THE AGONY OF waking the next morning reminded Trouble there was someone he wanted to hurt—badly. Keeping his eyes closed, he did a quick inventory. Everything was there, but his arms were tied and he couldn’t feel his hands. His nose was on line; someone had lost their lunch. That stink was mixed with the scent of earth and growing things. He inched his eyes open.
He lay on bare ground beneath trees of some sort along with several dozen other people. Four wore whites; the rest looked civilian. As he struggled to sit up in the predawn light, his company looked pretty helpless.
“Thought you might be first up, soldier boy,” came from behind him. A burly man in dirty jeans and a Unity shirt rolled Trouble over. The marine tried to kick him, and got a kick in his kidneys for the effort. “You just lie there, or the next kick will knock your head off.” Trouble struggled to work his hands loose while the other man reached under the marine’s dress blouse and cinched something around his waist. The guy’s fingernails needed trimming; Trouble’s stomach and back got raked liberally as a narrow plastic cord was pulled tight around him. “There,” the ex-Unity thug grinned. “You cause me any more trouble, you’ll wish you hadn’t.”
“When’s chow?” Trouble muttered.
“Soon enough.” The fellow kicked Trouble again, pulled another belt from the sack at his waist, and started fumbling with the sleeping woman next to the lieutenant. She was the one who’d emptied her stomach. A local, her clothes were workmanlike slacks and a plaid flannel shirt. The thug yanked the shirttails out, liberally copping feels, and attached a belt. The thin plastic strand cut into her belly, but it was the four cylinders equally spaced around the band that made a tough marine like Trouble swallow hard. Animal control pods. One was enough to tame a bull. Four could kill a man. Trouble’s belt had six.
The thug worked his way around the supine bodies on the forest floor. The men he kicked; the women he felt up. Most were too drugged to notice. One of the spacers, a third-class petty officer, looked awake enough to object, but too groggy to know where he was. Trouble coughed, caught his eye, and gave him a quick shake of the head. The man submitted sullenly. The thug must have noticed; he gave the spacer a solid kick as he left him. The petty officer saw it coming and rolled away.
By the time the tough had worked his way around to the young woman on Trouble’s right, she was fully awake. As he pawed her clothes, she pitched away from his touch. “Well, maybe I’ll just have to strip you, girlie.” The scumbag grinned and reached for the fly on her pants. The woman, curled up in a fetal ball, shot her legs out, catching the thug full in the front. He managed to keep the family jewels safe as he pitched over backward.
As the thug sprawled out beside Trouble, the marine gritted his teeth. He didn’t want to do this; knights in shining armor trying to save damsels in distress were way dated. Now was the time to wait for these idiots to make a mistake. But the woman’s scream of rage, the man’s yowl—Trouble could not lie there and watch what came next. Pushing off, he rolled toward the tough, scissoring his legs around the guy’s neck. “You aren’t doing anything the young woman doesn’t want.”
“Lemme go,” the thug pawed at Trouble’s legs. The lieutenant locked his ankles together and got ready to ride this fellow out.
Sudden pain laced Trouble’s belly; his breath fled as he fought to keep from blacking out. If this scumbag had the regulator for the control pods, even a marine was dead.
“Let him go, soldier boy.” A new voice came from behind Trouble. “Let him go or I’ll up the pain.”
“Will you keep him off the girl?” Trouble was damned if he wouldn’t negotiate something out of his situation.
“Girl, you seen the belts Clem’s been putting on everyone. Pull one out of his bag and put it on.” The girl approached them gingerly. Despite her tied hands, she got a belt out of Clem’s sack. Putting it on was another thing.
“Let me help.” The petty officer was on his feet. Between the two of them, they managed the belt.
“Come here.”
The girl went to the voice. The marine ignored her; Clem was getting boisterous.
“Lets make that a tad tighter” came from behind him. Then, “Okay, soldier boy, turn Clem loose.” Trouble took a deep breath, then started rolling. As expected, Clem fumbled his way to his feet and started trying to kick the marine.
“Clem, get out of here.”
“But, boss…” The man hardly slowed in his one-legged chase of Trouble.
“Clem. Go get some grub. Now. Or you’ll be wearing one of those belts.”
Clem made one more kick, missed, and stomped away. Trouble found his back to a tree, so he struggled into a sitting position facing the voice. The man was slim, medium height, and held himself tight as a whip. “Much obliged,” Trouble nodded.
The man called boss eyed the marine for a second more, then roved the entire group, his hand coming up to display a small red box. “Listen up, folks. It’s time we got the new employee orientation over. Welcome to ‘Day’s Work, Inc.’ As our newest hires, we want you to understand just where you fit in the organization chart.” He pressed the black button on the box. Pain shot through Trouble’s gut. Not as bad as the last time, but plenty bad. A woman screamed; other folks whimpered.
“The good news is I’ll be carrying this little motivational tool for the rest of this trip. The bad news is you get too close to me or wander too far off and it don’t like it. It quits sending the ‘Good Employee Reward signal.’ If your belts ain’t getting that message, they’re gonna start giving you a motivational session. Soldier boy, you want to come here?”
“Not really,” Trouble said as he got to his feet and slowly approached the boss. At ten feet his pods sent pain through him. He inched forward. The agony grew.
“Like that?”
“No, sir.”
“Think you could get any closer?”
“No, sir.”
“Now start backing up. Get a move on.”
