by Lindsay Peet
CHAPTER THREE
Suddenly my puddle of shade had swollen to the cool, dark bar I had enjoyed a month earlier, and I was listening to the mysterious Mr. Stanley, sipping an iced drink, and my mental body was really appreciating its imaginary teleportation from the bleak reality of Mobahey to the comforting calm where men connive and conspire. Mr. Stanley, as I’d named him, leaned over with quiet intensity, speaking not too loudly, but with enough force to ensure I understood. “There was a scroungy character making the rounds hereabouts awhile back, went by the name of Wanliet. Scruffy-looking coot, ragged hair, mustache, chin-beard and a hat. Always a hat. Claimed there was a treasure on the ringed desert planet of Mobahey, and he had a map to prove it.”
“And what kind of treasure might that be, Mr. Stanley?” I’d asked. I hadn’t expected an honest answer, but I hoped to get a clue to Mr. Stanley. The kind of lie I’d hear next would hint at the kind of man who was looking to hire me.
A slight smile, an odd red spark in his fixed pupil. “The usual, I suppose. Some treasure that fleeing rebels had crashed with, and the sole survivor shared the secret on his deathbed. You know, I never ask too many questions as I don’t enjoy being lied to.”
The man had some experience with this game.
“And what happened to this scruffy old guy? Why aren’t you hiring him and his map?”
“He’s disappeared, probably looking for more backers. We did some checking on our own and it seems there quite possibly is something valuable out on Mobahey. We also think we can reproduce the map, kind of. We’ve narrowed the search down to five locations, all on Mobahey.” After that we’d finalized and formalized our agreement, discussing disbursements and discounts and such stuff, really not the point here and none of your dam’ business.
Thinking back like that I became positive not one word had been said about big rubber balls, not even a teeny-tiny hint. If Mr. Stanley had known what we’d find, he’d held his cards close. Or, maybe the ball wasn’t the treasure. Maybe this was some kind of false treasure, fool’s gold. Maybe it would lead us to the real treasure, somehow. A guy can always hope, right?
That’s what it came down to – this ball was either a fantastic coincidence, showing up just where some legend said a treasure should be; or, somebody’s idea of a joke; or, there was a lot more to the ball than it presented at first glance. I couldn’t see how I could decide on which, out here in the field. Laziness said this was it, no point in looking further; caution said I’d better make damn sure.
Soon enough Jedub called me over again, I saw the second ball, and the two set about delicately removing it. I made my decision; this was the treasure, or as much treasure as we’d find. Something also told me this was all there was, so after half-hearted efforts to find more treasure, more balls, more sense to the whole expedition, I told my helpers to fill the hole back in, rolling some nearby small boulders to help fill the cavities the balls had left behind. If anybody else was looking for this ‘treasure’ I didn’t want it obvious we’d found something and removed it.
What to do with the things now was my problem. The late afternoon breeze was kicking up and I could just imagine our ‘treasures’ getting snagged by some wind and rolling off across the desert, maybe catching a thermal and soaring up, out of sight, retrievable only by one of the ghostly dirigibles that silently criss-crossed the continents.
I stared and stared at the things, then had a thought. I took two of our food bags, spread the seams some and loosened up the weave of the burlap, and stuffed a ball in each one. Then I tied the bags athwart one of our ‘mules’ and backed away to examine my handiwork. Altogether the mule + balls package was about three meters across; this would not work with the defiles and scarps we’d be maneuvering around on the way back to Sandy Aggo.
Also, it looked damned strange.
So, I re-thought and then re-worked the setup so the balls hung loosely just behind the mule’s rump, kind of dangling back there by the tail. Jedub and Lordano had been watching me, nudging each other, pointing, laughing – it was okay, I’d have done the same in their positions – and when I stepped back and gestured at the beast like I was presenting it for a prize they just broke up. I had to admit it looked funny, like our mule had some horrible disease, a disease that if a man had it would make it damned hard for him to walk, and pretty much impossible to ride one of the Mobahey ‘horses.’
Still, it was the only way to pack them out.
The hole backfilled, the treasure packed up, it looked like it was time to make camp for the night.
