Darklanding Omnibus Books 01-03: Assignment Darklanding

by Scott Moon

“More manpower and overtime will probably give us what we need. What?” he yelled the question at someone to the side of his screen. “I have to go. I’ll call when I have more.”

  The comm window on her screen went dark. She looked at the pay system icon, hesitating before clicking it. She grimaced as she clenched her teeth.

  A knock on her door stayed her hand and gave her a brief respite from having to pull the trigger on OT. All OT was taken out of her direct compensation. It was the right thing to do, but she’d already burned a number of hours earlier that month.

  “Dammit,” she whispered and leaned back without opening the pay system. “Come!”

  The door opened and the sheriff leaned in. He didn’t enter because he was carrying a dusty chair. “You can cancel the requisition for a chair. I’m good,” he told her and reached for the door handle.

  “Wait,” she said. He held the door with his free hand. “There’s been an accident at the mine. Roof cave-in. I’m going to send some extra manpower down there on OT. If you could go and help, I’d appreciate it. You’ll be my personal representative on site.”

  Thaddeus Fry put the chair down, looked at it, and then angled it through the doorway.

  Shaunte threw her hands up as she came out of her seat. “What are you doing?”

  “Hey! I just acquired this. I’m not going to leave it out here for someone to go south with it. I need to go to the mine. No time to waste. Please. Watch my chair.” He asked so sincerely, Shaunte nodded as she sat back down. The sheriff closed the door on his way out.

  Shaunte found herself staring at the raggedy chair occupying the center of her office.

  ***

  The sheriff hurried through the main area of the Mother Lode. He tapped Mast Jotham on the shoulder. “Cave-in at the mine. Both Ungloks and humans trapped. They need our help. Come on, Jotham, we need to go.”

  The miners, obvious from their working-class jumpsuits, watched him, and some leaned forward in their chairs. They were waiting.

  “Overtime is authorized,” he said boldly. The group of men and women jumped up with a yell. A couple slapped the sheriff on the back as they raced toward the door.

  “Come on!” Thad yelled over his shoulder as he ran to catch up. He didn’t want to get left behind because he wasn’t sure where the mine was. He heard the footsteps of the lanky Unglok follow him out.

  The group had already flagged down a trolley and kicked the other workers off as they requisitioned the only ride out of town. Mast Jotham ducked on his way through the door, and the sheriff was the last on board. As soon as the door shut, the driver jammed the pedal to the floor, sending the sheriff staggering down the aisle.

  Hands grabbed at him. Not to help, but to keep him from falling on them.

  “Crack-snacker!” Thad yelled at the driver. He waved away the odd looks and squeezed in next to Mast Jotham. “Let’s go save some lives, huh?”

  “They say that saving a life is the highest form of respect. That is what they say.” The alien continued to face forward with his knees braced against the seat in front of him, one hand gripping the seat back and the other an overhead strap.

  “Is that what they say?”

  “Very muchly so,” Jotham replied.

  “Then we need to go show some respect. Will you watch out for me, Mast Jotham?” the sheriff asked casually.

  “Yes,” the alien answered as he turned to look at the new sheriff. “You trust me this much already?”

  “I confess that I trust everyone that much until someone proves they can’t be trusted, then they’ll find out that it wasn’t worth it. Say what you’re going to do, and then do it. Easiest way to earn trust.”

  “It is.”

  “Are you going to do that for me, watch my back?”

  “Yes. I will watch your back,” the alien stated matter-of-factly.

  “Does that mean the same thing here on Ungwilook as it does among the humans?” Thad asked skeptically.

  “Yes. It is a human expression. I know what it means and it means what you intend it to mean. Very muchly so.”

  “It’s a deal, my friend. I have no doubt that you’ll regret the day you met me. By the way, there aren’t a whole lot of benefits to being my friend.”

  “I don’t know what to say to that,” the alien replied.

  “Perfect.” Thad leaned back and watched the world go by. Out of town and down a road that had been cut on a straight line to the mine. Ungwilook would be forever scarred by the dirt superhighway that had been built.

