by Scott Moon
Ike Shot the Sheriff DARKLANDING
Episode 2
By Scott Moon and Craig Martelle
This book is copyright © 2018 by Scott Moon and Craig Martelle
Darklanding Series is copyrighted ©2017 and ©2018 by Craig Martelle
All rights reserved.
ASIN:
Cover art by Kevin McLaughlin
Editing services provided by Mia Darien – miadarien.com
Formatting by James Baldwin – jamesosiris.com
Based on a concept by Diane Velasquez, Dorene Johnson, and Kat Lind who also provide developmental editing for the series
This 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.
Table of Contents
CHAPTER ONE: A Ship with No Name
CHAPTER TWO: Profit and Loss
CHAPTER THREE: Heavy Lifting
CHAPTER FOUR: She’s A Little Runaway
CHAPTER FIVE: Enforcement
CHAPTER SIX: T-R-O-U-B-L-E
CHAPTER SEVEN: Drunk and Disorderly
CHAPTER EIGHT: Collecting Evidence
CHAPTER NINE: Who’s That Girl
CHAPTER TEN: Money
CHAPTER ELEVEN: Big Trouble
CHAPTER TWELVE: Tricksy
CHAPTER THIRTEEN: Sideways
CHAPTER FOURTEEN: Ladies and Dog
CHAPTER FIFTEEN: The Final Conflict
CHAPTER SIXTEEN: Manager of the Year
Social Media for Scott Moon
Social Media for Craig Martelle
Other Books by Scott Moon
Author Notes: Scott Moon
Author Notes: Craig Martelle
CHAPTER ONE: A Ship with No Name
Patrolling the dead of night meant silence, contemplation, and secrets—hard things for a man like Thaddeus Fry. Nothing moved but the blinking of communication tower lights on distant building tops. The only sounds came from climate control generators in the windows of the prefabricated housing blocks near the warehouses and mining transport hubs, or the spaceport where ships landed at all hours.
Thaddeus stood on the fringe of the spaceport with no intention of patrolling inside the perimeter. They had their own security and there was allegedly a company of space Marines there, although he’d never seen them. Didn’t want to. And if he did his job, wouldn’t need to.
Don’t think too much, Fry man. Just keep your eyes open. Finish the patrol. Go home and get some sleep. Instead of listening to his own advice, he knelt close to the enormous Darklanding dog—or whatever it was that had been following him around since he left the mining incident. The creature stayed just out of arm’s reach this time, pretending to ignore him. It was nearly hairless and had to weigh a couple hundred pounds. Maybe it was a Darklanding pig, but Thad didn’t care for pigs unless they’d been made into a sandwich covered with cheese, mayonnaise, and tabasco sauce—minus the mayonnaise and tabasco sauce. Swine were dangerous. Gangsters used them to dispose of bodies, or so one of the movies he watched in transit to the Wilok System claimed.
“What do you think of this place?” Thad asked.
The creature looked at a spot on the ground for several moments.
Thad laughed. “Yeah. That seems about right.” He reached out and scratched the thing behind its ears, secretly hoping to learn by feel if it was a dog or a pig. For all he knew, it might be the King of Darklanding. “What’s your name, dog? King…William? Richard? Alfred? Tutankhamun? Charlemagne? That’s it, I could call you Charlie.”
The animal looked up, stared at him, then walked away.
“I’m going to take that as a no.”
A blocky ship, older but not ancient, descended carefully and hovered for several minutes before landing. Thad guessed it had a full load and Ungwilook wasn’t on the pilot’s normal route.
Watching ships come and go from Darklanding brought back memories of military efficiency and professionalism. Workers and machines normally began loading once the unloading was about ten percent complete. Interstellar corporations knew the expenses down to the minute and paid for quick results.
Thad squatted on the ridge above the spaceport, then took out his binoculars and gave the ship a closer look. Why? Because it was just sitting there with its lights on.
He searched for designation numbers and found them. Nothing about it looked suspicious except the minimal crew lighting and the complete lack of passengers or freight. A big ship, it was costing someone a fortune to sit there doing nothing.
An hour passed. Thad turned his back on the mystery and headed home to dream of troop transports and heavy machinery drops. Sleep would come. Sometimes it was a fight, but he’d slip into bed and be out sometime before the sun came up. The two-hundred-pound dog-pig followed at a distance.
CHAPTER TWO: Profit and Loss
Shaunte Plastes paced across her office, arms folded over her chest. She had only worn her service jumpsuit one other time, which had either been incredibly stupid or had saved her career. She still had dreams about the inside of the mines and the looks on workers’ faces as they came out smeared in dirt and relieved they were alive.
“Miss Plastes, are you there?” a voice said from the paper-thin computer screen facing the other direction.
She turned and scowled at the back of the screen, not wanting to face the company representative. Rather than answer, she moved around the desk, dragging her fingertips over its smooth wood surface and taking her time to stand where she could be seen by her conference call. The face staring at her was old and haggard but hid it well with the latest and greatest in anti-aging microsurgeries.
“Chairman Stoddard, have you ever ruled an entire world?” she asked.
