by Scott Moon
“I can’t imagine that.”
“I can.”
“I couldn’t even name a rival company to SagCon.”
Buried in her work, she didn’t answer.
Thaddeus stood and moved to the door, watching her without thinking too much. She didn’t notice he was leaving. He stepped out quietly and slowly shut the door.
***
He left her office in the Mother Lode with too much on his mind and very little situational awareness. On Centauri Prime, that would’ve gotten him and his men killed. Darklanding was a dangerous place, but it wasn’t a war zone. He hadn’t resumed his online classes and couldn’t get motivated to read theory case studies. Maybe Mast was right. Maybe he wasn’t the hotshot lawman he pretended to be.
People on the street nodded politely or moved out of his way. If the locals were breaking laws, they didn’t do it in his presence. That was an improvement. He’d been in two fights on his first day here. His predecessor had been murdered with high explosives. Maybe he hadn’t been trained at a law enforcement academy or completed an internship, but people respected him and crime was down despite the poor economy.
There were still thieves. Finding them was easy now that he knew how they thought and what they needed to profit from their criminal enterprises.
Rule one: the professional larcenists were lazy. They followed patterns and often stole from their direct employers. Rule two: they had to sell what they stole—which meant certain black-market vendors. Mast had done an excellent job developing informants during Thad’s recent military service. Most of them were Unglok kids without fear, even when they should be afraid of ShadEcon and other criminal organizations. They knew who fenced illegally acquired goods and where they fenced them. Most importantly, they loved to tell Thad. It was a game to them.
He pulled his most recent tip out of his coat and read the scribbled address: 0810 Industrial Road, Building A1. Stolen wheels and engine parts. Three villains who are muchly bad.
Darklanding looked and sounded different during the bust. Most warehouses and businesses were boarded up. There were more humans and Ungloks on the streets, but they were quieter, always watching Thad resentfully. Some warmed their hands around fires kept in metal barrels. Some crouched in the shadows and stared hungrily for victims or suckers. Kids ran amok. A couple of soldier types loitered near the Mother Lode without going in. He didn’t recognize their accents and wasn’t sure where they had served or where they were from. Mast thought they were up to no good, but Thad was relatively certain they were merely plotting how to get drunk, and maybe laid, for free.
He walked, checked his six from time to time, and tried not to think of Shaunte’s problems. The young woman had everything she needed. He respected her for sticking it out in Darklanding, risking her fortune and her career when she could easily go elsewhere and live in greater comfort. Was he part of the reason she stayed? It’d be nice to think so.
The door to the warehouse in question was open. Music thundered from a shop radio. Two men in loading jumpsuits and a woman wearing a wet undershirt and fatigue pants were getting drunk and dancing badly. The still they’d used to make the liquor was near the open bay door. He stopped and looked at their sugar source—pallets full of medical supplies, glucose tablets specifically. Something about this really irritated him. Somewhere there was a diabetic who might need his or her blood sugar raised in a hurry.
He walked in.
“Hey, man. You can’t come in here,” laughed the man closest to him, his hands still on the ass of the woman while the other man dirty danced with her from the front.
“Looked like a party. I thought I’d step in,” Thad said, sweeping back his coat to reveal his blaster and badge.
None of the drunks realized who or what he was at first.
Another man slammed a door as he left the control room of the warehouse. “You stupid assholes get rid of that guy. No one comes in. How hard is that?”
Thad strode toward the tank of a man—one of those guys who was made of muscle covered by fat. He wished Mast and Maximus were here. Or Sledge. Or even his ex-wife. He could handle these four losers, but it was probably going to be ugly.
The man picked up his pace until he was almost running. He looked like he might try a tackle or throw a roundhouse punch. “Who the hell are you?” His words came out in a rush.
Thaddeus took one small step backward, ruining the man’s distance. With that small change, he rendered the attack ineffective — placing himself just outside of the man’s reach. Then, as the brute struggled to adjust, Thaddeus darted forward and slapped a handcuff on his leading wrist. He torqued the arm behind the man and attach the second cuff to his other wrist.
“You see, that wasn’t so hard. I’m guessing that you understand stealing from SagCon is a bad idea in my town. Let’s make a list of everything that needs to be recovered and keep it civil.” Thaddeus saw the two men and a woman scrambling to get at him. They were drunk and uncoordinated, but enthusiastic about the prospect of doing him violence.
Holding the handcuffs behind the man’s back with one hand, he drew his blaster and aimed it with the other. “Don’t.”
Everyone stopped. The big man in handcuffs struggled, dragging Thad forward a step. He kicked the man behind one of his knees and yanked him onto his butt. One of the men and the woman lunged at him. He raised the blaster and smiled, then winked. “If I shoot you, I’ll have to investigate myself.”
“You think you’re above the law,” the woman said.
“Doesn’t matter what I think. It matters whether or not you make stupid decisions and get shot in the face.”
The thieves backed up, hands raised. He saw his mistake and realized they were going to run.
Maximus stalked across the bay door opening, head held low, growling like some kind of alien werewolf on a quest for blood. The effect was somewhat spoiled by his extreme roundness, but his teeth and angry eyes looked dangerous.
