by Herb Hughes
Rose cut a large slice, spread butter on top, and handed it to him, stepping close as she did. When Jack lifted the bread to his mouth, she placed her hand on his chest. “I bet you get lonely out there in the desert for weeks at a time.”
Jack tried to back up, but he was already against the wall. “Oh, it’s not so bad.”
“You’re a handsome man, Jack. Let’s go over here.” She nodded toward the bedroom.
“Ah, I need to get home and brush Killer down. It’s too close to dark.”
“Brush Killer down here. Later. Dark is okay. Nobody will see you here.”
She smiled and took his hand and pulled him toward the bedroom. Jack knew better. Rose looked good, but if he allowed himself to be led into her bedroom, it would be all over town before lunch the next day. Rose would make sure everybody knew she’d been with Jack Wheat. He pulled out of her grip and took her hand and said, “Sorry, Rose, but I’ve got to go.”
“Okay,” she sighed. Her big brown eyes looked straight into his. “But you know where I live if you ever have the need.”
“I’ll remember that, Rose. Thanks.”
Jack finished the bread quickly then left as soon as he could politely get away. Once he remounted, he picked up the pace, heading toward town in the dwindling light. He had spent too much time in Rose’s house. Hell, he shouldn’t even have gone inside. He knew better. The thought of steamy fresh bread had been too tempting.
A little further along the road he passed what was left of Joe Riley’s cabin. There were seven wooden crosses in the front yard. All the crosses had been painted white, and each had a few wilted wildflowers tied to the top. The cabin was little more than a random assemblage of gray, weathered lumber. Jack surveyed the damage: the porch roof lay flattened on the ground; a large, ragged hole told of something huge crashing through the front wall; the front part of the building roof was collapsed onto the floor inside the cabin; and boards on each of the cabin’s side walls thrust outward randomly as though struck with great force from within. The back wall was on the ground. The little bit of cabin that was still standing would not be for long.
Joe had a brother and sister who lived in Big Hat’s Bay, a small town on the coast about two days ride to the south. They would come up and salvage what they could of the cabin and the Riley’s belongings. It wouldn’t be much.
Jack did not stop to look around. He continued the final kilometer into town, circling and coming in by a side road to avoid most of the buildings and residents. He let Killer slow to a halt in front of the library, a two-story building on the east edge of town square. Even in the near dark, it was easy to tell that the library was a simple building, constructed from the local gray and brown stone. The last rays of sunset reflected off the “CLOSED” sign that hung on the front door, turning the white background of the sign into a blazing red-orange.
With a gentle tug on the reins, Jack led Killer along the familiar path around the side of the building. He took his horse into a tattered wood shed attached to the back of the library then removed Killer’s saddle and unwrapped the horn. It was almost dry. He dampened the inner leather wrap with water from the trough and carefully rewrapped it. Then, after putting it back in the saddlebag, he placed the saddle into a blind cabinet in the wall and locked the door. Jack had added the cabinet himself some years ago. He knew he should take the horn directly to the ranger office for measuring, but he was tired and had other things on his mind. He’d go first thing in the morning.
After pouring water for Killer, he filled the feed trough with grain. As the horse ate, Jack rubbed him down, working slowly and meticulously. Finally, he patted Killer on the rump and left the stable.
It was dark by the time he stepped outside, the only light coming from the windows of nearby buildings. The glow from the oil street lamps in the front of the building did not reach the back door, the entrance to the home of the keeper of the library. Jack knocked on the old, worn wood of the door, loud enough so that the sound would be heard upstairs. A minute or so later, the rusted latch on the thick, weathered gray boards lifted, and the door opened enough for the person inside to see out.
Jack spoke first. “Hello, Sheffie.”
Chapter 6
“Ethan, a moment if you would,” the scientist called, stepping quickly to catch up. It was Dontano, director of the Tissue Lab. Both men were dressed in white shoes and the standard issue white one-piece. Ethan, the Director of the space station, stopped and turned as his fellow scientist came up beside him. “Good orbit, Ethan. I was going to call, but here you are. We’ve got the results.”
