by Scott Moon
“Hold on, now you don’t trust me? I thought you were a stand-up guy. What’s with all the suspicion? You must be a cop,” the small man said, intensely disappointed.
“I’m not a cop.”
“Good. Let’s talk business. What can you offer me for the one and only small-space submarine on the planet of Ungwilook? The only ship made for underwater cave navigation that exists in this system… Did you hear me on that part? It’s the only one on the planet, the only one in this system, the only one you’ll ever see. Very valuable. Priceless to the right person.”
“I have 8,760 credits and can borrow another thousand by next week,” Dickles said.
“That’s good, P. C. Real good. I’ll need a hundred thousand and a proof of funds for two hundred and fifty thousand more.”
Dickles stared in stunned disbelief. His brain couldn’t process the information, which didn’t stop his mouth from betraying him. “What’s the two hundred and fifty for?”
“That’s the late fee when you miss a payment. Don’t laugh, everyone misses a payment. Only God knows why, but everyone does. That’s why we put these penalties in place. It’s doing you a favor, trust me. A large late fee keeps people honest, helps prevent boys and girls from borrowing more than they’re good for.”
“Um, what happens if you’re late paying the two hundred and fifty?”
“We kill you, of course,” the small man said. “But not slowly. If that makes you feel any better.”
“It doesn’t!”
The small man laughed. “It never does. I have your attention, yes?”
Dickles stared at his hands. Scars and callouses showed how hard he’d worked and for how long. He didn’t care about money or fame. All he wanted was the planet’s deepest secrets. That was what it was all about, going deeper than anyone had gone before.
“Do we have a deal, Mister Dickles?” the small man said.
“Yes.”
“Fantastic!” He threw an arm around Dickles. “Let’s go see your submarine. For a small additional fee, I will have it delivered to the mines.”
Dickles fought down nausea.
“That was another joke! No extra charge. What good is this thing if you can’t transport it to the most inconveniently flooded SagCon mines? You and I are going to be good friends. Very rich, very good friends indeed.”
“Where did you get the submarine?”
“It’s been here since the operation began. Part of some contingency plan that was never implemented.”
“Why didn’t the Company Man just give me this one when I asked? I don’t understand,” Dickles said, suddenly tired of being ushered through the warehouse by the overly friendly gangster.
“She probably forgot she had it. Or the Company Man before her forgot to keep it on the books. Digital records aren’t that reliable. One push of a button, and a fortune is made or lost. Tragic.”
“Someone would discover that kind of scam. Otherwise, everyone would do it,” Dickles said, carefully removing the man’s arm from his shoulders so he could walk more naturally.
“No, everyone would not do it because we would break their legs first. There has to be honor among thieves, or war. Honor is cheaper when people follow the rules and pay their debts,” the small man said. “Never forget that.”
Dickles nodded and moved into the middle of a large room the small man had brought him to. In the middle was a submarine large enough for four people. Clipped to the exterior were storage boxes and cages.
“There is some assembly required, of course,” the small man of ShadEcon said.
“Sure. No problem. When can you get it to the mines?”
“Right away. In like three or four days. Unless you want to pay extra. You’re not our only customer. The people ahead of you in line for our services would need compensation. It’s only fair.”
Dickles carefully inspected the submarine. “How much to have it delivered immediately?”
“Fifty thousand credits. I’ll add it to your loan.”
“Sure. Why not. But it better be there and it better work.”
“No worries, Mister Dickles. I’m a man of my word.”
***
The ShadEcon submarine arrived the next day. Dickles worked day and night putting it together. Launching it from the black and gold beach proved a nightmare nearly as miserable as buying the thing from ShadEcon, but he and his crew got it done.
“Who wants to try it out with me?”
“I’m with you, sir, all the way,” Quark said.
“Thanks, Quark. Anyone else?”
No one raised a hand. After a few awkward moments, the entire crew of mechanics and morbidly curious spectators took a collective step backward.
