An Unglok Murder: Assignment Darklanding

by Scott Moon

Silence.

  "Mast?"

  “We were not exactly able to contact him. He has been sick and not answering his calls,” Mast said.

  Thaddeus groaned and looked at his feet, then raised his eyes to the door and shook his head. Lifting the tablet radio to his mouth, he attempted to keep frustration out of his voice. "All right. Just remind me to tell him about the situation before he learns of it on his own."

  "Yes, Sheriff. I will remind you."

  At the bottom of a spiral staircase, a hallway entirely too narrow and short for an Unglok stretched into darkness. Only a small bead of LED lights down the middle of the ceiling showed the way. He couldn't see his feet. Using a flashlight went against his training. Fighting at night was a specialty of Ground Forces. The moment he clicked the light on, he felt like a target. Some things he could see much better, but the shadows beyond the beam of light were impenetrable.

  If he was following the instructions correctly, he would soon find the freezer door that would be unlocked. Why wouldn’t it be? This place was not supposed to be in use, or at least not commonly known to be in use.

  And there it was. Unlocked. He pulled the handle and looked inside. Rows of tightly-packed supplies lined the shelves. He moved inside and shined his flashlight ahead of him. The first body he found was wrapped in a sheet near the end of the narrow room. It seemed like the place was just an extension of the hallway that led to it.

  He kneeled, shining his flashlight first on the body covered with a tarp and then on several other bodies covered with tarps. He lifted his tablet and activated the radio function, but did not press the send button. There had been no mention of other bodies kept here in cold storage.

  He might not be much of a homicide detective, but he knew about operational security. He knew when to use the radio and when not to broadcast that he’d found a pile of dead bodies.

  ***

  Thaddeus headed for the stairs, pausing briefly in the saloon to consider whether he wanted a drink. Pierre was still out of action, apparently. The young man he had covering for him looked tired and timid. Thaddeus wasn’t sure he trusted the kid to pour him whiskey.

  Four or five of Dixie's girls converged on his vector as he crossed the main floor. He slowed down, but resolved to keep going. They were getting a lot more touchy-feely when Dixie wasn't there to shout at them. Not that she shouted. Not that often. But she always looked like she was shouting when she chastised them, smiling and reminding them of her rules. He made his apologies and disengaged from three of the Mother Lode’s most persistent hostesses.

  An observer unfamiliar with the Mother Lode and the way things worked might think that he was running, but he didn't care. He took the steps two at a time. His legs felt fresh after several days without hitting the exercise yard. Maybe he had been overdoing it a bit.

  Shaunte’s door was closed. He knocked and went inside.

  She was wearing the black skirt-suit she had been favoring lately. He was sure it wasn't the same suit. She probably had ten of the unauthorized uniforms in her closet. She was a bit of a clothes horse, not that she would admit it. Her blonde hair cascaded over her shoulders, completely unbound except for when she pushed it up over her ears. She didn't even look up from her work.

  He watched her for a moment, marveling at her physical grace and obvious mental fortitude despite the pressure of being the Company Man. She had great skin, he realized.

  "What is it Thaddeus? I heard you coming up the stairs," she said.

  "Don't bullshit a bull-shitter, Shaunte. There's no way you could've known it was me."

  She looked up and steepled her fingers, planting her elbows on the desk. "Nobody else in Darklanding runs up the stairs, not two at a time." She hesitated for a moment. "Except for that man Dixie was involved with, but that was before your time. Never mind."

  "If I didn't know better, I'd think you were trying to make me jealous or something. Dixie is not my type, Shaunte."

  Shaunte laughed. "Oh, Thaddeus, you are so transparent. Dixie is everyone's type. Did you need something or do you just like interrupting me for no reason?"

  Thad hoped she couldn't see the color he felt rising in his cheeks. "Actually, I did come on official business. I need to see investigation files of the previous sheriff. Everything he had."

