by Mike Moscoe
“Thank you,” she smiled at the marine for the catch.
“Glad to. We got to look out for each other. Doesn’t look like there’ll be a stop for lunch.”
Hunger was a close fifth on Ruth’s lists of pains, the boss having gotten ahead of them enough that the pain in her gut made it hard to notice she was hungry. Ruth eyed the trail. They were skirting a thicket. Thorns reached out from low shrubs. People had edged away from them. But red berries dangled beside the barbs, and winged things that passed for insects here were nibbling at them. “We can eat those,” she pointed.
“You sure?” Trouble wasn’t persuaded.
“When I was little, Ma and Pa used to go fungus hunting, to help them put extra payments down on the station. Brother and I went along, but we weren’t much help. Ma showed me things to snack on. The red ones are okay. The blue ones aren’t ripe yet. They’re bitter and give you the runs.”
Trouble edged off the trail to pluck a small pod of the red fruit. He tasted one tiny red bulb. “Sweet” was all he said.
“I used to love them,” Ruth said, plucking a handful.
Trouble still didn’t look happy. “We ought to go easy on these. These might not be the same berries you remembered. How old were you?”
“Five or six. What’s the matter, you don’t trust me?” Ruth scarfed down the entire handful of berries and collected two more. Others followed her lead, and quickly the thicket was stripped of fruit. Trouble shrugged. The buzzing of their guts demanded they hustle to catch up with the boss.
The next stream crossing offered more food. “Ma called them red potatoes, though they sure aren’t from Earth. The fungus grows near them.” And sure enough, Ruth spotted the slim white stalks that the fungus shot up. “See? That’s worth money.”
While she used her walking stick to pry up a potato, Trouble was using his to gingerly probe around the fungus. “How far does that go down?”
“Maybe thirty centimeters.”
He bent down, scrambled around in the dirt for a moment, then stood up, an ugly whitish-brown growth the size of a large watermelon in his hands. “Hey, boss,” he shouted.
The boss turned his mule in its tracks, matching looks of puzzlement on the faces of man and animal. The marine got about as close as he could, maybe five meters, then stopped. “You say I owe you. Here’s something on my account. Worth a bundle. You got people tramping along out here. You ever look at the gold mine you’re walking through?”
The boss had the look of an off-worlder who’s never quite sure what he’s seeing if it’s not straight blue and green. Clem was off his mule and running from behind the prisoners. To see the big, clumsy fellow run almost got a laugh out of Ruth. She swallowed it. Maybe she didn’t have to. Clem rushed right by her as if she wasn’t there. He grabbed the fungus from Trouble.
“This stuff sells at the trading posts for a couple hundred a kilo. This sucker’s five, six kilos for sure.” He hefted it. “Where’d you get it? Never seen one before it was cleaned up.”
Trouble glanced around. “It’s all over. Under those white strawlike things.” He pulled a smaller one up, handed it to Clem. “See?”
The thug’s eyes got real big.
“I hate to disappoint you, marine,” the boss cut in, “but you people are worth a lot more than a couple of stale sponge cakes. But, Clem, stow it in your pack. Now get moving.”
Ruth had taken the pause to show other people how to dig red potatoes. She grabbed two more and shared them with Trouble. “Thanks for the break,” she said. “I don’t know what fungus is selling for this year, but it was worth a five-minute break.”
The marine glanced back; Ruth’s eyes followed him. Clem and his associates were still grubbing in the dirt, yanking up clumps of fungus, laughing among themselves. The boss had ridden around the next twist in the trail, ignoring their delay. The pain in Ruth’s belly reminded her she couldn’t ignore him. They trudged along, leaving the toughs rejoicing in their newfound wealth.
“It’s so much easier working with satisfied employers.” Trouble grinned.
• • •
Gunny sniffed. Except for the smell, the dump run had been a cakewalk. He’d taken the long way around, driving the roads along the edge of the town, rather than going directly through. The workers at the dump had come to a roaring halt when three rigs carrying twenty armed marines drove into the place. They’d just stood around, hands in plain sight, while one squad covered the other squad and the sensor specialist. They’d driven right to the spot where the beacons were squawking. And stopped.
