by J. S. Bailey
Dalton closed his eyes and imagined walking into his house to see Darneisha sitting on the sofa reading bedtime stories to Kendra and Imani, wearing her favorite ochre dress and a blossom tucked behind her ear. The thought lit up his entire being for the briefest of instants before he crashed back down into the unrelenting gloom of the present.
Instead, he thought of driving up to the forests, glugging a tanker of fuel over every speck of organic matter, lighting a match, and watching the bastards burn.
“You’re smiling!” Chumley exclaimed.
Yes, Dalton thought. Yes, he was. And as long as he thought about what he’d love to do to the Greens himself, he didn’t think he’d be able to stop.
Several hundred curious citizens already lined the sidewalks when the caravan from the spaceport lurched into town carrying Naomi Schwartzman and her cronies. Dalton, lurking near the stage with his hands clasped behind his back and his healing sunburn itching him worse than ever, kept an eye on the throng to make sure nobody got out of hand. Chumley stood at the opposite corner of the stage, squinting at the crowd in mild trepidation, but everyone seemed too excited about the approaching caravan to give Chumley any extra notice.
Dalton had missed Carolyn’s broadcast to the town. He wondered what she’d said to encourage them to behave.
Errin had dragged a few of the nicer-looking chairs out of Carolyn’s office and lined them up along the back of the stage. They’d slathered their fair skin with sunblock, donned a wide-brimmed-hat, and were fanning themself with a black folder Dalton remembered seeing on Carolyn’s desk.
Good idea, Dalton thought. It might pay to have everyone look sweltering and miserable in front of the FCU people. He could practically feel his new air conditioning unit now.
The soft rumble of the caravan’s engine echoed off the adobe buildings as it approached. Dalton straightened his shoulders and imagined himself feeding Greens into a woodchipper.
Errin hurriedly set the folder down on the podium and stood beside it, short but proud in their pale blue shirt and spotless slacks. Dalton wondered if Errin knew that a glob of sunblock had plastered a curl of their sandy hair to their forehead, and if Carolyn would say anything about it later.
The caravan pulled up in front of the stage. Dalton wondered what Naomi Schwartzman would think about the dents and dings in the caravan’s body, and the peeling paint that had once been a gleaming white. He felt sure someone could have scrounged up a nicer-looking transport for the visitors, but he supposed this had been another strategic Carolyn thing intended to conjure extra sympathy.
Brakes hissed as the caravan parked. Dalton could see a flurry of motion through the row of squarish windows, and then the door slid open to reveal Carolyn chatting with a tall, imposing woman who could only be Naomi Schwartzman.
Ms. Schwartzman’s skin was a rich, olive tone, and her jet-black hair had been piled atop her head and sprayed so heavily, it was probably solid. She wore a black pantsuit and blazer—she’d be roasting out here in no time—and a gaze that held more clinical interest than charity.
Four additional suited persons emerged from the caravan after Naomi. Dalton didn’t recognize any of them. More FCU people, then.
He pictured himself dropping a nuke on the Greens from orbit.
“Ms. Schwartzman, I’d like to introduce you to Mr. Dalton Kane, our sheriff,” Carolyn said, leading the woman in his direction. “Sheriff, this is Naomi Schwartzman of Frontier Care United.”
“It’s a pleasure meeting you.” Dalton gently shook the woman’s hand. It felt like ice. His nose and ears itched. He imagined a Molorthia Six with no vegetation at all, just a vast desert, safe and sound.
“Likewise, Mr. Kane,” Naomi said in an unfamiliar accent. Her gaze slid past him like water running off an oil slick. Dalton was not disappointed.
“And this is Mr. Chumley Fanshaw, our new deputy,” Carolyn said, bringing Naomi over to Chumley, who’d put on one of Dalton’s old trench coats over his mauve shirt, which he’d left rakishly unbuttoned at the top. He’d opted to go hatless, presumably to show off his moussed hair.
