“What the hell?” She knelt beside the column. It was sturdy metal, not plastic, and it must have taken a serious hit to smash it so badly. She’d need to bring a new one from HQ; she didn’t keep one in the rig. She’d never seen one demolished before.
She could hear the grumble of another log truck’s engine working to get up the grade from the intersection with the Sector 11 logging road, but kept her attention focused on the problem at hand. She could make a temporary fix with wire clips, but she’d need to fix the box eventually. At least Melissa Whitley would be able to send her parents those pictures of Olive tonight.
A horn blasted, and Standish looked up to see a battered UTV crawling toward her, a log truck practically eating its back end. The truck’s horn sounded again. The UTV eased to the shoulder of the road, and the log truck whipped around it. They were always in a hurry to get to the mill, Standish mused, and grinned to see the driver hastily straighten out the rig before it entered the next turn.
Then Hattie let out a volley of terrified barking as the back end of the log truck slid sideways. Gravel sprayed into Standish’s face. Even as she threw herself backward, she knew there wasn’t enough room in the ditch to save her.
The sharp smell of fresh cut horsetail overpowered everything else as the truck’s bed slid over the edge of the road.
And then silence.
“Jesus! Standish, are you OK?”
Hattie barked louder. Standish sat up. Her face stung, and the side of her head hurt — she must have hit it on something, maybe the cable box. The log truck rounded the next corner and disappeared, its driver blithely unaware that he’d nearly come off the road.
“That asshole nearly killed you.” Peter offered her his hands and pulled her up. “You’ve got some cuts. I have a first aid kit in the rig.”
“I guess I know how this cable box got smashed.” Standish rubbed her hip, which hurt too. “I’ll have to move it away from this corner.”
“You’re hurt, you’re bleeding, and you’re worried about the cable box?” Peter shook his head. His rig sat half-on, half-off the road, the driver side door still open. He climbed in, closed the door, and came out the passenger’s side with the red first aid box. “Let me see your face.”
“It’s seen worse.”
He soaked a gauze pad with something acrid and began swiping at her cheek. “I don’t think anything’s embedded in your skin, but Jesus! That’s damn close to your eye.” He swiped again, his touch gentle.
She looked over his shoulder. The seat of his UTV was covered in plastic boxes, most of them filled with plants, dirt, and even a few pink tree scooters. “Don’t you have the day off?”
“I could ask you the same.” He pulled the wrapper off a bandage. “I’m doing a little research for Olive. She’s found these weird butterflies and asked me to check them out.”
“You know Olive?”
Hattie jumped into the ditch and licked Standish’s hand. She began sniffing around Peter’s crotch, and he pushed her nose away. “Too friendly, dog. Too friendly.” He leaned in to stick the bandage on Standish’s cheek, smiling a little. “Yeah, she came to the office. Cool kid.”
Damn, he was nice. Half the town might be trying to persuade her to cut him off, but she had never met someone so easy to like. She pressed down on the edges of the bandage and wondered how to tell him she was sorry she’d been avoiding him without sounding like an asshole.
Because she was suddenly desperately sorry. People were spreading rumors about him, that he was an ecoterrorist, that he murdered Duncan in a jealous fit, that he was a troublemaker with a chip on his shoulder. She knew he was none of those things, and yet she’d done nothing to clear his name.
She would have never treated Dewey like this.
Standish took a deep breath. If Dewey was right about Songheuser, then Standish was about to risk her job and her place on Huginn to help Peter Bajowski.
“Well,” he said, his voice suddenly awkward. She knew from the sudden stiffness of his face that he was thinking of the night he’d come knocking on her door. “We should get out of this ditch before another log truck comes around.”
She nodded. And then added, quickly, before she could talk herself out of it: “You know Matthias Williams, right?”
“The Believer guy?”
“I’ll just be another minute with this cable box. Go to his place and I’ll meet you there.”
Peter leaned back against the side of his rig. “Why?”
