Darklanding Omnibus Books 10-12: Hunter, Diver Down, Empire (Darklanding Omnis Book 4)

by Scott Moon

  “Leslie Stargazer says secrets are fun.”

  Thad needed to disrupt his friend’s thoughts, get past his excuses. “You’ve been spending a lot of time with her. Is she your girlfriend now?”

  Mast fell sideways, grabbed the small corner chair in Thad’s apartment office, and tipped it over in his attempt to maintain his balance. “I am not that kind of Unglok!”

  “Got something against human women?”

  “Well, not to offend you or Miss Plastes, but they are not attractive.” Mast’s face went pale as he considered what they were talking about.

  Thad couldn’t resist the chance to tease his deputy, and maybe he might get the truth during an unguarded moment. “I heard Leslie has a thing for Ungloks. She’s digging the Mast.”

  “What are you muchly saying? It makes no sense. Explain this to me, no, wait, muchly do not explain. Leslie does not have the hots for Mast Jotham. She only harasses him about the way he talks. I know, because I muchly am Mast Jotham!”

  “Settle down, buddy. I was just pulling your chain.”

  “Please don’t.”

  Thad crossed his arms, staring at the Unglok. Something was going on. His friend was holding back. “Well, let’s get to work then. Give me your weekly report and let’s plan our next move. I’m thinking smugglers in sector three should be our focus.”

  Thad scrutinized Mast’s report, the strange and artistic digital version, as well as the spoken summary. The way the Unglok wrote Galactic Standard suggested he spent long hours crafting each letter of every word, like he was an ancient monk hoping the massive tome of literature would endure the ages.

  The first word of each paragraph was heavily illuminated. Each page contained pictures and diagrams in bright colors.

  “Your written summary of the Egoak Village expedition is almost entirely pictures. Kudos on learning to swim, by the way.”

  “I have always known how to swim, more or less,” Mast said.

  “And you took a glider to the mountain village? You hate flying.”

  “Gliding is not flying.”

  “It kind of is, Mast. Think about it.”

  “Mast Jotham would rather not consider the similarities.”

  Thad read the report while Mast sat lost in his own thoughts. “Pretty standard stuff, except for your attempt to help P. C. Dickles. Too bad you both came up emptyhanded.”

  “Mister Dickles seemed satisfied. He made some of the elder Unglok women of Egoak Village his girlfriends.”

  Thad let loose a belly laugh. “Did you just make a joke?”

  “If that is a joke, it is muchly…I mean…very easy. Perhaps I will do it twenty-four/seven.”

  “Uh, pump the brakes, Deputy Jotham. Crawl before you walk.”

  Mast raised one eyebrow to convey his skepticism of this advice. “Fine. I must go to my domicile and sleep.”

  “You’re dismissed. Get some rest.”

  Thad studied the reports long after Mast left. Whatever the Unglok was hiding, he’d meticulously left it out of his reports. That didn’t mean there weren’t clues. Informants were important in the world of law enforcement. Catching criminals had become easier by orders of magnitude the day Thad learned how to turn a confidential informant, or CI, as they were known to cops and special investigators.

  Step one: find the right informant.

  Mast had kept his secret but revealed someone who probably couldn’t keep quiet if his life depended on it. Quark Guthrie was too young and eager to please to resist a skilled interrogation, or that was what Thad was betting on.

  He looked up Quark’s address and headed that way. Maximus trotted beside him, tongue lolling out to one side as he huffed and snorted and grunted like the Glakridozian Thad remembered from before the hunter tried to kill him.

  "Good to have you back, boy," Thaddeus said.

  Maximus rolled his eyes as though to say "really, you're calling me a boy?"

  Quark Guthrie lived in a simple housing unit. The prefabricated trailer was clean and well-maintained without a single embellishment or decoration. The gravel space that served as a yard was in order, and the numbers beside the door had been recently painted. Thaddeus knocked and waited a short time before the young junior foreman answered.