“Nice meeting you, ma’am,” Chumley said, giving her hand a shake.
Naomi studied his face. “What happened to you?”
“Accident. It, erm, comes with the job.” Chumley coughed, and Naomi immediately lost interest in him as well.
Carolyn then led Naomi up onto the stage. “And this is Mx. Errin Inglewood, my personal aide, who has saved my sanity on more occasions than I can count.”
“It’s truly an honor to meet you,” Errin said to the woman.
Naomi then leaned down and murmured something to Carolyn, who nodded and stepped back, motioning for Errin to join her in front of the row of chairs, though neither of them sat. Naomi’s cronies ascended the portable steps and lined up beside them, looking impassive.
Naomi herself stepped up to the podium and tapped at the microphone to test its functionality. Dalton flinched at the amplified sound as it issued through the large speaker directly behind him.
“Greetings, good citizens of Richport,” she said. “As you may know, I am Naomi Schwartzman of Frontier Care United. For the past forty-six years, our organization has dedicated itself to the betterment of every worthy human colony world. Our funding is made possible through generous donors who wish to see humankind succeed no matter where they may live in the universe. This week, we are here on Molorthia Six to assess your colony’s most vital needs. We will be spending time here in Richport as well as some of your other settlements to observe your ways of life and conduct interviews with citizens as part of that assessment.
“With me this week are my colleagues Myron Estevez, Anastasia Sheen-Smith, Gopal Shah, and Olivia Newkirk. They will be helping me collect data about your colony.”
The four FCU cronies dipped their heads as their names were called. Already bored by the formalities, Dalton refocused his attention on the crowd, where parents held their children aloft to get a better look and couples whispered excitedly among themselves, no doubt dreaming of whatever luxuries FCU might bestow upon them.
Naomi continued to ramble for some time, citing their successes on other colony worlds where they’d installed solar panels, wind turbines, new plumbing, and the like. Dalton’s sunburn itched worse than ever, which was when he realized he’d forgotten to apply fresh ointment that morning before leaving the house.
“Does anyone have any questions?” Naomi asked, at last.
Dalton snapped back to attention as a hand near the middle of the crowd shot into the air.
Naomi gave a thin smile. “Yes?”
“Are you going to give us any swimming pools?” asked a young voice. Dalton couldn’t see who it was, but it sounded like one of Imani’s old friends from school, which made his chest tighten.
He quickly thought of collecting seashells with his brother Rob back in Cornwall, then banished the images when he realized they were too painful.
This smiling thing was going to become a problem.
Naomi appeared slightly taken aback by the question. “What this colony receives will be based on our careful assessment of colony needs. We cannot guarantee any particular donation before the assessment has taken place.”
“What about air conditioners?” a man called without raising his hand.
“What about them?” Naomi asked, her eyes narrowing further.
“We need to keep cool!” someone else shouted from the crowd. “Adobe only does so much to keep the heat out.”
“If you’d wanted to keep cool that badly, you wouldn’t have terrorized that air conditioner salesman to death!” another person butted in. “I was all ready to pay him, and everything!”
“If you’d hated the heat that badly, you shouldn’t have moved to this planet in the first place!”
Chumley threw Dalton a worried glance from his posi
tion at the other corner of the stage. Dalton shook his head to indicate not now. His waning faux-smile left his face entirely as he took two intimidating steps closer to the crowd and glared his best glare.
Nobody paid any attention to him.
“Does anybody else have any questions?” Naomi asked, her tone as frigid as the day was hot.
“What about a new movie theater?” another citizen called out from somewhere off to Dalton’s left. “The one we’ve got here is falling apart. The projector broke last week during the middle of James Bond 200!”
Dalton peered back at the stage in time to see Carolyn stride forward and take the microphone from Naomi. “Our good friends at FCU have had such a long journey; I’m sure they’re looking forward to a bit of rest,” Carolyn said, using her best PR tone.