  Her blue eyes turned to ice. She didn't blink or look away. It almost seemed as though she stopped breathing. "I only want to say this once. The previous sheriff didn't keep records."

  Why did I ever leave Ground Forces? Thaddeus knew his nightmares and flashbacks would remind him of his reasons for taking this assignment, but it seemed like life had been simpler when it only involved combat. As gorgeous as Shaunte Plastes was, he didn't like her much right now. "Is that because he was ordered not to or was he just a lazy dumbass who didn't know how to do his job?"

  Shaunte held the silence, then stood. She smoothed her blouse and stepped to the corner of her desk without looking at him. It was as though he was no longer worth her time. When she finally directed her gaze his way, he realized why she was the Company Man of Darklanding.

  "You can remove yourself from my office or you can turn in your resignation and remove yourself from Darklanding. Your choice," she said.

  CHAPTER FIVE: Rolled

  Thaddeus didn't want to drink in the saloon or work out in the exercise yard. He wanted to break something, maybe get in a fight. He reviewed his interview with Shaunte, then tried to remember his other meetings with her. What had been different? Why was she such a hard-ass all of a sudden?

  He understood she was the Company Man and could never have gotten the position based solely on her looks. Those who didn’t know who her father was might have thought that was the case, but he doubted it. The Sagittarian Conglomerate only cared about results. At least this far out in the middle of nowhere. There was probably a greater density of political intrigue closer to the Melborn system.

  She was in trouble. The corporate world was dangerous. He'd always known that. Yet he'd assumed her recent triumphs had earned her praise from SagCon and that she was set for life, if not at least the rest of her career.

  Before the recent confrontation in her office, he'd been wounded that she hadn't come to him for help. Now she was all but threatening to have him sacked. Thaddeus had been thrown out of many offices in his life, a fact that he took pride in. He forced himself to put this one in perspective. This was his fault. She didn't need him to be her hero just because he wanted to ride to her rescue.

  He was still dazed by the possibility of a coverup. What had been one murder investigation was now a freezer full of bodies and no documentation from the previous sheriff as to how they came to be there. They looked like they were waiting for a coroner to examine them, but maybe they were just dead—murdered by a corrupt sheriff or rubbed out by SagCon for reasons unknown.

  Thad left the Mother Lode, strolling outside to try and clear his mind.

  Dusk covered the prefabricated buildings of Darklanding with purple shadows. The faintest sliver of a sunset disappeared behind distant mountains, and the stars emerged as the celestial spectators they were. Space freighters continued their regular approaches to the landing pads on the east side of town and dipped out of sight, just beyond the skyline of two and three-story buildings in the security fence between the spaceport and the town that it served. Thaddeus couldn't see the vehicles when they landed. He only knew where the spaceport was by watching the progress of the ships.

  He had seen a lot of commercial freighters since coming to Darklanding. Depending on the exotic ore that was being moved, the ships could be boringly uniform or incredibly diverse. Tipping his hat back and placing his hands on his hips, he watched the traffic and thought it was light tonight. He also knew from talking to Shaunte, or sometimes P. C. Dickles, that the items being carried into orbit for eventual deep space transport today had been pulled from the mines last month. That meant at least some of what was going up was from the cleanup of the train heist St
acy "White Skull" Rings had tried to pull off.

  A lot has happened since you showed up, he thought. He dropped his hands and his long coat fell back into place to cover his blaster hanging on his right leg. The weather was pleasant, despite gusts of wind. Here amongst the buildings, it wasn't so bad. Out on the mesa or down in Transport Canyon, it was probably miserable.

  "Shouldn't be out here by yourself," a voice said from behind him.

  When Thaddeus turned, he made sure his movements were neither too slow nor too fast. He swept his eyes across the scene looking for ambush points. A green soldier might turn and immediately face the threat. He understood he had to do more than that. His effort paid off when he saw two figures lurking in the shadows to the right and left of his would-be advisor.

  The men wouldn’t have snuck up on him if Maximus were there. He hadn’t seen the pig-dog since the tram ride to the Unglok neighborhood.

