by Scott Moon
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 stopped 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.”
“Was the last sheriff interested in your people’s welfare?”
The Ungwilook looked at his feet and clasped his hands under his chin. “No, he was very less-ly interested.”
Thad suppressed a laugh and the urge to ask what Leslie had to do with anything.
Mast considered his words and continued his statement. “There are many prejudices against our people, but I do not believe that is the reason. Our math is an innate thing. We are very good at it. Humans cannot believe it.”
Thad adjusted his hat, and started to walk toward the Mother Lode. “Come on, Mast. I think we’ll get along okay. I’m not one to be giving math tests.”
The sheriff still didn’t have his answer to the processing plant, but he was getting closer, close enough for the day. Mast would come clean in his own good time. In the interim, Thad expected that he’d ask around.
CHAPTER FOUR: She’s a Little Runaway
Dixie sipped from a straw, tasting the sugar in the drink as she looked around with just her eyes to make sure no one was watching. She trusted the cook’s discretion, but there were limits. Raw sugar of this quality was worth killing for on Ungwilook. She couldn’t afford it even with her special investments and dividends.
She sat up straight and smoothed the front of her outfit, making sure to accentuate her form in case anyone was watching. “That is the way soda is supposed to taste. Now if I could just afford a little shot of whiskey in it.”
She swiveled on the barstool, disappointed she didn’t have an audience. Never one to linger on misfortune, she slid down. The heels of her shoes clacked like tap shoes. Tugging up her bodice with one hand, she pulled down her skirt with the other just far enough to be properly immodest but not a peep show.
She flipped her hair back. There was nothing happening in the Mother Lode. She passed the rooms in back and went to her office, which had a door leading outside. A long time ago, she had assumed she wouldn’t want anyone knowing her real occupation. Situations changed quickly on frontier worlds, as did power balances and cash flow.
On the corner of her desk was a Japanese fan—an expensive imitation of a Kabuki original. She picked it up with the flurry and waved it in front of her raised chin, pretending to be exotic. A moment later, she lowered herself into an oversized chair and propped her feet up on the desk.
A light blinked on her computer station, a sleek device that had been state-of-the-art seven years ago. She’d never really learned to use the thing.
“Wake up, computer.” The machine struggled to life, then promptly notified her that she had an appointment pending.
“How pending?” she asked.
The computer answered in a voice nearly as manly as that of the new sheriff. “Five minutes ago, little lady.”
She dropped her feet to the floor and sat up straight. Did she have time to change? No. She stood and buttoned her shirt up to hide her bodice cleavage. Then she unbuttoned it lower than before. She smoothed her skirt. She tousled her hair.
“Oh Frak!” She stepped into her undersized bathroom and brushed her hair. She went for the straight look, which meant her curly frizz was almost wavy and lustrous now—never straight as she wanted. She adjusted the button-line of her sheer blouse to its intended parameters and zipped on the second ha
lf of the skirt that covered her just below the knee.
She moved with purpose to the door. Sure enough, there was a light indicating someone was waiting in the foyer. “Humph.”
She opened the door and saw a cute girl.
The girl had auburn hair and the bluest eyes Dixie had possibly ever seen. She stood with her hands clasped in front of her like a little girl, but she wasn’t. Dixie guessed she was probably a teenager. Or she was a teenager trying to pass for a twenty-year-old woman...trying to pass for a girl.
Dixie frowned. All her current girls were simple and easily managed. The drama tended to involve getting too attached to a patron, but she didn’t think this stranger would do that. She looked like trouble.
The girl’s white blouse fit snugly. Her black skirt hugged her legs and she wore boots that touched the bottom fabric. On any other planet, it would’ve suggested she worked in the food industry, or possibly as a blackjack dealer.
On Darklanding it either meant she was rich, or hadn’t been to town before. Everyone wore jumpsuits provided by the company.
