by Mike Moscoe
“Like that?”
“No, sir.”
“Think you could get any closer?”
“No, sir.”
“Now start backing up. Get a move on.”
Trouble moved. At fifty feet the tingling sensation was back; he halted.
“Boy, I took you for tougher than that.” The empty smile vanished from the man’s face. “Keep going,” he growled.
“Just thought you’d made your point, sir.” Trouble used his best boyish grin, but started backing again.
“One of the lessons I strongly encourage new employees to learn,” the boss went on matter-of-factly as Trouble backed up and the pain grew, “is you don’t want to come to management’s attention. Not all bosses will be as kind-hearted as I am. Why, I’ve known some labor consultants who’d make a new employee who’d cause trouble like that there soldier boy keep right on walking until he keeled over from the pain. It bad, boy?”
Trouble had no intention of trying to out-macho this guy. The pain in his abdomen was past bad to agony. But, hunched over, he still was backing up. “It’s got my attention, sir. Real good.”
“Nice boy. Now, I could start walking away.” And the boss took a step back. “In a few seconds you all would see just how fast a man can die from a bellyache.”
The pain level shot up. Trouble risked a step forward.
“See. The man is educatable. He don’t want to leave my company. And I don’t want to miss delivering a full levy of new workers. So, come on back, soldier boy, and the rest of you get on your feet. We got to get moving.”
The petty officer and a woman spacer headed for Trouble. He stumbled toward them as fast as he could to save them the pain he knew was growing in their guts. “You okay, sir?” the man asked, taking Trouble’s arm and putting it around his shoulder. The woman took the other. They half carried Trouble as they rejoined the milling group.
“Take my word for it. You want to stay where he wants you.”
“We putting up with this shit?” the petty officer growled.
“Folks with shit for brains make mistakes. Let’s see where they goof off, spacer. Don’t blow our chances before then. I’m Lieutenant Tordon, but I go by Trouble.”
“Third Class Petty Officer Jagowski, sir, Spacer First Yu.” The woman on the other side of Trouble ducked her head. “Romez,” was a red-haired and freckled fellow. “And Makingana, but we call her Mac.” The last was a tall, rail-thin woman whose dark skin shone where the sunlight caught it, but who could have disappeared into the shadows without a trace.
“What do we do, sir?” Romez asked.
“Any of you got a laser cannon in your boot?” The four spacers glanced at their shoes. “If not, we do exactly what the man says. Let them relax, go easy. They’ll make their mistake and we’ll be ready for it.” The marine stepped away from his two supporters…and his knees almost caved in. “And get me a stick or something to lean on.”
It was the woman Trouble had helped who tossed him a sturdy walking stick. Raven-haired and olive complexioned as seemed to be the local norm, she stepped around rocks and roots with the confidence of someone used to taking care of herself. Still, her left hand had a nervous way of flicking to the pods hidden under her shirt. “I can take care of myself,” she threw at him along with the stick.
“Yeah. I could see you were about to take that slob apart.”
“Maybe I would have.”
“They would have killed you before you could.”
“Funny talk coming from someone in a fancy uniform.”
Trouble stepped closer to the woman, lowering his voice. “They would have killed you, and none of us would have been any closer to freedom. Probably farther. If we’re going to get out of this mess, we’ll do it by a plan, and we’ll do it together.”
Their eyes locked, Trouble stared into obsidian black orbs seething with a rage he could not account for. The woman whirled and stomped away. “Off-world bossy,” she tossed in her wake.
“Civilians,” the petty officer breathed in answer.
“What’s got into her?” Yu asked.
“I have no idea,” Trouble said, not for the first time where a woman was concerned. “Bossy” rolled around in his skull for a moment, mixed with the background material he’d picked up and the experience he’d had with the locals at Izzy’s elbow.
“Crew, I don’t think these folks take well to being told what to do.” He glanced around at a bedraggled bunch clumped together in various groups, and edging toward the boss with the dumb look of cows in a zoo. “Let’s see what we can do about helping these folks without pissing off any more of them.”
