CHAPTER ELEVEN
Hunk of Junk
The race was in two days.
At dawn, Thaddeus found himself on a sandy airfield he'd never heard of. A purple and gold strip of morning defined the horizon to the east. This was a place on the far edge of the mesa where local airship builders congregated in their off-time. The men and women of Gearhead Field were a loud, diverse, and proud group who only wanted to make machines go fast.
It was also where Team Dixie’s Girls kept their sleek, powerful airship of unknown origin. He stared at it in frustration, and not just because Leslie and Chelsie were strutting around it half-naked to do systems checks. None of the local mechanics and self-taught engineers would admit to building the TDG Racer, as it was being called.
Leslie waved. “Hiii, Thaddeus! Niiiice ship. Very…original.” She blew him a kiss and went back to checking her ship.
Thad waved a moment after she turned away from him. Chelsie waved with less interest and rolled her eyes at something Leslie was doing under a short wing.
P. C. Dickles finished talking to his mechanics and approached Thad, following his gaze to the rival ship. “My people say that’s a cheater ship—built from a kit by someone who knows what he or she is doing.”
“But none of your people put it together,” Thad said.
“Nope.”
“None of the other LAR crews helped them and Team Dixie’s Girls sure as hell didn’t build it,” Thad said, crossing his arms and watching Leslie and Chelsie pull on their flight suits.
“Snort, snort, snort,” Maximus said as he sniffed around the motley airship the miners-turned-airship hobbyists had created.
“I’m pretty sure you’re right about the second part, at least. Can they fly?” Dickles asked.
“Yep. Not bad from what I’ve seen. They think they’re better than they are.” Thad continued to scratch his chin in thought. “Neither of them will tell me how they know anything about flying airships.”
Dickles wiped his hands with a shop towel. “Those women of hers know how to do all kinds of things. None of them were born prostitutes. They get here and wind up at the Mother Lode. Or SagCon brings them in. Not sure about all of them. There were a bunch who signed up to avoid criminal prosecution in other systems.”
“Criminal prosecution because the sex trade was illegal where they were from?”
“Sometimes, but usually other stuff. There used to be one who called herself Pattie Kakes. She’d been caught embezzling from SagCon. A judge offered her a frontier job in what he called the “entertainment district” in lieu of six months in the mines. Makes no sense to me. I’ve spent my entire adult life trying to get deeper into the mines. Some people will do anything to stay out of them.”
“How do you know all this?”
Maximus bumped between Thad and the mine foreman, sniffing the trail of some local creature that was probably trembling in fear of being dug out of the sand.
P. C. Dickles stepped out of the animal’s way as he blushed. “I normally pay the girls to talk.”
“You expect me to believe that?”
P. C. Dickles shrugged. “Girls like it. Most of them throw in a freebie at the end if the conversation was good. Pattie Kakes and I were almost a thing before she earned her way out of here. Almost impossible that is, but she did it.”
Thaddeus reconsidered the two women climbing into their airship. Maximus ran halfway to their ship and howled at them, wagging his short, mangled tail and hopping about in rare Maximus excitement.
“A lot of deserters found their way here during and after the Centauri Prime War. Most, men and women, went into the mines to hide. No one came looking for them. Others went other places. Out into and beyond Transport Canyon. Some learned to dance and sing…and do other things,” Dickles said.
Thad watched the TDG take off and fly toward the racecourse. “Maximus, get back here!”
“You need to try out Thad’s Revenge, but first, I need to talk to you about what you saw down there…”
“We’re not calling it Thad’s Revenge.”
“Thad’s Jealous Temper Tantrum?”
“Hah. Now you have jokes,” Thad said.
“Thad’s Justice?” Dickles said. “I really could not care less. We need to talk about the mines and what you are trying to do.”
“I don’t care if we call it Maximus’s Stinking Butt.” He faced the patchwork airship. “What do you think I’m trying to do?”