  That didn’t matter now. It was easier and quicker to get to the mine. Ten minutes after the group departed the Mother Lode, the trolley slammed to a stop in front of the mine compound. The miners hurried off the bus and started running. The sheriff followed.

  They knew where they were going. He didn’t.

  Mast Jotham loped along at the sheriff’s side. He ran with a syncopated gait that the sheriff couldn’t watch as it threw him off stride. Someone was outside a building built against the mountain.

  A man was briefing the newcomers. The sheriff and Mast slowed and then stopped. A few other Ungloks stood outside the small crowd of humans. Thad stood with them, every bit an outsider as they had become.

  “We are working on the first blockage now. There’s no room for more people in that front area. You know that! As soon as the close fall is cleared, we’ll move into the junction beyond. That’s when you’ll be needed most. Save your energy for now, but gear up and be ready. It could be ten minutes from now or ten hours.”

  Pavel Stasenko was not a tall man, but he spoke confidently. He was comfortable as he knew these people. They were just like him.

  Miners.

  Thad saw the camaraderie. These people were brothers-in-arms. Just like what he’d enjoyed in the service. Outside, no one cared who you were or what you did. It was the soldier fighting on each side of him. They mattered.

  He fought for them.

  That was what the miners were itching to do. They wanted to be comfortable knowing that if they were trapped within the mine, their fellows would move Heaven and Earth to get to them.

  Pavel jumped down from the crate he’d been standing on. He was intercepted by a number from the crowd. They all shook hands before Pavel excused himself and headed for the double-doors that led to the mine entrance. Thad jogged past the group.

  He tapped Pavel on the shoulder. The man turned and looked at the sheriff’s badge pinned on a clean and new jumpsuit.

  Thad dispensed with the small talk. “My name is Thaddeus Fry. Tell me how I can help.”

  “Are you a miner?” Pavel asked.

  “No.”

  “Then stay out of our way.” Pavel turned and went into the building. Outlined in the darkness ahead was a round cave mouth with a well-used road leading into it and down. Two strings of lights traced a line ahead, into the depths of the mountain. The sounds of heavy work echoed from the mine.

  “But I know people who are miners,” Thad added softly after Pavel had gone.

  The sheriff returned to Jotham’s side. “What are you guys going to do?” he asked the alien.

  “I think nothing. Yes. They have not asked for our help. We are here. We will wait. They will not ask, and then we will leave,” Jotham said.

  “Aren’t you naturals underground?” the sheriff wondered.

  “We are born to it. It is where we prefer to live. Our homes are on the other side of Darklanding. In those hills.” The alien pointed with a skinny finger at the end of a boney arm. The sheriff looked into the distance. The town’s outline was dimmed by the blowing dust. Far beyond, Thad could barely make out the mountains.

  The terrain on Ungwilook was forbidding, rough, and dry. It was cold, like a desert trapped in the arctic. And it was lucrative, wealth built on the backs of the humans and aliens.

  “Screw this. You guys know mining, right?” the sheriff asked his alien friend.

  Jotham bobbed his head and smiled, his race’s way of
laughing. “They say we know mining.”

  “I expect they are right, my man. Let’s go in with the others. All the Ungloks. Your people and my people are trapped in there. We are in this together, right?”

  “That is right. We will help. You have asked. Thank you.”

  Thad looked sideways at the alien, wondering why they had to be asked before committing to go into the mine and free their own.

  Helping people to help themselves. It was how Thaddeus Fry had always lived his life. He’d found better friends for it. And he’d found too many who wanted something done for them. That didn’t fly with him. He could only carry so many on his back.

  And they were all in the form of ex-wives. He shook his head, forcing those thoughts into the deep recesses where they belonged. Thad expected he wasn’t the only one in Darklanding staying far away from former lovers. It was easier to run and hide than face them. Comm was too expensive to the frontier for any of his exes to spring for a call.

