"Sheriff, are you there? There is a cavern. Bigger than the others. You should find it soon and perhaps land there if you are in jeopardy." Mast’s voice sounded too loud in his headset.
Thaddeus entered a world beneath the world with a single hole in the ceiling that admitted a beam of light like a divine gift.
"I am muchly seen through your camera again," Mast said.
Thaddeus gripped the controls with all his strength. The ship pulled to the left and wanted to lose altitude. Engines stuttered, antigrav turbines wined, and the fuselage hissed mechanical curses at him like an angry snake that had been ripped open by a bullet.
"Listen to me, Mast. We won't make it through another set of tunnels. I have to make a hole where that light is coming from. Can you tell me if that is possible?"
"No! You must not try that."
"I'm running out of options!”
"You must land. You must land now and climb out of the tunnels. Walk home. I can send miners to find you. They are not far,” Mast said.
Thad glanced at his radio, wishing he could spare a hand to scan the channel frequencies. He aimed his ship at the speck of light and lumbered toward it as his ship died.
“I told you no. Muchly do not do this,” Mast said.
“It’s no good. The ship is slowing down. We’re going to stall long before we build enough momentum to break out.”
“There is not enough momentum to break out. That hole is half a mile deep. There is a mountain above you. Did you see the SagCon miners? I picked up the panicked radio traffic when you started banging into things,” Mast said.
Thaddeus circled for a landing, seeking a flat, dry spot. His lights swept across a green hill and he realized the ceiling light had provided life where there should be none. At the bottom of the cavern was an underground lake. Veins of exotic ore decorated the walls and hundreds of side tunnels.
He turned the camera one last time at the light hole and realized how far it was above him. If the surface was another half mile higher, he really was deep in the Ungwilook mountain. Again, he had made the mistake of seeing the ancient planet through his Earth and Melborn heritage. The place was a mystery and mysteries were dangerous.
He landed near a tributary to the dark lake. The airship groaned and sputtered as he powered it down. He unbuckled Maximus. The animal stared at him accusingly, then bounded to the sandy beach. Thad unpacked two survival kits from the back of the ship and locked it up. There were three more kits. He hoped he wasn’t here long enough to need all of them.
“Are you still with me, Mast?”
“I am not with you with you. Still listening. And still glad I made the very rightly right decisions to stay here and watch on these goodly VR goggles,” Mast said.
Thad frowned. “Are you drunk?”
“Monitoring your progress is very stressful.”
“I’ve never seen you drink whiskey.”
“I have been saving myself for Tigi. You cannot know what it is like to be an Unglok drinking whiskey. It is muchly like gasoline-rat-piss to us,” Mast said. “One may find oblivion in the human drink, but must shame walk the next day.”
“Well, you nailed that part. How do I get out of here?”
“Mister P. C. Dickles is coming to you. It will only be seven hours. Then he will show you back to his mines and you can take a lift and then a tram back to Darklanding,” Mast said.
Thad stared at the world around him. “I wonder if I could fly these tunnels with a map…or if I had at least seen them before trying it.”
“You said it is impossible,” Mast said.
“I was flying a broken ship blind.”
“Badly.”
“Hey! I made it this far.”
Maximus snorted and rolled his eyes.
“With a working ship and a plan of attack, I could do this. I could beat LeClerc. No one outside the League of Professional LARs has beaten him. Ever.”
“I am not liking your judgement,” Mast said. His voice crackled with radio interference, then came back stronger. “Mister Dickles says he will be a bit delayed. Twelve hours, no more than twelve, he says.”
“Let me talk to him directly,” Thad said.
“He refuses. Says he is too busy and he is very angry at you for messing up all the bets. If you cannot race, all bets are off. I think he may have already spent some of the money he wagered,” Mast said.
“Tell him he is still going to lose his money when I get out of this place, because I know he bet against me. If he wants to be the richest man on Ungwilook, he should put all his money on Thaddeus Fry to win. And tell him to stay where he is. I will find my own way out, and a route I can actually fly.”