“Take a shortcut under the mountains. It can be done. If you take your time and know exactly where you’re going. But you can never talk about what you see there. We’ve been mining for years and are only now seeing what the stupid Gloks have known all along,” Dickles said.
“I know exactly where I’m going, if I have to. I’d prefer to win above ground if possible,” Thad said. “What do the Ungloks know that you’re just learning?”
P. C. Dickles hesitated, his dislike of Thad evident on his face. “Well, there is a lot more under the surface of the planet than we suspected.”
Thaddeus thought about Mast’s spirit quest and the mysterious ship. He thought about Victor’s dying words. The man had warned him to find the dead alien ship before it turned Ungwilook into the next Centauri Prime. He’d said it was worth more than all the exotics on the planet.
“Be specific, Dickles. Tell me what’s down there,” Thad said, squaring his shoulders and locking his eyes on the man.
“Um, you shouldn’t have to ask me that question. Didn’t you see all the exotics? Once SagCon learns how much ore is down there and how easy it is to get to, they will bring machines to turn the mountain ranges inside out. The planet will be strip-mined to nothing in a matter of years. There’s no artistry or honor in that. I love the underground labyrinth. I won’t see it plundered by mindless robots bigger than starships,” Dickles said. “All of my crew would be out of work. They’ve got families and bills to pay.”
Thad relented, embarrassed at how far he’d been ready to go to make sure the simple mining foreman told the truth. This man wasn’t a special agent or a corporate raider. He was a hard-working, unpleasant man with his own hopes and dreams.
“That’s why there was so much A19,” Dickles said.
“Sorry, what?” Thad broke free of his dark thoughts.
“I couldn’t figure out why we kept finding A19 in confined spaces. It does things under heat and pressure. That’s why it is so useful in starships, in their power plants, I think. Not really my thing.”
“I don’t follow you,” Thad said.
Dickles shook his head, clearly doubting Thad’s ability to understand. “We kept finding A19 but not where it was coming from. The cavern was created by long-term exposure to the substance, millions of years probably. I think there will be other underground worlds to explore.” His eyes glowed with excitement. “But not if SagCon decides it’s cheaper to blow the planet into an asteroid belt and gather it up with starships.”
“Seems a bit extreme.”
Dickles shook his head. “Don’t you know anything about the history of galactic mining operations?”
“Apparently not.”
“Do you at least understand what always happens to boom towns?” Dickles asked.
Thad cocked his head in acknowledgment. “Boom towns are a lot of work for one sheriff and a deputy. I have no reason to talk about the caverns or what’s in them. If you promise this ship isn’t rigged to explode as soon as I turn it on or give out halfway through the race and slam me into a cliff, I’ll promise not to talk about your mining discovery.”
“Deal.”
“Deal.”
Thad shook the mining foreman’s hand. “You have a lot of men and women on your crew who might need the same speech.”
“I only take trusted people that far underground,” Dickles said. “You better start this thing up.”
Thad nodded, pulled his hat tight, and approached the ship Dickles wanted to call Thad’s Revenge. It was bigger th
an his previous ship, a detail that didn’t bode well for flying through tunnels. There were extra antigrav bundles right in the middle of the ventral fuselage.
“You’ll need more antigrav than thrust for what you’re going to do. The wings can fold back nearly a meter,” Dickles said, hesitating for several seconds. “I wouldn’t try it if you don’t have to.”
“Not reassuring,” Thad said. He reached to where there should be a pop-out ladder.
“There wasn’t enough weight allowance for a ladder. You’ll have to dig your fingers and toes into these depressions,” Dickles said. “My mechanics assure me this will work.”
“What depressions?” Thad leaned closed and ran his hand across the grey, white, and tan surface. It was like a metal Calico cat with a random paint scheme. “Did you paint this or are these salvaged panels?”
“Everything in Thad’s Revenge is salvaged. You didn’t expect me or my crew to spend money on your ship, did you?”
“The Calico,” Thad said.
“What?”
“We’ll call it the Calico.”