Trouble moved. At fifty feet the tingling sensation was back; he halted.
“Boy, I took you for tougher than that.” The empty smile vanished from the man’s face. “Keep going,” he growled.
“Just thought you’d made your point, sir.” Trouble used his best boyish grin, but started backing again.
“One of the lessons I strongly encourage new employees to learn,” the boss went on matter-of-factly as Trouble backed up and the pain grew, “is you don’t want to come to management’s attention. Not all bosses will be as kind-hearted as I am. Why, I’ve known some labor consultants who’d make a new employee who’d cause trouble like that there soldier boy keep right on walking until he keeled over from the pain. It bad, boy?”
Trouble had no intention of trying to out-macho this guy. The pain in his abdomen was past bad to agony. But, hunched over, he still was backing up. “It’s got my attention, sir. Real good.”
“Nice boy. Now, I could start walking away.” And the boss took a step back. “In a few seconds you all would see just how fast a man can die from a bellyache.”
The pain level shot up. Trouble risked a step forward.
“See. The man is educatable. He don’t want to leave my company. And I don’t want to miss delivering a full levy of new workers. So, come on back, soldier boy, and the rest of you get on your feet. We got to get moving.”
The petty officer and a woman spacer headed for Trouble. He stumbled toward them as fast as he could to save them the pain he knew was growing in their guts. “You okay, sir?” the man asked, taking Trouble’s arm and putting it around his shoulder. The woman took the other. They half carried Trouble as they rejoined the milling group.
“Take my word for it. You want to stay where he wants you.”
“We putting up with this shit?” the petty officer growled.
“Folks with shit for brains make mistakes. Let’s see where they goof off, spacer. Don’t blow our chances before then. I’m Lieutenant Tordon, but I go by Trouble.”
“Third Class Petty Officer Jagowski, sir, Spacer First Yu.” The woman on the other side of Trouble ducked her head. “Romez,” was a red-haired and freckled fellow. “And Makingana, but we call her Mac.” The last was a tall, rail-thin woman whose dark skin shone where the sunlight caught it, but who could have disappeared into the shadows without a trace.
“What do we do, sir?” Romez asked.
“Any of you got a laser cannon in your boot?” The four spacers glanced at their shoes. “If not, we do exactly what the man says. Let them relax, go easy. They’ll make their mistake and we’ll be ready for it.” The marine stepped away from his two supporters…and his knees almost caved in. “And get me a stick or something to lean on.”
It was the woman Trouble had helped who tossed him a sturdy walking stick. Raven-haired and olive complexioned as seemed to be the local norm, she stepped around rocks and roots with the confidence of someone used to taking care of herself. Still, her left hand had a nervous way of flicking to the pods hidden under her shirt. “I can take care of myself,” she threw at him along with the stick.
“Yeah. I could see you were about to take that slob apart.”
“Maybe I would have.”
“They would have killed you before you could.”
“Funny talk coming from someone in a fancy uniform.”
Trouble stepped closer to the woman, lowering his voice. “They would have killed you, and none of us would have been any closer to freedom. Probably farther. If we’re going to get out of this mess, we’ll do it by a plan, and we’ll do it together.”
Their eyes locked, Trouble stared into obsidian black orbs seething with a rage he could not account for. The woman whirled and stomped away. “Off-world bossy,” she tossed in her wake.
“Civilians,” the petty officer breathed in answer.
“What’s got into her?” Yu asked.
“I have no idea,” Trouble said, not for the first time where a woman was concerned. “Bossy” rolled around in his skull for a moment, mixed with the background material he’d picked up and the experience he’d had with the locals at Izzy’s elbow.
“Crew, I don’t think these folks take well to being told what to do.” He glanced around at a bedraggled bunch clumped together in various groups, and edging toward the boss with the dumb look of cows in a zoo. “Let’s see what we can do about helping these folks without pissing off any more of them.”
The spacers broke up, hunting up more walking sticks for those in most need. It turned out that the young woman was doing the same. Between shouts from the boss and three other toughs like Clem, folks got moving. The buzzing in their bellies made sure of that as the boss mounted a mule and headed out. A couple of people had bad reactions to the drugs that had been used to capture them. Spacers stepped in to help. Trouble found himself on one side of an older woman who seemed to be the worst case just as his female nemesis took her other arm. “They call me Trouble,” he said.
“I can see why,” the young woman said across the older one. “I’m Ruth, from the farm stations.” She glanced around. “Only farmer here.”
“Not too many spacers either. I like the way you’re helping. Maybe if we work together, we can get through this.”
“Yeah,” Ruth sighed. “Think there is any help for us?”
Trouble glanced around; he saw bedraggled people, thugs, and trees. Nothing too hopeful. “Somebody’s gonna come looking for us. The Navy looks after its own.”
• • •
“The Navy looks after its own, Mr. Shezgo.” Izzy rested both hands firmly on the city manager’s desk and locked eyes with him. “I’m missing a marine officer and four spacers. I want them back. Now.”
The young city manager sat forward in his chair, eyes solid on Izzy…and gave not an inch. “As I told you, lots of off-worlders take a liking to our planet and its gentler, friendlier pace. I came here for a vacation after college and never left. Same thing probably happened to your folks. Adults make their own decisions. Sometimes, they suddenly swap one decision for another.”