One of his thick eyebrows raised significantly. “You mean a back-system frontier world with only one consumable resource that’s barely worth mining? No, I can’t say that I have.”
Shaunte wanted to argue the point about the value of her world’s resources but ignored his attempt to bait her. She stepped forward and leaned on the desk with both hands, bringing her face closer to the camera in the computer terminal. “I assure you, Chairman Stoddard, that I have complete control of this operation and this world. Not for the first time, I would like to ask the Board of Directors to consider a realistic budget. What looks good to you, in your artificial intelligence-generated financial analysis, does not work in reality.”
“Miss Plastes, we have spent more on our analysis than we have on you and your entire operation. The numbers we send you are nonnegotiable. You will meet the production guidelines or you will be replaced. I don’t care who your father is.”
Shaunte narrowed her gaze. Oh, I bet you do care, she thought. “How is Daddy? I miss him sooooo much.”
Stoddard flinched and drew back from the camera, unprepared for the childish endearment.
“We are very close. He taught me everything I know. Remember what happened to the last Board of Directors?”
“Miss Plastes, you are taking my words out of context. No matter what type of childhood you experienced with your father, who I must say is not exactly known for being a softhearted father of the year type, we have a business to run and that requires profit. Do not try to manipulate me again.”
It was worth a try, she thought.
“This disturbing report of mining collapses—which our best brains and AIs deem highly improbable—need go no further than my office. Don’t let it happen again. I don’t care what it takes, but y
ou had better learn to take care of your operation. And one last thing, a word of friendly advice, the operation at Darklanding is too large for you to finance from your personal expenses. Never for one moment imagine that I don’t know what you’re doing.”
Shaunte opened her mouth to respond, but the screen was already blank.
CHAPTER THREE: Heavy Lifting
Thaddeus watched the sunrise. For a moment, Ungwilook was as beautiful as any other planet. Never mind that the titans of industry were ravaging the place for exotic minerals and exploiting both locals and migrant workers.
The empty lot between two large prefabricated buildings felt private. There was room for a company of soldiers to do calisthenics and stave off the weakening effect of this planet’s moderate gravity. Shared misery, esprit de corps, all those things shaped him into the man he was—good, bad, and ugly—depending on which of his ex-wives a person questioned.
He couldn’t help but think about the coquettish madam at the Mother Lode. “Don’t do it, Fry man. She’s trouble like all the rest.”
He needed to do more than stay in shape. His first day at Darklanding included a fight with one of the local Ungloks but also an alley brawl between two humans. “What do you think, Charlie?” he asked the dog-thing that lingered near him.
It stared, completely unmoved.
Thad pointed his thumbs at himself. “This guy is going to get in shape.”
No response.
“Well, at least I figured out your name.”
The dog-pig from Darklanding looked away, feelings hurt.
“I take that as a no,” Thad said.
The Mother Lode, arguably the finest saloon at the spaceport, was likely to be his permanent home. His predecessor had met an untimely end due to the excitability of mining explosives somehow left in or very near to the sheriff’s normal billet. Thaddeus needed to learn more about the man. It was likely that he inherited the same enemies.
Maybe he was wrong. Perhaps the former sheriff had competed with some local tough guys for Dixie’s affections. Maybe the locals craved law and justice and had just been waiting for the right man to deliver it. Maybe pigs flew on Ungwilook.
He was starting to wonder if remaining a soldier would have been safer. He knew better. It was time to get some exercise and not think about the campaign on Centauri Prime.
So what were his options? Jogging around the small vacant lot? Jumping jacks? Push-ups?
Those were all good things for soldiers, civilians, and lonely sheriffs without much back-up. He wasn’t going to have a sparring partner, so he needed to work on his mental grit. He’d seen people lose their edge and was determined not to be one of them.
The haze of industry around Darklanding bloomed into the morning sky like an expanding cloud of chemicals and dust. He toured his new workout venue and found something interesting. The northernmost of the two large buildings was a vehicle maintenance facility. Near its rear door were several things that might be of use to Thaddeus.
He paused to look at the back of the Mother Lode standing three stories high on the other side of the street on the other side of the lot. It was an easy reference point in this new place. He looked to the corner window that had to be the Company Man's suite. She wasn't there, which was a shame. It was probably a decent view of the town—such as it was.
A part of his mind told him he should warm up before moving the heavy tractor tire, but the other part said he wouldn’t get to warm up before a fight. He squatted by the edge of the tire, hooked his hands underneath the knurled edges, and heaved with his legs. Keeping his back straight under this much weight was harder than he had expected.
Getting his shoulders under the tire was the tricky part. He slammed one knee into the tire to encourage its upward motion, then dropped into a lower stance to get his hands and shoulders under the blocky beast. On another planet, it might weigh eight or nine hundred pounds. He understood he was not moving the entire weight of the monstrosity, but it was still awkward and difficult to maneuver.
Up, up, and over before it slammed back down, sending a cloud of dust into the chill morning air.