The spacers broke up, hunting up more walking sticks for those in most need. It turned out that the young woman was doing the same. Between shouts from the boss and three other toughs like Clem, folks got moving. The buzzing in their bellies made sure of that as the boss mounted a mule and headed out. A couple of people had bad reactions to the drugs that had been used to capture them. Spacers stepped in to help. Trouble found himself on one side of an older woman who seemed to be the worst case just as his female nemesis took her other arm. “They call me Trouble,” he said.
“I can see why,” the young woman said across the older one. “I’m Ruth, from the farm stations.” She glanced around. “Only farmer here.”
“Not too many spacers either. I like the way you’re helping. Maybe if we work together, we can get through this.”
“Yeah,” Ruth sighed. “Think there is any help for us?”
Trouble glanced around; he saw bedraggled people, thugs, and trees. Nothing too hopeful. “Somebody’s gonna come looking for us. The Navy looks after its own.”
• • •
“The Navy looks after its own, Mr. Shezgo.” Izzy rested both hands firmly on the city manager’s desk and locked eyes with him. “I’m missing a marine officer and four spacers. I want them back. Now.”
The young city manager sat forward in his chair, eyes solid on Izzy…and gave not an inch. “As I told you, lots of off-worlders take a liking to our planet and its gentler, friendlier pace. I came here for a vacation after college and never left. Same thing probably happened to your folks. Adults make their own decisions. Sometimes, they suddenly swap one decision for another.”
This conversation could go on for hours; Izzy cut it off. “Has anyone seen my lieutenant? That uniform does catch the eye.” She glanced at the marine sergeant at her side. By means and methods known only to noncoms, the man was once again in immaculate dress blues. Izzy had asked for this uniform. If necessary, she’d put him on vid or whatever passed for mass communications around here.
“I agree, ma’am” were the first words from the city manager that Izzy liked this morning. “I’ve had my Public Safety people working on it. Risa Powers is the safety lead this year, Zylon Plovdic is her assistant. They’ve been up most of the night looking for your missing people. I don’t think your folks want to be found.”
Zylon was a tall blonde that Izzy gladly would have taken on for a security guard. Risa was even smaller than Izzy; how she’d make out in a barroom brawl was very open to question. But the question wasn’t a fight this morning. It was finding her people. Izzy turned her attention full on Risa. “What have you tried?”
Without missing a beat, Risa launched into her report. Izzy liked subordinates who did that. “I’ve had their pictures on all the video feeds and sent personal mailings to the city’s business community. I’ve got one hundred percent acknowledgments…and one hundred percent negatives. Lots of people saw your marine patrols. Nobody saw a lone marine.”
The city manager tapped his computer and messages began to flash on its ancient flat screen. “They’re all here, if you want to review them.”
“Ship them up to the Patton. I’ll have my people check ’em. What else?”
“I’ve messaged every trucking firm,” Risa continued. “Asked each one to make sure no driver had picked up someone in a gaudy red-and-blue out
fit. Nothing.”
“And I’ve been catching grief all morning for that violation of privacy, not to mention that of your wayward officer.” The city manager cut in. “Around here, we let people do what they want. Best way to get a bloody nose is to interfere in someone else’s business.”
Izzy rubbed her eyes, going slowly over the torrent of words the people had dumped on her. Maybe if she took them one at a time, they’d mean something. “Nobody has reported seeing someone in a marine dress uniform leaving town.”
“No one in my area of responsibility,” Shezgo corrected.
“Farmers come in from the stations all the time,” Zylon pointed out. “Most likely, some farmer’s daughter drove the rig your man left town in.”
“That would be none of our concern.” The city manager clearly was happy at the thought.
Izzy wasn’t. “Mr. Shezgo, that was a pretty fancy party you threw for me and my officers. How many were farmer’s daughters out on the dance floor last night?”
