by Kate MacLeod
The baked earth here was as smooth as the streets in the domed cities. It was almost as if they were gliding in a hover car. But she knew the rover treads were not as silent as a hover car. She had to find this man’s hideout, to have eyes on it before they drew near to it. Otherwise when he heard them coming he could flee and she’d never know what direction he had fled to.
At last she saw something: a low hut built entirely from slabs of the plastic molded to look like wood. Where had all the plastic slabs in this region come from? This hut was even smaller than the stone structures in Flat Valley. It was more the size of a child’s fort. If a man lived in there, he never got off his knees unless he went outside.
There was no sign of motion. The ridges were taller and closer together here, the sound of the rover’s motor echoing back and forth between the two rock faces.
Either she had missed seeing him flee, or he hadn’t been here in the first place.
Or he was still inside.
Scout parked the rover outside the hut, then clambered down the stairs.
She looked again at the pistol on the table. She felt like it was looking back at her, judging her, taunting her. In the end, she snatched it up. Too many people had told her to be careful. Leaving it behind when she might need it would be very foolish, perhaps fatally so.
Reaching behind her to slip it back in its holster sent another stab of pain through her chest. She was unlikely to forget the events of that morning, even if she found herself in danger again, not with that pain always ready to remind her.
Scout hopped outside and the dogs jumped down after her. She expected them to run off into the sparse grass again, but they stayed close at her sides. Shadow was sniffing the air, the hair on his back bristling tensely, and Gert kept swinging her head from side to side as if searching for something.
Scout stepped up to the hut’s open doorway. It faced the sunset, and she stood just to one side to let the sun light the interior. She squinted as details became apparent to her eyes. The floor of the hut was a meter down from the doorway, dug down into the packed earth with no steps to reach it. She could only make out the bare ground just below the doorway. Scout squatted, still keeping to one side of the door so as not to block the sun, and pushed her hat off her head to lean around the doorframe and peer inside.
She jumped at the sight of a man inside, staring back up at her as he lay sprawled across the floor.
“Damn,” Scout said. “Too late.” For he was quite dead.
The dogs sniffed at the doorway but had no interest in going inside. They went around to the back of the hut, snuffling at the ground and occasionally catching each other’s attention so they could both sniff at the same fascinating scent.
Scout jumped down to the floor of the hut, never taking her eyes off the man. He remained motionless, definitely dead, but not from the storm. In fact, she would guess he had died after the storm, the blood around the bullet wound in his chest just starting to dry and turn brown at the edges.
Someone had beaten her to her prey. But who? He was a stranger on this world, and while she had no doubt he had many enemies all across the galaxy, none of them knew he was here. So who had shot him, and why?
“Did you know him?”
Scout spun at the words—from a boy speaking in a conversational tone—and realized belatedly that once more the pistol had found its way into her hand.
5
Scout forced herself to keep the pistol steady. She shouldn’t have drawn it, but now that it was out, putting it away would be a mistake, and looking like she was afraid of it would be even worse. The sweat that had poured off her when she had been outside was chilling her in the coolness of the hut that snuggled half in the earth. The shivers that she fought against, that she couldn’t let betray her by making the gun barrel tremble, were as much from the sudden cold as from nerves, but he wouldn’t know that.
Whoever he was.
He was standing in the doorway, blocking the setting sun, the outline of his body glowing with a golden aura. By his size, he was about her age, and he appeared to be wearing a loose-fitting shirt over closely fitted pants, but more than that she couldn’t tell. He didn’t seem to have anything in his hands, but one rested on the doorframe, blending with the shadow. Anything could be hidden in that hand.
Scout swallowed and looked around in quick glances, building a picture of her surroundings. The diffuse light that escaped around him lit up the tiny hut as if it were already the gloaming, everything colorless but with defined outlines. A low table, completely bare save for water circles like the ghosts of steaming mugs past. The round indentation in the ground where the man must have sat at that table, wearing away at the earth under his buttocks a little each time. One long shelf dug into the opposite wall containing a stack of MREs, three canteens, and an electronic tablet that, while not as fancy as Gertrude’s, was also definitely not a local make. A bedroll spread in the far corner.
The body sprawled half across the bedroll.
The hut around her felt too small, and when she shifted her foot it bumped up against the body, like there wasn’t room enough for both of them. He hadn’t been dead for long—blood was still running from his body to be soaked up by the filthy bedroll beneath him—but the air was already full of a metallic tang that clung unpleasantly to the back of Scout’s tongue even when she breathed through her nose.
She was getting far too familiar with that smell. Congealing blood.
“Hey now,” the person in the doorway said again. “No need for the gun. It was just a question. I wasn’t accusing you of anything.”
“What are you doing here?” Scout demanded, not lowering the weapon.
“I could ask you the same,” he said.
“I’m asking the questions,” she said.
“Because you have the gun?” he asked.
Scout remained as she was for a moment, then tucked the gun away in its holster. Although his tone had been of someone unbothered with being in a gun’s sights, she saw his posture relax a bit after she had put it away. But she kept her hands near her hips as she had seen Gertrude do on so many occasions.
