“Ain’t ever seen a duck, nor tried tah fornicate one. You think that’d work?”
Lee’s footsteps paused a full half second before he sniffed. Lee’s nose wrinkled and the man underneath reached out, beckoning the retired soldier for an answer. Lee said, “Nah Bill, you don’t want a duck. They bite. Ducks are assholes, at least that’s what my dad said. He only hated four things in life: sinners, his mother-in-law, ducks, and us boys.”
“That’s an odd list. Mustta been a God fearin’ man, your poppa. A regulah saint.”
“Naw.” Lee’s voice started to resemble the man under the trucks. He resumed pacing while fumbling through his pockets for a cigar. “Dad made me look like a choir boy.”
“Ain’t that something,” Bill said. The platform he lay upon moved to the left a few feet letting Bill inspect another part of the Mower’s undersurface. “If you’re gonna waste my time jawing then pick up a wench and get udder here. Lord knows this backlog ain’t gonna clear isself.”
“All right.” Lee poked around trying to figure out the doorway cleaning units. Lee hoped to get them working again one day so the chefs would be less annoyed at his shoes. Their colony owned six and only one in the administration building still worked.
Lee sighed. Much of his anger had deflated traveling between buildings, as it always did. Running in circles on the frontier reminded him how much easier war was. Fighting had always been in a specific spot with enemies that showed up a pretty red color on his suit’s display. Work in the real world proved to be too complicated, and that said nothing of the people.
Reminiscing about the past didn’t stop him from wondering how Becky might act on Heart Throb. It didn’t help that Becky was the only decent female not covered with muck in the entire colony. Lee chalked it up to enjoying a good argument. Something about feisty women drew his eye like nothing else. Once again Lee found himself wondering about the old days, where war heroes hit the ports and all the girls were ready to go at a moment’s notice. Rest and relaxation had truly been worth looking forward to.
He didn’t like the quietness of frontier life at all. War, or the excitement of a busy planet. Those were things worth doing. Not being stuck out in some backwater clamming over broken H.E.R.Ds.
“I hate it out here. Ain’t like it was,” Lee said with his good eye close to one of the exhaust ports. Hay and green goo lined the tube, vented from god knows where, and only god knew how. He grabbed a rag and cleaned the muck.
Bill hummed through his nose, then dropped a set of wrenches on the ground. The clanking of metal faded into the background and minutes of silence dragged on as they worked. After a time, Bill started talking again. “Ya could go back home. Mah folks say it’s nice back in the inner ring. I get me videos occasionally.”
“Nah.” Lee continued fumbling for a fresh cigar. He’d run out of them somewhere between Johnson’s office and the repair depot. It was morning that killed him, and not sleeping right. “Inner ring don’t like me, and outer ring home worlds put me on probation. That’s how I got stuck out here with you lot. The board said I wasn’t civilized enough for civilization and told me to get some real non combative work under my belt. Railroaded by the good old United Planets Rehabilitation campaign.”
“Dat so? I hear tell you joined because Becky asked you sweetly. Ain’t a man alive who’d say no to them baby blues.” The wrenches clattered again as Bill switched his weapon of choice for another one.
“Shoot, that woman ain’t asked anyone nicely for a damn thing in her entire life.” The gruff man settled for chewing on a strip from an empty box of cigars found in his back pocket. His teeth gnashed into the material leaving a bitter taste behind. “I doubt she knows what nice is. I’ve had the pleasure of meeting nice before, she don’t fit the bill,” he grumbled between tastes.
“You shore?” Bill’s accent colored everything, making his words even harder to understand. “You never struck me as the type that nice likes to bed down with afore long.”
“Ain’t that the truth,” Lee said quietly.
“Wut?”
“I said fuck a duck,” the man responded.
“Nah. I heard they is assholes from a right gentleman, as passed down from his right saintly poppa. God rest his soul.”
Lee gave a startled laugh that grew louder until it filled the huge garage. A few other people working late hours on machinery poked their heads up and tried to figure out what was wrong, but the former soldier paid them no heed, instead wiping away tears of mirth.