A flurry of motion made Dalton turn his head. Gwendolyn Goldfarb broke free of the throng, kaftan fluttering as she ran, hatless, down the street, shouting, “Grapefruit! Grapefruit! Where in the bloody hell did they find grapefruit?”
Dalton let her go. If she wanted to act crazy, at least she was doing it away from everyone else.
A few other citizens asked questions of a somewhat more serious nature, and Dalton started to relax, chaos averted.
Two minutes later, Cadu Mão de Ferro’s voice crackled out of the comm unit in Dalton’s pocket, much too loudly for his taste. “Um, Dalton? Bit of a problem . . . ”
Dalton gnashed his teeth together and moved away from the stage. “What?” he hissed into the comm.
“Well, um, Maxine of the city watch just called in a report.”
“She’s on patrol right now?”
“Carolyn thought it would be a good idea. Cover all our bases, that kind of thing.”
“What’s the report?”
“Well . . . she’s out on the eastern edge of town, right behind your place.”
Dalton could feel his knuckles going white as he gripped the comm. “So what?”
“She says she’s found evidence that Greens have passed through recently.”
He shuddered at the sound of that word. “What sort of evidence?”
“Maybe you should just come down here.”
“I’ll be there in a minute.”
Dalton pocketed his comm, lifted his head, and froze.
Nearly everyone in a two-block radius was staring at him.
He tried to think of something happy but drew only a blank.
“Greens are attacking again?” someone asked, tremulous.
“Did someone say Greens are attacking?”
“Oh my God, they’re gonna kill us!”
Dalton watched, mortified, as the crowd surged in a sudden terror. People collided with each other as they chose different directions to escape in, and panicked cries filled the air in a dissonant chorus.
It was the closest thing to a mob Dalton had ever seen.
“There’s no attack!” Dalton shouted. “Calm down, all of you!”
But Maxine had seen something. What if there had been a minor attack he’d missed, being here in the middle of town?
What if someone else was dead? And near his house!
His own panic rising, Dalton rushed to Chumley’s side. His deputy’s eyes had gone round, and he’d drawn his loaded water pistol even though there wasn’t anything to shoot at.
“What in the world is going on here?” Naomi exclaimed behind them as more people scattered. Children were crying, adults were shouting, and Dalton just knew Carolyn was going to kill him and love every moment of it.
“What do we do?” Chumley whispered.
“Remain calm!” Dalton bellowed to the crowd. “I order you all to remain calm!”
He might as well have been telling a sandstorm to hold still for him.
“Dalton?” Cadu said from the comm. “A stampede just rushed past the station, and Gwendolyn Goldfarb walked in, singing something about grapefruit.”
Dalton felt torn. He needed to get to the station to learn what Maxine had found, but he also needed to get this crowd under control before anyone got trampled.
But that’s what he had a deputy for, right?
“Chumley, you stay here to maintain order,” he said. “I’m going to the station.”
“Me?” Chumley looked vaguely seasick.
“Yes, you! Now get on with it!”
Dalton set off toward the police station without looking back. He could hear Chumley feebly raise his voice to address the crowd as Dalton twisted and sidestepped and elbowed and ducked his way through it.
He burst through the police station door ten minutes later, his shoulder and his side throbbing from the crowd’s frantic jostling. Gwendolyn sat hunched in a chair, eyes round and glazed.
“Exodus,” she murmured, peering up at Dalton.
Dalton scowled at her, then at Cadu, who stood near his own desk with his comm in hand. Cadu held the device out for him to take. Dalton snatched it up and said, “Maxine, what the hell is happening out there?”
Carolyn burst through the police station door half a second before Maxine could answer, her hairdo crooked and murder glinting in her eyes.
“I’m doing my rounds like I was supposed to, Sheriff,” Maxine said, voice shaking. “And I found leaves.”
Dalton’s mouth opened and closed a few times before actual sound came out of it. “Leaves?”
“They’re a little shriveled and buried in the sand, but I can tell what they are. They grow on the Greens.”