“Good orbit to you. What did you find?”
“Perfect match! Every strand of DNA we tested completely resisted the organism. We found no cellular breakdown whatsoever. Here…” The scientist gave the mental order to stream the results file from his data implant to Ethan’s.
“Excellent,” Ethan replied with a level tone after taking a moment to analyze the file. He quickly sent the file to Lucy, his Personal AI, for a more thorough analysis, and for storage. “We’ll need to prepare the tissue for shipment immediately.” Then he tilted his head slightly up, as though talking to the ceiling. “Stephan? Are you available?”
A voice flooded the corridor, “On the bridge, Ethan.”
“The tissue for the situation on Berrace is a perfect match. You indicated that the latest supply drone has a newer drive that can span one-point-six additional light years per jump. Is it available for immediate return?”
“Ah, let me check…” There was a moment’s hesitation as Ethan and the scientist kept their heads tilted slightly upward, listening. “Almost,” Stephan answered scant seconds later. “The maintenance bots have completed the service reqs. The techs had to load the service programs for the new drone into the bots first. That caused a delay, but the techs are strapping into the controls for the refueling bots now. It should be finished in two hours, maybe a little less.”
“Two hours will be sufficient,” Ethan responded. “For this tissue transfer, I would like to use the new drone. Berrace is one of our furthest outposts and the faster drone will save two days…. and possibly thousands of lives. Have the guidance system set for Berrace Isolation Lab.”
“Roger, that,” Stephan’s voice echoed through the corridor.
Ethan turned back to Dontano and said, “How long will it take to prepare the tissue for shipment on an emergency basis?”
“Less than four hours. Perhaps three and a half.”
“Make it three. Berrace is desperate. The colonists are dying at a horrifying rate. Commandeer as many people as you need.”
“That will be difficult. The equipment processes are constant times. I can check with Central and ask my AI what we can do to shorten the time.”
“Hold, please. I’ll do it,” Ethan said. He tilted his head again. “Central on. Lucy? Are you available?”
“Yes, Ethan?” A woman’s voice, confident and firm, but at the same time subservient, filled the corridor.
“Do a quick calculation for me. Is there anything we can do to shorten the tissue preparation time in this particular case, the Berrace situation? Parallel some processes, something of that nature? It’s quite urgent.”
“Yes,” the voice replied immediately. “There are several things we can do on an emergency basis to save time. It can be cut to three hours and twelve minutes. I have transferred an instruction file to the lab.”
“Thank you, Lucy,” Ethan said. Then he turned to Dontano, “Have your men call up the file and start immediately.”
“Done,” Dontano answered, tapping the side of his head to indicate that he had mentally sent his instructions to the lab.
“I appreciate your efforts, Dontano. A quick response will save lives.”
“I am only too glad to help, Ethan.”
Chapter 7
“Oh, Jack!” the woman said, as she slung the door wide and threw herself into his arms. “I missed you,” rang in his ear. She sque
ezed tight. Though she was not a large woman, she was strong. Jack could feel the hug deep within his worn out muscles. “I was so worried about you,” she said as she finally eased her grip. Still, she kept her arms around him.
“Worried? Why?” he asked nonchalantly.
“Don’t be a jackass,” she said, her lips curling up at the edges.
He frowned at the pun on his name. She would sometimes tease him with it, though not often. No one else would dare take such a liberty with a hero of Jack’s stature.
“You know perfectly well, Jack Wheat, that you’ve been gone too long. You could have been killed by one of those beasts, or hurt somewhere, all by yourself with no one to help.”
“Umm,” Jack grunted. “I believe you’ve got it backward, young lady. They don’t kill me. I kill them. Got another big horn in my saddle now. Let’s go upstairs. I’m tired.”
