer scrambled to his feet and ran for the church, hoping for cover. The boy could see him searching for his communicator and he knew he was calling for backup.
Again, the boy dropped his binoculars into his pack and began disassembling his rifle, packing it away into a metal case piece by piece. He had just locked the case shut and began to lift it when a knee slammed the case to the ground, carrying the boy with it. He felt his shoulders twist as rough hands forced him on his belly and pulled his arms back. The hot metal cuffs bit into his skin as he was dragged to his feet.
The boy glared defiantly before the Alliance officer whose face was partially obscured by the barrel of his pistol leveled at the young man's forehead. Even though he was staring death in its face, the boy couldn't help wonder if his father was still gaping at the church steeple, if he already knew his own son was responsible, and if anyone of them would live to see the twin suns rise again over this desolate colony.
And still, the gun shot echoed in his ears.
Act III
