“Annabelle will be returned once I’m in the pen, right?”
“Yes, Mr. Slade,” the Gunny answered. “We have no interest in harming your little girl. But if you get cute before the month is up, we can still get at her and your wife.”
“Yeah, I got it. I’ll play along.”
“Okay, everybody,” the Gunny barked, “get back into character. They’re on their way out.”
XVIII
On the return trip to the prison, one of the Marines shed his uniform and headgear to reveal a face only a mother could love; Leo Thaxter’s mother. He was a dead ringer for the mobster. The Gunnery Sergeant produced the magnetic key card that deactivated Thaxter’s shackles and quickly removed them. The mobster and the look-alike swiftly swapped their clothes and then the shackles were placed on the double.
“What about the microchip in my head?” Thaxter asked.
“It is only active while outside of the prison,” the Gunny explained. “It will be turned off as soon as ‘you’,” the Gunny nodded at Thaxter while pointing at Clancy, “re-enter the main gate. The frequency can’t penetrate collapsium shielding, and this APC is lousy with it. We stand outside until Clancy here clears the first gate, then you hustle back into the APC. Once we are airborne again we’ll try to disable the chip.”
“Try?” Thaxter became livid. “Try could get me a bullet in the head! Look, I just made a deal for my sister. I don’t want to screw that up. I didn’t ask for this and I’m not sure I want it.”
“Please, be calm, Mr. Thaxter. My associates are very competent. You will stay in this APC where the signal is blocked until the chip has been deactivated. Nobody will even know that you are missing with Clancy here keeping your cell warm.”
“Yeah, he looks like me, but what does he sound like?”
“They adjusted my vocal cords when they did the fine touches on my ears,” Clancy replied. “When I get to the prison I will request segregation.”
“Why would they give you that?” Thaxter looked back at the Gunny.
“Because there is a rumor that somebody took out a contract on you,” the Gunny said with a smile. “Remember?”
The Gunny further explained that the original plan was to abduct the mobster from a farming detail, but the disappearance of Brannhard allowed for a smoother and safer Plan B. With no exploding collar to deactivate there was far less risk of immediate detection or messy demise.
Thaxter had to grudgingly admit that these men, whoever they were, were slicker than snot on a doorknob. Then something occurred to him. “Hey, are you the guys that grabbed up Brannhard?”
The Gunny shook his head. “We have no interest in him. We simply took advantage of his abduction. Now, why don’t you give Clancy a quick run-down about prison life? He needs names and descriptions of friends and enemies, daily routine, cell number and location. Oh, and let him know where you fit in the prison hierarchy and how you talk to people. So far he’s only been coached off of the trial vids. If he’s gonna pull this off, he needs to be updated about your life in prison.”
* * * * * * * * *
Two hours later, in a new set of clothing, dark glasses, false beard and a deactivated homing device, Thaxter was hustled into the hotel room in Junktown with the six strange men.
“Welcome, Mr. Thaxter.”
Thaxter looked around at the six men and shabby hotel room he now found himself in and then returned his gaze to the obvious leader. “I’ll give you credit for having collapsium plated big ones, pal.”
The leader nodded.
“Fine,” Thaxter said. “Now that you got me, what are you going to do with me?”
The leader, Dane, stepped forward and answered. “We are going to help you get off-planet, Mr. Thaxter. You will be given extensive cosmetic surgery; smooth out that face, add a couple of inches to your height, maybe add a few pounds to that waistline. Then we will give you enough money to support yourself on some out-of-the-way planet. Loki is nice this time of year, though I imagine Freya would be more to your liking….”
“Yeah, I get it, you’re a freakin’ criminal genius,” Thaxter said, as his voice rose. “How did you pull this off, anyway?”
“I intercepted the call,” the dark-haired one with the pasty complexion said. He was the other ‘marine’ on the APC. “When Rainsford put in a call for the TFN base on Xerxes, I rerouted the call here.”
“How’d you know he would call?”