This conversation could go on for hours; Izzy cut it off. “Has anyone seen my lieutenant? That uniform does catch the eye.” She glanced at the marine sergeant at her side. By means and methods known only to noncoms, the man was once again in immaculate dress blues. Izzy had asked for this uniform. If necessary, she’d put him on vid or whatever passed for mass communications around here.
“I agree, ma’am” were the first words from the city manager that Izzy liked this morning. “I’ve had my Public Safety people working on it. Risa Powers is the safety lead this year, Zylon Plovdic is her assistant. They’ve been up most of the night looking for your missing people. I don’t think your folks want to be found.”
Zylon was a tall blonde that Izzy gladly would have taken on for a security guard. Risa was even smaller than Izzy; how she’d make out in a barroom brawl was very open to question. But the question wasn’t a fight this morning. It was finding her people. Izzy turned her attention full on Risa. “What have you tried?”
Without missing a beat, Risa launched into her report. Izzy liked subordinates who did that. “I’ve had their pictures on all the video feeds and sent personal mailings to the city’s business community. I’ve got one hundred percent acknowledgments…and one hundred percent negatives. Lots of people saw your marine patrols. Nobody saw a lone marine.”
The city manager tapped his computer and messages began to flash on its ancient flat screen. “They’re all here, if you want to review them.”
“Ship them up to the Patton. I’ll have my people check ’em. What else?”
“I’ve messaged every trucking firm,” Risa continued. “Asked each one to make sure no driver had picked up someone in a gaudy red-and-blue outfit. Nothing.”
“And I’ve been catching grief all morning for that violation of privacy, not to mention that of your wayward officer.” The city manager cut in. “Around here, we let people do what they want. Best way to get a bloody nose is to interfere in someone else’s business.”
Izzy rubbed her eyes, going slowly over the torrent of words the people had dumped on her. Maybe if she took them one at a time, they’d mean something. “Nobody has reported seeing someone in a marine dress uniform leaving town.”
“No one in my area of responsibility,” Shezgo corrected.
“Farmers come in from the stations all the time,” Zylon pointed out. “Most likely, some farmer’s daughter drove the rig your man left town in.”
“That would be none of our concern.” The city manager clearly was happy at the thought.
Izzy wasn’t. “Mr. Shezgo, that was a pretty fancy party you threw for me and my officers. How many were farmer’s daughters out on the dance floor last night?”
The city manager leaned back in his chair, a frown slowly replacing the invincible confidence he’d worn since Izzy marched into his office at ten hundred hours sharp. “None,” he muttered after a long minute.
“Did any of your city’s citizens see a very gaudily dressed marine officer leave by himself, or with one of their best friends on his elbow?”
“None that any of my people have talked to. And I’ve mailed everyone who was at that party a query.”
“Anyone find a pair of blue pants or fancy red shirt?”
Risa handled that question. “I warned the trash collection crews to be on the lookout for them when they started this morning. And no, I’ve heard nothing about the clothes either.”
“Then for now, I’m going to assume that my officer is still wearing them, and he should be as out of place here as a drunk at a Baptist church picnic. You keep hunting for him. And I’ll start. How do I get in touch with the farm stations?”
Shezgo shrugged. “They guard some emergency channels, and I wouldn’t recommend tying them up. Those folks can get very testy where safety is concerned. They have their own nets for business. They do what they want, and as long as they don’t create interference on our city nets, I don’t bother them.”
Izzy had a hard time swallowing that line. “You mean the two of you don’t even talk?”
Shezgo’s shrug got deeper. “When Unity was causing trouble, the farms didn’t want to hear what was going on around here, and didn’t want them listening in on what they were saying.”
Izzy could see she had her work cut out for her, and nothing more would come from this meeting. With an about-face, she headed for the door. Impatient, she had her XO on the comm unit as her car pulled away from city hall. Stan cut her off. “Skipper, the chief in charge of the Shore Patrol last night had a few words with some civilians. Farm types. They’ve had people disappear, too. Said they’d like to talk to us. Probably at last night’s collection point. Supply wants to know if he’s supposed to set up a purchasing station there this afternoon.”
“Yes, send Supply down with a large team and an armed escort,” she answered. “Driver, head for Twenty-third and Main. Somebody may be waiting to meet us. Sergeant, load your weapon and get a pistol for me.” Then she returned to the XO. “Stan, have Comm do a full scan of all communication nets in use. Townies claim they don’t talk to the farmers and vice versa. I somehow doubt that. Don’t send any messages out before I get back. I want to make this a personal call. Can’t believe how allergic these folks are to anything smelling of central organization. For now, let’s do it their way. I want this place mapped, scanned, and analyzed to the thirteenth decimal place. We got people down here in this haystack. Find them.”
“Will do. When should I expect you?”
“Not for a while. I’ll stake out the collection point, see if anyone wants to talk to me. You get Supply moving. As soon as he’s here, I’ll go back topside.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Izzy spent a long two hours waiting for Supply to show up. She hadn’t been parked five minutes when a grandmother type stopped to tell her how much she’d enjoyed the dance last night, how nice it was to see someone from Earth, and how a ship’s captain shouldn’t mind if a few of her people decided to stay on Hurtford Corner. “We like to share with visitors who stay.” That was just how it was.
Soon an old man joined the woman, giving Izzy a replay of the same views. Two teenagers showed up, a girl looking enough like Franny to cause Izzy to swallow a lump of grief, and a boy hanging on her, both wondering what Earth was like and wanting to talk about maybe joining up. “Anything has to be easier than working for her old man.”