“Because he wants to figure out who killed Duncan, and if we all work together, we might solve this case.”
A log truck rumbled by, rocking the UTV. The specimen boxes shifted on their seat, and Peter caught one as it toppled. Standish leaned closer to see it. A pink tree scooter huddled on a clutch of moss, a soft green caterpillar tucked in beside it.
“They’re friends,” he explained.
She smiled at him. “Like us.”
He got in the rig. “I’ll see you at Matthias’s. Don’t take too long.”
HUGINN, Day 195
It’s been two weeks with no sign of the men, and today I slaughtered the very last cow. Its eyelids were pale pink with anemia, and it had cuts all over its legs. Vonda said she saw leather birds hounding it at night, but some wicked, suspicious part of me wonders if one of us has been at them. The cuts look so straight, so smooth. Like they were made with a knife.
I bashed it over the head with a sledge hammer and Mei Lin cut its throat and we knew we should save all the blood for sausage, but we could not help but press our mouths to the cut and let the hot stuff run down into our bellies. But it felt so strange to have a full stomach after all this time. It didn’t feel good or bad, only strange, as if my body had forgotten what to do with real food. Then we were both so tired we had to drop down in the mud and just rest.
The leather birds got closer and closer and the rain soaked through all my clothes, but I couldn’t get up. I’m so tired of working and being hungry and scared and alone. I’m so tired.
No one sleeps at night. Something moves out there in the dark, something howls. It’s the dogs, of course. All the dogs we killed so that we could live.
PETER PARKED his UTV in front of the horsetail-wood gate, and sat there wondering what he was getting into. He had never really talked to Matthias Williams before, had avoided the Believers of Canaan Lake as much as possible. He supposed their hypocritical stance on technology rubbed him the wrong way. They’d been happy to use science and technology to expand their agricultural empire to the far side of the galaxy, but now they just pranced around on their horses, undermining the town’s work to rejoin the twenty-third century.
Their rules looked pretty self-serving from where he stood.
A small cart, pulled by a glossy black horse, stopped beside him. A vaguely Asian woman in Believer dress tilted her head so she could see into the driver’s side window. “Are you here to help with the curing shed, too, good sir?”
He struggled for an answer. “I’m meeting a friend here? We’re supposed to… help Matthias with… something.”
She laughed. “Sounds like you got yourself roped into a work party. Come on out of that UTV and ride in with me. It’s easier to show up with someone else, isn’t it?” She opened the gate and led the horse through, then got back in, waiting for him with a kind smile.
Peter got out of the vehicle and climbed up into the cart. “I’m Peter Bajowski. It is nice to meet such a friendly face.”
“Mei Lin Vogel. It’s nice to meet you, Dr Bajowski. I’ve heard you’re Canaan Lake’s resident expert on botany.”
Her voice, educated and friendly, clashed with his ideas of Believer women. He’d expected them to be housebound, meek little creatures, sewing every moment they weren’t chasing their passel of children. But this woman seemed worldly enough.
He glanced over at her and saw humor flicker in her eyes as if she knew what he was thinking about and laughing at him for it.
She stoppe
d the cart in front of Matthias’s barn. A painting in primary colors looked down on them, a bold red circle nearly filled with a yellow sun and an assortment of multicolored birds, flowers and butterflies. “That hex needs repainting,” she murmured. “I’ll ask Shane about it.”
“That… hex?”
“Oh,” she waved a deprecating hand, “just one of those folk customs we’ve grown attached to. The Vogel family brought their old Pennsylvania traditions of painting lucky charms on outbuildings. It’s no offense to God, we figure, since it’s not as if we believe they’re some kind of magic. The Good Book warns us that ‘Thou shall not suffer a witch to live,’ but it does encourage celebrating the traditions of the forefathers.”
“Mei Lin.” Matthias Williams appeared in the gap between the barn and the house, a hammer tucked into his belt. “I see you’ve brought a friend.”