The leader smiled as he poured himself a drink, then a second one which he offered to Thaxter. “We spread the rumor about the hit on you. Rainsford is a big fan of over-kill, so I knew he would want military support to transport you to Mallorysport.”
“What if he didn’t buy the rumor, or just had a couple of cops question me at Prison House?”
“Then we would have tried something else.” Dane said. “We had several contingency plans ready to go, but this was our best bet.”
“I’ll admit it worked, but where did you get all that military stuff?” Thaxter took a drink. It was a twelve-year-old double malt scotch, neat, the way he always drank it.
“That was the easy part. Back when this planet first became classified as a Class IV inhabited world, a couple Terran Federation Naval Marines stole an Armored Personnel Carrier with a plan towards striking out for Delta continent and staking a claim. They never made it off Alpha. Instead, they were caught while stocking up on supplies and arrested for unauthorized absence. I…knew the man who defended them. He couldn’t beat the UA charge, but the TFN failed to make the connection between the two Marines and the missing APC.”
“Don’t military hardware have a tracking device like civilian vehicles?”
“Ha!” Brandon Murdock, who had played the Gunnery Sergeant, cut in. “Military vehicles don’t use theft protection devices like that. If the TFN can track an APC, so can the enemy whoever that might be. Besides, military vehicles tend to stand out in traffic.”
Thaxter could see the logic, up to a point. “Then why did those two Marines steal it in the first place?”
Dane chuckled. “Because they were certified brain donors. The only reason they got away with stealing the Amored Personnel Carrier is because they never had the chance to use it. The uniforms and most of the gear came with it as a sort of package deal. The weaponry was acquired from the local black market. And, their attorney arranged for some long-term storage for the APC in Junktown where nobody would ever find it.”
“Except you.”
“Like I said, I knew their attorney,” Dane stated.
“What do you need me for, anyway?” the mobster demanded. “I’m done on this world no matter how you slice it. My old crew wouldn’t touch me with a ten light-year pole. A few might even try to turn me in for a reward and a chance to go straight.”
“We want you to sign over your loan brokerage and private financier operation. We also want your…ah…client list to go with it. It will go nicely with Ivan Bowlby’s entertainment enterprises. Oh, and anything you can tell us about Spike Heenan’s operation would be very helpful.”
“So that’s it! You want to take over the local underworld.” Another thought struck the mobster. “Somehow, I don’t think Bowlby’s overdose was an accident. How do I know I won’t end up the same way?”
Dane sat down and lit a cigarette. After a couple of puffs, he spoke. “Mr. Bowlby proved reluctant to cooperate with us. You do not have that luxury, Mr. Thaxter. Besides, our aims are set much higher than simply running this planet’s illicit enterprises.”
“Higher? What? You tryin’ to take over the whole freakin’ planet?”
Thaxter’s only answer was the sudden silence in the room.
* * * * * * * * *
“Anything?”
“Afraid not.”
Jack Holloway and John Morgan had spent the greater part of the day crossing back and forth over Beta continent looking out for anything out of place. Jack couldn’t remember the last time he put so many hours of air-time at a stre
tch. While he manned the controls, John Morgan split his attention between the scanner that would register any unusual energy output and the viewscreen that captured and recorded several hectares of land.
Jack glanced at the power gauge and swore blasphemously in Freyan. Morgan looked over and asked what was wrong. Jack pointed at the gauge.
“We’re going to have to land and recharge for a while,” Jack explained that the nuclear battery was near the end of its warrentied lifespan and getting replaced soon and that the solar collector, though an antique, would keep them from getting standed.”
“I could use a little solid ground time, myself,” Morgan said. “I didn’t want to say anything, but I was starting to get a little airsick…whoa! I just got something on the scanner.”
“Let me set down then I’ll take a look.” Jack expertly brought the contra-gravity vehicle to ground then joined Morgan at the scanner. “Hmm…that’s a lot of power for an illegal prospector. Maybe we just found something big.”
Though Jack didn’t say it, Morgan knew ‘big’ might mean Gus Brannhard. “The power signature is about one point three seven kilometers northwest of our current position.” Morgan switched to the viewscreen and adjusted the image then pointed at the upper left section. “Just over this hill.”