“Beacons are about a meter down in some pretty ripe crud,” the petty officer had reported to Gunny.
While Gunny considered that, someone who might have been a foreman sauntered over to him. “You need some digging done over there? I can lend you a dozer.”
“Be obliged for it.”
“Az, take your dozer over and give those guys a hand,” the local shouted.
“Up yours, Bossy,” a driver shouted, but put her rig in gear. Ten minutes later, the squad was back, a brown plastic bag held gingerly in the petty officer’s left hand. The five IDs were in it, along with three watches and five wallets. The remnants of a glass bottle had soaked them in whiskey when it had shattered. Gunny scowled.
The bossy one watched. “Guess that got by yesterday’s shift. We were told to keep an eye out for anything that looked Navy, but a bottle of whiskey in a plain brown wrapper, can see how they missed it.”
“Yeah,” Gunny growled. “Saddle up, crew.”
“Got to go so soon? You know, word is, some mines are gonna be opening up soon. Hurtford could use people like you guys. Az don’t always look like that.”
The dozer driver pulled the hat from her head, slowly shaking out long blonde strands, and seductively lowered the zipper on her coveralls. It was all that was covering her. Several marines whistled. “I like big men,” she cooed.
“Saddle up, marines. Now!” Gunny growled as he stepped between Az and the staring privates. Boobs like Az’s were hard to turn away from, but a mad Gunny was something to avoid. The troops loaded up. Damned if the girl wasn’t totally out of the coveralls, standing there in work boots, a smile and nothing else. She got whistles, marriage proposals, and propositions, but Gunny got the trucks moving, his last out.
“Good try,” he called to Bossy.
“For today. See you tomorrow.”
The drive back to the airstrip was by a different route; Gunny took no chances now that his team’s presence was known. Still, they met nothing that could be called opposition. Some kids, playing ball in the street, had been slow to get out of their way, but he saw nothing that looked organized. As they cleared town, he called ahead.
“Chief, anything interesting?”
“I got a good cardiac fingerprint of two rabbits making more rabbits. Other than that, it’s been peace and quiet personified. What about you?”
“Your second class almost got some good cardiacs of people making more people, and me having a heart attack, but other than that, no trouble.”
“Gunny, boys and girls give you a heart attack. I’m shocked. I never took you for a virgin.”
“How is your reluctant virgin?”
“Watcher’s still where you left him. Hasn’t moved.”
“Tell the bos’n to get ready to cast off as soon as we get back. I’m gonna leave the rigs down here.”
“Righto.”
Dismounting as the truck came to a halt, Gunny was met by Corporal Hetec and Chief Max. “As soon as my troops are back aboard, recover your security detail,” he told the corporal, then turned to the chief. “What’s happening?”
“Nothing. Our unknown has rolled over twice, but mostly he just stares at us.”
“Time to fish or cut bait. Any sign of a weapon?”
“None, but that don’t mean there ain’t one.”
“Tell me about it,” Gunny said, ducking under the nose of the launch to get a better look at where their observer l
urked. Nothing was visible in the half-meter-high stalks of grain. “Okay, Chief, you go aboard. Corporal, you get ready to come out here real fast if I need you.”
“Yes, Gunny,” the corporal and the chief answered.
Straightening his back a smidge to return it to the proper ramrod posture of a Marine Gunnery Sergeant, and to toss off the doubts of the unknown, Gunny began a properly cadenced march across the tarmac. Soon his boots crunched dirt and crops. He kept his eyes straight on the place Chief Max said hid their question mark. About halfway there, Gunny halted. “Stranger, we’ve got what we came for, so we’re leaving. You got something you want to say?”
A man in jeans and a plaid shirt stood. Gray showed around his temples. He kept his hands in clear view. “Don’t know.”
“I left you alone out here as long as I could. You’re gonna have to talk, come with us, or wave good-bye. Your call.”
