Mars Ranger Patrol Book 2: Shadow Claims

  

Mars Ranger Patrol
Book 2: Shadow Claims
By Curtis A. Neil

(or Partners in the Rocks, Blood in the Belt, The Thin Blue Line, etc.)

 

Chapter 1: New Wings

Ceres Station – Ranger Docks
Cycle 2147.19

Deputy Ranger John Scott stood on the dock, arms crossed, watching the paint crew put the finishing touches on Justice-23. The white-and-red markings gleamed under the harsh dock lights. His gaze kept drifting to the ship in the next cradle — Justice-24.

She was different. Still wearing her original void-black absorption coating from the Navy production line. Only the Ranger markings and the bright white-red striping on the upper hull had been added. From certain angles, especially when the two ships flew close in formation, she could almost disappear against the black — making it look like a single vessel instead of two.

“First paired patrol in the history of the service,” Scott muttered. “And they gave us a half-Navy bird to do it with. Paperwork probably took longer than the refit.”

A crisp, confident voice came from behind him.
“Strange is one word for it, Deputy. I’d call it practical.”

Scott turned. Deputy Ranger Sofia Alvarez stood at parade rest, helmet under one arm. Compact, wiry, and sharp-eyed, she had already spent four hard years flying the original void-black Peregrines.

“Captain Ramirez said you’d be early,” Scott said, offering a hand.
Alvarez took it with a firm grip. “Captain also said you’d be territorial about your bird. I promised I’d play nice.”

Scott allowed a small grin. “I prefer ‘territorial.’ Comes with the badge and eighteen months of solo patrols. Out here you learn to ride your own mount.”

They stood side-by-side, looking at the mismatched pair. Justice-23 in full Ranger colors. Justice-24 still mostly void-black, transferred from a Navy production batch because she was already finished and the Rangers needed a second ship yesterday. Rumor was she carried a slightly heavier armament loadout than the standard Ranger birds.

“Ground rules?” Alvarez asked.
Scott nodded. “You fly right seat on 23 today. I’ll ride shotgun on 24 tomorrow. Tight formation unless one of us has solid cause to break it. Bearcat AIs stay human-in-the-loop. And if it goes loud…”
“We speak with one voice and two railguns,” Alvarez finished. She touched the polished rosewood cross at her throat — an old habit — then tapped the fresh Mars Rangers patch on her left shoulder. “I read the manual. Twice. And the D.O.G.E. efficiency summaries on corporate overreach. Waste, fraud, and abuse don’t stop at the airlock.”

Scott raised an eyebrow, impressed. “Supercargo on an APL freighter before that, right?”
Alvarez gave a small nod, a faint smile touching her lips. “Spent a lot of long hauls studying for my licenses in my off time. The restlessness got to me. There’s always been this… nagging thing. The need to do good. To actually protect the people getting squeezed out here — whether by claim-jumpers or spreadsheet bandits.”

South Florida born, Cuban grandmother on her mother’s side — the woman who raised her on faith, resilience, and never letting the powerful take what wasn’t theirs.

Scott studied her for a beat, then gave a slow nod. That was a damn good answer. Reminded him of the old lawmen who knew the gun only mattered if the ledger backed it up.

“Dispatch, Ranger 23 and 24 requesting clearance for paired patrol, Sector 14 through 17, Themis Family Cluster and out,” Scott keyed his comm.

Madelin’s voice returned, warm but professional. “Ranger 23, 24 — cleared. Three more dark beacons reported last cycle. Captain Ramirez wants daily sitreps. And don’t forget to file the pairing certification forms before you leave the dock.”

Scott groaned theatrically. “Paperwork, paperwork, paperwork. Barney Miller had it right — best damn police show ever made. Bunch of detectives stuck behind desks while the crazy stuff happened out on the street. That’s basically us.”

Alvarez chuckled softly. “I’ll handle the initial forms if you want to do the pre-flight walk-around on both birds.”

“Deal,” Scott said. “See you in the black.”

He headed to the ready room first. The door to his locker swung open, revealing the faded printout taped inside: John Wayne as Rooster Cogburn in True Grit, patch over one eye, shotgun in hand — the very picture of grizzled frontier justice that didn’t bend. Below it, a smaller image of Randolph Scott from one of those classic lone-rider Westerns, stoic and reliable. Scott touched the edge of the Wayne printout for luck, the way some men touched a cross or a badge.

