The Snows of Montora (The Chronicles of Montora Book 3)

by Ward Wagher

  “Yeah, you're right. Let's do this. Send somebody to one of the curio shops in the Old Town and buy a pot load of shiny things for the crew.”

  “That's a great idea, Skipper. They'll love you forever.”

  “I don't care if they love me or not. I just want to do something nice for them. I don't know why, but that whole planet seems dedicated to helping Frank Nyman, and it drives me crazy.”

  “Okay, I'll send Pamela down. She loves to shop.”

  “No, send Stephanie,” Frank said. “Pamela will bust the bank.”

  “Right,” Emily said flipping more screens. “Now Menninger's Enterprise. Nothing outstanding here either way.”

  “Correct. Probably the most average ship we have. Perfectly usable, though.”

  “Are we keeping the captain?”

  Frank rubbed his chin as he thought. “Good question. Maugham pulled his crew together and got the ship here in good order, but he's awfully green.”

  “I did a little checking on him,” Emily said. “Mustered out of the Navy as a lieutenant. Commanded a system defense boat for six months. Got a decent fit-rep.”

  “That's a little thin, though, for as much responsibility as he has running a freighter.”

  “He grew up on his parents' ship, though.”

  Frank looked blank for a moment, then slapped his forehead. “Of course. He's Dave Maugham's boy. They've been independents for what, thirty years? Davis will probably do fine. Have we got somebody solid we can put in as his Exec?”

  Emily began paging through her comp-tablet again. “Something just came to mind. Jack's executive officer is Stinky. Spent quite a few years in the Navy.”

  “Command position?”

  “No, Frank. You know how the Navy is. C&GSC graduate though,” she said, meaning the Command and General Staff College.

  “Frank chewed on his lip for a bit. “Okay. The Woogies think they owe me, so I'll take them up on it. Besides, if I remember right, the Maughams are kind of snooty. I'll tell Davis Maugham he can keep Menninger's if he is willing to let Stinky mentor him. That should tell us what he's made of. Now, how are we on the crews?”

  “Remarkably, we are in good shape. We had maybe a half dozen positions to fill. There was no shortage of applicants. Word is starting to get around about Nyman Trans-Space.”

  Frank nodded. “Cargo?”

  “Getting there,” Emily replied. “Bringing Liston's family out was a good call.”

  Frank stretched his arms over his head, and yawned. “Been busy here today. Yes, I have to admit – I didn't think it would work out. It's actually amazing the entire family decided to uproot and move out here.”

  “We got two employees out of it. George got one, and the town got a couple.”

  “I'm almost happier for the town,” Frank said. “They got an instant judge with Janise, and then Matt running the town hall offices.”

  “We did all right, too,” Emily replied. “Ken Lester is one powerful salesman. He has Osterreich booked for six months already. He and Janise make a sharp couple. And Adam seems to be a sharp accountant.”

  “Just make sure you follow up with Spanky to borrow his auditor. If one of George's kids got caught with their hand in the till, it would be messy.”

  “I hear ya, Frank. And George is happy to have Todd in the family business.”

  Frank leaned back in his chair, with his arms behind his head. “So, we just have to finish looking for cargo for Menninger's and the worst of the work is done.”

  “I wouldn't say that, Boss,” Emily said. “We just doubled the office work and we were understaffed as it was. Having Ken and Adam helps, but we still need a half dozen worker bees.”

  “That many? You're going to break me, Ems.”

  “Call it six, Frank. We've got to put mechanisms in place to manage cargo. We need somebody full time to manage victualing – unless you want to source that to George.”

  Frank tapped his teeth together as he thought about that. “Tell you what – schedule a meeting for you and me with George. Let's see what he recommends. I really don't know enough about that area, and neither do you. Maybe he could hire somebody to do that for us, and we could eventually bring that person in-house here, once we get our feet on the ground.”

  Emily made a note on her tablet. “Will do. I think that's everything I had. Pamela is having the whole Liston brood in tonight and she invited the five of us too.”