It went downhill from there. If Izzy hadn’t feared missing whoever it was that was losing people, she would have had the driver gun his way out of the growing crowd. Instead, she stayed to learn how much people loved their planet, hated Unity, and really wondered what Earth was like. When Lieutenant Pollux arrived with a dozen storekeepers and as many guards, he’d already been briefed to keep an eye out for a contact. Without a backward glance, she had the driver head for the gig. Somewhere on this planet were five of her people. She wanted them back.
• • •
Joe Edris drove the truck, Seth Seddik hunched silently beside him. In Joe’s pocket, the note burned.
If you want to see your woman alive, go back where you belong. Get mixed up in what you don’t know, and you’ll get her back in pieces. Then we’ll come looking for the rest of your family.
Joe had been ready to go straight to the Navy. They were missing people, and whoever had their people had Ruth. Seth had backed away from Joe’s anger, shaking his head. “You have no right to make the decision for all of us. Not for my family, not even for Ruth. She’s a married woman. We must lay this before the elders. Whatever we do will affect everyone. Everyone has to have a say.”
“And while we’re talking, what’s happening to Ruth? Damn it, Seth, we got to do something now. Not next Thursday.”
“Joe, you were not raised on Hurtford, so I know it’s hard on you. But you saw how we handled the Unity problem. We’ll handle this one our way, too.” Seth paused, studying Joe out of the corner of his eye. “Unless you and your family are ready to leave the stations. Go out on your own.”
Joe knew how long he’d last without the community when he and his needed more than the hands they had. He had no answer for that. Seth and he did not exchange another word. It was a long, silent drive back to the stations.
• • •
As a kid, Ruth loved trips to the forest to gather fungus. The family was smaller then, and Ma and Pa had time for her. The drug company money from fungus helped make the payments on the station in those early years. Today was horribly different.
The boss set a fast pace. Comfortably mounted on a surefooted mule, he paid no price for hills and gullies, brambles and jutting roots that dragged, tore, and ripped at the walkers. Ruth was a big sister again, helping those who couldn’t keep up. Lots of folks had worn dancing shoes last night…wrong gear for today. Others just were not up to the effort. Ruth did what she could, giving one an arm to lean on, finding a stick for someone else, carrying coats and sweaters a few people were ready to toss away in the heat of the day; they would want them tonight. Helping made her rub elbows with the spacers. The lieutenant, Trouble, told them to help, and they did what he said without question. Of course, he was helping, too. He spent as much time at the tail end of the column as Ruth did. Clem and three uglies like him rode mules back there, laughing at the half-crippled stragglers, offering to shoot them if they fell farther behind.
Trouble saw to it that his spacers took breaks, balancing caring for others with caring for themselves. His break time usually was spent near the head of the column, eyeing the boss when the boss wasn’t looking. He’d said the Navy looked after its own. Did he really think help was coming? After the fiasco at the Abdoes place, Ruth didn’t expect anything from her own people. The slim chance that the marine knew what he was talking about kept hopelessness from eating her alive.
At the crest of a hill, the boss rested his mule. Turning in the saddle, he smiled at the four big fellows who had kept up with him, then shook his head dolefully at the rest trailing far behind. He pulled the red box from his belt, raised it into view, and pushed the button. Ruth’s belt went from generating gnawing discomfort to shooting pains. Around her, women and men screamed. Even the marine doubled over. Up ahead, the same reaction came from those who had kept up.
“Boss’s leadership style needs improvement,” the lieutenant observed dryly through gritted teeth. “Stinging those doing what he wants along with the rest of us is no way to get promoted in my Navy.” Two of the spacers laughed; a grin escaped even Ruth. What kind of people laughed at times like this?
That didn’t keep Ruth’s anger from surfacing. “You have four legs moving you along,” she called. “We have just two. And some of these folks ain’t used to using either one of them. You have to slow down.”
“I got a schedule to keep. You just got to keep up. If that means walking all day and all night, I guess you’ll just do it. Me, I’d like to get some sleep tonight.”
“Some of us could use some chow,” Jagowski pointed out.
“You’ll eat when you reach tonight’s camp, and not before. So, folks, you’ve had your rest. Let’s get a move on.” He kicked his mule into movement. As he dropped over the ridge, the pain in Ruth’s gut grew. They plodded on.
But now Ruth and the spacers weren’t the only ones helping. The better off pitched in to help the worse. But that did little to ease the misery as the day grew hot and humid. Now parched lips gnawed more than empty bellies. She followed Trouble’s lead as he edged his spacers upstream at water crossings. That way, she drank less mud. Balancing the need to move with growing exhaustion and the inevitable pain in the gut from being behind left the buzzing insects unnoticed…until angry welts splotched exposed faces, arms, and legs.
“Damn death march,” Jagowski muttered.
Ruth eyed the sun, which was finally dropping low in the sky. “Night’s gonna be as cold as the day was hot. Better collect some dry wood for fires.” People who could hardly hobble were soon clutching two or three sticks.
The boss called a halt as they entered a small clearing under a stand of tall, spreading oaks. “Take the rest of the night off,” he announced. “You stay to that half of the clearing. I get this half.” His half was marked by the remains of a fire; their half wasn’t. Scattered over the clearing were trash, buzzing insects, and proof that no care had been taken about sanitation. Pa would never leave a camp like this.