“Go ahead and run. I haven’t fed him for two days.”
The rest of the raid went well. Thaddeus thanked Maximus for following him until he tired of the animal giving him the cold shoulder. The thieves gave up all of their goods, which included wheels and engine parts just as his anonymous informant claimed. There were also pallets full of medical supplies and a room stacked to the ceiling with exotic ore.
Thaddeus called a crew to inventory and take charge of the SagCon property. He sent Shaunte a digital memo, but she didn’t reply. She’d probably get to it sometime next week. He was tired and hungry by the time the operation was over. Maximus stayed with him and they walked home to the Mother Lode together.
“Snort, snort. Aroooha!”
“Okay, I won’t leave you behind next time. I just thought you were off with Mast doing something,” Thaddeus said.
“Snort, huff, growl.”
They made their way back to the Mother Lode, where Thaddeus drank a watered-down whiskey in celebration and gave the pig-dog a clean bowl of water.
Pierre, in one of his moods, served him but didn’t talk. He went to the back room when Dixie approached.
She came across the room with about twenty percent more motion in her hips than was necessary to walk effectively. She adjusted her brassiere, making sure it was pulled down to show her cleavage. Then she tossed her hair and turned slightly to show him her best side. “Sheriff Fry, will you help a poor damsel in distress?”
“I’m a big fan of damsels,” he said. “What’s distressing you?”
She fanned herself dramatically, sliding onto a barstool without full control of her short skirt and ample thighs. “Oh, my. I’m not the damsel. But you’re so sweet to say so.”
He smiled, wondering when she would learn how to sit without showing her latest lingerie.
“It’s Tigerlily. I can’t find her and I fear something has happened. Would you be a good sheriff and bring her back?”
“That depends on if she’s running from you or was taken again
st her will. I’m not going to force anyone to work here. No offense.”
“None taken. I wouldn’t force anyone to work here either. The customers complain when the girls are unhappy with their work.”
Thaddeus seriously doubted that. But he supposed it could be true, in some cases. “How long has she been gone and where do you think she might be?”
“She’s been gone two days. I’ve got no idea where she ran off to or who took her.”
Thaddeus held her gaze for several seconds. He wanted her to understand he was serious about not serving as her enforcer. “What makes you think she was taken against her will?”
She nodded at some of the other girls. “All my girls saw her talking to a stranger. Had a funny accent. Far too confident and slick. Not like the people who normally come in here.”
“I’ll bring her back. Quick as I can. As long as she wants to come back when I find her.”
CHAPTER FOUR
Mast pulled up the collar of his coat and peered under the brim of his hat as rain sluiced off it. He enjoyed the patter of droplets on the metal and plastic buildings. The air smelled fresh and full of life despite the chemical odors of Darklanding.
Maximus grunted a sound they had agreed upon as a warning. Or least he thought they had muchly agreed upon it. The Glakridozian seem to have a language made of gestures, guttural noises, and flatulence.
“Don’t you do it,” Mast said.
The animal whined.
“I need to be watching for the stranger. We muchly need to know his name and where he came from and why he is here and many other questions, but I am worried about you, pig-dog. You no longer fart so much,” Mast said. “I should be bigly grateful is what they say, but I know something is wrong.”
Maximus stared at him silently, then plodded forward into the darkness.
“I am muchly following you and trusting your Glakridozian instincts. Please do not crop-dust me as Sheriff Fry often accuses you of very grossly doing to him.” Mast felt exposed walking so openly on the street despite the unseasonal rain and darkness. He could almost feel the cheap LED lampposts casting beams of light and imagined his face and form must appear to be made of contrasting shadows. He thought that his green eyes might sparkle in the strange, wet night.
The cheap pavement of Darklanding streets carried a wet sheen. His eyes were good at night, but he was not used to so much precipitation. It fell steadily, straight down like a machine was making it rather than the heavens. On Ungwilook, rain normally came with storms.
“Snort.”
It was several more steps before Mast saw what the pig-dog had already sensed, a man cutting through the night with his own coat collar pulled high, and a round hat keeping his head warm. Mast wanted to take out his traditional arndot and make a sketch, maybe put notes in the margins. This hat was what the human literature described as a bowler hat. He had not seen one outside of a book. Now he would probably see them everywhere, he assumed.
“Can we get closer?”
Maximus nodded vigorously and started trotting faster. It was easy to catch up. The stranger was only walking and did not seem to be in a hurry or nervous. There were other people on the streets of Darklanding, some prepared for the weather and others not so much. Some talked, some laughed, and some argued and complained about the cause of this weather. A chill went down Mast’s spine when he realized the stranger had heard this last discussion and looked at the disgruntled citizens.
“Why did he look at them? I do not like that,” Mast said.
Maximus whined, hesitating before continuing to pursue the stranger in the dark coat and bowler hat who gave evil looks to people who complained about the weather.
This is very much like an old novel. Perhaps the kind with all the pictures drawn in contrasting shadows where humans smoked cigarettes and carried crude firearms. And the women could never find clothing that reached low enough or high enough on their ample feminine forms. “This is very exciting!”