“If we’re lucky they didn’t hear us coming.” Jack drew and inspected his sidearm. Satisfied it was loaded and the safety was off, he reached for his big 12.7 double express and repeated the process. He noticed Morgan was following his example with the .457. “John, I can’t ask you to get involved in this…”
“I came to help with the search,” Morgan countered. “Mr. Brannhard might be over that hill, so I’m already involved.”
Jack had to admit that the kid had stones. No telling what could be hiding behind the hill. “It might just be some trespassers doing a little digging…”
“Then you’ll need a little back-up in case you’re outnumbered.”
Jack shrugged in defeat. “Fine. Take the rifle and be ready to play sniper. Just follow my lead. Oh, and one more thing…”
“Yes?”
“Yes.” Jack smiled. “Let an old man finish a sentence once in a while. All right. Let’s do this.”
Before the two men started walking toward the suspect location, Jack set up the solar recharger. If things got too hot, he wanted a ready avenue of escape. John Morgan suggested calling for the police, but Jack said no. Whoever was on the other side of the hill might have police band scanners. No point in giving them a heads-up. Jack made a mental note to requisition an aircar with sound baffles and a secure radio for situations like this in the future.
Over the hill was an encampment of small equipment, two aircars, and a tattered fibroid weave canopy, numerous metal boxes with holes on the top and three men doing something around a portable electric grill. Jack grimaced. The trespassers used the grill rather than an open fire so as not to give away their position, but the damaged canopy failed to block the energy signature from up close. Jack quickly outlined his plan to Morgan, rechecked his sidearm, holstered it and then started down the hill several meters away from where he left Morgan. No point giving away his backup’s position.
It wasn’t until Jack got within ten meters of the three men that they noticed that they had company, and then the dirty one with the scraggly beard spotted him and told the other two. Their hands crept close to their guns, but didn’t pull them out right away.
“Where’d you come from?” the short man with red hair demanded.
“Just passing through and noticed your campsite.” Jack did a quick glance then returned his focus to the three men. No mining equipment was in evidence. That left out illegal prospectors. The shabby condition of the canopy and general appearance of the trio made Jack doubt the men had anything to do with Gus’s abduction, either. So what were they doing?
“You do realize that you are on the Fuzzy Reservation, right?” Jack asked.
“Who are you?” the large man with the shaved head asked. “The Native Affairs Commissioner?”
“Yes.”
If Jack had grown a second head the three men couldn’t have been more startled. What happened next surprised Jack. The three men all put their hands on their heads.
“Don’t worry yourself none, Mr. Holloway,” the redhead said. “We ain’t about to give you no kind of trouble.”
These men knew Jack’s reputation, apparently, and had no interest in testing it. That suited him just fine. He could tell that two of the men were right-handed and the third was a southpaw by how they wore their guns. “You two reach down with your left hand and unbuckle those gun belts, and you do it with your right hand, Lefty.”
After the belts hit the ground Jack pulled some plastic tie-wraps from a pocket and tossed it to the ground in front of the short man. “Slip those on your buddies’….”
The native Affairs Commissioner was interrupted by a loud noise and the sound of something striking the ground behind him. He successfully fought off the urge to spin around choosing to keep his attention on the men in front of him. The trio were disconcerted by Jack’s calm bearing.
Jack continued. “As I was saying, slip those on your buddies’ wrists then come over here and turn around.” The man obeyed and Jack slipped a tie-wrap around his wrists. By the time he finished John Morgan had joined the party rubbing his shoulder. “What did I tell you about interrupting me?”
“Didn’t think you would mind, this time,” Morgan said with a smile. On the ground behind Jack was a fourth man with a machete and a whole lot of air where a head used to be. “You never even glanced back after I made the shot. How did you know it was me doing the shooting?”
“Easy…I’m still breathing,” Jack replied. “And I know the sound of my own rifle. I couldn’t take my eyes off of these idiots, anyway. If I had, they might have gotten brave and gone for their guns.”