“Time to ride, Duke,” he murmured. “And this time with a partner.”

He closed the locker and headed for Justice-23, the familiar weight of the badge on his chest. Two Peregrine IIs — one bright and loud, one still mostly void-black — would soon slide away from Ceres Station in tight formation.

From some angles, they almost looked like a single ship.
Out in the Belt, something was stirring again.
And this time, the Law had both a street cop and a detective riding together.

Mars Rangers
Book 2
By Curtis A. Neil

Chapter 2: Dark Beacon at Kern-519

Themis Family Cluster – Outer Main Belt
Three hours into paired patro

l

The two Peregrine IIs flew in tight formation, Justice-23’s bright white-and-red markings contrasting sharply with Justice-24’s matte void-black hull. From most angles they looked like one ship. From the right angle, they looked like nothing at all.

Inside Justice-23, John Scott kept one eye on the long-range scope and the other on the nav display. Sofia Alvarez sat right seat, her hands moving confidently over the controls as if she’d never left the older black birds.

“Still feels weird having company,” Scott said.
Alvarez touched her rosewood cross briefly. “You get used to it. Or you don’t. Either way, the Belt doesn’t care.”

A soft chime sounded from the console.
“Dispatch to Rangers 23 and 24,” Madelin’s voice crackled. “New dark beacon at Kern-519. Independent helium-3 claim. Owner is one Tomas Ruiz. Last transmission was a short burst: ‘They’re here. Not showing transponders.’ That was nine minutes ago. You’re the closest. And before you ask — yes, I already started the preliminary incident ticket. You’ll just have to finish the novel when you get back.”

Scott straightened. “Copy, Dispatch. We’re en route. ETA twenty-eight minutes. Tell the paperwork gods we’ll be adding another chapter to the saga.”

Alvarez was already pulling up the claim registry on her side of the holographic display. Her eyes narrowed as data scrolled.
“Ruiz has been out here solo for fourteen months,” she said. “Filed regular reports until three weeks ago. Then the filings got… sloppy. Production numbers don’t quite match sensor averages for this sector. Small discrepancies, but consistent. Classic early signs of someone trying to tank the perceived value.”

Scott glanced over. “You seeing a ledger already?”
“Patterns,” Alvarez replied quietly. “That’s what I do. Someone might be cooking the books before they try to steal the claim. D.O.G.E.-style waste and fraud — injecting helium or neon to dilute the real He3 readings and make the claim look worthless.”

Scott’s jaw tightened. “Then let’s go interrupt their accounting. Out here the Duke would’ve already ridden in with both barrels. I’ll settle for railguns and your spreadsheets.”

The two ships burned hard toward Kern-519. As they closed, Alvarez suddenly leaned forward.
“John… I’m seeing three faint thermal blooms on passive. They’re running cold, but not cold enough. And look at the claim beacon — it’s transmitting on the emergency channel, but the main transponder is dark. Classic claim-jump playbook, except…”
“Except what?” Scott asked, already bringing weapons online.
“Except the jumpers usually don’t bother with financial forensics first. These numbers feel too clean. Like someone with access to corporate accounting software is involved. Red Star or Helios fingerprints — deliberately depressing the assay numbers.”

Scott grinned thinly. “Street cop and detective. I like it. You watch the numbers. I’ll watch the guns.”
“Deal,” Alvarez said, her hand resting for a moment on the rosewood cross. “And may God watch both of us. Randolph Scott would approve of the quiet approach — ride in steady, strike when the moment’s right.”

They dropped out of high cruise in perfect formation. Justice-23 bright and loud. Justice-24 a shadow riding alongside.

Three unmarked cutters hung near the small dome on Kern-519. No beacons. No friendly hail.

Scott keyed the wide-band channel, voice hard and clear, carrying that old Western marshal steel.
“Attention vessels at Kern-519. This is Deputy Ranger John Scott, MFCR Rangers. You are in violation of registered claim protocols. Power down drives and transmit IDs immediately. Failure to comply will be treated as armed piracy.”

