Boom Town

by Craig Martelle

  “Why the rat? Why not have the women on your chest done in a holo-tattoo?” Thad asked as they tried to encircle him.

  “It’s a weasel!”

  Thad decked him, pivoted on the balls of his feet, and smacked Pete across the face with the barrel of his blaster. “You’re the weasel, Donnie. Shouldn’t mess with guard dogs.”

  Donnie and Pete rallied.

  “Get ‘em, Pete!”

  “Get ‘em, Donnie!”

  Mast drew a second blaster and covered Art and Lexa. “Not muchly moving, I think.”

  The smart half of the criminal enterprise backed away with hands raised.

  Maximus blindsided Pete. The animal never barked a warning. His hoof-toed feet clattered as he moved, but Thaddeus was the only person with enough situational awareness to know what the animal was doing. Once Maximus slammed into the small-time smuggler, it was another story.

  “Ahhh! Ahhh! Get it the hell off me!” Pete screamed.

  While this was occurring, Thad was busy as well. He feinted left, then brought his right boot up into Donnie’s groin. The man stopped breathing for several seconds and remained in the fetal position throughout the encounter.

  “Hey, hey, hey,” Art said. “We give up. You got us red-handed. Don’t you think that is a little much?”

  “I’m so sorry, Sheriff Fry.” Lexa traced her re-exposed cleavage with one finger. “I’m a bad girl. Are you going to put me in handcuffs?”

  Maximus continued to savage Pete.

  “Ahh! Ahh! Ahh! Get this thing— Ahh!”

  “Maximus, cuddle,” Thad said.

  Already situated on Pete’s chest, the animal licked his face several times before curling into a ball for a faux nap.

  “Can’t breathe,” Pete said.

  Thad shrugged. He tossed plastic zip ties to Art. “You handcuff her. Then your brothers.”

  Art complied as Lexa pouted. “He’s not going for it. Stop acting like a slut.”

  “Screw you, asshole. Maybe next time you show your tits to the assayer.”

  Art ignored his cousin-girlfriend. “What’s the fine, Sheriff? Keeping in mind I think Pete already paid his fair share feeding your animal.”

  Maximus snarled.

  “Well, Art Chandler, it isn’t your lucky day. I’m in a zero-tolerance frame of mind. There’s too much action in Darklanding. Need to make some examples,” Thad said.

  “What’s the fine?” Art’s voice and his manner went as cold and level as a gunfighter’s.

  “The fine is everything. All the stock. All your personal assets. All your freedom if you don’t get off the planet in twenty-four hours.”

  “Can’t get off the planet without money, assets, or prospects,” Art said.

  “Show someone your tits,” Thad said to Art.

  Lexa snorted a laugh.

  Art swung his fist. Thad hammered his forearm into the man’s wrist. An instant later, he jabbed him in the throat with his other hand.

  Art went down choking and holding his throat.

  “Who’s next?” Thad asked.

  Mast leaned closer, his pistols still pointed forward. “This is muchly heavy-handed.”

  “No choice, Mast. We’re living in the Wild West now. I wasn’t lying about setting an example.” Thad stalked toward Donnie, who was backing away.

  “Are you going to start hanging people?” Mast asked, following the script better than Thad could have hoped for.

  “Might have to if these turd clusters don’t get a clue.”

  * * *

  Penelope Fry-Grigman, SagCon Retired, parked her air-bike near the pathetic shack her former partner seemed to believe was a “cabin in the canyon.”

  The wind blew dust across her boots, and tugged on her dark red hair, her cloak, and the scarf she used to keep the grit of Ungwilook out of her mouth. She paused to examine the horizon for TerroCom patrols. Her former handler promised movements of the new unit was restricted to the other side of the planet.

  This was something she doubted. SagCon playing by the rules? Military control kept in the hands of a representative government rather than the power elite? She doubted it. She’d be writing her name in Ungwilook snow before that happened.