“What do we do?” Ruth asked in the same breath Jagowski did. The marine officer rubbed the bridge of his nose. As he opened his mouth, Clem interrupted.
“I bet you’re hungry,” got everyone’s attention. Clem’s mouth moved as he counted the hungry faces gathering around him. Then he pawed in the pack of the mule he’d been leading and came up with, by Ruth’s quick count, exactly half the ration boxes they needed. Clem pitched them out like one might toss dry bones to hungry dogs. Then the thug produced an extra ration. “Any of you girlies want to make friendly with me tonight, I got some extra grub for you.” His gap-toothed grin made Ruth want to knock a few more teeth out. She turned to the marine.
He was eyeing the four burly types who had kept up with the boss; toughs who probably wanted Clem’s job. That thug had made sure a good chunk of the rations landed near them. The biggest had grabbed three boxes, smirked, and turned away. The marine shook his head, his lips getting thin. “Hate to get the boss’s attention again today,” he muttered, then stepped forward.
“We got to share our food rations.” The lieutenant’s voice came out low, but rock-hard in command. Several folks around Ruth started pairing up, though none in actual possession of food boxes seemed overly committed at the moment. The four kept walking away.
“Excuse me, gents, but I need those rations you’re carrying,” the marine repeated.
The one with three turned, a vicious grin on his face. “I’m hungry. When I’m hungry, I eat.”
“Lots of folks are hungry.”
“Tin soldier, you seem to have mistaken me for someone who gives a shit.” The tough enjoyed the laugh that remark brought from his associates. Behind Ruth, Clem bayed like a donkey. The marine eyed the boss. He’d spread his bedroll; his interest centered on the mattress as it filled with air. The goings-on around him apparently were no concern of his.
Trouble stepped toward the tough. “I want those rations.”
“Come and get ’em.” The twisted smile was evil, delighted.
The marine took another step forward, but didn’t go into a fighting stance. The thug couldn’t pass that up. Dropping his ration boxes, he charged Trouble, arms flailing.
The officer ducked, sidestepped, and sent the big guy on his way with a push. The thug went down, sliding to a halt, his nose buried in some particularly messy residue from previous campers. He came up bellowing, blood bubbling from his nose. “You shouldn’t have done that, pretty boy. I’m gonna sleep real warm tonight in your red coat. You’re gonna be cold and dead.”
“Come get it.” Again, the marine just stood there.
This time the tough was slower in his approach. Lumbering up to the marine, he kept his arms wide, a big, nasty bear, ready to hug his prey to death.
Trouble waited, then went in with two fast punches. The big fellow stumbled back, shook his body to rid himself of the shock. Then, roaring in outrage, he charged again.
Trouble faked right, then evaded wide to the left, side-kicking the fellow’s knee as he went by. The man screamed, “My leg, my leg,” as he went down. But not for long, as his skull came up hard against a tree.
“That’s gonna cost you extra.” The boss was relaxing on his bed, a warm meal in his lap. “You damage my merchandise, you got to make it up to me.”
“I guess I’ll have to run a tab,” Trouble said, collecting the dropped rations and ones offered him by the other toughs.
“Smokey’ll share with me. Won’t you?”
Sharing had suddenly become popular. Clem and one of his sidekicks attempted first aid on the slow learner. Ruth could probably have done a better job, but at the moment, she had a meal to prepare.
A little shyly, she offered Trouble half of her only slightly warmed meal. “Heater didn’t work too well,” she apologized. As they split the beans and something, with ancient crackers and gummy fruit bits, Trouble outlined what he wanted.
“Place needs a little work to make it decent. Jagowski, you see about digging latrines. I’ll take care of the fires. Ruth, could you get people to gather ferns, leaves, things to put between us and the ground?”
“Right,” Ruth agreed, “the ground’s gonna get awfully cold before morning. Without blankets, we’ll be in trouble.”
The meal done, people went about their jobs in the rapidly fading daylight. Two of the spacers got promoted to doctors and assigned to examine the worst blisters. Ruth eyed the rocks around the boss’s fire pit. “I could collect some more along the stream,” Ruth said innocently as she headed out.
Trouble came close to her. “They’ll have water in them. Might explode.” Ruth grinned; for a spacer, the guy knew something about dirt. She nodded.
The marine shook his head. “Unlike plastic, rocks got no fuse. They go off when they want to, not when we want. Your heart’s in the right place, woman, but let’s pass on this one.” The marine gave her a thin smile, nothing like the smirks Mordy tossed out at her ideas. “Dry rocks,” he whispered.
“Okay.” She headed into the gloom. When she got back, three fire pits were being dug, Trouble and two others working on one as near the boss as the pain pods allowed.
“I love watching other people work,” Clem giggled, tossing a handful of dirt that had fallen near him back into the pit.
“So do I,” drawled the boss. “Clem, get a shovel and help these people. Soldier boy, a word with you.”
They walked off a ways. The boss held the red box tightly in his hand; the marine kept a respectful distance. They exchanged words for a few minutes; Ruth understood none of it.
When they were done, Trouble backed away slowly, then paused. “You got a med kit? We got folks who could use a hand with blisters. Maybe do something for that guy’s busted leg.”
The boss chewed on that for a long moment. “Clem, that hole’s big enough to bury someone. Go get a first aid kit.” As Clem shambled off, a shovel slung over his shoulder, the boss followed him, his words now singsong as if he were talking to a three-year-old. “Take out the needles and the scissors. Mother can’t let them hurt themselves on pointy things.”