Dickles appeared confused. “What’s a Calico? Is that like a Ground Forces blaster or something TerroCom uses?”
Thad pulled his small palm tablet from his coat pocket and typed in a search term. Hundreds of cat videos queued up. He turned the screen toward Dickles.
“Oh. I didn’t know you were a cat guy,” Dickles said.
Maximus huffed, then wagged his ugly tail. Thad showed the pig-dog-animal the cat videos. “Snort. Ahrooooh. Snort. Snort. Snoooorrt.”
“We’ll call it the Calico. Temporary name. There probably won’t be much left of it after the race anyway,” Thad said. He picked up Maximus, tossed him in, then climbed up after the jovial mutt-thing.
The engines started readily and purred with a subtle roar that promised a great deal.
Dickles and his mechanics backed away from the launch pad. Thad taxied to a safe distance, performed in-cockpit systems checks, and launched hard.
“All right, Maximus, here we go," Thaddeus said as the Calico reached cruising speed. He was starting to love the mornings on Ungwilook. He'd been to many worlds during his career with Ground Forces. Some were more beautiful than others. What amazed him was that no matter where he was in the galaxy, a sunrise appealed to his soul.
He circled the mesa, staying clear of the spaceport launch pads and trying not to look at Darklanding too closely. He been up enough times now to interpret the landscape. He remembered finding the ancient and poor neighborhoods where Ungloks lived in a kind of fort opening up toward the canyons to the west. To a casual observer, these were hard to see because most of them were either below ground or on the side of the mesa itself. Taking a deep breath, he flew across Transport Canyon where the final race buoys for the LAR contest were located.
There was no race today, yet the half-stadium seemed like a carnival. There was a live band performing as some sort of party overran the temporary facility onto the floor of the desert. He hoped nobody wandered off and got lost. Ungwilook was an unforgiving planet, especially during the seasons of desert storms.
He skirted that area by several kilometers, then studied the maze of canyons where the next LAR would occur. He found the entrance to his cave complex but did not go near it. Part of him wanted to lead LeClerc to it and watch the man wreck himself as he tried to prove his superiority. Ego was a funny thing. It was easy to see in another man.
Maximus grunted and snorted.
"You're right, I should see what this thing can do. Don't worry, we’re not going underground this time.”
Maximus stared at him with wide eyes as though the animal had realized the master plan and was not down with it.
Thaddeus laughed. "It'll be easy. All you have to do is sit there and try not to stink the place up."
Maximus began to snuffle and snort, then turned his head sharply to his right and started licking the canopy window.
Remembering what he had seen of LeClerc’s practice routine, Thaddeus began with the basics and gradually attempted more and more adventurous maneuvers. The first barrel roll sent Maximus into howls of delight.
"Well, pig-dog, that's a relief. I was worried you were going to whine and complain when the real action started," Thaddeus said. He checked all of his instruments and fuel ratings then headed back to Gearhead Field.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Race Day
Ships lined one side of the stadium airfield. Overdressed guards kept spectators back. Thaddeus wondered how many of them had any real training. Some looked like they had been soldiers. Others had the swagger of professional bouncers in long-sleeve shirts to cover epic tattoos. Not that soldiers didn't have tattoos. There was just something different about saloon coolers. They made their living handling drunks without discouraging them from getting drunk. Am I just a cooler for the Company Man?
He was relieved to see that SagCon hadn't brought its private army. Sledge denied being part of the LAR operation. He was somewhat vague as to why he was there, in fact. Pierre complained more than once that the man was only there to court Dixie and distract Dixie's girls from their regular duties. Thaddeus hadn't asked many questions about the SagCon Special Investigator. He considered the man a friend, and more importantly, a good friend to have if there was a fight. As far as he knew, Sledge was up in the stands with the other spectators.
P. C. Dickles ordered his mechanics around as though they were working in the mine. He had a way of leading from the front, even though he knew nothing about airships or their construction. Shortly after Thaddeus returned from his test flight, the amateur but very dedicated airship enthusiasts had painted “Calico” on both sides of the ship using florescent orange safety paint. So now his ship was a mixture of gray, tan, and primer green, with huge orange letters rimmed in bright yellow.