“Fine. You’re all a bunch of slackers,” Dickles said. He’d nearly called them cowards, but realized that wasn’t fair and would probably have caused a revolt. Once he showed how safe and reliable the mining submarine was, he’d have more volunteers than he could use. The Company Man had agreed to provide hazardous duty pay to submarine crews if they could recover exotics sufficient to cover the expenses.
“I hope it works, boss,” a man named Jones said, probably feeling guilty for not stepping forward.
“If it doesn’t, I’m a dead man,” Dickles muttered. “In you go, Quark. Let’s power this beast up.”
The submarine was drab, mostly primer and rust. Huge red and white placards warned of nuclear fuel cells, a good feature since running out of power in a deep, dark underwater tunnel would be problematic. The men didn’t like the idea of being irradiated if something went wrong. Dickles was so stressed about his deal with the devils of ShadEcon, he could not have cared less if he had to bathe in plutonium to pilot the thing.
He climbed into the cockpit. There were three seats designed for humans or Ungloks. That meant plenty of headroom, but the seats were so close together the armrests touched.
Dickles and Quark carefully followed the startup instructions and completed the tutorial scenarios before descending below the surface of the underground lake—a lake that was a few hundred meters wide and miles deep.
“This isn’t so bad. I can see pretty good with these cameras,” Quark said.
“Stay sharp. Watch your gauges. This is just a test run. All I want to do is prove to the crew that it’s safe,” Dickles said. “I’m driving. Just sit there and do what I say.”
“Yes, sir.”
“But pay attention.”
“Yes, sir.”
“I’ve never assembled a submarine before.”
“You did an excellent job, Mister Dickles. I bet you learned a lot during all of your failed attempts before the nice gentlemen from SagCon delivered this one. They didn’t look like they were from the company, but they said they were. Who would lie about something like that?” Quark said. “Sorry, sir. Sheriff Fry told me I chatter when I’m nervous.”
“He’s right. Don’t talk to him about mine business. He’s a lawman, not one of us. He’s got his own problems to handle,” Dickles said. Without really thinking about it, he dove deeper than the manual suggested for the first time underwater.
Dickles didn’t want to think about what the sheriff might do if he discovered the deal with ShadEcon. Last Dickles had heard, the sheriff and the black marketeers were enemies. Not like other sheriffs who were either too stupid to catch ShadEcon agents or were on their payroll.
“How do you think Miss Plastes found this submarine when she said it would take eighteen months to order one?” Quark asked.
A light started flashing on the control panel.
“This thing has been in a warehouse since we arrived on the planet. Some knucklehead quartermaster forgot it was there, misfiled its information somehow,” Dickles said.
“Weird. Sir, there are a lot more lights flashing now,” Quark said.
Dickles didn’t know what half of the warning alerts were. He headed for the surface where he could read the manual without fear of a horrible, crushing death.
“I think we’re losing power,” Dickles said, adjusting the controls.
Quark’s face was as pale as Ungwilook snow. For the first time since they’d known each other, the young man seemed speechless.
Stars appeared in Dickles’s vision. Making a decision became nearly impossible. He wanted to take a nap, just lie down and rest.
The sub veered off to one side, climbing toward the surface so slowly the change was imperceptible.
“I wouldn’t tell the sheriff about the tigi and the Egoak. I wouldn’t. You have to believe me. Wouldn’t tell anyone, or even hint at it. I don’t want anything bad to happen to those people,” Quark said.
Dickles couldn’t understand half the words the boy…the man was saying. His skin was so pink.
“At least I won’t have to pay ShadEcon.”
Quark looked at him askance. “What?”
The submarine burst from the water, apparently traveling at maximum speed and accelerating as water pressure decreased and buoyancy increased. External cameras showed an explosion of water. Miners and other workers cheered from the shore.
Dickles opened the hatch and shoved Quark out, then followed. “Why are they cheering us?”