A sneering voice answered almost instantly.
“Rangers? This is private business, lawman. Beacon was dark. Finder’s rights.”

Alvarez’s voice cut in on the joint channel, calm and precise.
“Finder’s rights don’t apply when the owner is still breathing and transmitting distress. I’m seeing manipulated production logs on this claim — diluted He3 readings. Corporate fingerprints all over it. Stand down now, or we do this the hard way.”

Scott glanced sideways at her, impressed. “Nice.”

Then the lead cutter fired a low-power laser burst across Justice-23’s bow.

Scott’s grin turned feral.
“Wrong answer.”

He rolled Justice-23 hard while Alvarez brought Justice-24 into flanking position. Two Peregrines — one bright, one black — lit up the void with railgun warning shots.

The Law had arrived.
And this time it was riding double.

Mars Rangers
Book 2
By Curtis A. Neil

Chapter 3: Forensic Shadows

Kern-519 Claim – Themis Family Cluster

The three unmarked cutters hung motionless near the small prospector dome like vultures over a fresh kill. No transponders. No friendly hail.

Scott’s railgun was already tracking the lead vessel when Alvarez’s calm, precise voice filled the shared tactical channel.
“Bearcat-24, forensic mode. Pull all mining receipts, production logs, and helium-3 transfer records for Kern-519 going back fourteen months. Cross-reference with sector sensor averages and corporate shell patterns. Flag anomalies. Master/Drone link with Justice-23 active.”

The AI responded instantly.
“Link established. I have the conn on both vessels for the next one hundred twenty seconds. Human-in-the-loop maintained. Data streaming now.”

Scott glanced across the formation at the matte-black silhouette of Justice-24.
“You just handed piloting to the AI?”

Alvarez’s hands were already dancing across her displays as columns of data poured in.
“Navy software update. Bearcat can run both birds in tight formation on autopilot while we work. One person sleeps, the other digs. You’ve been doing it the hard way, old man.”

Scott let out a short, surprised laugh even as he lined up his shot.
“Show-off.”

Alvarez’s voice stayed cool.
“Got it. Production numbers dropped twelve percent three months ago with no matching equipment failure reports. Then they spiked again last month after the dip. Classic pattern — dilute the readings to make the claim look worthless, scare the owner, then buy cheap. These aren’t random pirates. Someone with access to corporate accounting software is backing them. D.O.G.E.-style fraud.”

She looked across the void at Scott’s ship.
“Street cop, you want to make the loud entrance?”

Scott’s grin turned feral.
“Gladly.”

He triggered a precise railgun warning shot that vaporized a small section of hull plating on the lead cutter’s bow. At the same moment, Justice-24 — still mostly invisible against the black — slid silently into a flanking position under Bearcat’s control.

“Attention vessels at Kern-519,” Scott transmitted, voice hard, carrying that old Western marshal steel. “This is Deputy Ranger John Scott, MFCR Rangers. We’ve got your financials. Depressing a registered claim’s value with diluted assays is one thing. Doing it with corporate fingerprints is piracy. Power down and prepare to be boarded.”

For several tense seconds nothing moved. Then the lead cutter tried to break and run.

Alvarez spoke softly.
“Bearcat-24, predictive intercept. Non-lethal on the engines. Justice-23, you have the visual.”

Both Peregrines moved in perfect synchrony. Scott rolled Justice-23 hard and fired another warning shot across the fleeing cutter’s path while Alvarez’s black ship delivered two precise railgun bursts that crippled the runner’s main drive without breaching the hull.

The other two cutters powered down immediately.

Scott exhaled. “Nice shooting, Alvarez.”
“Thank the Bearcat,” she replied. “I just told it what I wanted. You handle the loud part. I’ll handle the paperwork that actually puts them away.”

They approached cautiously. Scott suited up and cycled the airlock on Justice-23 while Alvarez kept Justice-24 in overwatch, railgun hot.

Tomas Ruiz met Scott at the dome hatch — pale, bleeding from a graze on his arm, but alive and furious.
“They came in dark. Said the claim was abandoned. When I challenged them they fired.”

Scott nodded. “We’ve got them. Stay inside until I clear the scene.”

