by Scott Moon
“I’ll find someone on Darklanding to be his bondsman.”
“Do it. What else do you have?”
“That was the main thing for now. I’ll let you get back to work if you promise to see me tonight,” he said.
“It’s a date.”
***
Thaddeus found Dixie at the Mother Lode. She looked both drunk and distracted, a combination of conditions he’d never seen.
“I heard Sledge was in town. Can you confirm or deny?” he asked.
She smiled licentiously. “Why, Sheriff Fry, I can very much confirm the big brute is here and as virile as ever.”
“Too much information. I need to ask him for a favor.”
Dixie shrugged. "Then ask him. He's over at your training facility flipping tires over and over and over. I told him he's getting a gut and now he's working out like you."
"Thanks." Thaddeus left the Mother Lode and went around back to the vacant lot where he had his scavenged exercise gear piled. Michael “Sledge” Hammer, Ground Forces veteran and retired SagCon Special Investigator, had apparently completed his tire-moving routine and decided to beat it with a hammer.
The man was big, broad-shouldered, thick-waisted and thick-legged, and hairy everyplace but the crown of his head. Everyone knew he had an obsession with Dixie and that she sometimes returned his affections. For the most part, she was content to be chased and he was content to do the chasing.
"Sledge."
The giant man tossed the hammer against one of the truck tires and walked toward Thaddeus. "Hope you don't mind."
Thaddeus motioned toward the tires, ropes, and other heavy objects stacked along one side of the vacant lot. "Mi casa es su casa."
"Thanks. Dixie called me a fat slob."
"Weren’t you the one complaining about having a beer gut?"
Sledge shrugged. "What's up?"
"I've got a job for you. You ever been a bondsman?"
His face became cautious and skeptical. "Yeah, I have all the proper licenses. Part of my special investigator credentials that I maintain. What do you have in mind, Thaddeus Fry?”
"I need to keep an eye on Proletan. He's locked up, but I don't feel great leaving him without a guard.”
Sledge held up his hands. "Nope. I don't do guard duty. All I'll do is sit around and eat and get fat. I'm having a hard enough time as it is.”
"I was hoping you could bond him out and then keep an eye on him. You could use him as a sparring partner," Thaddeus said.
"Are you trying to get me killed?"
"Will you do it? I'm running out of options."
Sledge picked up a towel from one of the piles of shipping counterweights Thaddeus sometimes dragged back and forth across the lot and wiped his face. "Sure. Why the hell not. What can you tell me about him?"
"He's one of those honor among assassins types. Doesn't respect his employers but still takes the money and does the job," Thaddeus said.
"Great. He's probably moody and introspective when he’s not slitting people's throats.”
"That's your problem.”
"How long are we doing this? His trial might be two years away with the way things are nowadays. I'm not sitting on him that long. You best figure out a solution before then."
"I will."
CHAPTER SIX: A Full Time Job
“Why am I locked up and he’s sitting out there?” Carter asked. “I’m illegally detained for doing my job and the assassin gets to watch vids?”
“He has a point,” Proletan said, flipping the channel to a low-altitude racing program.
“First of all, this isn’t my jail. I don’t make the rules. Second of all, Proletan is out on bond. You’re being held prisoner against your boss’s good behavior,” Sledge said. “It’s more of a kidnapping than an actual detention…entirely different set of rules.”
Carter laughed crazily and paced across his cell. “I can’t believe this. You’re insane. Do you have any idea what Interstellar Enterprises will do to you when they find out about this?”
Sledge opened drawer after drawer of Thad’s desk. “They’ll have to cut me in half and share me with ShadEcon, I imagine. Assuming the Sagittarian Conglomerate doesn’t come after me next. I didn’t leave on the best terms.”
Carter stopped and stared at Sledge. “Damn, you’re an ugly brute. What does Dixie see in you?”
Sledge marched to the prisoner door and hammered one fist on the mute button. “Sticks and stones will break your bones if you keep running your mouth, kid.”