Unless you’re a madam or a CEO, Dixie thought. “Oh, get inside before someone sees you,” she said.
The girl paused. “I thought your establishment was legal out here on the frontier.”
Dixie stared at the impertinent child, then updated her assessment. “A lot of things are legal, if your daddy has money. Now come inside or go away.”
Dixie had fourteen different walks, most of them designed to entice or confuse men. There were a few she had learned that would put other women in their place. She marched toward a desk, neatly turned at the corner, then stood with both palms on the desk as she faced the girl.
The blue-eyed stranger took her time entering the office. She looked around, entirely too bored and confident for Dixie’s taste.
Spoiled child.
“Since you’re so talkative, I have some questions. Be warned, first question, if answered incorrectly, earns you a one-way ticket back to your over-privileged childhood.”
The girl smiled innocently. “I’m sorry, did I do something? I’m being rude again. It’s my upbringing.”
“What is your name, girl? What is your real name?” Dixie cursed inwardly. She’d given away the game with the question.
“My real name is Ruby Miranda,” the girl said.
Dixie crossed her arms and pressed her lips together as she stared at the so-called Ruby Miranda girl. “You want to work for me?”
“I thought I might be able to wait tables or be a hostess,” Ruby said.
“You talk to Pierre about that. Can’t con a con artist, child, you know I run the brothel,” Dixie said.
The girl folded her hands together and looked at her feet. A tear leaked from the corner of one eye. “I’m sorry, Madam Dixie. I just did not know where else to go.”
Dixie moved around the table and stopped before she could help herself. The poor child.
“Everybody thinks being rich makes life easy. But it’s not. It’s really hard. Don’t make me talk about why I ran away,” Ruby said.
Against her better judgment, Dixie stepped forward and gave the girl a hug, realizing then how short and delicate she was. Dixie wasn’t exactly tall, but this new girl only came up to her chin.
Ruby tensed, then slowly put her arms around Dixie and started to cry. Head down, her words were unintelligible.
“There, there, child. Us girls have to keep our secrets. You’re safe now. No one messes with Dixie here in the Mother Lode. “
Ruby sniffled and tried to pull away. Dixie held her tighter.
“I mmrm wnnrm ayy here,” Ruby murmured into Dixie’s cleavage.
“Everything is going to be all right now, child,” Dixie said as she patted Ruby Miranda’s back with one hand.
CHAPTER FIVE: Enforcement
Thad sipped his post-workout drink—frontier whiskey in a shot glass. He wanted to toss it back and feel the burn, but understood from experience that he might be wise to ease into the local toxins. And the price tag was truly breathtaking.
He had released Mast on family business. Now it was time to unwind and study the locals.
Two years hadn’t seemed like a long time to complete his duty obligation when he accepted the assignment to Darklanding. How dangerous could it be compared to Centauri Prime?
Probably every bit as much. Head on a swivel, Fry man, he reminded himself.
He put down the glass and sat up straighter. There were places, things, and events he didn’t let himself think about while drinking. The glass would remain on the bar until he changed his frame of mind.
Dixie strode in with a businesslike stride he’d never seen before. Her ample curves looked good. She showed less cleavage, less thigh, and more purpose. A subtle expression, stern but motherly, glinted in her eyes as her high heels tapped the wood floor.
Thaddeus motioned for another drink but kept his eyes on the unfolding scene.
Shaunte pushed through the swinging doors at the front of the Mother Lode bar like an old west gunslinger, barely slowing down—ignoring Thad completely.
I must be off my game. Thaddeus didn’t think either woman was looking for the other, but their converging vectors reminded Thad of two meteors entering the same space.
Dixie stopped, facing Shaunte, and drew herself up as tall as she could, throwing an imperious glare at Shaunte who tossed it right back at her. It looked like a photo op of two cage fighters who were set to compete for the title. Never mind that they were socially and professionally on opposite ends of the spectrum. In this moment, they were two women ready to take out their frustrations on any easy target.