While Scott secured the three sullen crews and collected IDs, Alvarez’s voice came over the comm, calm and relentless.
“Bearcat, compile forensic package. Cross-reference these personal IDs with corporate registries. I want ownership chains.”

Minutes later, as Scott herded the prisoners back toward the ships under Justice-23’s guns, Alvarez updated him.
“Got it. All three have indirect ties to Helios Mining Logistics — a subsidiary that’s been quietly buying up distressed claims. This wasn’t random. It was a planned squeeze.”

Scott whistled low. “Street-level piracy with spreadsheets. New favorite combination.”

Alvarez’s tone carried a quiet fire.
“Protecting people means following the money too, John. The spear and the scales.”

Scott looked out at the two Peregrines — one bright, one black — holding station above the little dome.
“Yeah… I’m starting to see how this pairing works. The Duke would approve — one man with the gun, one with the ledger.”

He keyed dispatch.
“Ranger 23 to Ceres. Disturbance at Kern-519 resolved. Three vessels detained. Possible corporate-backed claim jumping with diluted assays. Full forensic package incoming. Ranger 24 did the heavy lifting on the accounting.”

Madelin’s reply carried clear relief.
“Copy. Nice work, both of you. Captain Ramirez is going to want the full report — and the updated forms, of course.”

Ceres Station – Ranger Debrief Room – Two Hours Later

The debrief room smelled of recycled air, burnt coffee, and printer toner. John Scott dropped a thick stack of data slates and physical printouts onto the table with a thud that echoed like a gavel.
“Paperwork, paperwork, paperwork,” he muttered, echoing the old line from that 20th-century cop show he loved. “Barney Miller had it right. Half the job is chasing perps. The other half is making sure the judge doesn’t throw it out because you missed Box 17C on Form R-47.”

Senior Ranger Captain Elena Ramirez raised an eyebrow, flipping through the forensic package Alvarez had compiled. “You quoting TV again, Scott?”
“Best damn police show ever made,” Scott said, leaning back and rubbing his eyes. “Bunch of detectives stuck behind desks while the crazy stuff happened out on the street. Sound familiar?”

Sofia Alvarez slid into a chair beside him, her rosewood cross catching the light as she pulled up another holographic display. “At least Barney’s precinct had donuts. We get Martian mushroom coffee and recycled protein bars.”

Scott grinned. “True enough. But out here, the forms keep the Belt from turning into total anarchy. One missed signature and Helios’s lawyers eat us alive.”

He stood and stretched, then headed to his locker in the adjacent ready room. The door swung open, revealing a faded printout taped inside: John Wayne as Rooster Cogburn in True Grit, patch over one eye, shotgun in hand, the embodiment of grizzled frontier justice. Below it, a smaller image of Randolph Scott from one of those old lone-rider Westerns — stoic, reliable, riding into trouble with quiet competence.

Scott touched the edge of the Wayne printout for luck, the way some men touched a cross. “The Duke never let the bad guys win with paperwork loopholes,” he said quietly. “Neither do we.”

Alvarez glanced over from the table, a small smile forming. “Leo Hart energy too? That quiet marshal who always got his man the hard way?”
“Something like that,” Scott replied. “Old lawmen knew: you need the gun for the street, but the ledger for the long fight. You’re handling the ledger part better than I ever did solo.”

Later – Ranger Office Bullpen
The bullpen was a controlled chaos of ringing comms, scrolling data, and the constant hum of printers spitting out incident reports. Madelin from dispatch waved a fresh stack at them.
“More forms for the Helios package, Rangers. Captain wants cross-references to the last six dark beacons and full ownership chains by 1800.”

Scott groaned theatrically. “This is why they gave us partners. One person shoots, the other drowns in triplicate.”

Alvarez was already deep in it, fingers flying. “Bearcat-24, compile salted assay patterns and link to Red Star Consortium shells. Flag any D.O.G.E.-style efficiency violations — padded contracts, misallocated helium-3 royalties, the works.”

Scott raised an eyebrow. “Pulling from the D.O.G.E Files playbook?”
“Waste, fraud, and abuse,” Alvarez said without looking up. “If Helios is playing corporate games, we treat it like government bloat on steroids. Follow the money, cuff the suits.”