The guy glanced off to the north. “Can I trust you?”
“Good question. You can trust me for a beer, if the locals will take my money. Beyond that, it depends.”
“Can I trust you with my daughter’s life?”
That gave the Gunny pause. He had no kin that he was aware of, no son or daughter depending on him. “If your daughter is with my lieutenant, you can trust me. We will get them back.”
The man’s deep sigh turned into a shudder that shook his whole body. “That’s the problem. I don’t know.”
“How many sons of bitches you got running around this planet stealing people?”
“A month ago I’d have said none. I hope to God there’s only one bunch now.”
“Then I think we’re after the same bastards.” The Gunny paused, trying to understand the agony chasing across the face of the poor man in front of him. “Listen. We got a good skipper. We got good people here. If there’s any way we can get your daughter back, we will. We want the bastards that got our people. We want them bad.”
“I want the bastards that got my Ruth.” The man walked in.
• • •
Izzy studied the farmer seated to her left at the conference table. Gunny Griz sat to his left. The XO and Sensors were on her other side. “You know something about my missing personnel?”
“No, ma’am, but I do know my daughter went missing the same night your people did. Who did it left a note in her room telling me to go back where I belonged and not to talk to you.”
“You didn’t then,” Stan said gently. “Why now?”
The man sighed like it might be his last breath. “You got to understand. Folks around here agree on everything. Most of the time, that’s no problem. Even with the Unity heavies, we figured out what they wanted. When the men they drafted didn’t show up, we got hit with fines. Paid the fines and everybody was happy. They didn’t really want people running around in uniforms. Who’d invade Hurtford Corner? They wanted money they could ship off planet. We got them pharmaceuticals and furs. I understand the city folks signed on for some mining.”
“So that’s why the mining contracts?” Izzy said. Word around the wardrooms was that there might have been more financial interests promoting the war fever than hit the vids. Am I staring part of it in the face?
“Folks at the dump today said there’d be a need for plenty of new hands when the mines opened up real soon,” Gunny added.
“Did somebody try to recruit your troopers, Gunny?”
“A mite bit, ma’am. Nothing we couldn’t turn down.”
Izzy wanted to do something to put her people off limits; that would have to wait. “Are we the only ones losing people?”
“I don’t think so,” Sensors said softly. Igor might as well have shouted it. Four heads swiveled to him like seekers in terminal lock. “The city net is pretty easy to track. Lots of messages. Pretty overwhelming. But we set up a search on ‘didn’t show up for work today’ or ‘didn’t come home last night.’ We got several dozen hits. Skipper, there are a lot of people missing. Why hasn’t the city manager mentioned that?”
Izzy leaned back in her chair. “Curiouser and curiouser.” She turned to the farmer. “Mr. Edris, have other station people disappeared?”
“That’s what brought us to town. One of our stations was burned last week. Those not killed were carried off. A trading post also got ransacked. Its owner was killed and the rest of the people disappeared. For the last two, three months we’ve had single folks, usually teenagers, go missing. We don’t have runaways like we had where I grew up on LornaDo. If a kid can’t get along with his folks, there’s usually someone willing to take him in, give him a man-size job and see if he’s ready to carry it. A boy or girl don’t just take off for the hills. Until lately. Caused a lot of wondering. Then the Abdoes place got attacked in broad daylight. There’s no question for me. Something new is going on. Why? I don’t know. But something’s changed.”
“Who’s doing it?” Stan asked.
“Damned if I know. We’ve always had slackers, usually kids, some of them old enough to know better, folks who don’t fit in, don’t want much out of life. They get along doing odd jobs. City collects most. When Unity showed up, nobody minded when they slapped them into uniform. Most of them didn’t know what to do with a gun, but they did like to swagger. Now Unity’s gone, and so are most of the guns.” The farmer’s eyes worked their way slowly around the table. “Now some of our people are gone, too. I was a soldier once, on LornaDo. I never expected I’d want to carry a gun again. But sergeant, if you got a spare weapon, I’d be grateful for it.”