“You’re alright, Bill,” the man said around his soggy piece of chewed paper.
“Shore, but you ain’t no lady with a Heart Throb, so I still ain’t got spare wrenches or candies.”
The sound of Lee’s further amusement and Bill’s constant clanging of wrenches continued for a time.
Part IV
Days later Lee was in the field while the star for this galaxy bore down a light orange and green haze through the atmosphere. He cursed it for being uncomfortable. His motorbike, a big blocky thing with more pockets and buttons than anyone rightly needed, absorbed the rays to recharge while Lee suffered under a light hat.
He hated having his vision obstructed, especially when worms might come out of the works at any time. Every time he dared pull the brim back sweat started to form. Still, he kept pulling the hat off and scanning every high point in the area to make sure he’d successfully booby trapped them all.
“Lee, you there?” a voice cut across his communication earpiece.
“No,” he responded to Becky. The woman had just about driven him up a wall with her incessant harping. She had to be worse than his grandmother, who was every bit the shrew Lee’s father said.
“Why are you off course?”
He saw red in under a second. “Of course I’m off course! We’re down three beefclops! Three! They took another one last night a click outside your damn border!”
For only a moment he enjoyed throwing that worthless border idea back in Becky’s face. In Lee’s mind there wasn’t a soul alive who respected a barrier. Warriors didn’t care, and politicians cared even less. The only time a dotted line on some map mattered was when winning an argument or separating friendly people from invaders.
The ex-soldier’s cursing didn’t stop but Lee had enough awareness to press the mute button. Only the beefclops heard, and those giant animals paid absolutely no regard to the stream of colorful phrases. Such common sights couldn’t disturb the great beasts, intent upon clearing out trees from the landscape.
“We’re down three?” Becky asked after a pause.
Lee pulled out his cigar and rubbed sore temples with the other hand causing his brimmed hat to bob.
“Yes ma’am,” he said while trying to hold back the anger. Mostly Lee was pissed off at himself. Even with his gun out and at the ready, the ribbon-like creatures had caught him unaware. All his shots only brought down two of the huge bird creatures, but their leader had escaped.
“What about the H.E.R.D. units. Those should be keeping away the local predators.”
“Still broken, ma’am.” Lee’s neck pulsed with irritation. He tried to hold still but couldn’t stop himself from shaking the cigar wildly. Ash trailed off into the air. The man muted himself then added, “Those fuck cheap as units couldn’t keep away a sheep.”
“Shut up, Lee,” Becky said.
He ground the cigar out in his hand and hissed with redirected pain. The other option was cursing, or yelling, or breaking something. In Lee’s mind there was only so much cursing to be done before moving on to shoot things. The man had a lot of anger and very few outlets for it.
He tried to remain calm. “It wouldn’t be a problem if someone would—”
“Shut the hell up, Lee,” she repeated with extra flavor.
Lee tore off the small wire in his ear then threw it to the ground. The herd of beefclops shifted slightly to keep the raving madman in view. He danced up and down while hopping then paced toward the mo
torbike and withdraw the gun he was issued. It held nowhere near the firepower of his old war weapon, but a few shots at the sky made him feel better.
He picked up the wire and put it back. The piece of equipment had suffered no damage from Lee’s tantrum.
Becky issued forth threats with a slight tremor to her voice. “Lee? Lee? Stop ignoring me, you asshole. I swear to God if I have to drive out there myself I’ll yank—”
“What would you like me to do?” he said and forced a smile.
“Bring them back to the base, we’ll keep them inside the main border and see what happens.”
It sounded useless to him, but orders were orders. One trait Lee prided himself on, besides being mean in a fight, was following orders. Being able to do a thing and liking it were different kettles of fish, though. It also didn’t prevent him from looking for loopholes, like spending the last three days setting up popper mines on the hills above.
“Sure, but only because you asked me nicely.”