She hopped down, laughing that chiming laugh. Standing up, she was smaller than Peter had realized, barely taller than his shoulder. “A friend of yours, Matthias. He said he came to help.”
“I didn’t know you knew today was a work day. In fact, I didn’t know you cared much for our people, Dr Bajowksi.” He folded his arms across his chest.
“He’s with me,” a voice called out, and Standish hurried forward.
The contrast between Standish and Mei Lin Vogel could not have been more pronounced. Standish was nearly as tall as Matthias Williams. Her work clothes, waterproofed canvas with dozens of pockets and zippers in shades of black and gray, looked as if they had been manufactured with the latest technology, and her hair, the same black as Mei Lin’s, stood up in rumpled prickles. Everything about her looked sharp and tough, even a little masculine. Hattie’s sturdy white shape made a neat complement to the woman.
“Mei Lin, have you met Kate Standish?” Matthias came forward to steer the two together. Standish shook Mei Lin’s hand and managed to look friendly enough.
Peter wondered just how Standish had gotten to know Williams, but he knew better than to ask, especially not in front of Mei Lin, who was eyeing Standish suspiciously. Peter felt like giving Standish his own suspicious expression.
“Is Shane still here?” Mei Lin asked. “If you don’t need my help building, I thought I’d set up lunch inside.”
Two other men appeared behind Matthias, one tall and skinny, one with a build more like Peter’s. “We’ve finished,” the shorter one said. “You need not strain your back today, good wife.” He stepped forward to put a hand on Mei Lin’s shoulder.
The other man came forward. His face had a long, predatory quality that made Peter uncomfortable. “I’m Orrin Morris. You’re a friend of Duncan Chambers, aren’t you, Dr Bajowski? I remember you speaking at his service.”
“Yes,” Peter agreed. “There were so many people that day, I’m sorry if I can’t remember meeting you.”
“I don’t imagine you would.” Orrin’s lips tightened. “I also remember that you were an advocate for the property tax increase on the ballot last year.”
Mei Lin stepped forward. “Orrin, I brought that roast chicken you like so much. Would you like to help me set up lunch?”
“That’s all right, Mei Lin,” Matthias said quickly. “I told Miss Standish I’d be lunching with her and Dr Bajowski. I had forgotten about the shed raising when I invited them over.”
“Oh.” For the first time, Mei Lin’s face lost its veneer of pleasantry. “I suppose Orrin and Shane can return to our home for the meal. I simply assumed you’d stick to tradition.”
“Tradition has never been Matthias’s strong point,” Orrin said, his voice cold. Peter wondered if they’d stumbled into an old argument. He couldn’t read the stockier man’s face at all. The three Believers all fixed their eyes on Matthias.
“Go on,” Matthias said. “We’ll talk later.”
“Shane, you should patch up Matthias’s hex,” Mei Lin said. “It’s looking shabby.”
“We can’t have that, can we?” Orrin said. “Wouldn’t want the dogs getting in with the horses.”
“The dogs?”
“The hex is for the dogs,” the shorter man said, his voice so deep it was nearly a growl. “They don’t like it or the symbol of our Lord.”
“No, they don’t,” Matthias snapped. “Now go,” he ordered. “We’ll talk another day.”
“Yes, another day,” Orrin agreed. “Mei Lin, Shane. I’ll get my horse and follow you.”
The other Believers hurried away, leaving Standish and Peter alone with Matthias. “Let’s go inside,” he said. He wasn’t commanding them the way he’d ordered the Believers; he sounded tired but reasonable.
The colors of Matthias’s kitchen surprised and dazzled Peter. The plain white exterior of Matthias’s house and barn had not prepared him for the blues and yellows and the many, many animal figures. It was like walking into one of the Believers’ hex images, and he found himself turning in a slow circle, trying to take it all in.
“Tea?” Matthias asked. He didn’t sound any happier.
“I’m fine,” Peter said, at the same moment Standish said “Please.”