“Yeah, boss,” Clem snarled. But he emptied part of one med kit into another, then tossed the first one none too gently to Trouble. Bandages and antiseptic sprays flew in general formation with the kit. Trouble caught the box, gathered up the scattered contents, and turned it over to the two spacers who were caring for feet. Ruth borrowed part of the first aid kit and took a look at the tough’s knee. The kneecap was out of place; she snapped it back in. The leg wasn’t broken, but the ligaments were a knot.
“Somebody’s gonna have to carry him tomorrow,” she told his buddies. They showed no enthusiasm for the chore. With the knee wrapped, she returned to the fire pit nearest the boss, just as the marine was finishing.
“Spare us a match?” Trouble asked.
“Here’s the deal,” the boss said, tossing Trouble a single match. “You start it with that, and I’ll let you take fire from it to start your own. You ask me for a second match, and all my fire stays put.”
No one risked a protest.
“Anybody here started a fire recently?” Trouble asked.
“Don’t you marines do this all the time?” Ruth snapped. “My Pa did.”
“Dirt time on an oxygen planet has been kind of scarce lately. Okay, stand back and let me have some air.” For the next minute, as twilight waned, the marine arranged tinder, twigs, and small chunks of wood. He was almost out of daylight when he risked his match. He struck it along the sole of his boot. Got a spark…and nothing else.
“That’s dumb,” Ruth growled, and reached for a grainy rock like Pa used. She handed it to the marine. Trouble drew the match slowly along its flat, rough face, gradually increasing the pressure. The stick smoldered, then caught. After a brief flare, it died away almost to nothing. Holding his breath, the marine moved it the few inches to his tinder. The pile smoldered, caught, crackled, then began to die.
Carefully, Trouble fed the tiny flame, building it, letting it reach out to the larger sticks. Grow, damn you. Expectant eyes glittered in its growing light.
Once it was well caught, Ruth wrapped some dry moss around a stick, let it catch, then took it to the next fire pit. Jagowski had a pile of tinder and sticks like Trouble had made.
The third was almost routine.
Then the marine did surprise Ruth. He captured the ends of a couple of saplings, collected their ends together with his web belt and then tied that to a downed log. In one swoop he had a lean-to. While one of the other spacers used her belt to do the same for a second lean-to, people scattered armfuls of leaves and sheaves of moss. “You got two choices tonight, folks,” the marine said. “Stay close and warm, or keep your distance and be cold. I never thought I’d say something nice about this old-fashion uniform, but it’s got a lot of old-fashion wool in it. I’ll take one of the outside edges.”
Plopping down with his back to the outside, Trouble eyed the rest. Well, he hadn’t been bossy, exactly. Besides, Ruth was exhausted. She lay out beside him, guiding a sick woman down beside her. The spacers settled in next like a pile of spoons. The city folks, depending on who they knew and how well, slowly found their places under the bowing saplings.
“Hope you don’t mind if I snore,” Trouble said.
“Snoring’s better than being pawed,” Ruth answered. “Thanks for all you’ve done today.” She wiggled closer to him, the closest she’d been to a man since her own walked out. Strange how this was working. She didn’t expect to sleep, but in the warmth of Trouble behind her, she must have.
• • •
Joe didn’t know what to say to his wife. Bibi had raced from the house, the kids like a swarm of bees around her. The sight of the empty seat beside her husband had brought her up short. “Where’s Ruth?”
“Somebody’s grabbed her,” he snarled, getting out. “Seth says we got to talk before we can decide what to do.”
“This can’t wait ’til next Thursday’s dance.” Bibi dried her hands on the towel she wore wrapped to her waist.
“It’s not gonna,” Joe snapped. “Son, get the crew saddled up, armed, supplied, and ready. I’m not sure we’ll be coming home after tonight’s meeting.”
“Right.” The young man moved off, Slim at his elbow. Bibi gathered the younger kids around her. “I’ll get the rest packed. Where will we sleep tonight?”
“Love, I don’t know. Maybe we’ll have company. Maybe you’ll go home to another station. I just don’t know.” He glanced at the dark western sky. “But this is going to stop.”
• • •
Zylon Plovdic worked late that night. Nothing about the missing Navy personnel surfaced. No surprise for her. It was dark before Risa dismissed her office staff. “You’ve worked more than your fair share today. Get a good supper. I’ll tell Mikhail the Navy’s nowhere to be seen.”
Zylon came late to supper, but she knew she would not be eating alone. The waiter brought her meal and left the table quickly. As Zylon expected, two men were already eating.
“Any surprises?” Big Al asked. The bland glance he threw her told that none were expected—and none would be accepted.
“No surprises. Everything’s under control,” Zylon answered the off-world boss. Alexander Popov had arrived with Unity—and survived its demise. His connections went far beyond the rim, Zylon suspected to old Earth itself. It was he who’d talked the elders into signing mineral contracts just before the war with some of the biggest names in space.
“We’ve got the farmers running back to their stations, tails between their legs,” added Zef Davis, the local boss, junior scion of a third-generation Hurtford family. What he didn’t know about Hurtford hadn’t happened. What he wanted was for exciting things to happen, and real soon. “We won’t see the hayseeds again until they’ve had a chance to talk everything over six different ways, and then they still won’t decide anything. You get that damn cruiser off our backs, and we’ll have a free hand. I still say we should have cut that Withwaterson fellow in. That would have saved us all this.”