“I didn’t ask you—I ordered you. Bring them in—now, Lee.”
Lee hung his head. He remembered over a year ago when Becky had first approached him on the Sector Fifty Five station. He and a dozen other former gunslingers for hire had been sitting in line for interviews.
“Goddamn woman. If I’d known she was such a hellcat I would never have considered this assignment.”
There was a pause, then the headpiece in Lee’s ear clicked and Becky’s voice came on. “Well, Lee, if you weren’t such an asshole, I would have given you a second thought.”
Lee’s face didn’t change. His hand mechanically pulled out a new cigar and popped it into place. The end flared from the self-ignition feature. He chewed the edge of the new cigar and wondered why in the frozen rings of hell he hadn’t pressed the goddamn mute button.
“So, there’s a chance,” he asked as deadpan as he’d ever uttered anything.
“Not if you were the last man in this colony. Bring back the cattle, now, Lee.”
Funny, his commanding officer had said much the same thing. Lee couldn’t remember if that was before she shot him, or after they ended up in a bunk together one night. He grinned around the latest cigar then wiped away a trail of sweat from under his hat.
The soldier surveyed his line of traps and thought about the fireworks to come. Maybe frontier life wouldn’t be so bad. It just took time to warm up to living in the boondocks. First, he’d win over Becky with his unique charm, then shoot some aliens. Lee felt that life was looking up.
Part V
In two days’ time life proved to disagree with Lee’s assessment. The cooks, both of them, had filed a formal complaint against Lee’s way of life. They professed Lee’s cigars were using valuable resources to produce, and his muddy clothes destroyed their attempts at providing sanitary eating conditions.
Naturally, Lee had arrived at Johnson’s office just in time to overhear the budding conspiracy. He stood at the door listening to Ed and Ted repeatedly insult him. The chefs were a pair of nearly identical redheads. The two of them often couldn’t separate out their own thoughts and words. Both came from the planet of misfit children, Asgard, where corporations like to play mad gods with genetic tampering.
“Those boots track mud everywhere.” Lee believed Ed was speaking, but it was actually Ted. Johnson could tell the difference because Ted was slightly taller and had a mole on his neck.
“I constantly find cigar remains in the trash. They mix in with everything. Breakfast this morning was tainted.”
“The smell is outrageous. Why is he the only person in our entire colony who smokes?”
“Who still smokes in this era? Get a Mist Cloud.”
“And those boots are ludicrous.” Lee missed the switch between twins and thought Ted was talking, but it was actually Ed. He had a slight lisp that Lee could never detect. Instead, the ex-soldier focused on a good place to shove his boots and ground the unlit cigar which hung from his mouth.
“The boots have to go, but his feet are probably disgusting.”
Lee charged around the corner to defend the sanctity of his feet. They were the cleanest part of his entire body next to the crotch. Everything else got cleaned in passing or by accident or when Becky ordered him to straighten up. If nothing else, Lee was good at following orders when they were phrased correctly.
“My cigars are odorless and don’t leave stains! Stop trying to tell me what to do. This ain’t your kitchen.” Lee puffed up his chest. “You got no say out here.”
“This ain’t your war,” Ed and Ted said in unison.
“You’re the one trying to boss us around,” Ed, or maybe Ted said.
“You’re making a mess everywhere,” Ted, or maybe Ed followed.
They had identical frowns that pulled down large ears. The chefs, Ed and Ted, hadn’t started out twins by any means. Now, though, in their late twenties, the two had grown closer and closer. It was possible that Lee’s existence simply brought out the mean in them.
“I’m doing my job, that’s minding the fields and watching the border. That’s what I do.” Ted started to open his mouth and Lee shouted, “And you’re insulting my feet! A good soldier knows to keep his feet clean!” The cigar fell from his mouth and Lee caught it with a well-practiced mid-air snatch.
“I don’t care,” Johnson muttered, but none of those people arguing paid him any attention. Lee snorted then went back to pointing two fingers at one of the chefs, and the cigar toward the other.