  The shack was round, like a large fuel can accidentally dropped in the middle of the sand. She scouted the area and found a decent well. Also a perimeter of half-completed foxholes with neatly rolled camouflage netting secured in weatherproof go-bags. With effort—and a squad of trained soldiers—this little plot of wasteland could be defended against a sizable force.

  “You never fail to surprise me, Michael Sledge.” She stood at the door to the modified fuel tank.

  “Around back,” came a voice.

  She strode around the place to find that the back of the can-house had been cut away to make a porch with an awning. Sledge sat on a recliner with his feet up and a drink in his hand. A beard reached for his neckline. He wasn’t wearing a shirt or long pants.

  “What are you drinking?” she asked.

  “Tigi,” he said. “An Unglok drink. Not good for humans.”

  “What’s it taste like?” she asked.

  “Sugar-glazed skunk ass,” he said, slurring his words. “SagCon send you to drag me back, invoke my reserve contractor status, and steal my retirement if I refuse?”

  “No. I’m retired.”

  “Then have a drink.”

  “Not interested.”

  “Then what the hell are you doing here?”

  “Cleaning you up. Taking you to town,” she said.

  “Why?”

  “Because you’re better than this.”

  Sledge leaned onto one butt cheek and made a face.

  “Don’t you shit yourself, Sledge. We’re not partners anymore. I don’t have to put up with your crudity.”

  “Sorry,” he said. “Just feel so relaxed out here. Why would I want to go to Darklanding? Out here, I can watch the sky for TerroCom. You know they’re on the other side of the planet building up for a takeover, right?”

  “Since when did you start believing conspiracy theories?” she asked.

  He didn’t answer.

  “You were a good soldier, Sledge. A good investigator. A good man,” she said.

  “What does any of that matter?” Sledge said as he lifted a small glass of Tigi.

  “It might matter to Dixie. Or the other girls.”

  Sledge grunted as he sat up. The effort took more time than it should have.

  “There’s going to be new saloons and a new brothel. Lots of stuff happening in Darklanding right now. Boomtowns are always dangerous, especially if you’re fighting off up-and-comers,” she said.

  Sledge looked at her with suddenly clear eyes. She had his attention now. They both knew what could happen in a border town without law.

  CHAPTER TWO

  No Unjustified Gallivanting

  Shaunte faced the wall screen she had purchased for her office and massaged her face. She pushed her hands through her hair, slowly, squeezing as hard as she could to revive her scalp and distract her from worried thoughts. What she needed was a neck massage. Darklanding was thriving, but she wouldn’t trust anyone here to touch her. No happy endings for Shaunte. All she wanted was invigoration so she could get back to work.

  Money poured into her business and private accounts. She could almost tolerate the sound of air hammers, front loaders, and all the other construction tools being used day and night around the spaceport.

  “Computer, log me into space traffic control. Use my voice authentication for authorization.” She waited. Several minutes passed. Her new hardware was state-of-the-art, but tapping into the complex network of mini space stations and their necessary link to space and air traffic control was a laborious process. As it probably should be, she thought.

  She was browsing through one of her digital clothing catalogs when she realized the screen was showing space lines. “Oh my goodness.”

  Hundreds of ships sat idle. Thi
s was one of her father’s cardinal rules: no transport ship should have dead time. They were for moving cargo and if they weren’t moving goods, they should be loading or unloading cargo. She couldn’t believe the traffic congestion.

  She asked the controller a few intelligent questions, things she had practiced in advance so she wouldn’t sound like an idiot. All of it confirmed what she saw at a glance.

  Some of the ships were purposefully loitering beyond the control ring. One of the ships she recognized. Cornelius Vandersun’s infamous Red Can held court just beyond the planet’s gravity well. The man probably didn’t want to bow to local transportation bureaucracy when he controlled ninety percent of all movement on the galactic level. Other ships might travel, but none of them did without his software or his permission.