Matthias poured her a glass and carried a dish of water out to Hattie. He returned and leaned up against the counter. “So what is this about, Standish?”
“Peter didn’t kill Duncan,” she announced. “I know he didn’t.”
“How do you know?” he asked.
“Because I know,” she said. She pushed the cup of cool tea a few centimeters across the table. “I know in my gut it has something to do with Songheuser.”
“What?” Peter asked. “You… what?”
“Duncan knew the company was up to something. He was worried about some kind of secret project that Songheuser was hiding from you, Peter. They brought in another biologist.”
“That doesn’t prove anything,” Matthias pointed out.
“They hid the road in the woods,” she countered. “And don’t forget — that’s not the only thing they’ve covered up.” She gave Matthias a hard look.
“What?” Peter leaned forward. “What do you know, Matthias?”
“The company made a mistake when the first colonists arrived on Huginn,” Matthias said. “More than half the colonists died of starvation because their supplies weren’t delivered. The company made the Canaan Lake colonists a big settlement — free shipping for perpetuity — if we’d keep quiet about it.”
Peter shook his head. “Why’d the settlers take it? If people died, wouldn’t they want to see the company punished?”
“Because we — I mean, the original settlers — needed material from Earth. They needed all new stock of embryos and enough food to get them through another year. But the cost of shipping before the discovery of uranium on Muninn? Was astronomical. It tripled the cost of any item. To survive, the settlers had to make that deal.”
“And Songheuser got off looking like a bunch of good guys.”
“The first settlers thought they had no other choice. They signed the papers and they kept their promise.”
“Except not today,” Peter said. “You’re breaking your word by telling us.”
Matthias gave a little laugh. “Who’s going to believe the two of you? I live out here on a farm, and even I’ve heard the gossip. Standish is so unhinged she depends on her dog to keep her under control. And you’re an environmentalist with an overactive sex drive.”
“Fuck you,” Standish said, but there was no fire in it.
“Maybe you’re right,” Peter said. He could see the terrible clarity of Matthias’s logic. He’d seen just what people thought of him this week, and it was ugly. “But your people’s secret has nothing to do with Duncan and his murder. Why do you care who killed him?”
“Because he saw us as more than just our religion,” Matthias said. “He saw us as part of his community, and he tried to help us when no one else would.”
“Sectors 13 and 14,” Standish blurted. “Duncan tried to keep you from selling to Songheuser.”
Matthias nodded. “But it was part of their price,” he said.
“What price?” she asked.
He hesitated.
Standish reached for his arm. “What price?” she repeated.
“The price for making sure that property tax failed,” he explained. He turned sad eyes to Peter. “It would have crippled us. You don’t know how hard it is to make money on a farm.”
Peter didn’t know what to say. Songheuser making secret deals with the Believers. Songheuser fixing elections. Everything he thought they’d left behind on Earth was being written again here on Huginn.
Standish balled her fists. “Fucking Songheuser. You know they were the reason my accident happened? The one that nearly killed me and triggered my agoraphobia?” She shook out her hands, her cheeks flushed. “They’re the reason all those Believers died. They’re the reason Duncan’s dead. We have got to stand up to them. We’ve got to make them pay for what they’ve done!”
“We’ve got to prove all that,” Peter reminded her. “It’s still a pretty big stretch to say Songheuser caused Duncan’s murder.”
“Well, we’ll prove it! We’ll find some more clues and solve this case.”
Matthias raised an eyebrow. “I think our first step is to make sure our friend here doesn’t get brought in for the crime.”
He smiled at Peter, and Peter smiled back.
Who wrote the Good Book? God steered the hands of many men to write its passages. I once thought His guidance would override any error or bias implicit in the writer, but I have come to see that we humans can pollute any kind of wisdom.
— from MEDITATIONS ON THE MEANING OF EVIL, by MW Williams
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
An Oath of Dogs Page 20