  “I don't know, Ems. I think I just want to go home. I'm kind of tired.”

  “Come on, Frank. It'll be good for you to get out.”

  “I get out all day talking to customers and suppliers,” Frank said. “Go on ahead. Take Stephanie. And take one of the sergeants too. They have to spend their days following me around. They need a life too.”

  Emily shook her head as she left Frank's office. Once she had arranged to hire a housekeeper for the Wilton Street house, she had moved to her own place. The work at the office consumed her days. She walked past Smith's desk.

  “We were invited to Liston's tonight. Stephanie and I are going. Either you or Jones is going. Frank just wants to go home.”

  Smith nodded. “Yep. Wants to spend another wonderful evening sitting in his study, staring at the walls.”

  “I wish we could do something about that,” Emily said. “He's destroying himself.”

  Smith held up his hands in a helpless gesture. “If you have any ideas, I'd love to hear them. I'm fresh out.”

  “Me too. And I didn't mean to snap at you, Cedric.”

  “The frustration gets to all of us, I guess. We have someone, who is fundamentally a good man, screwing himself into the ground like this. It's like watching a slow-motion shuttle crash. I'm hoping the responsibility for the employees here will snap him out of it.”

  “That or another crisis.”

  Smith twisted his head to one side and grimaced. “There is that. They tend to get bloody, though. Our friendly, little, local revolution was the exception to the rule. We won't be lucky twice very often.”

  “I read you, Smith,” Emily said. “Fortunately most of the local muscle seems to have magically reformed themselves after Chavis disappeared.”

  “If we get the economy moving, most of them will have better lives than before. There will be a small group that will be watching for the chance to get back into business.”

  “Fillbee's unfortunate demise seems to have been a good punctuation mark,” Emily said. “Probably the only useful thing that occurred in his life. It was warning to the lowlife that some forms of crime won't be tolerated.”

  “Still, Elias Rooste was pretty mad about it. Said Fillbee was the best waiter he ever had.”

  “I just wonder if his attack on Stephanie was a one time thing, or if he was notching up the score?”

  “We may never know. I certainly haven't shed any tears over his loss, and neither has Jones.” Smith looked down at his desk and then looked up at Emily again. “Any thoughts on what to do about the boss?”

  “I just try to keep him so busy he collapses with exhaustion each night,” Emily responded.

  “Well, that works about twice each week.”

  “I suppose that will have to do,” she said. “Now, I need to go talk to Stephanie about bearing gifts to Woogies.”

  “Small shiny objects?” Smith asked.

  “Exactly. For Captain Jack.”

  “Smart move. Woogies are straight-up people, but they do love that which glitters.” Smith grinned. “Why do you suppose Jack selected his name?”

  Emily thought for a moment. “One-eyed Jack?”

  “That's what I thought too. Do you suppose the Woogies are that subtle?”

  “Oh, you can bet on that, Sergeant. Most of them are not overtly funny, but they love their tongue-in-cheek, dry humor.”

  “I wish there were more of them around. I think they tend to keep the humans on an even keel.”

  “I don't know,” Emily said. “There's a fairly substantial colony on V
ictor. They fence pirate booty.”

  “I had heard that,” Smith replied. “It's hard to believe.”

  “I guess anything's possible in this universe.”

  “It might be fun to ask Spanky about that.”

  “You don't want to go and get him ticked off at us, Cedric,” Emily warned. “We don't have that many friends dirtside here. We need to cultivate the ones we have.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

  Frank built a sandwich and carried it to his study. He walked past the security room where Jones sat with his boots on the desk as he watched the screens.

  “Quiet night, Jones.”

  “No complaints from me, Skipper.”

  One thing I like about him is that he doesn't try to invent conversation when things get quiet, Frank thought.

  In the study, Frank put the plate on the desk and set his glass of cola down. He situated himself in his chair and tapped the desktop to bring the screen to life. He reviewed customer accounts as he munched on the roast beef on rye. He kept a separate window open where he tapped notes about things he noticed – for eventual attention by Emily.