Quark pointed at the monitor they’d set up before the test dive. “They say we nearly went to the bottom. You meant to do that, right?”
“Sure, kid.”
“I’m a grown man, boss.”
“I know, Quark. I’m just a little lightheaded right now.”
“Me too.”
“We nearly died,” Dickles said.
“I know.”
“Don’t tell anyone.”
CHAPTER TEN: Leslie Stargazer, Informant
A crowd of humans left the temporary worker pickup site. They wore battered but clean jumpsuits and grim faces; clean jumpsuits because they hadn’t been to a job site for weeks, grim faces because they were starving and sober. Mast Jotham might not have noticed them, except for one obvious detail—there were so many. The disgruntled crowd overflowed the sidewalks, covering the street so that vehicle traffic was forced to slow. Drivers honked and shook fists at the pedestrians, who grabbed garbage off the street, flung it at cars, and in time, at Mast Jotham.
“I am muchly sorry there is not more work at the mines,” Mast said.
An aluminum can bounced off his shoulder. He dodged something else before it could hit his head.
“Muchly sorry.”
“Leave him alone. He’s just that stupid Glok deputy,” a man with a faded red bandana said.
“Gloks are half the problem,” a woman said.
“Shut your hole. You don’t see them working either, do you?” Red Bandana said.
Mast saw his people gathered at the mouth of a side street leading to the temporary work pickup depot. None of them spoke. He wondered if they resented him for having employment.
“Can’t work, can’t leave,” Red Bandana muttered.
Mast listened to the tired old human as he passed nearby.
“We all know it’s SagCon doing this. It’s the Company Man’s fault.”
It seemed to Mast that the man was talking to himself. Which was good. Thaddeus would not like people talking badly about Miss Plastes. This crowd seemed more dangerous each day. It was the second time they had thrown things at Mast Jotham. Fortunately, it was also the second time they decided he was nice guy who didn’t need to be attacked.
“Yes, that is what I am thinking. Mast Jotham is muchly too nice to be dragged through the streets of Darklanding.”
He went to the Mother Lode. The first person he recognized in the saloon was Leslie Stargazer. Thaddeus had assured him the woman wasn’t the grammar police. Which was good, because she was always handcuffing someone—to a bed usually. Mast didn’t want to be handcuffed to a bed or anywhere else.
“Turn up the auto-player! I like this song,” Leslie shouted.
Her back was to the front door. Mast hurried toward the other side of the room and looked for a seat. If he was able to sit down, his height would be less conspicuous if there were humans on their feet.
The music was too loud and the machine was out of tune. Dozens of people waited at the bar. The crowd was thick and unruly.
"I cashed out my company share for this? Give me a drink, dammit," a huge human man said.
Mast moved around him and pushed between several others to get away from Leslie Stargazer. He was so close to escaping. There was a small table near the wall with an empty chair.
The crowd shifted, jostling Mast to one side. He ducked his head low and kept his eyes away from where his grammar and syntax nemesis stood harassing a group of men who she said were a bunch of cheap-ass losers who should get the hell out of Darklanding. Mast wished she wouldn't talk like that. He was afraid someone would hit her.
But they never did. He wondered if they were also afraid of the woman. Most of Darklanding understood they’d be right to fear her; she was more than she seemed—a Space Forces veteran, low-altitude racing competitor, and voted by her peers as most likely to punch someone out by the end of the night.
Mast reached his destination, sighing in relief as he dropped his butt into the small—for an Unglok—chair.
“I see you, Mast Jotham!” Leslie had no trouble pushing through the crowd. She flipped back her curly blonde hair with one hand and pushed forward her barely concealed bosom.
“Unglok women only push forward their chests as a warning they are about to be violent ill,” Mast said when she planted her fists on her hips and stared into his eyes. He was still taller than she was.
“I’m not a Glok.”
“That is not a good word to use. Aren’t we friends?” Mast asked. “You hurt my feelings.”