“I don’t know, Sheriff…”
“Maximus, let’s get to it,” Thad said, shouldering his pack.
“Arrooooh!”
Thad strapped a pack on the pig-dog and set off.
“There are many vertical shafts you might fall into,” Mast said sadly.
“Not if I’m paying attention. Tell me something useful or get off the radio.”
“Try not to die,” Mast said.
“More useful than that, please.” Thad hiked up a hill covered with something like grass and fungus. The light on his helmet revealed vibrant green vistas that ended where the light from above ended. He crossed onto multicolored rock and into his first passage.
Mast didn’t speak for a long time and Thad wondered if they’d lost radio contact.
“It is like your own spirit quest,” Mast said. “I hope it brings you enlightenment.”
“All I want is a flyable route through this mess. If I can shave a few minutes off my race time, LeClerc is screwed. He doesn’t even know about this place.”
“No human has muchly known about it until Mister Dickles found it.”
“I found it,” Thad said.
“No, that is not correct. Mister Dickles found it and kept it a secret to avoid what he called an intergalactic exotics rush. Something hugely bad, he said. I don’t understand. He said it would make Darklanding a boom-boom town,” Mast explained, his voice scratchy with radio noise.
“He means a boom town, like the gold rush back on Earth long before Melborn was found in the galactic exploration. Boom towns draw opportunists and scam artists,” Thad said as he hiked.
“That sounds like Darklanding,” Mast said.
“SagCon owns and controls the planet. If there is an exotics rush, things will get complicated,” Thad said, not sure if his deputy heard the last part. “I’m logging a course in my computer.”
No answer from Mast.
“All right, Maximus. I hope you have good legs.”
“Snort, snort, snort!”
Thad jogged when it was safe, walked when he wasn’t sure where the next vertical shaft was, and climbed every opportunity he found. He took still pictures, videos, and marked navigational waypoints. The survival beacons were designed to help a pilot find his or her way home. He was going to paint himself a shortcut like none of the LAR fans had ever seen.
CHAPTER TEN
No Ship, No Race, No Justice
“I don’t want to talk to P. C. Dickles,” Thad said. “Did I stutter?”
Mast pulled out his small SagCon tablet and activated the dictionary. His lips moved as he read. “Ah, there it is. Interesting. No, you did not stutter.”
“Good.” Thad dumped a shot of whiskey down his throat, grimacing. “I can’t drink this stuff without thinking of your gasoline-piss description. Thanks for that.”
“You are most welcome, Sheriff,” Mast said. “I really think you should listen to Mister Dickles.”
“Why? So he can rub it in that everyone is betting against me? I thought people liked me here.”
Pierre swiped a white cloth over the wood bar. “No one ever likes the sheriff. And you’re a bit heavy-handed.”
“I keep your saloon from getting broken apart.”
“Except when you break it apart.”
�
��You may have a point,” Thad said, motioning for another whiskey. “It’s been weeks since we had a brawl in here. Used to be a nightly occurrence from what I heard.”
“Sure,” Pierre said. “You are a bastion of law and order.”
"I resemble that remark," Thaddeus said.
"You muchly, very surely muchly need a ship," Mast said.
Thaddeus shook his head and stared into his shot glass. Every muscle in his body ached. Blisters covered his feet. Maximus snored loudly at the base of his barstool. The auto-piano and the noise of the crowd covered most of the animal’s snorting, grunting, and rhythmic wheezing. Pierre didn't like Maximus and liked him even less when he was inside the Mother Lode. Thaddeus wasn't in a mood to follow rules. As far as he was concerned, the pig-dog went where he went.
“Not everyone knows you lost your ship,” Mast said, nodding toward a group of men walking toward him.
“All of the miners should know by now,” Thad said.
“These are dockworkers, I think. Mister Dickles promised his people were not spreading rumors of your ordeal.” Mast stood and stepped to one side as Thaddeus had taught him. No matter what happened, he would have the advantage of surprise as the small group confronted Thaddeus.