The city manager leaned back in his chair, a frown slowly replacing the invincible confidence he’d worn since Izzy marched into his office at ten hundred hours sharp. “None,” he muttered after a long minute.
“Did any of your city’s citizens see a very gaudily dressed marine officer leave by himself, or with one of their best friends on his elbow?”
“None that any of my people have talked to. And I’ve mailed everyone who was at that party a query.”
“Anyone find a pair of blue pants or fancy red shirt?”
Risa handled that question. “I warned the trash collection crews to be on the lookout for them when they started this morning. And no, I’ve heard nothing about the clothes either.”
“Then for now, I’m going to assume that my officer is still wearing them, and he should be as out of place here as a drunk at a Baptist church picnic. You keep hunting for him. And I’ll start. How do I get in touch with the farm stations?”
Shezgo shrugged. “They guard some emergency channels, and I wouldn’t recommend tying them up. Those folks can get very testy where safety is concerned. They have their own nets for business. They do what they want, and as long as they don’t create interference on our city nets, I don’t bother them.”
Izzy had a hard time swallowing that line. “You mean the two of you don’t even talk?”
Shezgo’s shrug got deeper. “When Unity was causing trouble, the farms didn’t want to hear what was going on around here, and didn’t want them listening in on what they were saying.”
Izzy could see she had her work cut out for her, and nothing more would come from this meeting. With an about-face, she headed for the door. Impatient, she had her XO on the comm unit as her car pulled away from city hall. Stan cut her off. “Skipper, the chief in charge of the Shore Patrol last night had a few words with some civilians. Farm types. They’ve had people disappear, too. Said they’d like to talk to us. Probably at last night’s collection point. Supply wants to know if he’s supposed to set up a purchasing station there this afternoon.”
“Yes, send Supply down with a large team and an armed escort,” she answered. “Driver, head for Twenty-third and Main. Somebody may be waiting to meet us. Sergeant, load your weapon and get a pistol for me.” Then she returned to the XO. “Stan, have Comm do a full scan of all communication nets in use. Townies claim they don’t talk to the farmers and vice versa. I somehow doubt that. Don’t send any messages out before I get back. I want to make this a personal call. Can’t believe how allergic these folks are to anything smelling of central organization. For now, let’s do it their way. I want this place mapped, scanned, and analyzed to the thirteenth decimal place. We got people down here in this haystack. Find them.”
“Will do. When should I expect you?”
“Not for a while. I’ll stake out the collection point, see if anyone wants to talk to me. You get Supply moving. As soon as he’s here, I’ll go back topside.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Izzy spent a long two hours waiting for Supply to show up. She hadn’t been parked five minutes when a grandmother type stopped to tell her how much she’d enjoyed the dance last night, how nice it was to see someone from Earth, and how a ship’s captain shouldn’t mind if a few of her people decided to stay on Hurtford Corner. “We like to share with visitors who stay.” That was just how it was.
Soon an old man joined the woman, giving Izzy a replay of the same views. Two teenagers showed up, a girl looking enough like Franny to cause Izzy to swallow a lump of grief, and a boy hanging on her, both wondering what Earth was like and wanting to talk about maybe joining up. “Anything has to be easier than working for her old man.”
It went downhill from there. If Izzy hadn’t feared missing whoever it was that was losing people, she would have had the driver gun his way out of the growing crowd. Instead, she stayed to learn how much people loved their planet, hated Unity, and really wondered what Earth was like. When Lieutenant Pollux arrived with a dozen storekeepers and as many guards, he’d already been briefed to keep an eye out for a contact. Without a backward glance, she had the driver head for the gig. Somewhere on this planet were five of her people. She wanted them back.
• • •
Joe Edris drove the truck, Seth Seddik hunched silently beside him. In Joe’s pocket, the note burned.
If you want to see your woman alive, go back where you belong. Get mixed up in what you don’t know, and you’ll get her back in pieces. Then we’ll come looking for the rest of your family.