  He stared at the man and let his hand fall near his blaster, sliding back his coat as the man talked.

  "Are you deaf, Captain?"

  Thaddeus paused. That was different. His friends called him by name and everyone else called him sheriff or lawman.

  "You know I'm not," Thaddeus said as he adjusted his hat a bit lower. It wasn't needed, but the movement was subterfuge. He shifted his stance at the same time and positioned himself to better take on all three of his attackers.

  That was when a fourth threat announced itself as it fired something big. Whomp! On top of a single-story warehouse that looked no different than any other single-story warehouse in the area, there was a harpoon cannon—or more specifically, a net cannon. He knew the sound as soon as it fired and tried to move out of the way.

  The net struck him like a freight train, slamming him off his feet. His elbow hit the pavement and his arm went numb to his hand. He wasn't sure if he had pulled his weapon or not. What he did understand was that it wasn’t in his hand, which meant he had either dropped it or left it in the holster. All these thoughts happened instantaneously, as did the kicks and punches of his three assailants.

  He struggled against the net and by the time he thought he was almost free of it, thoroughly covered with bone-deep bruises, the fourth attacker had climbed down and joined in. Thaddeus was sure he punched at least one of them in the mouth, reaching through the net when they least expected it for a dirty jab. He grabbed somebody's fingers and wrenched them, causing a howl of pain. Their wrath came down on him like the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse.

  Fighting hard did little more than spare a fragment of his pride. He knew what this was about. They could have killed him, but didn’t. This was a message sent by express thug mail. When they finally walked away, he was too battered and exhausted to even try standing up to pursue them.

  He faded in and out of consciousness until he realized Maximus was sniffing his face.

  “Hey, stop. I’m up,” Thad said. “Where the hell were you? I thought you had my back.”

  The dog-thing snorted and rolled his eyes. Thad thought the beast looked sleepy.

  “Have you been hibernating or something? Man, you’re getting fat.”

  “Snort, snort, snort,” Maximus said. The sounds resembled profanity.

  “Yeah, yeah. I’m sorry. Just let me lie here a few minutes. Warn me if anyone comes to kick me while I’m down,” Thad said. He started to fade off when he realized Maximus was curled up next to him.

  ***

  Deputy Sheriff Mast Jotham smiled and waved at the four men approaching him. No Unglok would hail them from this distance and he doubted a human would either—not in the darkness of this moonless night. Something about their approach made him want to engage them and learn their intentions before they came too near.

  "Howdy, friend," the leader said. He was tall and lean, broad-shouldered and long-legged with a walk that reminded Mast of Sheriff Fry. “We’ve been looking for you since dusk.”

  Mast stopped. He was one step farther than he needed to be if he wanted to escape down a side street. These men seemed pleasant and respectful, but he was often wrong about humans. "I do not think you mean howdy. I do not know what it means where you are from, but I muchly hope you are not using it as an Unglok word."

  The men continued to walk, each of them staring at him intently. They smiled like it was a mean joke. Mast did not like this group.

  The leader shrugged as he continued forward. "It's just a friendly greeting.”

  “It does not sound friendly the way you say it,” Mast said, wanting to retreat but knowing Sheriff Fry would never allow these bullies to have their way.

  The man’s expression hardened. His companions lost their smiles so thoroughly that Mast doubted he had seen them imitating pleasantries in the first place.

  “You shouldn’t be out here by yourself,” the leader said.

  All four sprinted forward, their long coats flaring behind them to reveal they were unarmed. Mast had expected them to have blasters hanging from their belts. He kicked the first one as hard as he could. He was not even a strong as a normal Unglok, but his legs were long and he put his weight behind the strike. His adversary hadn't expected the kick and crumpled backward.

  The other three tackled him to the pavement.

  Mast spread his feet against their weight and prepared to retreat or resist—several seconds too late. He was still thinking about how to stop from being tackled when he realized they already had him on the ground and were muchly fond of punching and kicking.