Not that she had Gertrude’s swift drawing reflexes. But then he didn’t know that.
She still couldn’t see him through the halo of light that glowed around him. She couldn’t see his eyes or even his face to judge whether he was trustworthy or not.
But she had never been one for lying or even hiding the truth. No reason to change that now, even after everything that had happened. None of that would have ended any differently no matter what she had done.
“My name is Scout Shannon,” she said at last. “This man ripped someone off. I’m here to bring him in on behalf of a friend of mine. Too late, apparently.”
“Bring him in where?” he asked.
“Never mind,” Scout said. “Your turn.”
The outline of a boy squatted, then dropped down to the hut floor. He brushed invisible dust from his palms as he straightened. Scout took half a step back, not out of fear but to get out of the blinding glare of the setting sun which he was no longer blocking. She stopped in the corner where the shelf ended, the back of her right hand brushing against the neat row of canteens.
She could see him now. His age was hard to guess. He sounded about her age, but his skin was sun damaged enough to make his face look older—not bad yet, but deeply tanned, with creases forming around his gray eyes. Not unexpected, given his lack of hat or sun-protective shirt that Scout had. She doubted he had any of the sunscreen she so carefully rationed out for herself.
He must spend a great deal of time outdoors. His loose shirt had once been white, the jeans beneath it once blue, but both were fading into the same dusty earth color. He had a vest on over the shirt, the kind with dozens of pockets, although from the way it hung around his body those were all empty. His hair was jet black but neatly trimmed; as far as they were from proper civilization, the trappings of civilization at least weren’t unknown to
him.
“I’m Tucker Hawke,” he said, extending a hand to her. She wiped her hand down the thigh of her cargo shorts before taking his in a brisk shake. “I’m afraid this fellow has ripped off many people. I was on my way here to talk to him on behalf of just such a person when I heard your rover pull up. You found him like this?”
“Yes,” Scout said. “I just got here, but he’s been dead for a couple of hours at least.”
Tucker leaned over the body, then looked up at her. Something about the way his gray eyes regarded her through thick, dark lashes made her stomach flutter most annoyingly. “How do you know?” he asked.
Scout reminded her stomach that it was most definitely not in charge and resisted the urge to soften her hard tone when she answered. “The blood is browning over here on his shirt and the bedroll, but it’s still wet over here,” she said, pointing. “He must have been in some sort of shelter during the storm or he’d be showing extensive radiation damage. So someone came all the way out here and shot him this afternoon.”
Tucker gave a low whistle. “Well, he had enemies.”
“You’re from this area?” Scout asked. She kept her tone conversational but her eyes took in every detail of his body. The pockets of his vest were definitely empty. His pants had no pockets at all, and he was wearing canvas shoes with no visible socks. There was a large, blank screen strapped to his left wrist.
He had nowhere she could see to hide a gun.
Tucker tipped his head to one side and gave a noncommittal shrug. “Near here, but I come out this way a bit.” He looked around the room, picking up the tablet and turning it over in his hands before setting it back on the shelf. “I’ve never been in here before. Rather empty, isn’t it? He must keep his contraband somewhere else. I would say under the floorboards, but, well . . .” He lifted a sneakered foot to look at the bare earth underneath.
“This is disappointing,” Scout said, still looking down at the body. Farlane McFarlane was looking less and less like the picture on Gertrude’s tablet every moment. His skin was turning ashen and the features of his face almost seemed to be caving in.
“Also smelly,” Tucker said. “I’m going back outside.”
“Yeah,” Scout said, but as he climbed back out of the hut, she stayed behind, putting the lens over her left eye and taking a little camera from Gertrude’s belt. She recorded the scene from every possible angle, then sent the images to the tablet.
But then she paused, tablet in hand. She had wanted to prove herself useful to Liam. She wasn’t sure finding a dead body would do that, but that’s all she had now. She just had to tell him what she’d found and wait for his response.
Tucker wasn’t wrong about the smell. Scout drifted closer to the doorway and the fresher sage smell from the scrubby grass as her thumbs ran over the keyboard only she could see on Gertrude’s tablet. She only had time for a brief note letting Liam know she had found the culprit but had found him dead.
She sent the message and tucked the tablet away but stopped again before climbing out of the hut. The man’s personal tablet might have information on it, perhaps more incriminating than what Gertrude had already acquired. Maybe financial records extensive enough to restore the stolen funds to the proper owners. Maybe a long shot—he certainly didn’t seem to be living like a rich man now—but Scout saw no reason not to be sure. She took the tablet off the shelf and put it in one of the large exterior pockets on the side of her cargo shorts.
“Um, Scout?” Tucker called. He spoke lightly but she heard an undertone of barely contained fear beneath it. She fought the urge to draw her weapon again.
“Trouble?” Scout asked, poking her head out of the hut. He was nowhere in sight. She bit her lip at the stab of pain in her chest as she pulled herself up and out into the outdoors.
