“They will know. We must tell them, Sheriff Fry. Very muchly we must,” Mast pleaded. “And the beacons, too. They will not move. If they are like my people, they will have lived here for bazillion generations.”
“A bazillion?”
“I learn it from you. The saying is correct, yes? I think it means many, many. They live here long time.”
“We’ll go with many, many, Mast. Yes. I suspect you are correct, and they have lived here for a long time.”
The sheriff slowed the flyer in the most fuel-efficient manner, touching down outside a cave mouth. He shut the flyer down, climbed from his seat, and opened the door. Maximus was instantly awake and bolted out the door into the scorching heat of the Ungwilook desert.
The sheriff was hit by the dust as it boiled into the flyer. He pulled his collar across his face and powered outside with Mast close behind. He tapped the control to seal the flyer before it filled with the offending substance.
“Maximus!” the sheriff called out before choking. He turned to face downwind and yelled again. The pig-dog was nowhere to be seen. “I’m not leaving without my fat dog!”
“Are we leaving already?” the deputy wondered aloud.
“No,” Thad replied from behind his collar. He wondered why he thought about leaving without Maximus, but shook it off. “Let’s get into the cave, Mast. You lead the way.”
The Unglok headed toward the nearby hillside, his gangly stride unaffected by the hot wind. When they arrived, they found Maximus sitting inside, looking dumpy.
“You probably wondered what the hell we were doing out there, didn’t you, boy?” Maximus dog-smiled at them, then leaned sideways. “Run!”
The sheriff took off into the darkness with Mast Jotham close behind. “Why do we run?”
Thad slowed. “Because the air was about to get toxic. We’re better off down here, or outside.”
“I am not believing that we would be better off outside. It is muchly bad out there.” Mast nodded emphatically, before he started to cough and gag. He had his hands on his knees as the cough racked his body.
“It is muchly bad by the entrance, too. I’m talking about you, you vile hellspawn!” The sheriff shook a finger at Maximus, his tongue lolling and head leaning sideways as if it was too heavy for his broad shoulders.
“They know we’re here,” the deputy said in a low voice after wiping the blood-specked spittle on his sleeve.
The sheriff jerked his head around, squinting into the dark recesses of the cave. His hand naturally went to the blaster at his side. Mast saw the movement and quickly gripped the sheriff’s arm.
Four Ungloks appeared from the shadows. This group was far shorter than Mast, but as thin. The sheriff would have thought of them as children if he hadn’t recognized the signs of aging. Two were old, bordering on ancient, and the other two could have been Mast’s age, give or take a couple decades.
“Greetings and good morning,” Mast said in his language. The sheriff understood the words and followed suit by repeating them.
The Ungloks said something in return, which Thad didn’t understand. He looked to Mast to clarify. The deputy held his hands up and shook his head.
“Can you speak more slowly,” Mast said loudly and slowly. Thad stifled a laugh. Just because they didn’t speak the same dialect as Mast didn’t mean they were deaf.
The one that appeared to be the oldest approached. He stopped before the trio, looking over each of them, but spending the most time studying Maximus. When he started to speak again, he spoke slowly. Mast didn’t smile, but he nodded as he listened carefully.
After the elder’s monologue, Mast replied with a simple thank you. He turned to the sheriff.
“The elder is from a group called the Kuskokwell. His spirit quest took him around the planet, taking many years. He spent time with my people, but that was muchly long ago. His Unglok is rusty.”
“That is amazing, Mast.” The sheriff breathed a sigh of relief before nodding to the elder. “We didn’t know you were here, but now that we do, we would like to start and maintain an open dialogue. If there is anything we can do for you, please let us know.”
Mast watched the elder for a response.
“I think you’ll have to interpret for me,” the sheriff suggested.
“Oh! Yes, of coursely.” Mast started speaking, slowly and softly. The other members of the elder’s short contingent joined him to stand shoulder to shoulder.
When Mast finished, the elder replied, but only briefly. He waved and his contingent walked away. With one last look, he joined them, disappearing into the darkness.
“We go home now?” Mast asked.
“No!” The sheriff was more emphatic than he intended. He shook his head and held out his hands as he watched Maximus sniff where the Ungloks had been. The pig-dog peed on the wall. “What did the old man say?”
“He said that the best thing we can do for them is leave them in peace, after bringing lots of food.”
“I think we can arrange regular food shipments, but that will require not leaving them in peace. How many people need to be fed?”
“The elder did not say, Sheriff Fry.”
“That makes things more of a challenge.” Thad licked his lips. The desert dryness penetrated into the cave. How deep? They would probably never find out. “We’ll get what we can and adjust from there. In the interim, let’s put up some boundary markers. How far away from the cave mouth do you think we should start?”
“As muchly far as humans will accept,” the deputy answered, vigorously bobbing his head.
“I think that is the smartest thing you’ve ever said, Mast Jotham. You understand humans better than I.” The sheriff clapped his deputy on the shoulder. “Come on, Maximus, time to set up some markers and then go home.”
The pig-dog snuffled as he trotted past, stopping at the cave entrance. When the human and Unglok powered into the wind on their way to the flyer, Maximus ran after them.