“Listen here, you whiney pair of nitwits, I’ve had enough of your shit for things—”
“That’s exactly it! You smell like shit!” they exclaimed in unison with four hands pointing back. They slapped Lee’s accusing fingers which remained unmoved by the quadruple attack.
Johnson, meanwhile, sat down and studied his computer. He believed that someone in this corner of the boondocks needed to be working. He fumbled with one hand for a Happy Patch in the desk drawer while his other hand waved at messages coming in. One had a small exclamation mark denoting urgency.
Lee, Ed, and Ted continued their tirade of accusations against each other as Johnson mechanically put on the Happy Patch. His eyes read the latest note and his pupils widened as he scanned over the words.
“Listen,” Johnson said weakly.
Ted whined, “You have no appreciation for our efforts—”
“How hard is it to understand rare. Rare, I want my meat rare and you two only know how to do well done. You kill the flavor.” Lee threw up his hands in a huff then stuck the cigar back between his lips, pinching the end to prevent it from self-starting.
“Goddammit, shut up!” Johnson banged on the table. The act of aggression from such a normally timid man made everyone pause. Even Lee, prone to stampeding over anyone who argued, quieted.
“What?” Lee turned his ire toward the portly man and leaned over, nostrils flared.
Johnson’s eyes fluttered as he took a deep breath. He said, “Mister Custard, please— for once—shut up and listen.”
Lee’s lips tightened and his fingers itched. He exhaled slowly while repeatedly counting to ten. For two days Lee had been trying to prove he wasn’t an asshole and this latest incident with the chefs hadn’t helped. He called a spade a spade—loudly—and with enough force to prevent the spade from talking again. He also hated the last name his father had passed down.
“What?” Lee managed to ask as his neck tensed.
Johnson stared at his screen. He ran a finger across the display again several times, sighed, then slumped back in his chair. Ted and Ed held their breath in unison then crept closer to the monitor. They read faster than Johnson explained, and in unison they said, “Miss Lawson’s ordering a roll call.”
The grumpy soldier’s eyebrows went together. He checked the time twice on a display in Johnson’s office before he ground out the cigar on his hand then snorted. “In the middle of the afternoon?”
“Yes. She said two people’s readers have gone offline.�
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“You sure they aren’t just bumping uglies somewhere private?” Lee asked. It had happened. Small colonies became larger that way. Immigration only worked if the planet had something of value or became a trading post.
“No. According to Becky’s report, both people spiked an hour ago, then flat lined.” Johnson’s chubby face avoided the sad puppy dog look he normally portrayed. Instead, he simply looked tired with a fidgeting nervousness. “We’re doing a roll call. In person—in the yard.”
The yard was a space between all four major buildings of their colony. Jets from landing gear had helped burn away a lot of plant life. Other portions of the ground between them had been bulldozed and repurposed for vehicle parking.
At that point, the explosives Lee had set up ten miles out went off, lighting the afternoon sky and visible through Johnson’s office window. A large winged creature soared through the budding smoke cloud.
“It’s not our fault,” the chefs said in unison.
Lee uttered expletives, shoved his cigar into a pocket then huffed out of the administration building.
Part VI
Roll call came and went. Everyone besides the two missing had proven to be alive. The two people on watch in the towers waved while checking in using a local radio wave. Once their survival had been established, the group loaded up on defensive gear, while half of them headed out to the explosion site.
Lee waited anxiously to see the havoc his sky mines had wrought.
“Over here!” a man shouted. Lee didn’t bother remembering his name as the person yelling didn’t serve food, give orders, or fix stuff. A few of the colonists were utterly useless and without merit.
Becky cupped her hands and yelled, “Did you find them?”
“What you all yellin’ fur,” Bill said calmly into his headpiece. His words played across a dozen devices the colonists wore around their necks. For most people this served as an easy location to place the thin cord which had both speakers and a microphone. The range on them was terrible and only covered a few miles.
Ember of War Page 2