Thad patted the ship as he walked around it and checked his preflight list.
Other pilots followed the same routine, even LeClerc. Despite being a complete scumbag and someone Thad considered to be a pampered, overprotected, silver spoon-fed, pretty-boy here to charm and then betray Shaunte, the man was a thorough and professional LAR pilot. Thad stared at him, hoping the man would get sucked into a wing turbine or pulverized by an antigrav pulse.
Beyond LeClerc and his copilot, William, were Dixie’s girls performing their preflight show. It wasn’t a regulation standard routine, but a vaudeville performance complete with music, cleavage, and tips. It looked like every one of their fans from the Mother Lode was there to demonstrate their support and cop a feel.
Sledge walked around the TDG airship in a work jumpsuit. “You assholes get back. No touching the pilots!”
The crowd rolled away like a wave retreating from a beach.
“Sledge! They were throwing money at us,” Chelsie complained.
“I’ll throw my fist! They’ll get you both killed if something damages one of these turbines or antigrav bundles,” Sledge said.
Mast stepped close to Thad. “What is he doing touching their ship? I thought he only muchly wanted to touch them.”
“I’m sure he touches them plenty,” Thad muttered. “Thanks, Sledge! Would have been nice to know you could fix a ship!”
Sledge turned, barely hearing Thad over the noise of ships and angry TDG fans. He waved distractedly.
“Look at that Judas. Never seen a guiltier face,” Thad said.
“Must I look up another obscure reference to one of your historical humans?” Mast asked.
“He could have helped us fix my original ship. Now I have this thing that Dickles probably sabotaged out of spite.”
“Did you ask for his help?” Mast asked.
“Never mind.”
“I don’t understand your frustration.”
Thad pointed at Leslie and Chelsie. “Look at them. Are they serious?”
“I heard Miss Shaunte say they were doing all this to boost their rates. She doesn’t think they will actually race,” Mast said.
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“Oh no, they’re going to race. Those two are the craziest women on the planet and that is saying a lot,” Thad said. As soon as he uttered the words, Leslie and Chelsie strutted toward him.
He couldn’t look away. The pair were leaner than most of their counterparts, abdominal muscles rippling above their short-shorts, garments so tiny they were more like belts, truth be told. He admired the curves of their muscular legs and toned arms.
“I’ve never really seen those two in broad daylight,” Thad said.
“They do not muchly seem to be wearing…much,” Mast said. “Human women are very inconsistent with their body coverings.”
Thad diverted his attention from the standard augmentations of their chosen profession—breasts implants, collagen-injected lips, suggestive tattoos—and considered how they came to work for Dixie and how they knew how to fly an airship.
Both women had military issue goggles pushed up on the heads with hair pressed back behind the straps. He looked again at their tattoos and found what he was looking for. Amidst the scrolling roses peeking up from their barely concealed pelvis was something else, something he recognized.
The two gorgeous LAR pilots stopped in front of Thad and crossed their arms. “Well, aren’t you going to tell us good luck?” Leslie said.
“You are both Air Forces,” Thad said, nodding at their nearly hidden Air Forces tattoos.
Chelsie spun around and put both hands on her knees. “Well, spank my ass, Sheriff! You win the prize for most observant pervert on Darklanding!”
“Were,” Leslie said. “We were Air Forces. Past tense.”
Thad reached out and gave Chelsie a pat while maintaining eye contact with Leslie.
“Ohh. So gentle,” Chelsie said mockingly as she turned around and crossed her arms like a pit crew boss.
“Are you deserters?”
“It’s complicated,” Leslie said.
“No, it’s simple. You either deserted or you didn’t,” Thad said.
“Perhaps they were placed here by a righteously jerk-face judge for their crimes,” Mast said.
Race to the Finish Page 6