  "Good morning, Sheriff. Sorry it took me so long to answer. I've been catching up on sleep. Once every two weeks, I get to come home and rack out. The rest of the time I sleep on one of the cots at the mines. You’re lucky to catch me here today," Quark said, then laughed. “That was kind of like a joke. You know, you caught me, like you're chasing me because I'm a criminal. Ha, ha, ha."

  "Don't quit your day job. Standup comedy is a rough gig, or so I hear." Thaddeus stepped inside without asking, aware that his online LEO training advised against such an imposition. Fortunately, he wasn't searching for evidence and thus it couldn't be suppressed in a trial as fruit of the poisonous tree. Anything he seized of evidentiary value at this point would be a violation of Melborn’s oldest constitutional amendments.

  "Yes, sure, come on in, Sheriff. The only chairs I have are at the kitchen table. Have a seat," Quark said. “What can I do for you?"

  Thaddeus pulled out his work tablet and showed the young man a page of Mast’s report.

  "Nice! Mine aren’t nearly that good.”

  Thaddeus put away the tablet in the large pocket of his coat. "My deputy is humble. It's an Unglok thing. We talked about the village, but only enough to make me curious. I wish I'd gone. It seems like it was amazing.”

  "Oh, yes, it was. We all went swimming, except for Dickles. He was talking to some old women near the food tables. Maybe he was hungry or something. But I think he can't swim.”

  Thaddeus nodded and listened, prompting the young man to continue whenever he paused but not asking any specific questions yet. As a story teller, Quark rambled, relying on his own excitement to keep his audience enthralled.

  “Then Mast came out of the water, but this time, he looked tired. Just beat-down like he’d worked a double shift. I asked him what was wrong and he blathered on about what a fantastic village Egoak was.”

  “What else did he say?”

  Quark shrugged. “Just more of the same. Hey, do you mind if I finish my nap? I’m pretty tired. Holding on to that Unglok glider really wears a guy out. Do you want to hear about that part?”

  “Another time,” Thad said. “If you think of anything else about the Egoak experience, let me know. I’d like to help Dickles out of this jam. And I worry about my deputy. He seems bummed out.”

  “Oh, yeah. For sure. I like Jotham. He’s a solid Glok, I mean Unglok.”

  “Get some sleep, Quark.” Thad left to ponder if he’d learned anything of value.

  CHAPTER EIGHT: Judy Ortega

  Shaunte spent the morning selecting her outfit. She spent more time bathing and grooming than she did for a date with Thaddeus. Every scrap of confidence would be needed for this meeting. Wondering if she'd shaved her legs properly or put on deodorant would be distractions she didn't need.

  Judy Ortega was a miracle worker and a ball-buster. The fact that Shaunte's father respected her spoke volumes of her ability and corporate status. If there was a list of the galaxy's most influential people, Ortega would be right up there with Cornelius Vandersun and Tiberius Plastes. This negotiation had to go flawlessly. And even then, Shaunte was playing with fire.

  Instructions for the meeting arrived on the small device Shaunte now wore on her wrist. She looked at the screen and groaned. Her outfit was all wrong because now she had to walk. Ortega wanted to meet on a small landing strip near the edge of the Darklanding mesa.

  She changed her shoes, something stylish but comfortable, then hopped a trolley to the edge of town. From there she walked briskly, mindful of Thad’s constant admonishments to stay alert. Darklanding wasn't a safe place for young attractive women with too much money. Or that was what he told her often.

  Never mind that SagCon owned the place down to the last ou
nce of water or trace of exotic ore, and she was the Company Man.

  The landing strip was small, and completely ringed with Judy Ortega's security detail. She knew how good they were because of Thaddeus. They'd had many discussions on what type of security she might need one day and how to select them. These men and women wore combat kit, not the full armor needed for war fighting, but load-bearing vests with ammunition, weapons, and light body armor underneath. They had partial helmets with visors and communication boom microphones. Each operator seemed alert, constantly scanning their zone of responsibility for threats.

  Ortega stood twenty strides out from her private ship, a simple but expensive starship that was capable of operating in any atmosphere. This made her think briefly of P. C. Dickles and his persistent requests for submarines and other underwater mining tools. She pushed away the distraction. The woman before her deserved all her attention, just like a deadly animal that couldn’t be ignored.