“How tired?” she teased, pressing her body against his.
“Not that tired,” he smiled.
Arms around each other, they started up the bare wooden steps of the narrow stairwell to the apartment over the library. The worn old boards that made up the stairs gave a creak or a groan with every step. Each sound was unique, and if you climbed fast enough, it was almost melodic, but the couple moved slowly, hip against hip.
Being with Sheffie allowed Jack to release the tenseness he carried with him on the long hunting trip. It let the weight of three weeks of being constantly alert and sleeping on the ground with one sense always awake, plus not eating regularly or enough, come crashing down around him. He was too tired to take the steps any faster.
At the top, the stairs opened directly into the combined living room and bedroom. Jack stopped to look at the apartment. Somehow it seemed like another lifetime since he had been here, yet it felt as though it was only yesterday when he last left. Three weeks were so short and so long all at the same time. And each hunt began to run into the next, or the prior, with an endless drudgery. The thought slipped away as he gazed across the room as though seeing it for the first time.
A wooden bench made from split logs and strewn with coarse cloth pillows sat in front of the fireplace. In the back of the room, there was a raised bed with small-diameter wood logs for posts. Jack didn’t know what the mattress was stuffed with, but he knew it was soft, a softness he had not felt in weeks. While the exterior walls were made of stone, the interior walls were of logs. All were covered with paintings, wall hangings, and other things which made the apartment breathe the breath of a woman’s presence.
In the wood wall to his right, the main interior wall, there was an opening cased with slightly crooked tree limbs. The opening led to the kitchen and dining area. Though he could only see a part of the kitchen from where he stood, he knew the room was large enough for an old wood stove, some doorless cabinets for which Sheffie had made curtains, and a plank dining table with four chairs. Jack could not remember all four chairs ever having been occupied at one meal.
Off the back of the kitchen, out of sight around the corner, was a door made of four wide boards held together by narrower boards in a “Z” pattern. It opened to the bathroom. Like most buildings in Borderton, the library had an operating bathroom, but if you wanted warm water, it had to be heated in either the fireplace or the stove.
Above him, the roof of the building was supported by large, curled and twisted tree limbs that were stripped of their bark and preserved by being painted with a clear liquid distilled from the leaves of a bush common on Agrilot. The wood shined as though wet. A series of unevenly spaced boards rested on the log supports. The bottom of the roof’s wood shingles could be seen in the spaces between the boards. There was no other construction or material to keep the cold out. Public buildings, those in small towns, received great fanfare but few amenities. Sheffie kept plenty of blankets around in the winter.
As was often the case with small town public buildings, it was fashioned from local stone and wood. Inexpensive, but it worked. It looked good, and Jack loved the place.
“Lie down on the bed and rest while I get you some stew,” she said. “I’ll have to heat it up, but it’s fresh. I made it this afternoon.”
Jack laid his weary body on the edge of the bed and watched the woman’s slender hips as she passed through the opening and into the kitchen. The softness of the mattress was invasive, almost a shock to his body. He closed his eyes to let them rest. Only for a moment...
Sheffie smiled when she saw Jack asleep. “Not that tired, eh, Mr. Hero,” Sheffie said as she set the brown ceramic bowl on the small wood table beside the bed. “You stand up to the greatest killing machine nature ever invented,” she said as she wiped sweat and dirt from his brow, “But you don’t look so tough right now. Not the great Rhino hunter. Just a tired little boy who needs his rest.”
She untied the tassels at the side of the wide leather bracelet that identified Jack as a Rhino hunter, then pulled it from his wrist and looked at it. White and blue beads were sewn onto the tough leather in a diamond pattern in the middle with swirls on each side. Well over half the area within the diamond was filled with red beads, one for each Rhino Jack had killed. Except the last, of course. That would be added tomorrow. Jack wasn’t much for showing off, but the bracelets were a strong tradition.