Maximus shook his head and snorted, his expressive eyes full of alarm. It seemed he wanted to say that this was not exciting, it was dangerous and very terrible.
Mast disagreed, but calmed himself and paid more attention to the stranger and the surroundings.
The stranger stopped to speak to an Unglok. The words were muchly perfect and well-balanced. Moments later, the stranger continued, and the Unglok strode away nervously.
“I see you, old father,” Mast said as he caught up to the man. “Who was that human you were talking to?”
The old Unglok bowed his head and spoke their native language. “I am honestly very muchly and fully glad to serve you, honored undersheriff. I will muchly inform you of our words if it greatly pleases you.”
“It muchly, muchly does, respected old father,” Mast said. His own language felt strange to him. He’d been working too hard on Galactic Standard. It suddenly occurred to him why he relied so heavily on awkwardly placed adverbs when speaking the human language. A linguistic breakthrough was just beyond his reach, wanting to be known and acted upon, but it was like trying to catch a fly in one hand.
The old man hummed a beautiful melody, which meant he had no gift to give Mast as extremely old Ungloks often did. Mast pretended to be patient. The stranger was getting away, but traditions were important.
“Was my music a gift to you?”
“Yes, old father. A beautiful gift.”
The old man nodded. “Good. I will also give you the answer to your question. The man calls himself Zane Trustman. He is looking for your animal friend because he wants to skin him and sell the hide. But I know this devious hunter and suspect that is not his real name. I also muchly suspect he will grind up the hooves of the Glakridozian and smoke them to prolong his life and perform his other dark magics.”
Maximus growled.
“Thank you, old father. You have given me more than one great gift.”
The old man nodded, hugged himself, and walked away.
***
The morning sun cast a glow through the mist rising off the streets and from within drainage grates. Darklanding grew busy. There were too many people without work who wanted work. They gathered near the trolley to the mines, holding up their hands to get the attention of the foreman gathering crews. When the trolleys left, the people left behind rushed away to look for whatever menial labor they could get or perhaps something to steal. Mast thought these people were very thin. Desperation lived in their eyes.
“It is muchly late, or very muchly early, is what I am thinking. But I am not tired. I wish to find the man called Zane who hunts you,” Mast said.
“Snort. Aroooh. Snort.”
Mast thought the animal’s front legs were quivering from exhaustion or fear, or perhaps a little of both. He thought it must be unnerving to know there was a person creeping through the night who wanted to skin you.
The crowd cleared around them much as the water streamed away from the SagCon paved streets. Mast turned in time to see the stranger approaching him. He angled his gun side away from the man called Zane and discreetly uncovered his blaster.
“You followed me half the night. I’d like to know why,” the stranger said, looking at Maximus more than he looked at Mast.
“What is your name, stranger? I am Deputy Sheriff Mast Jotham.”
The tall, dark human looked at him, seemingly for the first time. “Call me Zane Trustman, security specialist for P. C. Dickles.” He turned slightly away from Mast as though he might also have a blaster he was touching with his shooting hand.
“Is this true? We do not receive a memo from Mister Dickles.”
“It will be the truth, if I stay on this planet. It may be that I will find what I’m looking for and leave.”
“You are not looking for my friend to skin him and sell his hide?”
The man laughed. “You’re the first Unglok I’ve met who understands sarcasm. Do you have any idea what the flesh and fur of a Glakridozian is worth? Never mind. I can see you
getting all pissed off and closed-minded. I wouldn’t come all this way for a single purpose.”
Mast studied the man carefully and saw that he had a necklace of teeth hanging around his neck, barely visible with his coat collar flipped up. Mast also noticed that Maximus stared at this necklace with fear and hatred.
Maximus began to growl and click.
“He does not like your comment is what I’m thinking,” Mast said.
Zane Trustman backed away, one hand clearly on his gun now. “That’s not what he’s thinking. Those things are vicious. That’s why people want to mount their heads in their trophy rooms and wear their skins. You’re lucky to be alive with that thing around.”
Maximus shot forward, leaping into the air and clamping his jaws on Zane’s gun arm.
Zane screamed and tried to fling the animal off, which caused them to tumble on the ground.
Mast drew his blaster and pointed it, but wasn’t sure who to shoot. Of course he wouldn’t shoot Maximus even though the animal had attacked without sufficient provocation. Zane’s comments didn’t mean the animal had the right to tear him apart.
Because he wasn’t just going for the arm, he was snapping his fearsome teeth at the man’s throat.
Mast picked up Zane’s blaster and put it in one of his large coat pockets.
“Get it off me! Someone help! It’s a killer!”
Mast paused. Zane sounded false, like he knew the words but didn’t understand the emotion that went with them. “Maximus, come back here. Stop attacking the annoying stranger who wants to skin you and wear your teeth as a necklace—and maybe grind up your hooves for some reason.”
He followed the rolling, twisting, vicious struggle across the street and onto the opposite sidewalk. Each time Zane broke free, Maximus bit him someplace new.
Mast didn’t see blood. The coat was torn in places to reveal a protective inner layer of advanced carbon fiber weave or something similar. He aimed at the stranger, but it seemed wrong to shoot him when he was clearly losing the fight.