“Potentially,” he said, and she followed the sound of his voice to find him perched on the hut’s plastic roof, pulling himself higher and drawing his feet in as close as he could to get them away from the ledge. “There’s a vicious animal out here. Um, make that two vicious animals.”
Scout climbed out of the hut. She could hear the sound of Gert growling, low and fearsome. Shadow must be just a touch farther away, his less-fierce growl lost beneath the sounds emanating from Gert.
“Come, dogs,” Scout said, slapping the side of her thigh. Shadow came at once. Gert put her paws up on the edge of the hut to peer up at Tucker, who had ascended to the highest point. “Gert!” she commanded and slapped her thigh again. Gert dropped to the ground and came to Scout, but not without a great deal of whining.
“Oh,” Tucker said. “Your vicious animals.”
“Yes,” Scout said. “You can come down now. They won’t harm you unless I ask them to.”
Tucker slid down but remained a respectful distance away from her and her dogs. “I’m not sure that’s entirely comforting.”
“No, it shouldn’t be,” Scout said.
A sudden feeling of emptiness rolled over her. This mission had been the only thing she had to fill the time while she waited to be picked up and taken away forever. Without it, she had nothing of any importance to do. She could keep the rover rolling, catch up on more sleep, maybe teach Gert a few basic commands.
But she didn’t think it would be enough. Not for the rest of today and for two more whole days. Not enough to keep the emptiness from filling up with other feelings.
She needed to keep moving, to stay busy, but how?
“You okay?” Tucker asked, taking a step closer but stopping again at Gert’s warning growl.
“Yeah,” Scout said, but she doubted that sounded any more convincing in his ears than it did in hers. “Where I waited out the storm, it was a bit of a nightmare.”
“Close quarters?” Tucker asked, but when she didn’t answer, he carried on. “It was for me. Seven of us without enough room to lie flat, all our legs overlapping. We could sit across from each other with our backs against the walls, but that makes for awkward sleeping. I still haven’t stretched out the kink in my back.” He held his arms up high, then out wide, then straight back, but he gave up with a sad shake of his head. “Maybe tomorrow. It was a long one, though, right?”
“Too long,” Scout said. “They’re getting longer. And more frequent.”
“Ah,” Tucker said, and she shot him a quizzical look. “You’re one of those conspiracy types. The evil machinations of the Space Farers at work.” He wiggled his fingers like a street performer overselling a children’s story.
“I’m not a conspiracy type,” Scout said, resisting the urge to touch the data disks in her pocket. She knew they were still there; they were always digging just a bit into her thigh. “They are getting longer and more frequent. That’s a fact.”
“Could be solar changes,” Tucker said.
Scout said nothing. He was watching her too closely, studying her face as he waited for her to speak again. She didn’t like the scrutiny, especially as she had no clue what answer he expected or what expression he was watching for that would betray her. Instead she turned to look back at the rover still standing alone in the scrubby grass.
“I should probably just get going,” Scout said. “It will be dark soon. I don’t know what actual vicious animals might be lurking, waiting for the cover of darkness to pounce.”
“Quite sensible,” Tucker said. If he noticed her teasing by mentioning vicious animals, he didn’t react to it.
“Yeah,” Scout said again, looking at Tucker, then back at the rover, then back at Tucker again. “Well, good-bye.” She wanted to add a “see you,” but that would be too dishonest. She was never going to see him again.
“Hey,” Tucker said, taking another quickly aborted step closer to her, reaching out a hand to catch a sleeve that was far out of his reach. Scout stopped and looked back at him. “It is going to be dark soon, sooner than I can get back to my place.”
“You walked out here, you said?” Scout asked. There was no sign of another vehicle anywhere a
round the hut, not even a bicycle, and yet the ridges to the north and south were very far away with nothing between but sparse scrub and that weird mound of gravel.
“Yeah,” Tucker said. “Can I trouble you for a lift? It’s not far.” Scout frowned but he raised his hands, showing once more that he was harmless. “I get that you don’t want to be bothered. But it’s really not very far at all, and I can offer you a hot dinner on the other side.”
“I have a kitchenette in my rover,” Scout said.
“This is fresh food cooked over an open fire. Proper food. Come on, who says no to that?”
Scout frowned again. She didn’t know who would. She was afraid it wasn’t going to be her.
“Hold out your hands to my dogs,” she said. Tucker looked first confused, then a bit frightened. She could clearly see him gulping as he steeled his will and extended a palm to each dog. Scout had never met anyone so afraid of her animals. His eyes kept moving from one dog to the next, taking quick glances in between at Scout to see if she was still calmly watching.
Shadow gave a brief sniff, then started licking the offered palm with almost embarrassing gusto. Gert approached more slowly, but after her own olfactory inspection she sprawled out on the ground at Tucker’s feet, offering her belly up for rubs.
“Get up, Gert,” Scout said sharply. “Don’t be so eager to please.” Gert rolled back up, tail wagging as she watched Scout approach. Tucker held up his free hand in case Scout wanted to sniff him as well.
“Do I pass the test?” he asked.
“You pass a test,” Scout said. “I’ll take you back to your place. We’ll see about the food later. I might stay. Or not.”