  Shaunte walked confidently forward and thrust out her hand in greeting. Ortega shook it, her grip firm and dry.

  "Welcome to Darklanding, Mrs. Ortega.”

  The woman shook her hand, not bothering to speak. All she did was study Shaunte without revealing a single thought. Confidence and patience were the name of the game with the founder and CEO of Interstellar Enterprises.

  “Would you like to continue in my office, or another location? I have several I can suggest. Each have been checked for security threats, physical and cyber, and meet SagCon’s high standards,” Shaunte said.

  “But do they meet your standards? I suspect you don't limit yourself with the status quo." Her smile was perfectly timed to relax Shaunte. "I'm sorry, I always come across a bit harsh when I meet somebody in person for the first time."

  "Not a problem."

  "Walk with me."

  Shaunte matched the older woman’s stride, realizing she needed to get in shape and maintain it. Judy Ortega wasn't as physically intimidating as Penelope Fry-Grigman but was definitely someone who had a personal trainer and probably spent some time in one of the ultra-secret boot camps few people could afford. Her posture was erect and she had a swagger like a professional kickball player.

  They arrived at the very edge of the plateau and stared at the sun climbing over Transport Canyon.

  Ortega crossed her arms. "Beautiful. This view might be worth the trip even if you and I can't come to common ground. Have you seen the rest of the planet?"

  And there it was. Shaunte braced herself as if every question were a chess move, requiring a calculated counter-move. Every word was important. There was no small talk. Judy Ortega was far older than she looked, and while she might play games, she never appeared as though that was what she was doing. “Not all of it is stunning. Could this view be an advertisement for tourism? Sure.”

  Ortega smiled. “Big money in tourism…potentially. Also vacation homes for the ultra-rich. Gated communities. Neighborhoods with private security on par with the best militaries in the galaxy. But you may be getting ahead of yourself, Shaunte.”

  “I was only commenting on the view. Tourism is the wrong angle for Ungwilook.”

  “Is it?” Ortega asked. “Mining for exotic minerals seems to have hit a snag. Why not exploit every option?"

  "You and I both know that we could turn this entire planet into a theme park and it wouldn’t make as much money as a fully functioning exotic mine," Shaunte said, feeling more confident now—which was probably a mistake.

  "There's plenty of space for military research and development…or for training a secret fighting force.”

  Shaunte didn't react. The woman might know about her father's special provision for TerroCom, but she wasn't going to be the one to spill the beans if this wasn't the case.

  Ortega continued. “You read my opinion of analysis document."

  Shaunte interrupted. "Where you made no firm commitments, nor did you reveal your opinions."

  Ortega nodded. "That's how it's done. I'm sure they taught you that at university. But let's move on. One of the most important aspects of this planet is a lack of population density. There is room for almost anything. Humans can breathe the air, so that's nice. There are natural resources, also a plus. Some people might think it's beautiful, especially when the sun comes up.”

  "And it's owned by SagCon.”

  “Which you represent with complete authority in the Wilok system,” Ortega replied.

  Shaunte felt the pump to her ego as though the woman had grabbed her and started massaging her neck while whispering sweet nothings in her ear. She kept her mouth shut and refused to take the bait. Accepting the praise would be bad. Denying it would be worse.

  "I am Interstellar Enterprises." Ortega let the statement hang in the air like a cloud of A19 looking for Ungloks to lay low.

  “Are we bragging now? Because I've handled more labor disputes, near riots, and crime sprees than any Company Man before me. You, of all people, understand this experience makes me overqualified for almost any CEO position a person of my age might apply for.”

  Ortega put her gaze on Shaunte and held it like a band saw she was about to start up. "You've done more than any Company Man I've ever known. And I've known a few. I'm not just speaking of Darklanding. Most people in this position just take the dividends and find mistresses to spend it on."

  Shaunte nearly responded but was glad she didn't.