“You put a lot of trust in my aim,” Morgan pointed out. “I might have missed. Damned thing kicks like an oukry during mating season. I think I’m getting a bruise.”
“After that demonstration with the damnthing from a moving aircar, the last thing I was worried about was your aim.” Jack heard a muffled sound from one of the metal boxes. “Besides, if you hit me we wouldn’t be having this conversation. Mind taking a look at what’s in the boxes while I watch these boys?”
Morgan hustled off and inspected the boxes then hustled back. Jack was about to ask what he found when he felt a tug at his belt.
Jack turned and snarled, “What the hell?”
“I’m sorry, Jack, but I know a bit about your reputation, too. Go look in those boxes and you’ll see what I mean.” Jack hurried off and Morgan repositioned himself closer to the prisoners. “If you three have any hopes of seeing tomorrow morning, I strongly advise you all to keep your mouths shut.”
When Jack returned it was easy to see he was ready to kill somebody, three men in particular. Morgan interposed himself between Jack and the prisoners. “I read up on Zarathustran law on the way in, Jack. These men are dead, already.”
It took several minutes for Jack to reassert control of himself. When he did he went back and opened the metal cages and spoke soothingly to the Fuzzies as they climbed out. Morgan and Jack had stumbled into the other half of the Fuzzy slavery ring that Chief Steefer and the police found a few days earlier. Jack told the Fuzzies that they were safe now and could leave if they wanted to, or they could come with him to a wonderful place where Fuzzies were safe and happy.
The Fuzzies were unsure if they could trust the new Big Ones until all of the cages were opened and a couple from Hoksu-Mitto bounded up screaming, “Pappy Jack! Pappy Jack!”
The slavers had caught some Fuzzies out on the Gus hunt. While the Hoksu-Mitto Fuzzies told the rest about all the wonderful things the good Big Ones did for them, Jack returned to Morgan and the prisoners.
“Okay, I’ve calmed down. I’ll take my gun back if you don’t mind.”
Morgan
returned the weapon and Jack inspected it. Still loaded. “I’m not saying you were wrong, but you took a mighty big chance, there.”
“Victor Grego warned me how you feel about Fuzzies,” Morgan explained. “And that you have a bit of a temper.”
“He’s not wrong on either count, but I’ve never killed an unarmed man.” Jack glanced at the prisoners. “Though, I’ll confess to being real tempted, this time.” He took in a long breath and let it out slowly. “Let’s turn these Khooghras over to George Lunt and arrange a ride for the Fuzzies. I’m afraid we’ll have to cut short the search for Gus for today. These kids will need to be checked-out by the docs, processed in and reassured that we won’t eat them.”
Morgan gazed out over the open plain. “Do you think there are any more slavers out here?”
Jacks face grew dark. “If there are and I catch them, I hope they make a fight of it.”
XIX
Everybody was arguing. Red Fur wanted the tribe to stop taking the food the Big Ones were leaving for them and the tribe could not understand why. Red Fur told them about his fears that the Big Ones were fattening the Jin-f’ke up for slaughter but the Fuzzies could not grasp the concept. People did not eat people, and the Big Ones were just big people. Red Fur argued that it was possible the Big Ones did not know that the Jin-f’ke were people like them, only smaller and less wise. Or maybe they were like the gouru that ate their own dead.
“These Big Ones do not behave like any people we have ever known,” Red Fur said. “The people do not hide in burrows or fly in the sky in madethings. People do not leave food out for other people while hiding from them. People make friends!
“These Big Ones know we are here, but do not come out to make friends. They leave food for us, but do not meet us in person. Why do they hide from us? Are they afraid? How could they be afraid of us when they are so big? They even made a shimo-kato make dead!
“If they are not afraid and do not want to make friends, why do they leave us food?” Red Fur asked. He looked about at the tribe. “When is the last time any of you hunted? Climber has become…”—Red Fur thought hard for a word—“big around his middle. We are all becoming slow and big around the middle. What would we do if a shimo-kato came here? We not run fast. Shimo-kato come, we all make dead!”
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