  He didn't know if Emily would stay with the firm, but he hoped she would. The retired commander was very competent as well as easy to work with. He briefly wondered if she was interested in more than just a professional friendship, but his mind shied away from thoughts in that direction.

  Frank pondered the collection of employees he had gathered on this placid world. Smith & Jones had accompanied him from Hepplewhite. He needed to think about getting them back there to spend time with their families. Stephanie Howard was a surprise. Her head was screwed on straight – especially for someone as young as she was.

  The émigrés from the Liston clan had fit in well with no problems to speak of. George and Pamela had raised a good brood, in spite of their own quirks.

  Basing Nyman Trans-Space on New Stockholm was proving fortunate. The economy in the sector was expanding. There was plenty of business for Frank's growing fleet of starships. With the establishment of a formal government in Gustav, the local businesses were beginning to make more investments on-planet and in the town. There was more traffic at the starport and George Liston's business was growing.

  All of this should have generated profound satisfaction in Frank. So what am I missing? he asked himself. I haven't had a happy day in months. And I'm driving my friends crazy.

  He kept glancing across the study to the bookshelves lining the opposite wall. Finally he sighed and tossed his stylus down. He stepped away from the desk and headed for the shelves. He made a mid-course correction and left the study to walk to the fresher. He then detoured back through the study and made his way to the kitchen. Then it was past the security room again. He waved to Jones as he paced by.

  Back in the office he sat down and leaned back to take a long slow sip of the cola. The chair was very comfortable. Frank was not. His eyes kept going back to the shelves. Once again he stood up and walked towards the shelves and picked the Bible up from where it lay. He opened it at random.

  “Can you draw out Leviathan with a fishhook or press down his tongue with a cord?

  Can you put a rope in his nose or pierce his jaw with a hook? Will he make many pleas to you? Will he speak to you soft words? Will he make a covenant with you to take him for your servant forever?”

  “What is this?” Frank said to himself. He continued reading through the chapter, while shaking his head.

  “No one is so fierce that he dares to stir him up. Who then is he who can stand before me?”

  Frank looked up and stared out the window for perhaps five minutes. Then, he looked at the text again.

  “He makes the deep boil like a pot; he makes the sea like a pot of ointment. Behind him he leaves a shining wake; one would think the deep to be white-haired. On earth there is not his like, a creature without fear.”*

  *From Job 31 (ESV)

  This makes no sense at all. Sounds like a Dimoton. But the answer has got to be here. It's not anywhere else.

  Frank walked down the hallway carrying the Bible. He stopped at the security room. Jones' feet were still propped on the desk, but instead of scanning the house's security systems, he was sound asleep. Frank smiled at the recumbent guard and reversed course. Moving towards the front of the house, he walked through the living room and into the entry foyer.

  Frank walked out the front door and down the steps to the sweep of the driveway. His boots crunching on the gravel, he walked around the front of the Dancer Limousine and climbed into the driver's seat. He started the car and drove around to the gates of the property. The gates automatically opened as he approached. He pulled out on to the ceramacrete paving of Wilton Street and drove towards the Old Town.

  It was the middle of the evening, but traffic was scant in the twilight. He parked in one of the city lots and strode down to the boardwalk. There was more activity here. Couples strolled along the waterfront. Lights shown from restaurants, taverns and discotheques. Snatches of music and conversation carried to him over the water. A mild breeze rolled in from the sea, carrying the smell of salt-water and fishy things.

  Frank settled on a bench located near one of the decorative lanterns arranged on posts about the harbor. The light was an island in the gathering darkness, and he opened the Bible again and examined the passage he had read earlier.

  Frank looked out over the water. “Does this mean anything? Is it talking about you?”

  A phosphorescent wake appeared in the darkling water. Frank watched as whatever produced it headed towards him. A darker shadow appeared as the head of a Dimaton eased out of the water next to the boardwalk.