  "Most of your decisions have been wrong. Your judgment is faulty. Your strategic analysis is weak. The only thing that's kept you going is luck, your looks, your father, and that sheriff who can't take no for an answer and has somehow learned to be a lawman with no real training. Maybe your real knack is surrounding yourself with the right people."

  The words smashed through Shaunte's mind like a tornado. She told herself it was just an attempt to unbalance her, insults meant to hurt her where she was most vulnerable. If that's what it was, then Ortega had done an excellent job. Every statement ripped open a wound. She felt tears welling up in her eyes and knew she would start screaming if one of them fell.

  “Are you strong enough for this?” Ortega asked.

  Shaunte wanted to slap her. Instead, she buried her emotions so deep, her father couldn’t have sensed them if he were here. “Strong enough for what?”

  Ortega seemed disappointed but continued her challenge. “I was looking for a confident yes, but answering blindly would have been predictable and wrong-headed, I suppose.”

  Shaunte waited. She didn’t need this woman. No matter what happened, this had to be an equal partnership.

  “I came here looking for someone worthy of my mentorship. Perhaps a partnership is more in order," Ortega said. "What I'm going to tell you next is meant to show trust, not to bully you."

  Shaunte crossed her arms.

  "Not only do I have complete control of Interstellar Enterprises, I recently bought out the Vandersun share of the Sagittarian Conglomerate.”

  “That's only twenty percent. Hardly a controlling interest," Shaunte said, knowing what Ortega's response would be.

  “You’re sweet. I like playing this game with you. Twenty percent is a huge share of a corporation the size of SagCon. Worlds could be purchased for less. And with twenty percent and a few friends… I can change the direction of SagCon. Your father knows this. You should understand it as well.”

  “Leave my father out of this.”

  “Gladly.”

  CHAPTER NINE: Dickles Gets Serious

  P. C. Dickles looked over his shoulder, feeling guiltier than he’d ever felt in his life. This was wrong, dangerous, and humiliating. But what else could he do? The mines were his life. There was no other way to save them.

  He paused near the Mother Lode, hiding in the shadows to avoid men he knew from the mines—two supervisors and a group of line workers. When their drunken revelry had moved past him, he pulled up the hood of his jacket and hurried toward his objective. The neighborhood around the saloon wasn’t the best. There were worse a
nd that was where he soon found himself—right in the middle of the poorest Unglok slum.

  The people he sought were human, although the longer ShadEcon operated in Darklanding, the more natives they accepted into their ranks. Business was business, especially when it was smuggling, extortion, and scams.

  Once, about a year ago, he’d been to the ShadEcon representative seeking a loan to bail out one of his workers. The old sheriff had been on the local mafia’s payroll, receiving a kickback from each customer who sold their lives to ShadEcon to pay “legal fees.”

  Thankfully, the loan hadn’t gone through and it turned out his employee hadn’t needed it after all. Death had a way of erasing debt.

  The building was low and narrow, almost an afterthought plugged in between two warehouses. He went inside and stood like a fool. “Hello? Am I in the right place? I was given this address by…”

  A small man with two oversized bodyguards stepped through a curtain of plastic strips, the kind used in warehouses where goods were moved too frequently for a regular door. Something about the way the bodyguards pushed aside the plastic strips made Dickles think of a mortuary.

  “Doesn’t matter who sent you,” the small man said. He snapped his fingers and pointed where he wanted his bodyguards to stand. One man had a shotgun, the other a baseball bat.

  “I guess not. Are you…”

  The small man waved his hand and shook his head. “No need to be so formal. Names? What do names matter?”

  “Right. Gotcha. You probably don’t even have a name,” Dickles said, realizing immediately he had offended the man.

  “What are you trying to say, that I don’t have a father? I’m a bastard, is that it?”

  “No, I just was trying to agree I don’t need to know who you are.” Dickles fumbled the words. He wanted to be gone from this shady “office.” He wished he’d never come.

  “Relax, Dickles. It was a joke. Jokes are good. They keep people from killing each other,” the small man said. “You want a submarine. I have a submarine. We should make a deal.”

  “Okay, great. Can I see it now?”