“If we have to cut anyone in, it will not be a minor trader of his ilk. He’s out of his league and will learn soon enough.”
“Well, how come your big league couldn’t keep one lousy cruiser off our backs?”
“I’m looking into that. It will be taken care of. In the meantime, that pretty little skipper has lost five of her crew. She will be more careful about spending time down here.” That got a laugh from both of them.
Zylon finished her nondescript stew while the two played their little power game. Like so much of what passed for food, goods, and services on Hurtford Corner, the stew lacked taste, and the wine lacked body. Zylon wanted something rich, full-bodied, overflowing. She nodded to the two, paid attention to both. Her time would come. When they fell silent, she summed up her day, and the next week…and life on Hurtford Corner.
“Nothing’s happening. Nothing will happen. We’ve tied up all the loose ends. I’ll keep an eye on them to make sure they don’t unravel.”
“Have supper with us tomorrow,” Big Al offered.
“Be glad to.”
• • •
Izzy leaned back in an overstuffed chair in her day cabin, which was more ship’s office than personal space. A conference table for big meetings stretched along the wide outside end of her pie-shaped cabin. Smaller meetings such as tonight’s used comfortable chairs and a sofa grouped around a coffee table that looked wooden and hid a fully functional data display. Behind her, a desk occupied the narrow focus of the office. As usual, a dozen red lights blinked from her in-basket—reports, reviews, and items demanding her signature before they left the ship. They’d wait. She had real business to handle. Leaning forward to tap the coffee table, she called up her to-do list. “Found their recall beacons?” she asked Stan.
“All five,” her XO answered, no joy in his voice. “They’re all together in what looks like the town dump.”
“And Shezgo said they’d search the trash cans.”
“I think we ought to cut the guy some slack. I read the planet charter. All decisions are made by unanimous vote of the elders. There’s a little wiggle room, but these folks are dead set against autocratic rule and unilateral action.”
Izzy rubbed her eyes as she mulled over that concept. “Hell of a way to run a warship,” she muttered, “or a planet.”
“They’ve been at it for eighty, ninety years and are still here.” Stan gave his boss a quirky smile.
Izzy could tell a dead end when it slapped her; it was time to move on. “What have we got on the farm net?”
“That was a bitch. We knew they were there, but couldn’t find them. Igor and one of his old chiefs tried a different tack. Everything’s digital. You go up the frequencies by point one, point two, but what about what’s in between?”
Izzy was physically tired, and her attitude was rapidly going from pissed to downright cranky. “Talk to me, Stan.”
A quick nod, and words started falling quickly from the XO’s mouth. “Looks like the farmers grow their own radio crystals. None of the frequencies they’re using are at the standard digital points on the net. They can jump up the frequency by doubling, tripling, or what have you the base frequency. Igor and his team are working on a transmitter that ought to be able to dial in their net. Be ready by morning.”
“Good. I want words with them. Morning ought to be soon enough.” Izzy yawned. Her brain was turning to mush, but there was more to do. “What about our survey?”
Stan tapped the table. The screen changed from the to-do list to a map, centered on Hurtford Corner. “Looks the same as the one we’ve been staring at for the last week,” Izzy muttered.
“Pretty much is. Roads, rivers, and hills don’t change much. The farm area’s spread out a bit. The town’s a little bigger. Nothing significant has changed.”
“What have we got real-time?” Quickly the map was overlaid with a picture. Roads became a string of lights. Most buildings disappeared into darkness. The farm stations speckled their part of the map. Izzy zoomed the map onto the hills to the west. Tiny dots blinked. “What’s in the backcountry?”
“Nothing but a few campfires. Most are herb and plant hunters. Original flora has some interesting hydrocarbon chains. Brings a good price from the pharmaceutical corps. Some are survey teams. Several Earth corporations got contracts to survey for minerals, both here and in the system.”
Tired as she was, Izzy had the energy to frown at that. “A bunch of Luddites like these signed on for mining? What are they gonna have, a kinder, gentler strip mine?”
“I don’t think the locals much like the contracts. Some Unity types signed them just before the war. But the Earthside suits are holding the present government to the contracts.”
Izzy ordered the screen to zoom to each of the fires. Stan called up a database they’d acquired from the locals. “They keep good tabs on everyone backcountry.”
“Isn’t that a violation of somebody’s privacy?”
“Seems that where search and rescue is concerned, folks are a bit more understanding. People are kind of scarce out this far. They don’t want anyone dying if they can help it.”
Izzy leaned back, her eyes losing their focus as camp after camp flashed by. What was wrong with this picture? People were few and far between on the rim. Yet, where she came from, folks were crammed into slums by the millions. Governments tried forced immigration, but shipping all those bodies was awfully expensive considering that few survived the first six months pioneering a planet. And folks like her sister Lora couldn’t be moved with explosives. In the war, Earth and her seven sisters had built most of the hardware. The other forty developed planets drafted most of the people who did the fighting. Funny how people and things ended up being distributed. God, I’m tired.
“Stop the scan. Go back.” Izzy sat up, leaning over the replaying scenes. Most camps had one fire. A second fire was usually a ways away from the first, as if somebody wanted her or his or their own part of the night. But…
“There, that one. What is it?”