***
“You put the ass in assayer!” Shaunte Plastes yelled, her fists clenched, her arms shaking with rage.
Phango Kutter strolled to the window and looked out, seemingly unconcerned. “You have a nice view.” He turned back to look Shaunte over from head to toe. He was thin, short, and weasley, with wire-rim glasses. His standard service jumpsuit bore the three stripes of management.
She wasn’t sure that the man was talking about the view from the window or inside the office. Her consolation came from the fact that she knew she could beat him in a straight up fistfight, even wearing her nice dress. Shaunte contemplated removing one of her high-heels and beating him with it. The thought brought her a certain measure of peace.
“I think Mister Goldman is skimming. There is a discrepancy of two-point-four percent between what goes into the processing plant versus what comes out.”
“I think you’re looking for gremlins where they don’t exist.” Shaunte leaned back in her chair, making sure that her dress didn’t pull above her knees. She crossed her arms to block his view of her breasts. “What’s the usual loss rate?”
“It shouldn’t be more than two percent!” he answered, furling his brow and taking a quick step toward the desk, before stopping himself. “A point-three percent rate with our volume is worth hundreds of thousands of credits!”
He became animated a second time, waving his arms around. Money had a tendency to bring out the worst in the assayer.
“We have old equipment, leftovers that the inner system deemed acceptable for use on a frontier world. What equipment did the two percent rate come from?” she asked.
He thought for a moment. “I don’t know,” he admitted in a small voice.
“Apples and oranges. There is no proof of skimming because there is no skimming. I bet we’re running better than comparable equipment elsewhere because Elliott Goldman is good at his job. We are happy to have him, so stop making spurious allegations and making him uncomfortable! In other words, stop being a dick.�
�
Phango clamped his mouth shut and crossed his arms, mirroring Shaunte’s pose. His jaw worked as if words were trying to come out, but couldn’t get past his teeth. She watched him fight with himself, amused by his facial expressions.
“I am the assayer, and you will listen to me,” he finally managed to say.
“You are the assayer. I did listen to the nonsense that came out of your mouth. And now, it’s time for you to leave.”
“What are you going to do about it?”
“Nothing. Now, get out.” She tipped her head toward the door.
“I never!” he exclaimed in mock disdain.
“I doubt that. It seems like every time you come in this office, the result is the same. When you assay the final products, you do a great job. Focus on that, spend your time doing what you’re good at. Sleuthing doesn’t seem to be your thing. If you think someone’s stealing, go to the sheriff, then to me.” She pointed toward the door.
“I went to the sheriff.”
“What did he tell you?” Shaunte uncrossed her arms and leaned forward, expecting the small man to lie.
“He told me to get out.”
“I see a trend.” Shaunte leaned back, satisfied that the man was honest with her. “What are you still doing here?”
He put his fists on his hips as he tried to make himself look bigger than he was. Shaunte suspected her biceps were bigger, and she rarely worked out, something she wanted to change. She thought about the lack of equipment. The sheriff had his tire and his practice field. She wondered if he would mind her tagging along. She looked good, but felt like she was losing muscle tone. She flexed her arm and looked at it.
Weak, she thought. He can’t like weak women, not if that ex-wife of his was anything to go by. She got up from her desk and went to her window to look down at the empty lot across the street.
When she turned around, she realized that Phango Kutter had gone.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
“It’s been three months. Do you think they called it off?” the sheriff asked, seated in a small chair before Shaunte’s desk.
The sheriff had waited until the proprietor was absent before making his move.
He’d finally taken one of the chairs from the Mother Lode’s main floor and carried it up the steps. Dixie laughed the whole time, because Pierre was nowhere to be seen.
Shaunte sat sideways in her chair, leaning against her desk as the sheriff did. Their arms were casually draped across the desktop, their hands dangerously close to touching.
“The first payment came through last week,” she whispered, looking into her lap as if there was something to see. She didn’t want to look at him.
“Defense ministry doesn’t give money for no reason,” Thad said, looking at the window. He was trying to commiserate, but he couldn’t see the downside unless TerroCom started bombing the natives.
“I told my dad the new coordinates and he gave me his personal guarantee that the military would stay within the boundaries.”
“The same guarantee that they weren’t coming here at all?” Thad turned toward her, resting his chin on his shoulder.
“That was different,” she deflected, unable to make more of an argument. Only her gut told her that it was different.
“Maybe Mast and I should take a load of food to drop off. You know, to maintain good relations with the locals.” He smiled at the Company Man.
She ran one finger along the back of his hand, watching as goose bumps appeared on the sheriff’s arm.
He pulled his hand away and tucked it below the edge of the desk. “Give the warehouse a call and tell them to move that pallet to the flyer. Mast and I will be on our way in just a few.” The sheriff stumbled over the chair as he ran for the door.
Shaunte watched him go. So much energy.
“You would rather face an entire military unit carrying live ammunition than spend another two minutes trapped in an office with little old me.” She smiled and tilted her head demurely. “Until next time, Thaddeus Fry.”
She thought about Dixie for a moment, thinking that the two women weren’t that different.