  The faster ships were always piloted by him or one of his protégés. Shaunte thought about the man’s granddaughter, a young woman who had been on Darklanding and was now likely to find a place in his business empire. Shaunte tried not to be jealous. That kind of wealth and power was unimaginable.

  “Computer, please hail the Red Can,” Shaunte said. “And please revert to a business neutral voice.” It wouldn’t do for her computer to sound like a polite version of Thaddeus Fry.

  The computers of traffic control and the Red Can spoke for several minutes, each of them making excuses about atmospheric conditions and planetary alignment slowing down the transmissions. Shaunte could never prove this, of course. She merely felt as though computers were having their way with the conversation.

  “Good morning, Miss Plastes,” an elderly gentleman in a meticulous spacesuit said to the camera.

  “Good morning, Cornelius.” The man looked amazing for his years, although no amount of genetic massaging and rejuvenation could erase all the effects years and galactic travel had caused his physical body. His youth was in his eyes and his confidence.

  She smoothed her expensive pantsuit and lifted her chin toward the camera. “Would you kindly contact my traffic control experts and follow their instructions? You’re setting a bad example. The congestion would lessen if you were seen in compliance.”

  He smiled like a grandfather, his elegant mustache and bright blue eyes reminding her of a mythological wise man. Or maybe a gunslinger.

  She exhaled. “All right, I’ll play along. What can I do to make this worth your while?”

  His good humor appeared genuine. Her father had told her this man could be an ally. Maybe a friend. Her father had also warned her not to trust him.

  “I require a considerable volume of fuel and exotics for the next leg of my exploration,” he said. “The stock markets are crazy over the exotics coming from Darklanding. This seems like an excellent place to refuel, if the price could be made right for an old friend of the family.”

  Shaunte needed something to hold over him, a bargaining chip that didn’t yet exist. She nodded. “We can begin negotiations. I’m sure they can be found in your favor. I do need, however, an act of good faith.”

  “Anything, my dear. Just say the word.”

  “Great. Please take your proper place in the space traffic control lanes as designated by my local navigators. You will be accorded respect appropriate to your rank, social status, and contributions to space exploration and transportation,” she said. Ending the conversation was a small victory. She only wished she was confident the final victory would be hers.

  “I can do that, Miss Plastes. Have a wonderful day.”

  She ended the connection, then fixed her gaze on the far side of her office. The moment lasted until she found something interesting in her favorite catalog. Deep, tactical thoughts later. “Now, it is girl time.”

  * * *

  Andronik ran at the head of a gang of children. He didn’t understand young humans and thought they were fragile despite their big bones and strong muscles. He tried to keep one or two with his crew. Most times, it ended poorly, but he wanted to be more like Sheriff Thaddeus. The sheriff worked with anyone—rich, poor, or nonhuman, it didn’t matter. Loyalty was important. Talent and honor was rewarded.

  Human kids could get into places. The younger ones in particular could quite literally open doors for Andronik.

  The depopulated areas of the old village had long been his domain after his chores. Unglok children were encouraged to busy themselves in places where the adults no longer lived. It was an efficient way to learn exploration and become self-sufficient. Or at least Andronik believed that was why they were always telling him to go outside and play.

  He faced a maze of rubble. Bulldozers driven by humans cleared a lot, grinding the rubble into gravel until another vehicle poured a black, tar-like substance over it.

  He’d seen this before. The first time, he’d believed they were creating the foundation for a building of questionable stability. Now he understood this was only a place they could park larger and more destructive machines.

  “Come, Andronik. Let’s see the explosions,” Bobby said.

  Andronik raced ahead of his human friend and picked a spot on top of a debris pile. He stepped carefully on one rock after another, grabbing onto fallen support beams to steady himself. Other kids followed and let him pick the safest route. Soon, they were all crouched in a semicircle watching the show.

  On the other side of a vacant lot, engineers rigged buildings for collapse. Andronik believed they were skipping safety protocols. “Hold your ears!”

  Seconds later, the explosion knocked two of the smaller Ungloks off the debris pile.