Both women spoke simultaneously in the language of women where words meant more than they seemed.
“Well!” they said, turning sharply and veering away from each other at ninety-degree angles.
Thad watched Dixie approach Pierre and give him a stern lecture on a topic he apparently knew nothing about. A fragment of the conversation reached Thad’s ears.
“I’m warning you, mister. This one’s different and has my special protection,” Dixie said.
Still interested in their conversation, Thad reluctantly pulled his eyes away and saw Shaunte pacing with her hands on her hips. Her dilemma was easier to understand. He could tell when she was fighting the bottom line. As the Company Man, she had deadlines to meet and profit margins to maintain.
Dixie left, probably for her apartment above the little office she kept in the back of the building. Thad wasn’t really sure. He sat back and sipped his whiskey, planning to enjoy the show.
And that was when the trouble began.
Mast arrived, as tall and polite as ever. He offered no explanation as to where he had been, but sat next to Thad, looming over him like a tall, skinny tree.
At the same time, Shaunte moved forward in Dixie’s wake and harangued Pierre about some financial matter.
“Relax, Shaunte. Have a seat at your usual table. I’ll bring you a salad,” Pierre said.
“Oh God, no. Not the deadly Darklanding salad,” she said.
Thaddeus was curious about what a concoction that might be, but shifted his attention to a scar-faced stranger at the front door.
The man was average height, perhaps a little shorter. He was solid and had a slight gut. He had rough, workman’s hands and a brawler’s face. He lacked stripes or markings on his jumpsuit. The color was so faded, Thaddeus wasn’t sure what the man’s work class was.
Several men gathered around him, talking and laughing like he was their best friend, then took tables not far from Shaunte. Thaddeus knew there would be trouble as soon as they started getting loud and groping the young women serving drinks and food.
That man is an instigator, Thad thought.
Dixie returned and slid onto her barstool, which always accentuated her moderate height. She had slightly tousled her hair, and unbuttoned her bodice significantly. Her skirt rode up on her left leg.
The stranger laugh
ed loudly with his entourage. Several pitchers of beer were shared amongst the group. The stranger never lifted a glass. He leaned back in his chair so that two legs were off the floor as he talked with his hands clasped behind his head.
Thaddeus waited for his chance, then met the stranger’s eyes. He stared at the man for several seconds. The story the man was telling faltered but he quickly regained his momentum, swinging for the cheap seats as it were.
Shaunte, digital tablets and paper documents spread across her usual table, pushed her glasses up onto her forehead and squeezed the bridge of her nose. She abruptly stood and crossed the distance between her table and the boisterous crowd of newcomers led by the stranger.
Thaddeus massaged the back of his neck and steeled himself for trouble.
“I know who you are, and what you are. You’re not needed here,” Shaunte said, squaring her shoulders to make the most of her diminutive stature as she faced the stranger. “You’re not needed, and not in the budget.”
One of the ruffians laughed and gestured toward the stranger. “Did you hear that, Ike? She knows who you are. And doesn’t want to pay you.”
Ike’s rough face bore a scar from ear to chin by way of the bridge of his nose. His teeth were surprisingly good, if not for one missing in the front. Leather-skinned and mean-eyed, he smiled at Shaunte with a narrowed gaze that was more intimate than appropriate. He smoothed his plain workman’s jumpsuit with one hand as he stood up.
“That’s all right, Toy. I’m set up all right. Man like me just does what needs doing when it needs to be done,” the stranger called Ike said.
Shaunte crossed her arms and lowered her chin. “I’m warning you, Ike, you had better not cross me. I run a tight show here, and there’s no need for trouble.”
Ike looked around, somehow making his entire crew laugh loud enough to shake the walls. “Yeah, it looks like it.”
Thaddeus pushed his shot glass back to Pierre. “Wait about two minutes, then fill that glass and push it back to my seat.”