Stan glanced at the camp, three fires forming a triangle, and read the database. “A survey party. Left Hurtford City five days ago.”
Izzy eyed it. “Hasn’t got very far.”
Stan did the measurement. “Not far at all.”
Izzy rubbed her eyes, tried to banish the exhaustion that was blocking memories. “Read something about a triangle once. Can’t remember now. Stan, tomorrow morning have Trouble’s gunny sergeant review these. Also, I want a marine detachment sent down to recover the beacons and anything else they can find in the dump that looks suspicious. Make sure they’re heavily armed, and tell them to take no guff from the locals.” Stan’s eyebrows were up. “But not to start anything. Okay?”
“Yes, ma’am. Now, why don’t you get some sleep? Not much either of us can do for a while.”
Izzy added two more notations to her to-do list as she glided to her night cabin just off her desk. She closed her door, less for privacy than to shut out the damn blinking lights from her ignored in-basket. A warm shower drained enough of her exhaustion to let her slip quickly to sleep without worrying too much about what kind of night Trouble was having.
• • •
Joe Edris fumed, and kept his hand in the air, though the muscles of his arm were knotted painfully and it would do him no good. Seddik had been good to his word. Joe had gotten the first words that night. But the moderator had dutifully followed tradition. Any newly raised hand got recognized before someone who’d already spoken. Old Seddik must have used a database to track who talked and how long. If Joe heard once more about the failed drainage project, he’d explode. The rains had been heavy last year; no amount of project planning could have prevented that. And it had nothing to do with someone kidnapping Ruth. As more and more people yammered on, Joe waved his hand and sat on his thumbs.
His opening statement had gotten through to a few of the younger people. Still, the older folks couldn’t seem to get it through their heads that the last month had changed everything. They may have outsat the Unity yahoos, but now somebody was coming after them where they lived.
Two hours into the talkathon, Joe gave up on being recognized a third time. As he stomped for the back of the hall and a glass of punch, others joined him. They took over a corner to talk among themselves.
“We got to protect the stations, or we’re gonna be burned out one by one” was the concern first and foremost in their minds.
“What about Ruth?” Joe’s question drew blank stares. These people had some ideas how they might protect their loved ones and life’s works. They had no idea how to find one woman somewhere on this vast planet. Joe had seen it before; people concentrating on what they could do something about and turning their backs on what only overwhelmed them. He’d done it himself. Now, it was his daughter no one could help.
About the sixth time his “But what about Ruth?” was ignored, Bibi locked onto his elbow and hauled him out of the circle.
“You read the letter. You and Seth left town like they told you. We are doing what we can for Ruth. If we do nothing with the Navy people, she will be returned.”
“You can’t believe that.” Joe shook his head, incredulous.
“Why not? They gain nothing by breaking their word.”
And it hit Joseph Edris just how strange these people were he’d chosen to live among. No, not strange, just wonderfully rational. It was stupid to harm a woman if the farm stations did what they were told. Therefore, the kidnappers would not. Joe had been one of the few who’d expected the local Unity bunch to be worse than they had been. He’d seen, growing up, what passed for rationality on other planets. That was why he’d chosen Hurtford Corner. Now, Bibi and Seth were putting their faith that people were rational on the line for Ruth.
For a moment, Joe wanted to believe too. Slowly, he shook his head. “The raiders at the Abdoes place didn’t act rational.” He watched the color drain from her face, as if he’d hit her. “Bibi, something crazy and mindless and evil is out there stalking us. We’ve got to fight it every way we can.”
“Even after twenty-five years with me, you still say that first, with so little to go on. You say I don’t understand what’s happening. I say when we do, we’ll know better what to do. What fills you with anger and hatred and makes you ready to jump off into something you have no idea about? Joseph, you can’t risk our daughter’s life on just…just guesses.”
If he could not even convince his wife, how could he persuade the whole community? His daughter’s life hung in the balance, and his words carried no more weight than a feather.
Bibi returned to the circle of folks planning how they might protect themselves but still work their fields. After a long purgatory of frustration, Joe rejoined them. Here at least was something he could do. An hour later, Jethro Hakiem raised his hand. Jethro, a man whose quiet Joe had come to realize came not for a lack of anything to say, but a need to carefully order the myriad of thoughts in his mind, had said nothing that evening. Seth immediately recognized him. Slowly, methodically, he outlined the plan that had been developed in the corner.
All the stations nearest the hills should be abandoned. The larger stations would provide temporary shelter for the smaller ones. Work would be done in teams, always three or four rigs together, going from one field to the next. Each occupied station would keep a twenty-four-hour watch. Fire support teams would be on quick reaction alert. Dov Dobruja would turn his electronic shop into a sensor factory. He expected to have enough listening posts grown by next month to cover the entire front range. “We do what we’ve always done. Stick together. We can turn aside this threat to our way of life.”
There were nods, even a few quiet cheers. Some of the younger couples were reluctant to abandon their stations, but fathers and married sons, mothers and grown daughters worked out those problems. Bibi had taken in four young couples, one wife heavy with their firstborn. They trailed her truck in the dark as she carefully led them back to the station. On the drive back, Joe sat across the seat from her, his gut ripped in two. He wanted to trust the way he’d lived the last twenty-five years. But he’d grown up on LornaDo. He’d marched in her army. He knew the senseless purposelessness of evil.
He trembled for his daughter.