  “Wow!” the children chorused.

  Andronik stood before the others. “Let’s go watch the human mating rituals.”

  They ran through town. Andronik realized something was wrong. Many street sections before the Mother Lode, he saw women dressed like Dixie’s girls. But they weren’t Dixie’s girls. They gathered around an incomplete building and had special conversations with men who were more than willing to pay.

  “These girls are wearing less than Dixie’s girls. I didn’t know that was possible!” Bobby said. “I wonder why so many of them have whips and chains.”

  “They’re human. Who knows why they do this not muchly sensible stuff,” Andronik said.

  Bobby shrugged.

  “I think I need to tell Dixie or Shaunte,” Andronik said.

  * * *

  “Yes, Thaddeus, that is an order,” Shaunte said.

  “Well, since you asked so nicely, I’ll see what I can do,” he said.

  “You will stay in Darklanding and enforce the law. Your contract obligates you to protect SagCon’s financial interests. What part of your duty don’t you understand?” she asked.

  “The part where you micromanage me. Did we get married while I wasn’t looking?”

  Shaunte crossed her arms and harrumphed.

  “Tapping your foot doesn’t scare me,” Thad said.

  “It should!”

  A roar went up from the crowd downstairs. The entire building shook.

  “Do we have a live band down there?” Shaunte asked.

  Thaddeus nodded. “I think they’re called The Orange Raptor Polkadot or something. Heavy-metal Manilow, whatever that is.”

  Shaunte shook her head. “Never mind that. Tell me about this incident at the warehouse.”

  “Totally harmless. I called Maximus off right away,” Thaddeus said.

  “There’s a problem with Maximus?”

  “No problem. Smugglers and bootleggers. They steal money from SagCon,” Thad said.

  “What’s it have to do with Maximus?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Then why did you start the conversation with a dog attack?”

  “Not really a dog…”

  “Whatever. Why didn’t I know about these smugglers and bootleggers? When were you going to tell me someone was stealing from me?”

  Thaddeus glanced out the window, stalling for time. “A lot of people are stealing from you. I didn’t want to bring it up until I could prove i
t and had the problem solved.”

  “I can’t say I mind that last part. It’s nice to get good news once in a while,” she said. The crowd roared, pulsating with the music vibrating the floorboards. “Can you make them shut up?”

  Thaddeus shook his head and presented his report to Shaunte. She looked at it.

  “This much? How am I losing this much without knowing?”

  “You would’ve never noticed it. With the money you’re making lately, that’s just a drop in the bucket. The Chandler crew was so incompetent, Maximus could’ve rounded them up by himself.”

  Shaunte scrolled screen after screen on the tablet and shook her head.

  “I have seven men and two women in lockup for fighting. Fourteen cases of unlicensed prostitution. Two vehicle thefts. A burglary. Even a pedestrian violation. My statistics for this month have increased quite a bit.”

  She didn’t look up. “So, all that overtime I’m paying you is money well spent.” She mumbled figures to herself as she read them.

  “I need to go back to Transport Canyon and examine the race course. There is more to this discovery than a fresh vein of exotic material,” Thaddeus said.

  She made a hand motion that indicated for him to do whatever he wanted, then caught herself, looking up in alarm. “You give me these numbers and describe Darklanding in chaos, then want to play in the desert?”

  “I can’t get into it right now, but you really want me to take care of this issue.”

  She exhaled in frustration and stomped on the floor. “I want you to make this noise stop!”

  “I’ll handle it on my way out. Also, at the bottom of that list, you’ll see several complaints from various residents of Darklanding. Use of force stuff. They all signed the waiver when they came here. All they have to do to avoid trouble is obey the law,” Thaddeus said.

  “I don’t care how you get it done, just get it done. And no gallivanting.”

  “Only official business.”

  She put down the tablet and crossed her arms, facing him with a hundred and fifteen pounds of attitude. “No. Gallivanting.”