Sheffie set the bracelet on the bed table, next to Jack’s dark brown thick leather hat, a gift from a friend. There was a lighter color leather band around the hat. Sewn on the front of the band were white and blue beads shaping the letters ‘JW’, with small blue gemstones on each side. But Jack left the band inside out so that the beads were unseen against the hat, making it a plain-looking hat with a plain-looking band.
Sheffie removed Jack’s coarse cotton shirt. It was a darker tan than three weeks earlier. Then she took off his heavy brown pants. The fronts of the pants were overlaid with cow leather to protect the traveler, typical wear for Rhino hunters as well as almost anyone who spent considerable time on horseback. The pants were called ‘leathers’ even though cotton formed the bulk of them.
Sheffie was not surprised to find Jack's underwear and body no cleaner than his clothes. The sheets would have to be cleaned tomorrow. She turned to carry the man’s dirty clothes away when a strong hand grabbed high on the inside of her thigh. She could feel the firm grip of his fingers through her pants as though she had nothing on at all.
“You didn’t think I’d miss tonight, did you?” Jack said.
“Your stew’s on the table.”
“To hell with the stew.”
Jack pulled Sheffie into the bed with him.
“You’re filthy,” she said, trying her best to sound disgusted.
“And you’re going to be filthy real soon.”
She didn't resist. Instead, their bodies moved together. Sheffie’s mind drifted away from consciousness and into the color of night. She lost contact with her apartment, with the library, with Borderton. She lost any sense of existence on Agrilot. There was only the physical sensation that coursed through her body. Afterward, Jack less dirty and Sheffie more, they fell asleep lying against each other.
In Sheffie’s bed, Jack slept differently. He no longer had to have a part of him awake to sense a Rhino... or a Greg Bonner. He slept the sleep of a little boy who had played hard and would get up and play hard again the next day. It was a sleep his body needed desperately, and he took advantage of it. He didn’t wake until the sun was in the middle of the sky, and only then because Sheffie was trying to pull the sheets out from under him.
“What?” he groaned as he stirred around to see what was happening.
“Oh, sorry, dear. The sheets need washing.”
“Where are my clothes? Hey, don’t clean the bed yet.”
He reached out and placed his hand on her arm, slowly pulling her toward him.
“Oh, no you don’t,” she said, jerking loose. “You need washing worse than these sheets, Jack Wheat. I’ve taken my bath, and I don’t want to get filthy again.”
&n
bsp; “You can always take another bath, with me.”
“I will do no such thing! You might as well get up. I’ve got some stew warming on the stove.”
Jack sat up, yawned, stretched luxuriously, then stood on legs that weren’t quite sure yet. Sheffie had waited, hands patiently holding the edge of the lower sheet. Once Jack stood, she pulled it off the mattress.
“I expected you to wake up earlier. I’ve had your water in the bath for some time. It’s still warm, though, if you hurry.”
Jack did not walk to the bathroom. Instead, he stood, naked and dirty, in front of the woman, a taunting smile on his lips.
“Oh, damn you,” Sheffie said with a smile. She laid the dirty sheet back on top of the mattress.
Afterward, they took a bath together. “You have been gone a long time,” Sheffie whispered, putting her arms around Jack’s neck and chewing on his ear. “Too long.”
Suddenly Sheffie jumped up, soapy water splashing all over Jack and the bathroom floor. “Oh,” she said with her hand over her mouth. “Our stew!” She hastily stepped out of the tub and grabbed a towel, holding it in front of her as she rushed to the kitchen. Jack watched her hips wiggle pleasantly, until she was out of sight, then he sank into the tub and closed his eyes, feeling the luxury of the warm water as though he had never felt it before.
Sheffie poured the stew when Jack finally came into the kitchen. They sat at the table, towels wrapped around their wet bodies.
“How do you like it?” she asked as she dipped her spoon.
Jack lowered the bowl from his mouth. “Good. I’ll have some more, thank you.” He held up his empty bowl.