“But we are.” Her face turned hard as she stared at the closed door. “Very. Different.”
***
“Lock your bodies at the position of attention!” Sergeant Craken roared. There was a single pop as the men and women of TerroCom immediately responded.
“At ease,” the general said loud enough for all to hear. The rustle of people relaxing quickly subsided. “The next phase of your training is the live-fire phase. Living on an unimproved planet, in the harshness of a wild desert, you will move and shoot and move some more. Over ten thousand square kilometers, nothing but you and your virtual enemies that you will destroy with very real munitions.”
“Begging the general’s pardon, sir. Which planet are we going to?” one of the recruits asked.
Craken started to answer, but General Quincy stopped him.
“Does it matter?” the general asked, walking toward the soldiers. “In the old days, it would not have mattered where you were going, only that you did what you were told when you got there, but TerroCom is different. We want you as much for your minds as your bodies.
“You will be going to a planet called Ungwilook. It is also known as Darklanding, after SagCon’s mining settlement. We have secured a hundred thousand square kilometers on the opposite side of the planet from those facilities. It is there that you will gain proficiency in a broad range of weaponry, from explosives to rockets and everything in between. Let’s not kill anyone during the training cycle, okay? You’ll get your chance soon enough with a real enemy.”
A cheer rose from the two hundred and four people who had completed the first phase of TerroCom training. A second group numbering one hundred were already on Centauri Prime with a third group soon to follow.
A battalion worth of elite soldiers, a small footprint with a big impact. Mobile and highly survivable. The general had a good feeling about the unit he was building. Maybe a whole division with smaller and faster starships, packed with the latest technology. A hornet’s nest that enemies didn’t want coming down around their heads.
Craken reveled at the response. In his case, it was pure luck that he was there. He didn’t have any special experience beyond having the right attitude and believing in what was possible. He had been in the right place at the right time and now, he felt like he was a part of something special.
He was on the ground floor of the future. A better future with a military that was as lethal as he envisioned it could be. It was so close, he could taste it.
“I can’t wait to squeeze off a few rounds,” he said, more to himself than the general.
“I think we’ll be squeezing off more than a few, Sergeant.” The general returned Craken’s grin with one of his own, before slapping the sergeant on the arm. “Transport will be here in three days. Let’s clean up the area and get the troops ready to go. It’ll take us a couple weeks to get there, and then we’ll be on Darklanding for a month. The advance party should arrive any day now.”
***
Thad kept trying to pronounce the words. “Ann-bee-a-flag.”
Mast grimaced and rolled his head in anguish.
“The sounds must flow, and much lower. You are singing the song of my people, and we are all bass!”
The sheriff started to laugh. “Where did you learn that?”
“Some of us are in the Darklanding Choir, making such goodly music.”
“WHAT?” Thad leaned back until Maximus yelped. “Sorry, buddy. Darklanding has a choir and Ungloks sing in it.”
“Yes.”
“I don’t know what to say.”
“I say you need to get out more. Yes, that is what I say.”
Thad worked hard at raising one eyebrow to look mildly surprised. “I say that I get out plenty. Maybe I like to sing, too.”
It was Mast Jotham’s turn to look amused. “No. I have heard Thaddeus Fry, and there
is no melody within. No melodies for you, my sheriff friend.”
“That cuts me deep, Mast. I always think of myself as willing and able to carry a tune.”
“I think of myself as taller and better looking. They say thinking it does not make it true.”
“Ann-bee-a-flag. What does that mean again?”
“Climb. It means climb. Ungloks do much climbing. This is important word. You learn it right now.”
“Sumbitch, Mast.” Thad turned and looked out the front window.
“AnbeAHflang. I climb. AnbeOHflang. He climbs. It is simple. Say after me. AnbeAHflang coketir. I climb the hill.”
“Climb whatever you want, Deputy Jotham. I need to think. What if we find the military there? What leverage do we have? What if we don’t find anything?”
“I very muchly want to find nothing. We deliver the food and go home. My wife and children are waiting for me.”
“YOUR WIFE AND CHILDREN?” Thad howled, throwing his hands up and fixing his deputy with the hairy eyeball.
“I pull your short leg.” Mast shook as he laughed in the Unglok way.
Thad snorted and laughed so hard that he started coughing. He choked until he stopped. Tears ran down his face. “You pull my leg, not my short leg. There is no pulling of that. Not here on Ungwilook anyway.”
Mast crossed his arms in the human gesture of dissatisfaction. “I think now you are pulling my short leg.”
“No! I’m not pulling anyone’s short leg. You don’t have a wife and children?” Thad asked tentatively as he tried to reground himself and his understanding of the Unglok deputy.
“No wife. No children, unfortunately. Maybe someday soon, but being deputy is hurting my courting time.”
“What does that even look like? A little spelunking, Mast Jotham?” The sheriff appreciated his joke. The deputy didn’t get it.
“We take long walks through the tunnels, but with the arrival of humans, the walks are more and more often outside. The sky and the stars are too big for us. It is not natural.”
Mast shifted uncomfortably. The seat in the flyer was designed for a human copilot, not a tall and gangly Unglok.
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