“Hey there, Fry," the leader of the men said. His face was flushed with the effects of too much alcohol, but he seemed to be a happy drunk. He shook Thad’s hand vigorously. “My buddy found a video of your amateur racing days. You’re pretty good. This is going to be an awesome race. Must be a dream come true to face the galactic champion.”
“Yeah, it’s outstanding,” Thad said. “Outstanding in Darklanding.”
“We’ve got a lot of money riding on you,” another man in the group said.
“You’re betting on me?”
“Sure! Basically. But hell yeah. You race and we win big. It’s a sure thing.”
“Interesting,” Thad said.
Leslie and Chelsie walked by him in their short-shorts and racing costumes. Leslie dragged her fingertips across Thad’s chest and blew him a kiss. “See you on the track, tough guy. May the best woman win.”
The dockworkers laughed and followed the girls across the bar like hungry but lovable dogs.
“I do not know if they are betting on you to win,” Mast said, watching them shout compliments at the female LAR contestants.
“I like your goggles!” a man roared above the crowd.
Leslie turned and blew her admirer a kiss, which nearly turned the crowd upside-down with enthusiasm.
P. C. Dickles pushed his way through the commotion. “I’ve got to talk to you, Sheriff!”
Thaddeus turned away, easily ignoring the man’s words in the noise. Music, drinking, dancing on tables…the Mother Lode was rocking tonight.
“You're a stubborn bastard, Sheriff. I could help you. But first I need you to promise you won't talk about what you saw down there.”
Thaddeus watched Leslie and Chelsie with exaggerated interest.
Dickles glared at him, cursed, then retreated to his table and sulked over a mug of beer.
Another crowd of miners and dockworkers gathered around Thaddeus, forcing him to smile and act civil.
"We've got a lot riding on you, Sheriff. Don't let us down. I hope your new ship is faster than your last one," said a miner he thought was named Jerry or maybe Paulo.
Mast spread his hands and shrugged. "I know nothing of the new ship. Perhaps that is what Pierre…”
Raymond LeClerc stepped through the front doors, pushing them wide to let streetlights stream in around him. His entourage followed. Thaddeus noted that his copilot was with him this time, a small, quiet man who looked uncomfortable with the noise and debauchery.
The arrival of the champion LAR pilot altered the ebb and flow of the saloon’s patrons. Miners, dockworkers, and people from the outlying settlements surged toward him. A brace of Dixie's girls pushed through the crowd to hang on LeClerc, which seemed to cause the man to stare directly at Thaddeus.
The auto-piano stopped. Pierre left the bar, crossed the room, and slammed the palm of his hand against the battered machine until it started playing again. Dixie's girls formed a chorus line and kicked up their heels. Men and women of Darklanding stomped their feet and clapped their hands.
Shaunte appeared at the top of the stairs and looked down at the chaos. She started down. Thaddeus watched her for as long as he could. When the Mother Lode was this busy, he had to pay attention to every detail, especially the ones that annoyed him—like the galactic LAR champion.
LeClerc worked his way around the room until he came near Thaddeus. "William tells me you are without a ship. So I guess I win by default. Not like you had a chance of beating me anyway.”
William, the mild-mannered copilot, appeared embarrassed. He quietly ordered his drink.
Pierre slid a Roy Rogers across the bar. “Costs more than the whiskey, just so you know.”
William swiped the inside of his forearm across the payment reader. “I can afford it.”
Shaunte moved between Thad and LeClerc. “We've already exceeded our racing budget. If anyone backs out of the race at this point, it's off. No race, no betting.”
A bubble of silence surrounded Shaunte, Thad, and LeClerc. A dozen of the Mother Lode patrons stared with naked curiosity.
“Shaunte, that's hardly fair! The sheriff never had a chance, but that doesn't mean he should be totally denied his shot at glory. What will become of his pathetic dreams to enter the big league?" LeClerc said. Several of his entourage laughed excessively.