  He sure as hell wasn’t going to pay for it.

  He suspected he’d be paying some of the miners’ overtime out of his own salary. Thad wore the sleeve stripes of management. All management was personally liable for costs above approved amounts. He tried counting the miners going into the gear shed as they lined up to check out their helmets, lights, respirators, and gloves.

  “I’m not going to get paid for six months,” he said.

  “Why is that?” Mast Jotham asked.

  “I’m sorry. I was thinking out loud. You do what you have to do, right?”

  “If you have to do it, then yes. That is what they say.”

  The sheriff looked at the alien but didn’t reply. The other Ungloks had gotten in line behind them as they waited for their gear.

  “Explain to me what I’m going to get and what it’s for so I don’t look like an idiot,” the sheriff whispered

  Jotham pointed and explained each piece of equipment as miners in the front received theirs and walked away.

  As Thaddeus Fry and the contingent of Ungloks reached the counter, the man checking out equipment raised one eyebrow.

  “Do you have a card on file and the appropriate training to go into the mine.”

  “I do not.” The sheriff was hopelessly honest.

  “Sign here and you’ll need an escort at all times. Don’t get yourself killed because I don’t want to do the paperwork.” The clerk wore a support services jumpsuit. He wasn’t a miner either, just a logistics guy who maintained the equipment and its accountability. Two birds with one stone. No one had a single task in the frontier. The Company wouldn’t pay for that.

  Thad looked at the form. Financial liability across the board. If he was injured, all rescue costs, including funeral and burial, would be taken out of wages earned. If those weren’t sufficient to cover costs, then personal property was forfeit up to and including the costs of selling such property.

  “Do ex-wives count as financial assets?” the sheriff asked, trying to sound lighthearted.

  The clerk only looked at him as he tapped a pen impatiently. Thad signed the form and handed it back. He took his “Escort Required” badge and clipped it to his chest pocket. He gathered up the foreign gear and stepped aside as he waited for Mast Jotham and the others.

  The clerk handed the gear over without saying a word to them.

  They gathered to the side where the Ungloks put on their gear and then laughed and snorted as they watched Thad work through how to put it all on. Jotham stepped in to give instruction, which quieted the others. The sheriff took it as a good sign that they could laugh about him while lives were in jeopardy close by.

  When they received the call, they would all hurry into the mine and help out where needed.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Foreman P.C. Dickles had grown impatient with the measured movements of the work crew. They were in a bottleneck of the mine, the worst place for a cave-in. If they installed temporary roof supports, they’d block themselves out from clearing the fall.

  He finally asked them to step aside as he directed placement of two roof supports on one side of the tunnel. He rammed the hand dozer through the clear space to push the rubble further into the mine where it opened up just beyond the fall. Pebbles rained down on his hardhat.

  P.C. was short for Paulo Coelho, named by his mother who was an avid reader. P.C. had never read any of his works out of spite, which led him to not read anything that wasn’t a technical manual.

  People said that made him boring. He didn’t care. The only time he felt alive was in the confines of a mine. P.C. seemed to feel the pulse of the earth through the rich veins within. It was what added meaning to his life.

  Even here, in a remote corner of the galaxy. It was different but the same. The rocks of the world spoke to him.

  P.C. knew that this shaft wouldn’t come down on him, but he couldn’t explain it to the others. He doggedly rammed the walk-behind dozer again and again, until the pile started to move. He cleared a path through.

  “Get those jack stands in there!” he yelled from the other side of the fall. Men poured into the two-meter wide path that had been cleared, erecting the stands and wrenching them tightly into place.

  P.C. hurried farther into the mine with a line of miners stringing out behind him. Their headlamps shone against the drifting dust. “Respirators on!” the foreman yelled before putting his on.

  A second fall had occurred on the other side of an intersection of three tunnels. The one to the left dead-ended less than a kilometer in. The one straight ahead would take the crew where the others were trapped. The tunnel to the right went to the bottom of the mine where a short connector tunnel had been dug to marry it up with the tunnel that was straight ahead.

