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    Renegade
    Renegade
    Renegade
    Ebook111 pages1 hour

    Renegade

    By Mark Tier

    ()

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    About this ebook

    Randolph Ackerman was brutally murdered by his business partner, Gerald Murdock — and the holo of the murder is all over the web.

    An open and shut case.

    But can a murderer be brought to justice in a future America with no government to provide police, law courts, and prosecutors?

    A novelette originally published in the Prometheus Award Winning anthology, Visions of Liberty

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherMark Tier
    Release dateDec 28, 2016
    ISBN9789889776985
    Renegade
    Author

    Mark Tier

    Mark Tier is an Australian writer and businessman who has lived and worked in Hong Kong since 1977. He has been a marketing consultant and counselor, and has helped start up five new investment publications. He graduated from the Australian National University with a degree in economics and is pursuing his Ph.D. in economics through UCLA. Mark is the author of The Winning Investment Habits of Warren Buffett & George Soros.

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      Book preview

      Renegade - Mark Tier

      RENEGADE

      Mark Tier

      Published by Inverse Books at Smashwords

      Copyright © 2004 by Mark Tier

      Table of Contents

      Introduction

      Renegade

      About the Author

      Preview Other Titles by Mark Tier

      Can you really make more money by just sitting on your butt?

      Give Me Liberty and Visions of Liberty

      Trust Your Enemies

      Ayn Rand’s 5 Surprisingly Simple Rules for Judging Political Candidates

      How To Get A Second Passport

      When God Speaks for Himself

      The Winning Investment Habits of Warren Buffett & George Soros

      Introduction

      Renegade was first published in the anthology, Visions of Liberty, I co-edited with Martin H. Greenberg.

      The theme: Society Without Government—that Works. With stories from stellar authors like Lloyd Biggle, Jr., Robert Sawyer, Mike Resnick, Michael Stackpole, Jane Lindskold, James Hogan—and even the legendary Jack Williamson.

      So imagine my surprise when I received my copy of the book to see this on the very first page:

      AN ENEMY OF THE PEOPLE . . .

      Granddad told me about Amanda Green, a teacher in a small town near San Francisco. When she didn’t show up at school one morning, someone went to see if she was hurt—and found her house trashed, all her files and computer gone, but no sign of her.

      And her valuables untouched. No ordinary burglars.

      Her neighbors knew nothing. But they’d heard the familiar sounds of the sirens and car doors slamming and thumping feet in the middle of the night . . . and they’d closed their houses up tight.

      A terrorist, claimed the HSS, inciting her students to rebel against the state.

      A homely grandmother, a dedicated teacher, loved by her students, and respected by the community, a terrorist? For teaching her students the meaning of life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness?

      Amanda Green was the spark that lit the fire. It started quietly, like a burning ember as groups held sporadic protests here and there. Only to be brutally repressed by the HSS police.

      The TV coverage inflamed the nation. Within days millions of people across the country were parading with signs saying Liberty or Death, Don’t Tread on Me, and Taxation is Theft.

      With all those famous authors to select from, the publisher, Baen Books, chose to feature this extract from Renegade!

      What an honor.

      So read on. And if you enjoy Renegade I’m sure you’ll enjoy the many other stories in Visions of Liberty and its companion anthology, Give Me Liberty, even more.

      Renegade

      On the giant screen in Union Square a marine running full tilt towards the camera suddenly spurted blood where his head had been. I was glad there was no sound—I felt sick enough already. 

      Before I could wonder what had happened to the cameraman the screen blanked for a fraction of a second, and the scene shifted to a bird’s-eye view of the jungle battle. And then cut to an ad. 

      On the old-fashioned ticker underneath—a copy of the relic in Times Square—the headline MARINES RETREAT appeared, one letter at a time.

      A screech of brakes and the sound of scrunching steel jerked my attention back to the street. Most everyone on the sidewalk had come to a dead halt. Including me—and I hadn’t even noticed. I suddenly became aware of the unnatural silence: after all, it’s not every day you see someone’s head blown off live on a 500-foot three-dimensional screen. Drivers were mesmerized too. One of them must have hit the brakes and taken his car out of automatic. The roadnet braked the cars behind, but not fast enough to prevent a spectacular pile-up. 

      A lady nearby was throwing up in the gutter. My stomach started to churn. I took a few steps back. I felt a bit sick too, but I couldn’t feel sorry for the guy. He’d volunteered knowing full well what the risks were. And was—had been—highly paid to take them. After all, every man and woman on both the Eighth Army and the Marines get a share of the holo and web rights. With the ratings on this mêlée his family, if he had one, will be well taken care of.

      How much time had passed? More than I thought. Now I had to hurry to be at the hearing on time. As I and hundreds of others started moving again the normal Union Square bustle returned. Though it would be a while before the traffic followed suit.

      8TH ARMY ODDS ON; MARINES 27-1 was now scrolling across the ticker. I’m not a gambling man but I can’t resist an all-but-sure-thing. 27 to 1! That was like taking candy from the mouths of babes.

      A few taps on my phone and I learned that the US Marines were retreating all across the front. But the retreat was slow and it didn’t seem like they were about to fold. Sure wouldn’t do their image any good if they gave up so easily. We Never Quit was their marketing slogan.

      If they held out for just a few days I’d clean up. A good friend of mine, an executive of the Eighth Army Inc., had told me that their client—don’t ask me whether it was the government of Columbia or the government of Venezuela; I haven’t really been following this fracas too closely—had run out of money. That’s real money I mean: they had plenty of that stuff they printed down there, whatever they called it, and a wheelbarrow full of it and a silver dime might get you a cup of coffee in San Francisco if the vendor was short of toilet paper.

      Whichever gang of thugs it was, if they didn’t pay up by Monday the Eighth Army Inc. was flying straight back home. Today was Friday.

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