They worked side-by-side for the next hour — Scott handling the tactical logs and weapon discharge reports (“I fired two warning shots. Yes, they were justified. No, I didn’t enjoy it… much.”), Alvarez tearing through financial forensics like a frontier auditor with a badge.

At one point, Scott leaned over. “You know, in the old Westerns, the marshal always had that one reliable deputy who saw the patterns the gunslinger missed. Feels like that.”
Alvarez touched her cross. “Abuelita would approve. Protect the little guy from both the bandits and the bankers.”

As the two ships formed up again for the escort back toward Ceres (earlier in the cycle), both Rangers knew this was only the beginning. Corporate shadows were lengthening across the Belt.
And the Law was now riding double — one watching the guns, the other watching the ledger.

Mars Rangers
Book 2
By Curtis A. Neil

Chapter 4: Salted Claims and Shadow Ledgers

En route to Ceres – Paired Patrol

The two Peregrines flew in close formation, Justice-24’s void-black hull making the pair look like a single ghost from certain angles. Inside Justice-23, John Scott monitored the three detained cutters they were escorting while Sofia Alvarez worked her displays like a concert pianist.

“Bearcat-24,” she said calmly, “deep dive on Helios Mining Logistics. Ownership chain, recent claim acquisitions, financials, and any patterns of salted assays or mislabeled He3 shipments. Cross-reference with Kern-519 and the last six dark-beacon incidents. Flag anything that smells like D.O.G.E.-level waste, fraud, or abuse.”

Scott glanced over. “You’re really going after the money.”
“Someone has to,” Alvarez replied, touching her rosewood cross. “The spear gets them in cuffs. The scales make sure they stay there.”

Minutes later the AI responded.
“Helios Mining Logistics is a subsidiary of Red Star Consortium. Clean on paper. In practice: twelve claims acquired in the last fourteen months at suspiciously low prices after sudden ‘production collapses.’ Three prior incidents match the Kern-519 pattern — salted assays showing artificially depressed He3 grades right before sale.”

Alvarez’s eyes narrowed. “They’re not just jumping claims. They’re poisoning them first — injecting trace neon or regular helium to dilute the real readings and fake poor yields. Then they scare off the owner or tank the perceived value so they can buy cheap. Classic corporate squeeze.”
Scott whistled low. “That’s colder than straight piracy. Make it look worthless, buy it for pennies, then pump out the real helium-3.”
“Same result,” Alvarez said quietly. “People lose everything. Families get broken.”

Ceres Station – Ranger Debrief Room – Two Hours Later

The debrief room smelled of stale coffee, printer toner, and recycled air. John Scott dropped a fresh stack of data slates and printed forms onto the table with a heavy thud.

“Paperwork, paperwork, paperwork,” he grumbled. “Barney Miller had the right idea — best damn police show ever. Most of the job is filling out forms so the bad guys don’t walk on a technicality. I swear half these reports are longer than the patrol itself.”

Captain Elena Ramirez reviewed the forensic package with a hard expression, flipping through the thick binder Alvarez had compiled.
“Good work, both of you. Helios is on our watch list now. But we can’t hit them with just one incident. We need a pattern the judge can’t ignore. Make sure the chain-of-custody forms and the new corporate-fraud addendum are perfect.”

Scott nodded, already pulling up the next set of templates. “What’s next on the board?”

Ramirez brought up the duty roster. “Three calls came in while you were out. Different flavors this time. And yes, preliminary tickets are already started — you two just get to finish the novels.”

Case 1: The Salted Claim – Asteroid Vesta-47
A small family operation. The father swore someone had tampered with his assay samples — suddenly showing poor He3 grades that didn’t match earlier readings. He turned down a suspiciously low buyout offer from Helios the day before the “collapsed” assay was announced.

Alvarez spent twenty minutes on site with a portable spectrometer and Bearcat analysis.
“Confirmed salting. Someone injected neon mix to dilute the real helium-3. Classic Helios signature.” She immediately started dictating the supplemental forensic report while Scott handled the evidence logs.

Case 2: Domestic Disturbance – Family Dome, Kern-312
A heated argument between a miner and his wife escalated — both armed, both scared, both exhausted from fourteen months of isolation. No shots fired, but the children were terrified.