  “And you still want to talk to me after what happened to your buddy?” Frank asked.

  The sea creature simply maintained its position. Frank could see the eye on its left side gazing at him.

  “I guess we both lost something,” Frank continued. “I sent the person who mattered most to me to hell. I suppose I consigned your friend Charlie to his death too. Would it satisfy you if I jumped in the water and let you chew me up like he did Fillbee?”

  The Dimaton made no movement, but simply continued gazing. Now a second huge head eased out of the water. Frank sat quietly and studied the aquatic creatures. Now a third Dimaton joined the group.

  “How does one go about redeeming his soul?” Frank asked. “People seem to expect me to do this, but I don't know how to do it. I don't think it's possible. I certainly don't deserve it.”

  The Dimatae quietly watched him.

  “Spanky said you wanted to talk to me about the Redeemer. How is that even possible?”

  One of the Dimatae rolled back and forth in the water, sending ripples across the canal.

  “I don't even know how to communicate with you, let alone know if you have any answers that make sense,” Frank said.

  “Well, well well,” came another voice. “Looks like we caught you trying to poison another one of these poor creatures.” Andreas Neckersulm strolled down the boardwalk. “I've always heard the malefactors return to the scene of the crime.”

  He walked up to where Frank sat on the bench. He made shooing motions at the Dimatae “Go on. Go away. You don't want to be around this one. He killed your friend.”

  “Still feeling full of yourself, I see, Mr. Provost,” Frank said. “You are pretty free with the accusations. There is not a lot of evidence to be found.”

  “Oh, I have all the evidence I need,” Neckersulm said.

  “And how would that be?”

  “Because we did an autopsy on the dead Dimaton. It appears Charlie died of a massive allergic reaction.”

  “An allergy?” Frank asked. “However could that happen?”

  “We think it was you. Or it was when you pushed Mr. Murdock in. You had driven the creatures into a frenzy and when Fillbee fell in, Charlie attacked.”

  “I had heard humans were allergic to New Stockholm sea life. I guess the opposite is true.”

&
nbsp; “Too late smart,” the Provost said.”

  “That may not apply in quite the way you think, Mr. Provost.”

  “Oh, I think it can be applied to your brand of lawbreaking.”

  “What do you guys think?” Frank asked, facing the water.

  One of the Dimatae spat a jet of water, drenching the front of the Provost. He jumped back sputtering.

  “And there you have it,” Frank declared. “Now, you were saying?”

  “You are not being very funny, Mr. Nyman,” the Provost said.

  “Oh, I am deadly serious, Mr. Provost. Are you convinced the Dimatae are serious?”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Do you think one of these creatures just happened to pick a likely target, or were they trying to warn you?”

  Neckersulm looked at Frank. “Are you insane? These are intelligent creatures, but they are not sentient. That's why we need to protect them from the likes of you.”

  “I thought you told me before that they were smart.”

  “Don't split hairs with me, mister. The only indigenous life remaining on New Stockholm is in its seas. Destroying them would be a crime against nature.”

  “I happen to agree with you, there, Mr. Neckersulm. But I suspect destroying the Dimatae would be much more difficult than any of us suspect.”

  “Bah! You are simply trying to change the subject. Inspector Standish refused to arrest you and you've got that new judge in your pocket. She won't issue a warrant.”

  “And why do you suppose that is?” Frank interrupted.

  “It's because you are now running the show around here,” he sputtered. “You have everyone frightened of reprisals.”

  “Who have we acted against, Mr. Provost? You are the only individual who has complained about the regime change, and I certainly have not threatened you.”

  During the course of the conversation several couples walked by, carefully stepping around the Provost. They nodded at Neckersulm and smiled warmly at Frank. Some of them waved at the Dimatae.

  “Enough talk,” the Provost said. “You are going with me.”

  Frank stood up. “I think not. You are operating way outside of your sandbox. You need to go home and contemplate your navel for a while.”