He flipped the tractor tire nineteen times to get it to the other side of the lot. Hands on his hips, drawing deep breaths one after another, he decided it was time for a run. He set an easy pace. There hadn’t been an opportunity to exercise during his transport to the Wilok system. The run felt surprisingly good, and he spent a lot of time thinking about the Company Man, Dixie, and ex-wives. With his experience, he should know better. His romantic involvements became entanglements because Thaddeus Fry.
“It is what it is,” he told Charlie as he finished his workout. The pig-dog was sitting to the side, well away from the dust clouds the sheriff had kicked up. “This is why I can’t have anything nice, meet anyone nice.”
Thad squatted down and wiped his face and neck with a towel. Steam rose off his shoulders into the cold air. He spat on the ground as sweat dripped off his nose. Out of the corner of his vision, he saw Mast approaching from the street.
The seven-and-a-half-foot tall alien stopped and looked over his shoulder, then made polite apologies to another pedestrian. “My excuses to you,” he said to a woman in the faded green jumpsuit of an agricultural hand.
Thad shook his head. Mast was not hard to pick out of a crowd. His light brown hair and jumpsuit were nothing spectacular. What set him apart was his excessive civility and his emerald green eyes, rare in a native of Ungwilook.
“I think what you mean to say, Mast, is excuse me,” Thad said.
His new deputy smiled and hurried toward him. “Why would they excuse me? Not that I’m complaining about your advice. The logic is somewhat hard to wrangle. Which brings me to a question. What do you have against that tire?”
Thad shrugged. “I want to grow stronger.”
Mast narrowed his eyes and pondered the statement, nodding as though he understood.
Thad laughed as he stood and put on the fire-retardant jacket he’d taken to wearing in place of his normal duster. The mine collapse had changed his attitude regarding practicality.
Dull gray with a reflective hem and cuffs nearly gone, the jacket felt like an old friend who would protect him from this planet. He took his hat from the top of one of the other large tires and pulled it snugly onto his head. “I need to get back to the Mother Lode for a shower.”
“I must admit I do not know the full responsibilities of a deputy.”
“Let’s walk. Keep your eyes open, make sure nobody sneaks up on me. That’s lesson number one. Head on a swivel,” Thad said.
Mast’s emerald eyes widened in alarm. “Swivel?”
“Relax, Mast. It just means look right and left and always be aware of your surroundings.” Thad demonstrated, raised his eyebrows to see if Mast understood, and then smiled. “Tell me about Darklanding.”
“What you really mean to ask is, what should you know about my people,” Mast said. “Are we dangerous? Are we intelligent or dumb? Do we resent humans?”
“All those things matter, you’re right. But I want to know everything about Darklanding. The good, the bad, and everything to do with the Sagitterean Conglomerate.”
Mast shuddered at the mention of the company, but Thad didn’t know if it was fear, loathing, or excitement.
“The Ungwilook work harder than humans, but get paid less. This is the way it has always been. We are not bitter, or I should say I am not bitter, but some are,” Mast said.
“Really?” Thad asked.
Mast lowered his head and bent his back, but was still much taller than Thad. “Maybe just a little.”
Thad looked at his friend and saw that the native was smiling slyly.
“Tell me something, Mast. Why aren’t you allowed in the processing plant?”
The Unglok straightened, his demeanor suddenly different. He looked around, and if Thad was a judge of anything, sniffed the air. “You do not know the answer to this question?”
Thad stop
ped and put his hands on his hips, pushing back his long jacket. He understood this showed his sidearm and his badge. He placed his feet shoulder width apart and looked at his deputy. “If you’re going to be my deputy, there’s a few things we need to straighten out right here.”
Mast stopped, then mimicked Thad’s position by pushing his human fire coat back. His blaster was backward in the holster, which wasn’t completely incorrect the way some of the borderland tough guys carried weapons, but Thad suspected this was an accident. Mast’s beat-up coat barely reached his knees and hung on him like a sail in a doldrum.
“At least your badge is on right side up,” Thad said.
The Unglok looked him up and down, narrowing his gaze in a way that seemed to emphasize his emerald green eyes. He shifted his feet slightly wider, adjusted his fists on his hips, and then frowned.
Thad paused in the middle of giving him a tongue-lashing, curious about this strange behavior.
Mast suddenly got it, widening his eyes and making a sound that sounded a bit like the human word “aha.” He pulled his firearm, accidentally pointed at Thad for a second, and then holstered it correctly.
Thad, voice dry, lowered his hands and let his duster fall into a normal hanging position. “I think you can be taught. Another thing I want you to remember is to never point your weapon at something you’re not ready to shoot.”
“Is that the one thing you wanted to straighten out right here very muchly?” Mast asked.
“Believe it or not, this is more important than whether you’re pointing a deadly weapon at my face. I have to trust you.”
Mast frowned. He put one finger on his chin and quickly pulled it down as though he’d committed a rude offense. “Trust is important. Do you not trust me?”
“Your answers about processing plants, and why your people can’t go there, are evasive.”
“Mast is very muchly embarrassed. Mast…I…hesitated, because the last sheriff did not live long.”