Scott handled the de-escalation with calm authority, channeling that old Western marshal steadiness. “Easy now, folks. We’re here to keep the peace, not add to the body count.” Alvarez spoke quietly with the wife, referencing her own grandmother’s stories of holding families together through hard times. They got both parents to stand down, got the kids into a quiet corner with emergency rations, and filed a welfare check instead of arrests. The couple agreed to counseling via Ceres link. Scott dictated the incident summary while muttering, “Randolph Scott never had to file domestic forms in triplicate.”

Case 3: Mislabeled Product – Independent Hauler at Ceres Dock
A broker was selling “certified 300 kg He3” that turned out to be 240 kg real He3 mixed with regular helium and trace neon. The difference in price was enough to ruin several small buyers.

Alvarez tore through the shipping manifests like a book.
“Same broker has worked with Helios on three previous loads. They’re flooding the market with diluted product to drive down spot prices before Helios buys distressed claims.” She flagged the D.O.G.E.-style accounting tricks for the fraud package.

Back in the bullpen, Scott leaned back in his chair and rubbed his eyes. “Feels like we spent more time on forms today than on the railguns.” He glanced toward the ready room. “Might need to visit the Duke in my locker for a morale boost after this stack.”

Ceres Station – Rusty Rocket Diner – Evening

Scott and Alvarez sat at the counter. Shirley slid two slices of hot apple pie in front of them with a warm, knowing smile.
“Well now, if it isn’t the Lone Ranger himself — and I guess this must be Tonto,” she said with a wink. “Welcome back. Oh, this pie’s on the house. You two look like you earned it today. Just remember to tip well.”

Scott chuckled and tipped his hat in old Western style. “Much obliged, Shirley. You’ve been calling me that long enough — figured the partner would complete the picture one of these days.”

Alvarez smiled, her rosewood cross catching the light.
“That’s the job. Street cop catches the immediate threat. Detective follows the money so the threat doesn’t come back next month wearing a suit.”

Scott studied her for a moment. “You’re good at this. The AI stuff, the spreadsheets, the quiet talks with scared families. I wouldn’t have thought of half of it.”

Alvarez gave a small smile.
“Four years in the black taught me patience. Abuelita taught me the rest. People need protecting — not just from guns, but from the ones who steal with pens and fake assays.”

Scott raised his coffee mug.
“To the spear and the scales.”

Alvarez clinked hers against it.
“And to the next dark beacon. Whatever it brings.”

Outside the diner, the endless asteroid field turned slowly. Somewhere out there, Helios Mining Logistics was already moving on its next target.

But now the Rangers were watching — one with a railgun, the other with a ledger.
And they were riding double.

Mars Rangers
Book 2
By Curtis A. Neil

Chapter 5: The Poisoned Well

Sector 19 – Near Themis Family Cluster
Next Patrol Cycle

The paired Peregrines were three hours into their next swing when the call came.

“Dispatch to Rangers 23 and 24,” Madelin’s voice was tight. “Priority distress at Prospector Station Epsilon-9. Independent family operation — the Parkers. Multiple shots fired. They’re reporting armed intruders trying to force a sale. Helios Mining Logistics logo on one of the ships. Ruiz from Kern-519 just commed in — he says the same crew that hit him is involved.”

Scott’s jaw tightened. “Copy. We’re en route. ETA nineteen minutes.”

Alvarez was already deep in the data. “Bearcat-24, pull everything on the Parkers and any Helios activity in this sector. Cross-reference with the salted claims we flagged yesterday.”

“Working,” the AI replied. “Master/Drone link active. I have the conn.”

Scott glanced across the formation at the matte-black silhouette of Justice-24. “You really trust that thing to fly both birds while we hunt paper trails?”
“I flew the original black versions for four years,” Alvarez said without looking up. “Lets me do what I’m actually good at.”

The two ships accelerated hard. As they closed on Epsilon-9, Alvarez’s voice sharpened.
“Confirmed. Helios submitted a purchase offer to the Parkers two weeks ago at thirty percent below market. The family refused. Now suddenly there are armed intruders and the assay logs have been manipulated. Same signature as Kern-519 — they diluted the readings with helium and neon traces to make the claim look like it’s failing. Classic squeeze: make honest miners doubt their own work after fourteen or eighteen months out here, then pressure them into selling cheap.”