“Sure, Mast. We’re best friends.”
“I did not use the word. Are you…happier now?”
“I’m over the moon, practically orgasmic.”
“That does not muchly make sense. Agh, I said it. Why must Mast Jotham forget himself in the presence of Leslie, the Bully Girl of the Mother Lode.”
“Don't think you're going to distract me with that stupid nickname. I'm not afraid to be Dixie’s heavy." She lifted one fist and shook it under Mast’s chin. "You really put me in a tough spot. I have been waiting for you. There’s something I have to show you."
“I hope it is not another grammar book.” Mast had been intrigued by the book made of paper. Huge and much abused, the reference manual contained all the secrets of Galactic Standard. Sadly, the only reason she had it was to prop open doors and sometimes spank her favorite patrons. Mast had not touched it after learning where it had been in the Mother Lode.
“Mast, mo-Mast, fo-Mast, ro-Mast…Maaaa-sst,” she sang. “You speak so muchly goodly. You love to speak to me long time.”
“You’ve been drinking on the job again. Miss Dixie will not be happy.”
"She'll never know, will she?"
"You have not drank since Chelsie left Darklanding,” Mast said.
Leslie shrugged. "I have to drink now because of what I've done. You better appreciate the risk I'm taking."
“I am thinking I don’t want to know what you’ve done this time. Does it involve spanking an important person?" Mast said, concentrating on his speech with such intensity that it almost hurt.
She looked up and to the left with only one eyebrow raised, twisting her mouth into a contemplative frown. Mast believed this was a human sign of deception—he’d read it in one of Sheriff Fry’s online law enforcement courses.
"I'd forgotten all about that,” she said. “Ah, those were better days. But any-who… Come with me. Chop, chop! No time to waste. Get those ridiculously long legs moving. We need to do this and get back before Dixie shows up."
"Where is Miss Dixie? I haven't seen her for days," Mast asked.
"Just hurry," she said, rushing up the stairs toward her room.
Mast took the steps three at a time and easily kept up. "Yo
u are very fit for such a small, curly-haired woman.”
At the top of the stairs, she pumped her fist in the air, then gave him a mock curtsy. "Don't try to sweet talk me, Deputy. But thanks. It's my real hair. I bet you’re wondering if the curtains match the drapes.”
“Um, I really don’t know if this is something Mast Jotham should be concerned with, or try to understand,” Mast said.
She grabbed his hand and pulled him into the hallway.
"What if the people down there—the many, muchly people who are watching us—think I am purchasing your services?" Mast asked.
"Oh, honey, I already have a bad reputation." Her demeanor changed. She marched to her door and yanked it open. "Inside, Deputy Jotham. You're going to want to talk to this character.”
Mast ducked into the room, removing his hat as he did so. "I was correct to be afraid of being handcuffed, it seems.”
Attached to the bed by wrists and ankles, and with a gag in his mouth, was a naked human man.
"I am not sure you have the right Unglok for whatever it is you're trying to do here," Mast said. "I should be muchly leaving and you should be releasing this individual. He does not look like he is enjoying it."
"He's an officer for ShadEcon,” she said.
"I'm not sure this fact makes it better."
She started toward the side of the bed but turned away from it to cross her arms and face Mast. Her captive thrashed and screamed through the gag. "I think you will be interested to know what this man has to say."
CHAPTER ELEVEN: The Cost of Doing Business
“You are a strange and disturbing woman,” Mast said.
Leslie answered in a whisper. “No need to flatter me. Now convince this man to keep our little conversation confidential.”
Mast nodded. “Mast Jotham can do this.” He strode across the room and leaned down until his face was inches from the captive ShadEcon officer.
“Don’t put the gag back in. I’ll fraking die. She nearly suffocated me!”
“Shhh. Be calm, little human criminal. There are worse fates in the distant canyons of Ungwilook. Creatures who live off human blood.”
“Uh, how would they do that? I mean, humans aren’t native…”