  The leader, a hard-faced man who reminded him of the sheriff, stood over the melee, talking. No one seemed to hear what he was saying, so he yelled with a voice that filled the street. "I said don't kill him!"

  "Why not, Victor? He's just a stupid Glok! He’s not the sheriff!”

  Mast’s vision was occupied by a fist, then the body of one of his assailants pressed down on his face for what seemed like several minutes but was only seconds. He thought it would suffocate him. The three men continued to punch him and drive knees into his side as he twisted in a futile attempt to escape.

  Unglok words of distress trilled from his mouth and he was ashamed. The sound of his panic frightened him more than these men did. Soon, there would be a neighborhood full of his people pulling these men away and holding them down until the sheriff could get there.

  "Shut him up," the leader said, leaning forward with his hands on his knees so that he didn't have to yell quite so loud.

  Mast hissed at him.

  The leader drew back with a surprised and curious look on his face. He did not seem muchly worried. Mast could not see if his people were coming yet, but it was taking a very long time and they were not there. The next few moments were full of more strikes and him getting his face rubbed on the asphalt. Something popped or broke in his rib cage. One of the men twisted his knee and Mast wondered if he would be able to recover as well as the sheriff had after hurting his knee.

  And then it was over. The men stood around him. There were no Ungloks on the street to help him. The human leader said, "You are a fool, Mast Jotham. Stop being a part of the problem. People die all the time. Let it be.”

  CHAPTER SIX: Suspicion

  Shaunte Plastes, exhausted from an all-nighter that had turned into an all-day-er, pushed her hair back with her well-manicured fingers and exhaled. She stared out the window and realized she hadn't seen the sheriff or his deputy in the exercise yard for some time. Not that it mattered. She didn't care. Why would she care?

  The view at night wasn't spectacular. Darklanding had been built on a grid in about a day and a half. The layout had changed since then as merchants, machinists, and locals moved the prefabricated SagCon buildings or constructed their own offenses to architectural style. What this meant for her current situation was that she could see streetlights and roof markers stretching out at right angles all the way to the massive fence that marked the border of the spaceport.

  Her building was one of the tallest in the town. She could see the landing pads
where the company parked their space freighters to be loaded. At the west end of town, there was a simple airstrip that was infrequently used, and beyond it, only the old dugout town that predated SagCon’s arrival. A few local craft went up from time to time, but mostly, it was misguided scientists and explorers with more bravery than sense that used the primitive airfield. It was marked with two rows of lights that designated the single runway.

  Several men gathered just down the street from the Mother Lode. She didn't like the look of them, but it took her a moment to realize what was wrong. Nobody just stood outside and waited. Patrons of the saloon went inside to get their drink or their companionship as quickly as possible.

  Four men approached them, and for one heartbeat, the leader looked like Thaddeus Fry. She snorted and laughed nervously. On closer examination, he was nothing like the sheriff. His face was too hard. She couldn't hear what he was saying, but she knew he was speaking harshly to the other man. The gang of thugs in newly-issued mining jumpsuits listened to his every word and did not interrupt. None of them slouched or scratched themselves as she suspected they would during this nocturnal encounter.

  Shaunte went to the wet bar on the other side of the room and made herself a drink. She returned to the window and continued her spying. The four men, including the leader that carried himself like a military officer, walked away toward the Unglok neighborhood on the south end of Darklanding.

  "Well, aren't you a strange bunch of ruffians?" Shaunte muttered.

  Dixie stepped out of the saloon and paused to conceal her surprise at the presence of the men. She tipped back her chin and turned her face away from them, pointedly ignoring them as she marched off to wherever she was going this late at night.

  Of course the strangers followed her. Why wouldn’t they?

  Shaunte tossed the rest of the drink down and set the glass on her desk. She slipped on her comfortable shoes—still very stylish, of course—and hurried outside to follow Dixie and her new admirers. She had no idea why she was doing that, but she didn't stop to second-guess herself.