Scott growled. “Snidely Whiplash tactics. Poison the well, then offer to ‘save’ them for pennies on the dollar.”
“Exactly,” Alvarez said quietly. “Sometimes they go the other way — collude with a desperate miner to spike a bad claim and dump it on outside investors or competitors. But the Parkers don’t smell like the colluding type. This is pure intimidation.”

Epsilon-9 – Prospector Dome

They arrived to a tense standoff. Two armed cutters hovered aggressively near the dome. A third — bearing faint Helios markings — had already breached the outer airlock. Inside, a family of four was barricaded in the main hab.

Scott brought Justice-23 in hot and visible, railgun tracking the lead cutter.
“MFCR Rangers!” he transmitted, voice booming with old Western marshal authority. “You are under arrest for armed trespass, assault, and conspiracy to commit claim fraud. Power down or we disable every drive in this formation.”

One cutter tried to run. Justice-24 — the void-black ghost — slid out of the shadow of Justice-23 like it had materialized from nowhere. Two precise railgun bursts crippled the runner’s engines without breaching the hull.

Alvarez’s calm voice followed on the open channel.
“Bearcat-24 has forensic lock on all three vessels. Financial trails lead straight to Helios Mining Logistics. It’s over.”

The remaining cutters powered down.

Scott suited up and boarded with Alvarez covering him from Justice-24. Inside the dome they found the Parker family shaken but alive. The father had a bruised face. The mother clutched a shotgun with white knuckles. Two young teenagers looked terrified.

While Scott secured the intruders and read them their rights with cold authority, Alvarez sat with the family. Her voice was gentle but firm as she reviewed the forged documents on her tablet.
“They diluted your claim,” she told them quietly, showing the discrepancies. “Injected helium and neon traces to make the assays look terrible after all your hard work. When you refused their low offer, they sent muscle to break you. This isn’t the first time. It won’t be the last unless we stop them at the source.”

The mother’s eyes filled with tears. “We’ve been out here four years…”
Alvarez touched her rosewood cross briefly. “I know. My abuelita used to say the powerful always try to take what belongs to the hardworking. That’s why people like us exist — to push back.”

Later — En Route Back to Ceres

The two Peregrines flew side-by-side again, three detained cutters under escort. Scott spoke over the private channel.
“You’re wasted on the railgun sometimes, Alvarez. The way you talked that family down… and the forensic work. That’s real detective stuff.”

Alvarez gave a tired but genuine smile.
“Four years flying the old black Peregrines taught me patience. The freighter years taught me how to read shipping manifests like books. The faith… that just keeps me from getting too cynical. We protect people, John. Not just from bullets, but from the ones who steal their future with pens and spreadsheets.”

Scott was quiet for a moment, watching the asteroid field drift past.
“I’ve spent a year and a half riding solo, doing it the loud way. Having someone who sees the patterns first… it’s growing on me.”

Alvarez chuckled softly.
“Good. Because Captain Ramirez already approved us as a permanent pair. Welcome to the ledger life, street cop.”

Scott grinned. “As long as you let me shoot things when they need shooting.”
“Deal,” she said. “And I’ll keep digging until the ones holding the pens end up in cuffs too.”

Ahead of them, Ceres Station grew in the viewport — bright against the black. Behind them, three more Helios-linked pirates were headed for justice.

But both Rangers knew the real fight was just beginning. Helios Mining Logistics wasn’t going to roll over easily.
The spear and the scales were now hunting together.

Mars Ranger Patrol
Book 2: Shadow Claims
By Curtis A. Neil

Chapter 6: Rock Rats and Rocket Jockeys

Ceres Station – Main Concourse

The Rusty Rocket was unusually loud even by dinner standards. Scott and Alvarez had just finished their shift reports when the commotion started.

A trio of teenagers — maybe sixteen or seventeen standard years old — came barreling down the concourse on mag-skates, whooping and laughing, weaving between miners and station techs like it was an obstacle course. One of them nearly clipped a cargo drone.