Izzy leaned back in her chair, stroking her chin, trying to order her thoughts. Problems you could solve with a personal weapon were nice; she doubted this problem was that easy. She wished it was night; would someone arrange three fires in a triangle again? It was still four hours until dark. She had people missing; the farmers had people missing. They were squawking. Town people were missing, and no one said boo.
“Comm, get me the city manager.”
“Yes, ma’am,” came immediately, followed only a moment later by a “Hello.”
“Mr. Shezgo, I understand that my personnel aren’t the only ones who went missing after your party. Some of your town folks didn’t make it home.”
There was a long pause on the city manager’s side. “I haven’t heard anything about that. How many?”
Igor counted down his list. “Seventeen, to be exact.”
“Seventeen! That’s impossible. I’d have heard about it.” Izzy listened intently. There was shock and denial in his voice. But cover-up? Without body language, it was hard to tell.
“We’ve monitored phone calls about them.” Igor didn’t give any ground.
“Mr. Shezgo, would missing people have been reported to you?” Izzy asked.
“One or two, no. Seventeen—yes, I should have been informed.”
“By whom?”
He didn’t answer that one. “Do you have the list of people you say are missing? Could I have it?”
Izzy glanced at Igor. He shrugged. “Shoot him a copy of the names.” The sensors officer tapped his personal board.
“I have it” came from the comm unit. “I’ll call you back in a bit. I need to look into this.”
Izzy cleared her throat. “Mr. Shezgo, I’m not sure it would be a good idea to talk that list over with whoever should have brought it to your attention. Looks to me like somebody’s introduced a new game in town down there.”
“You might be right,” Shezgo said distractedly. “I’ll get back with you real soon.”
Izzy sat forward in her seat. “Anybody want to take a bet we never hear from that guy again?”
She got no takers.
• • •
Mikhail Shezgo went down the list. Yep, seventeen. He printed it, wiped the call, and stuffed the hard copy in his pocket. As he left his office, he nodded to Henry, who covered his office on Thursdays. “I’m going home for a late lunch. Be back in an hour.” He was halfway through his four-block walk home when he turned left inst
ead of right. Five minutes later, he ducked into the cool shade of his cobbler’s shop. Nicholas, as usual, greeted his customer by glancing at his feet, not his face. “There is nothing wrong with those shoes.”
“No, friend. May I use your phone?”
Now Nicholas did look up, squinting. “So the great man cannot get his phone to work. I always said you should get a real job.”
“And someday I will. Now, can I use your phone, today?”
“Yes, yes. You know where it is.” And the cobbler went back to his last.
Mikhail called the first two numbers, then skipped halfway down the list, then called the last one. Each call was different, but the same. No, he or she wasn’t home. No, he or she hadn’t been home for two nights. No, he or she hadn’t been heard from. Stuffing the list back in his pocket, Mikhail thanked Nicholas and stepped back outside. Seventeen people in my town are gone and nobody told me!
Turning back for city hall, Mikhail headed, his temper heating, for the Office of Public Safety. As he turned the corner, he came to a complete stop. Public Safety would have gotten the calls. Indeed, three of the four people he’d talked to had specifically mentioned calling in the missing person. Public Safety should have briefed him on the situation. Seventeen people. That’s more than a situation. That’s a…
Someone in Public Safety had kept the information from him. Mikhail drew the list out of his pocket again, went over the names. He’d never met any of these people. Probably nobody he knew had ever met any of them. They were little people who could go missing and never be missed by anyone who’d raise a stink.
The list was well chosen.
Mikhail turned at the next corner. His path was random now. He needed someone he could depend on. He had no idea who.
• • •
Izzy was halfway through her in-basket, and beginning to worry her joke about the city manager never getting back to them was too damn close to the mark, when her comm screen lit up.
“Those people are missing, and somebody down here doesn’t want me to know about it,” Shezgo started without preamble. “I’m not calling from my office, but I can’t talk long. I’ll be spending the rest of the afternoon trying to collect people I think I can trust, then I’ll take on my Office of Public Safety.”