  P.C. put his hand against the wall and closed his eyes as he tried to feel what the mine was telling him. But it was keeping its secrets that day. He apologized to it for the disturbance. He suspected there was another cave-in that had closed off the bottom connector, but had to have it checked to be sure.

  He turned back and took stock of the miners behind him. “Pass the word, I need Stasenko up here with ten stout backs with scaling bars and a few roof jacks.” With his respirator on, he couldn’t yell. They passed the word one man to the next until it passed beyond the fall where the air was clear. He heard the echo as someone yelled toward the entrance.

  ***

  “Showtime!” Pavel shouted at the group behind him. It had only been twenty minutes since they arrived, so they were still on edge. The miners cheered and tromped after Pavel Stasenko. Thad and the aliens were silent as they brought up the rear.

  “Are you my escort?” the sheriff asked over his shoulder as he shuffled after the miners.

  “I think no,” Jotham replied, loping behind, dodging outcroppings and ducking to avoid low overhangs.

  “Don’t let me get killed in here, Mast,” Thad said sincerely when he saw the rubble from the fall and the narrow tunnel carved through it.

  “They say it is very bad to let your mine partner get killed. Very bad,” the alien explained.

  “Then we’re agreed.” They put on their respirators when they saw the others doing it as they passed through the opening. Pavel stopped to talk with a short, blocky man. He wore a working-class jumpsuit with the sleeve stripes of management.

  The foreman. P.C. Dickles.

  He looked busy so the sheriff tried to remain hidden behind some of the others. The foreman glanced at the Ungloks, but nothing more. They were miners and he respected that. Thad could see it on the man’s face.

  The sheriff was not a miner. That was evident by his service-class jumpsuit. P.C.’s eyes locked on his and he made a beeline for the sheriff.

  “What in the hell are you doing down here? What do you know about mines?” the man said angrily.

  “Not a damn thing, but they do,” the sheriff said, stabbing a thumb over his shoulder toward the aliens.

  “You touch the rocks they tell you to touch and nothing
more. I didn’t like the last sheriff, and I like you even less.” The foreman stormed off before the sheriff could reply.

  Pavel Stasenko selected his all-human crew and they jogged downhill, headed into the depths of the mine.

  ***

  Shaunte Plastes sat at her desk, unable to think. An old and worn chair watched her. She shifted uncomfortably, thinking about the new man and whether he’d return for his chair or not.

  She suspected the foreman might have him killed.

  Mining operations were held up for the second time that month. She had finally approved the overtime after a long debate with herself. She didn’t want to go a full month without pay, but she couldn’t fail. She wanted to earn her father’s respect. She knew that she wouldn’t get it. Low yield at low cost or high yield at high cost.

  Many sins were more easily forgiven with packed transports hauling the exotics to orbiting freighters.

  She needed Dickles to get the issue resolved and reopen the mine. She got up and worked her way around the desk, angling sideways to get past the chair without touching it. She left her office on her way to the restaurant. She’d grab a sandwich. It was what she did every day, always too busy to eat anywhere other than her desk.

  Shaunte was cordial to the serving staff. She waved her wrist over the recording device so the appropriate number of credits would be deducted from her wages. She stopped, grabbing an orange juice as an afterthought. She knew there wasn’t any orange juice in it, but there should have been based on what they were charging.

  When she nestled in behind her desk, the empty chair continued to look at her accusingly. “What?” she asked it.

  It continued to judge her silently.

  “You think I’m making mistakes, don’t you? Left and right. Hey, look at that! Can’t go two minutes without making another mistake. I’ll show you, you ugly-ass chair.” Shaunte harrumphed. Deciding that wasn’t good enough, she gave the chair the finger, waving it around for emphasis.

  She stopped, feeling oddly satisfied with putting the chair in its place. She smoothed her dress and ate half her sandwich before taking a small sip of her orange juice. Shaunte reached into a drawer and brought out a small bottle of clear liquid.