Carter replied but no sound came through the intercom to match the movement of his mouth.
“He’s not bad, for a security specialist,” Proletan said. “You are ruining his career. You know that, right?”
"What do you care?"
Proletan clicked off the vid screen. "I care about very little. Human behavior interests me. I'm a critical observer, like a scientist.”
"Who kills people," Sledge said. He understood what the man was saying. A certain level of detachment was necessary to operate in a maelstrom of chaos and violence. He wasn't sure if Proletan had been in war, but it was a good bet. Likely he had transitioned out of a high-speed commando unit into the world of highly-paid mercenaries.
It was unlikely he would learn the truth about Proletan's background. It didn't matter. The ShadEcon enforcer had always shrouded himself in mystery. What mattered was whether or not Sledge could keep the man from killing his friends.
Proletan watched him, his expression calm and neutral. With his feet kicked up on a desk and the vid controller in one hand, he looked relaxed.
Sledge and Proletan were about the same height—large, broad-shouldered men with thick muscles and a look of quickness despite their size. Sledge outweighed him by twenty or thirty pounds, which wasn't necessarily a bad thing. In a foot race, he’d lose. If he had to pin the man to the ground during a fight, he'd have the advantage.
"You're not going to say anything? I just called you a killer, and not in a good way."
Proletan dropped his feet to the floor and sat up. He leaned his elbows on his knees and looked earnestly at Sledge. "A warrior must be calm in the face of all things.”
“Miyamoto Musashi,” Sledge said, “The Book of Five Rings.”
Proletan nodded and said nothing.
"So we've read a lot of the same books and have similar training. The difference between us is right now, you're my prisoner. Sheriff Fry doesn't want to send you back to pretrial confinement on Melborn.”
"Because I would be released almost immediately and would come back to kill him and all of his friends." He paused. "Not out of vendetta, but because I would be paid to do so."
"Ding, ding, ding! We have a winner!" He stood up and cracked his knuckles. "So here's how it's going to work. You've been paroled to me. You're my responsibility. If you think you'll take another crack at my friends, you'll have to go through me. And trust me, brother, you never fought anyone like me."
"I understand."
"I'll gun you down if I even see you look crosswise at the wrong person," Sledge said.
"A wise course of action," Proletan said.
“Where'd you serve?"
A tired, slightly sad smile crossed Proletan's expression. "I never had the honor. Most people believe I was some sort of shock trooper who decided to get paid. The truth is, I was born and raised to this. No one ever gave me a choice."
Sledge wasn't sure what to say so he kept his mouth shut.
Proletan continued in a quiet voice. "We could be friends, I think. So I will give you this warning, don't think you know me or understand me. And most of all, do not think that you can take me in a one-to-one fight. We would both regret the outcome."
"Thaddeus beat you.”
"He was lucky. Everyone loses some of the time, even me. I don't resent the outcome. It is what it is. Now I'm paroled to an oversized caveman. It could be worse." He changed the course of the conversation abruptly. "For the record, I was glad
to see Fry defeat LeClerc in the low-altitude racing exhibition on Darklanding."
“LeClerc was a piece of work.”
Carter slammed his fist on the door of his cell but no sound reached the outside.
"You're going to have to do something about him," Proletan said.
"I'm open to suggestions."
"You have three options: let him go, kill him, or sit here and guard him. It's all very tedious. Is there something around here I could read?"
Sledge shook his head. "The only thing I've found are some printouts of online law enforcement coursework. I'm not sure if Thaddeus has read all of them, but Mast has made colorful notes in the margins.”
"I'm fluent in Unglok. Could be interesting.”
Sledge pointed at the desk. "Top drawer on the left."
Before long, the ShadEcon enforcer was quietly reading in the corner. Sledge went to the cell and pushed the talk button. "Carter, I'm thinking about letting you go.”