Mast stood and stared at them with his hands on his hips. Most of the LeClerc groupies backed away.
"I know what the bets are," Shaunte said. "This has gotten way out of hand. Thaddeus lost his ship. Even if he can recover it, it's too damaged to race competitively. Do you really want to win a race by forfeit? Come on, LeClerc, you're better than that."
All eyes turned toward Thaddeus. The auto-piano stopped again and this time, Pierre ignored it. Leslie and Chelsie crossed their arms, unreasonably pissed off at Thad’s sudden turn of bad luck.
"We need this race," Leslie said. "You better find a ship."
"The sheriff doesn't have a ship? I thought that was just a rumor," someone shouted from the crowd. Murmuring and arguing broke out.
P. C. Dickles jumped on a table and stomped one foot. "That's what I've been trying to talk to him about. I can put together a ship, a decent ship.”
LeClerc and his entourage burst out laughing. "I'd love to see whatever hunk of junk you miners could slap together on short notice. Someone should bet on whether or not it even finishes the race.”
Thad stood up. The room went silent again. "I wrecked my ship, but it wasn't really the right ship for this race anyway.”
Chaos swept the room as people changed their bets and argued. Someone threw a bottle that smashed against the wall. Sledge, who had been standing back from the main event, stood up and loomed over the crowd. He boomed out a command for silence and was ignored.
Pierre reached under the bar, pulled out a short-barreled blaster, and fired it at the ceiling. “Settle down! Settle down or I shut down the bar and give Dixie’s girls the rest of the night off.”
Several fights ended in mid-swing as men backed away from each other and muttered apologies to Pierre. He continued to hold the blaster as he swept his eyes around the room looking for troublemakers.
Normally, this was Thaddeus's job, but since he was part of the problem, he knew better than to assert his authority when all that would do was make things worse. He stared at Shaunte instead, angry that she had put him in this position. "You don't have any SagCon ships lying around, do you?"
"That's specifically against the LAR contract for Darklanding," LeClerc said, showing his anger for the first time. "Everyone knows that the SagCon ships have more detailed survey information and could have every course preplanned in their computers. That wouldn't be a fair race."
"We wouldn't want a
n unfair race," Sledge muttered.
Shaunte stepped very close to Thaddeus. "Take P. C. Dickles’s offer. It will give his miners something to root for. They would be vested in the outcome of the race.”
"I'd say they have plenty to be vested in. Every one of them is betting against me," Thaddeus said.
"Well, maybe not every one of them," Shaunte said.
Thaddeus wasn't convinced. He could tell when she was just trying to be nice, which wasn't that often. He faced Dickles and motioned for him to go ahead with his offer.
"I have access to three privately owned ships. They are not the property of SagCon and should be legal to race. A couple of my men and women are gear-heads, into building and driving anything fast and dangerous. We’ll make you a ship. It'll be too ugly for a prima donna like LeClerc or his kind to touch, but it'll be a ferocious machine on the racetrack," P. C. Dickles replied.
Thaddeus tried to read the foreman. “I'm not even going to ask if you're betting for me or against me.”
"Why would I build you the fastest ship this planet has ever seen if I wanted you to lose?" Dickles asked.
"You have never muchly liked the sheriff," Mast pointed out.
“Snort!” Maximus coughed up some kind of hairball and spat it on the floor of the Mother Lode.
“Ewwww!” Dixie’s girls exclaimed.
"What a disgusting animal," LeClerc said.
His copilot chose that moment to stand up and join the conversation. "It's actually a very noble breed. I wouldn't expect anyone here to recognize that.”
“Noble breed, my ass!” Pierre said. “That’s exactly why I don’t let him in here.”
Thaddeus slashed his hand one time horizontally to silence the room. “I will race the ship P. C. Dickles and his people put together for me. I want to watch the construction from start to finish."
“Deal,” Dickles said.
LeClerc clapped and yelled in mock celebration. “Yay for Thaddeus Fry!” He started a sarcastic chant of Thad’s name.
Race to the Finish Page 5