Shirley leaned over the counter, shaking her head. “Those rock rats are at it again. Third time this week. Call ‘em the Ceres Hot Rodders. Think they own the corridors.”

Scott stood up with a sigh. “Kids will be kids. Even out here.” He touched his badge. “I’ll handle it. You want the paperwork on this one, Detective?”

Alvarez smirked. “Only if they dent a hull. Otherwise, I’ll enjoy watching the Lone Ranger corral the young guns.”

Scott stepped into the concourse, voice carrying that calm Western marshal authority.
“Hey! You three — kill the burners and get over here.”

The kids skidded to a stop, eyes wide when they saw the Ranger badge. The oldest one tried a cocky grin.
“Come on, Ranger Scott. We’re just blowing off steam. No harm done.”

“No harm until someone gets splattered against a bulkhead,” Scott replied, arms crossed. “This isn’t some dirt-road back on Earth. You clip a civilian or a pressure line and it’s not just a fine — it’s station time. Now park those skates and walk like civilized humans.”

One of the younger kids muttered, “Yes, sir,” looking properly chastised. The middle one, though, couldn’t resist one last show-off spin.

Alvarez appeared at Scott’s shoulder, rosewood cross visible. “And if I catch any of you tampering with claim beacons for ‘fun,’ even as a prank, we’ll have a longer conversation. Understood?”

The kids nodded quickly and slunk off at a much more reasonable speed.

Scott shook his head as they walked back toward the diner. “Hot-rodding in microgravity. Never thought I’d see that one.”

“Kids find trouble anywhere,” Alvarez said with a small laugh. “At least they’re not drunk miners… yet.”

Later That Evening – Rusty Rocket Diner

The “yet” arrived about two hours later.

A burly helium-3 miner named Big Pete staggered through the door, reeking of contraband grain alcohol and singing an off-key version of an old Earth sea shanty. He took one look at the counter and decided it needed a dramatic lean.

“Shhirley, my love! Another round for the house!”

Shirley didn’t miss a beat. “You’ve had your round, Pete. Time to sleep it off.”

Pete spotted Scott and Alvarez and grinned blearily. “Well if it isn’t the Lone Ranger and… uh… Tonto’s better half! You two gonna arrest me for havin’ a good time?”

Scott stood slowly, keeping his tone light but firm. “Not tonight, Pete. But if you puke in Shirley’s diner, I will personally escort you to the drunk tank and make you scrub it out tomorrow. Let’s get you to a bunk.”

Alvarez stepped in on the other side, gentle but no-nonsense. “Come on, big guy. My abuelita always said a man’s troubles look smaller after a good sleep. We’ll walk you back.”

Between the two Rangers, they got Pete out the door without too much fuss. As they helped the swaying miner down the corridor, Alvarez glanced at Scott.

“Longer patrols coming soon,” she said quietly. “Three days out, three on station, three back. You going to complain about the time in a small space again?”

Scott chuckled. “I know what you’re going to say.”

Alvarez smiled. “We did fourteen days fairly routine in the original Peregrines — and that was with two people crammed in there. Here I have the whole ship to myself. The Peregrin IIs are roomier, built for creature comforts. They were intended for thirty-day missions. Nine days is nothing. Besides…” She gave him a sideways grin. “We’re not sitting in the dark, powered down, brrr, cold at five degrees. We have heat.”

Scott laughed outright. “Alright, alright. You win. Nine days it is.”

Pete mumbled happily between them, “You two make a good team… like old married folks already…”

Alvarez and Scott exchanged a look and both started laughing.

Out in the Belt, the rocks kept turning and trouble kept brewing. But for one night on Ceres Station, the Law was riding double — and even the drunks and hot-rodding kids weren’t going to ruin the peace.

Curtis Anthony Neil/Grok 4.0/ LibreOffice. June  8th. 2026 AD.

Artist Copyright June 2026, all rights reserved

Bakersfield, California, USA, North America, Planet Earth (Terra), the third planet from the Sun (Sol), Solar System, Orion Arm, Milky Way Galaxy

Copyright © 2026 by Curtis Anthony Neil
All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

First Edition – June 2026

Published by Curtis A. Neil
Bakersfield, California, USA

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.