The young security specialist stared at him without responding, clearly not amused with what he expected was another game.
"I just spent the last half-hour threatening the most deadly assassin in human history to stay away from my friends.”
"How'd that go?" Carter asked.
Sledge shrugged.
"Well, are you going to let me go or not?" His frustration started to show through his professionalism. "You destroyed my credibility with Ortega. I can't admit what happened to me and I can't make anything up to explain where I've been all night."
"I can probably provide you an alibi. One of Dixie's girls, Leslie Stargazer most likely. She'll tell Ortega she had you handcuffed to a bed. Come to think of it, that's not a bad idea." Sledge hit the mute button and turned away before Carter could respond.
He felt like a jerk. Carter wasn't a bad guy. He didn't deserve this kind of treatment. At the same time, Sledge didn't take chances with his enemies.
Dixie came as soon as he called. They’d often rendezvoused at the Cornelius Vandersun Correctional Facility and Rehab Center. Thaddeus rarely set foot in the place unless he had somebody in custody. It was modern, air-conditioned, and had two vacant employee apartments on the second floor.
His heart skipped a beat when she walked in the front door. "There's my beautiful seductress."
Dixie batted her eyes. They embraced and kissed until Proletan cleared his throat.
"Oh, honey, I'm not embarrassed by public displays of affection." She leaned close to Sledge and played with a piece of chest hair sticking out of the top of his shirt. "I see you have a lot of company, which makes me wonder what you need me here for?"
"I think you’re right, we should release Carter. But he needs an alibi. We play our cards well, maybe we can kind of have a half-assed double agent in Ortega's camp.”
"What do you have in mind, you big, strong, hairy man?”
"I think Leslie should handcuff our young security specialist to her bed and have her way with him. He’d basically have no choice but to be on our side after that.”
Dixie thought about it for a while. "I think Leslie will be good for the handcuffing part, at least. After that, we'll see."
***
Proletan remained in his corner reading this somewhat humorous law enforcement coursework. It seemed so basic and naïve. There were, however, a few things he'd forgotten that could be useful in the future. Procedural stuff, things that pointed to the psychology of the guardian sect. Every society had this group of men and women who thought they were standing up for what was right in protecting the weak.
He watched Sledge and Dixie talk. It was disappointing they had underestimated his hearing. Surely they should've known that as an interstellar assassin and super-spy turned enforcer, he would have better-than-average powers of observation.
The conversation was predictable and almost amusing. He felt bad for Carter. The man was getting the shaft from everyone, his employer and his adversaries both. But that wasn't what had his attention now.
He knew Dixie from the orphanage. Not everything he had told Sledge was true. He'd been taken at an early age and subjected to training that some people would consider torturous, but he had not been born into the life he currently led. Like many of his peers, he had been a throwaway child until someone recognized his innate talents.
He remembered Dixie. They had been children, and he'd been in love with her to the extent five-year-olds understood the emotion. It surprised him he wasn't upset by this new development. She hadn't recognized him. Probably because she hadn't really looked at him yet—or hadn’t really been looking at him all those years ago.
Turning away from their conversation, he immersed himself in the printouts of the online coursework. It seemed Thaddeus wasn't a notetaker. Mast, on the other hand, had done a spectacular job of making the documents interesting.
CHAPTER SEVEN: Where is Maximus Now?
Mast Jotham was worried. Maximus, the Glakridozian pig-dog they’d all come to love and cherish despite his bad attitude and morning flatulence, had been gone for hours. A month ago, this would have been normal, however, the animal had kept Mast or Thaddeus in sight after the incident with the hunter Zanerexourn Voidhunter.
“I haven’t seen him,” Thad said. “I thought I heard him howling last night, but by the time I woke up, everything was quiet again.”
“I dreamed of him running through the streets of Darklanding,” Mast said, knowing this would catch his friend’s attention. Ungloks only had nine dreams in their lives. Mast had spent one not so long ago during his vision quest into the shaft concealing the alien ship.