“Why would they pull off their own leaves?” Dalton asked, feeling too stunned to use his critical thinking skills properly.
“I doubt they did, Sheriff. I did a botany course my senior year of university. They shed their leaves like we shed our hair. And . . . well, there’s so many out here, half-buried, it looks like some large number of them passed through here. Maybe one, two days ago? I can bring them in as evidence.”
Carolyn tore the comm out of Dalton’s grip. “Maxine, this is Carolyn,” she said. “What is your precise location?”
“I’m on the eastern side of town, a little way out into the desert. I can see the sheriff’s back porch from here, ma’am.”
“Stay precisely where you are,” Carolyn ordered. “We’re coming out to take a look at this.”
“We?” Dalton had officially run out of things to smile about. “You’re not on the force.”
“I have an image to keep in front of our visitors, and I’ll do whatever I damn well please to maintain it.”
To Dalton’s ultimate chagrin, Naomi Schwartzman herself pushed her way inside the station, followed by her colleagues, a highly-flustered Errin Inglewood, and one tear-streaked Chumley Fanshaw, who had a fresh bruise forming on his left cheek.
“They wouldn’t listen to me,” Chumley moaned. “And now someone’s gotten out a flamethrower!”
Dalton felt utterly helpless as everyone in the room stared at him, their expressions demanding answers he didn’t have.
“Dalton, Chumley, you two will come with me to meet Maxine,” Carolyn said, her tone grave. “Ms. Schwartzman, words cannot describe how deeply sorry I am this has happened in front of all of you. This is not the way things usually are in our city, I can promise you that.”
“I see,” Naomi said. Her expression remained neutral. Dalton imagined her jotting down mental notes to store away for later, none of them good.
“Cadu, see if you can’t keep the peace out there while we investigate whatever is going on on the east side,” Carolyn went on. “Errin, you go with him and see what you can do. As for her . . . ” She trailed off, looking at Gwendolyn. “Hell if I know.”
Gwendolyn blinked up at Carolyn. “Grapefruit is full of vitamin C,” she whisper-sang. “Good for you, and good for me.”
Dalton wished that a bolt of lightning would shoot down from
the heavens and incinerate him on the spot to spare him this humiliation.
“I’m on it, ma’am,” Cadu said, giving Carolyn a little salute and darting out of the police station, Errin on his heels. Dalton heard him let out a shrill whistle to capture people’s attention, but he doubted anyone would listen. When an entire city’s survival instinct kicked in and sent them scattering, there was little anyone could do but watch.
“See?” Maxine said, scraping aside sand with one booted foot. “Leaves.”
Dalton bent down somewhat dizzily to examine what she’d unearthed. Several bright green, waxy leaves did indeed lay half-buried in the loose soil, and he banished wild visions of each one growing into a full-bodied Green before their very eyes, vengeful and hungry and full of teeth.
Naomi Schwartzman and her people observed him from a distance tapping notes into datapads, because of course they’d all had to come with them as part of their “assessment.”
“How could you have failed to notice an army of the damned things marching past your house?” Carolyn said, her hands planted on her hips. “It’s your job to notice this kind of thing.”
Dalton glared at her as he straightened. “Clearly, they either came through in the middle of the night, or when I wasn’t home. And how do we know it was a lot of them? Maybe two or three got into a scuffle and pulled out all of each other’s hair. Er, leaves.”
“It was a lot,” Chumley murmured.
Dalton rounded on him, and Chumley flinched backward. “What did you say?”
“I saw them, night before last. I couldn’t sleep and came outside, and . . . they weren’t hurting anybody. Honest.” Sweat started to distort Chumley’s carefully-coiffed hair.
“And what, pray tell, were they doing?” Carolyn asked. Dalton felt grateful not to be on the receiving end of that glare, which had grown icy enough to freeze the entire desert into a skating rink.
“Walking,” Chumley said. “Single-file. I was afraid at first, but they didn’t notice me.”