Joe had been ready to go straight to the Navy. They were missing people, and whoever had their people had Ruth. Seth had backed away from Joe’s anger, shaking his head. “You have no right to make the decision for all of us. Not for my family, not even for Ruth. She’s a married woman. We must lay this before the elders. Whatever we do will affect everyone. Everyone has to have a say.”
“And while we’re talking, what’s happening to Ruth? Damn it, Seth, we got to do something now. Not next Thursday.”
“Joe, you were not raised on Hurtford, so I know it’s hard on you. But you saw how we handled the Unity problem. We’ll handle this one our way, too.” Seth paused, studying Joe out of the corner of his eye. “Unless you and your family are ready to leave the stations. Go out on your own.”
Joe knew how long he’d last without the community when he and his needed more than the hands they had. He had no answer for that. Seth and he did not exchange another word. It was a long, silent drive back to the stations.
• • •
As a kid, Ruth loved trips to the forest to gather fungus. The family was smaller then, and Ma and Pa had time for her. The drug company money from fungus helped make the payments on the station in those early years. Today was horribly different.
The boss set a fast pace. Comfortably mounted on a surefooted mule, he paid no price for hills and gullies, brambles and jutting roots that dragged, tore, and ripped at the walkers. Ruth was a big sister again, helping those who couldn’t keep up. Lots of folks had worn dancing shoes last night…wrong gear for today. Others just were not up to the effort. Ruth did what she could, giving one an arm to lean on, finding a stick for someone else, carrying coats and sweaters a few people were ready to toss away in the heat of the day; they would want them tonight. Helping made her rub elbows with the spacers. The lieutenant, Trouble, told them to help, and they did what he said without question. Of course, he was helping, too. He spent as much time at the tail end of the column as Ruth did. Clem and three uglies like him rode mules back there, laughing at the half-crippled stragglers, offering to shoot them if they fell farther behind.
Trouble saw to it that his spacers took breaks, balancing caring for others with caring for themselves. His break time usually was spent near the head of the column, eyeing the boss when the boss wasn’t looking. He’d said the Navy looked after its own. Did he really think help was coming? After the fiasco at the Abdoes place, Ruth didn’t expect anything from her own people.
The slim chance that the marine knew what he was talking about kept hopelessness from eating her alive.
At the crest of a hill, the boss rested his mule. Turning in the saddle, he smiled at the four big fellows who had kept up with him, then shook his head dolefully at the rest trailing far behind. He pulled the red box from his belt, raised it into view, and pushed the button. Ruth’s belt went from generating gnawing discomfort to shooting pains. Around her, women and men screamed. Even the marine doubled over. Up ahead, the same reaction came from those who had kept up.
“Boss’s leadership style needs improvement,” the lieutenant observed dryly through gritted teeth. “Stinging those doing what he wants along with the rest of us is no way to get promoted in my Navy.” Two of the spacers laughed; a grin escaped even Ruth. What kind of people laughed at times like this?
That didn’t keep Ruth’s anger from surfacing. “You have four legs moving you along,” she called. “We have just two. And some of these folks ain’t used to using either one of them. You have to slow down.”
“I got a schedule to keep. You just got to keep up. If that means walking all day and all night, I guess you’ll just do it. Me, I’d like to get some sleep tonight.”
“Some of us could use some chow,” Jagowski pointed out.
“You’ll eat when you reach tonight’s camp, and not before. So, folks, you’ve had your rest. Let’s get a move on.” He kicked his mule into movement. As he dropped over the ridge, the pain in Ruth’s gut grew. They plodded on.
But now Ruth and the spacers weren’t the only ones helping. The better off pitched in to help the worse. But that did little to ease the misery as the day grew hot and humid. Now parched lips gnawed more than empty bellies. She followed Trouble’s lead as he edged his spacers upstream at water crossings. That way, she drank less mud. Balancing the need to move with growing exhaustion and the inevitable pain in the gut from being behind left the buzzing insects unnoticed…until angry welts splotched exposed faces, arms, and legs.