Thaddeus stopped what he was doing. "We better find him."
"That is very muchly what I am thinking as well. Should we go together or split up?"
"Let's split up."
Before long, Mast was striding through the streets of Darklanding looking for a pig-dog-thing in jeopardy. The Glakridozian had rid himself of the Heart Stone but maybe the poisons had already done their damage.
He searched throughout the day and into the evening. Hours passed slowly, and he worried about the animal.
A horrible sound split the night, grabbing Mast’s attention immediately. He called out, but Maximus did not respond. The animal was too far away and moving fast.
Mast called Sheriff Fry. "I have not found Maximus, but I hear him howling and running."
The reply was scratchy. There had been a lot of interference in the communication network. Thaddeus had said it was because too many ships were coming and going from the system, even though there was not much exotic ore to move.
"Can you tell if he's hunting? Because that would be great. I can stop worrying about him and stop fielding the complaints about our angry rodent problem.”
"Angry rodents are a problem?"
"People are losing their pets. They blame it on rats, or whatever rat-like creatures are here on Ungwilook. I've been meaning to talk to you about it," Thaddeus said. "I'm in the middle of something. Can't spend all my time looking for Maximus. Let me know as soon as you find him.”
"I will muchly do that," Mast said. He hurried toward the sounds of howling in the night.
***
Thaddeus stood from his small desk and walked to his window. His apartment was feeling more and more like an office. All he did was work. When he wasn't on patrol or breaking up fights, he was catching up on reports and filing requests for additional equipment and manpower. It reminded him of his days in Ground Forces.
He opened the window vent and listened for Maximus. After a few minutes, he heard the howl and recognized it immediately. "Get your hairy butt back here, pig-dog,” he muttered.
With renewed determination, he strode to his desk intent on closing out his paperwork for the day and rejoining the search. He scrolled through them to make sure nothing would come back and bite him if he put it off until tomorrow. At the bottom of the list, there were dozens of complaints from citizens of Darklanding. He was about to shut the computer down w
hen he noticed similarities in the reports.
People complained of losing pets. They reported attacks by nightmare creatures, spider things with too many legs. He'd initially dismissed them because the details were never consistent. Some described the pests as palm-sized. Others claimed they were as big as a grown man.
"These have to be an exaggeration." He closed out the workstation and strapped on his blaster belt. It was time for another patrol in search of his missing Glakridozian friend.
***
Yakti-droon was a thousand bodies and one mind. Perhaps he was too ancient, maybe he was poisoned with evil thoughts, but he grew stronger night by night. A younger version of his race might have rushed headlong into slaughter, feasting until the prey fought back.
Yakti-droon was smarter because he was older. Thousands upon thousands of years older, in mind at least. He had existed within many bodies. It was the intellect that mattered. Once, or perhaps a hundred times, he had made the mistake of rushing into herds of victims to gorge himself and bathe in the bloodletting. But that always brought the guardians who knew how to fight and loved to kill Yakti-droon’s many bodies.
The Glakridozian howled in the night.
Yakti-droon crouched low to the ground, body trembling, his fifteen legs twitching in fear. He paused. He counted. It seemed that he’d had more legs once, maybe a hundred?
His hunger spiked. He needed to feast on blood and fear or his long life would become a pathetic damnation of hibernation. Never again would he submit to the long sleep that had taken him when the ship had been parked at the bottom of the Ungwilook shaft.
But first, he had to eliminate the Glakridozian. Once the vile creature was gone, the slaughter of Darklanding could begin.
CHAPTER EIGHT: Stood Up
Shaunte read the message twice, surprised Thad would beg off a dinner-meeting. As busy as they were, they’d had success combining business and pleasure. A one-hour business date could transition into a pleasant evening if they started in the right place—like the Red Door Restaurant or a scenic overlook of the dramatically-altered Transport Canyon.