Darklanding Omnibus Books 01-03: Assignment Darklanding Read online

  Assignment

  DARKLANDING

  Episodes 1, 2, & 3

  By Scott Moon & Craig Martelle

  Copyright © 2017 Craig Martelle

  All rights reserved.

  ISBN-10:

  ISBN-13:

  ASIN:

  Cover art by Kevin McLaughlin

  Editing services provided by Mia Darien – miadarien.com

  Based on a concept by Diane Velasquez, Dorene Johnson, and Kat Lind who also provide developmental editing for the series

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  We’d like to thank the following beta readers who make sure that this story goes to you as error free as humanly possible. They also keep us on track with the stories. What a great group of people we have helping us to tell better stories.

  Micky Cocker

  Kelly O’Donnell

  James Caplan

  Diane Velasquez

  Dorene Johnson

  Scott and I would both like to thank our families for putting up with us as we share the stories in our heads. We type slowly and it takes time to capture the words. Thank you for taking care of us while we’re doing our thing.

  Episode 1

  Assignment Darklanding

  CHAPTER ONE

  The shuttle pod settled to the ground, throwing up a great cloud of dust. It would be a brief stop at Ungwilook.

  They always were.

  Dump the cargo. Didn’t matter if it was human or material, it was all treated the same. Delivering to the frontier planet wasn’t as important as cargo headed out, the exotic minerals, smelted and refined to remove as much of the waste ore as possible. Freight costs were insane from planetside to the orbiting long-haul vessels.

  Exotic minerals equaled profits. If the corporate overlords could squeeze out a few extra credits by not dead-heading a transport—that was, sending it in empty—then they were all for it. They charged coming and going.

  The irony was that the corporations owned everything. They charged per kilogram, per kilometer, per seat, per meal, per every stitch of clothing.

  They charged those who worked for them. They charged those who bought from them. Most workers weren’t as well-off as indentured servants. At least those people knew they had no hope. The miners and workers had hope that one day they’d be able to retire. When those hopes were crushed, they became unruly.

  Then the corporation paid people to keep them in line.

  Thaddeus Fry stepped from the shuttle, pulling his jacket over his mouth. He squinted against the chunky, cold air as he tried to get his bearings. He followed the person in front of him, hoping that she knew where she was going.

  Probably not. The tall man didn’t have to wonder why no one on the shuttle seemed happy. They didn’t call this place Darklanding for nothing.

  The newcomers shuffled into a small building that served as an arrivals area. Lackeys for the people in charge held up signs over which the grumbling wave of humanity washed. The reception committee gathered their charges and left, heading to the processing facility, the mine, the saloon, or wherever the employment contracts put them.

  For the moment, anyway. They’d go where the Company told them to go. There was a clause…

  The dust cloud danced away on the wind, exposing the shuttle and working equipment. Thaddeus watched the man overseeing the cargo load. It was efficient, taking less than a minute to roll the pre-fab containers into place. They locked automatically and the shuttle ramp closed. The man walked toward the arrivals building.

  Thaddeus stood back from the window, trying hard not to be seen. He suspected the man would go the other way had he known someone was waiting for him.

  The worker walked through the door, shutting it behind him and shaking like a dog.

  “Excuse me,” Thad said calmly. The man recoiled in shock. “I just want to know how to get to the Mother Lode. I believe I’m staying there for the time being.”

  The man laughed softly at first, but his mirth grew until he was slapping his thighs. “Either someone really loves you or hates you, Mister. There’s no in between.”

  The man continued to laugh softly without having answered Thad’s question. Time to pull out the big guns, he thought. He opened his coat enough to where his badge shone, a combination of chrome and gold, a five-pointed star with the single word ‘Sheriff’ in the middle.

  The man stopped laughing, his eyes narrowing as he took in the features of the new sheriff.

  “I just want to know how I get to the Mother Lode. If you point, that will be good enough. I want to be out of here as much as you want me out of here.”

  The man pointed to the door. “Left and keep walking,” he said coldly.

  “Much obliged.” The sheriff didn’t bother asking the man’s name. No matter what, it would seem aggressive. He wasn’t sure he wanted to get to know any of these people. The man would probably be much happier enjoying his anonymity.

  Thad only wanted to find his room, stow his small bag, and get something to eat that hadn’t been reprocessed on a spaceship

  He nodded to the man and headed toward the door. He left and shut the door without looking back. Leave the man in peace. He’d prefer to leave them all in peace.

  That would make his two-year gig on Darklanding almost palatable.

  The sheriff walked into the street, a dirt road that led straight toward a conglomeration of anonymous modular buildings not far away. They were modular in design for ease of transport to the site. The Company didn’t spend more than they had to for anything.

  If they only had the same attitude toward billing people.

  Thaddeus shook off his reverie to stop and look at his surroundings. As a captain in the fleet’s ground service division, an ubiquitous title for the army, he took personal responsibility for making the lives of those in his charge the best they could be, in combat or the other twenty-nine days out of the month when his soldiers were sitting around and twiddling their thumbs.

  The new sheriff smiled. “Would you look at that, Fry-man?” he said out loud. No one else was near. “A blank canvas on which to paint a masterpiece. Or this could suck a whole lot. Jury’s out, Fry-man. Let’s see what kind of palette we have to work with.”

  He walked quickly toward the buildings, turning into the main street which was far busier than he expected. People going to and fro, engaged in their business. No one greeted him in the street.

  Thad saw the Mother Lode. It was the only building that stood more than two stories high. It had a sign up front, an artistically painted sign, but not well lit. It had dulled over time, from the wind and the dust.

  Most of the town had seen better days. Five years old and it was already worn and beaten down. Five and life to go.

  The Company would keep people on Ungwilook for as long as there was ore to be had. The natives, the alien race that had the misfortune of living there when the exotics were discovered, were hired as little more than slave labor. They’d been a peaceful race, not technologically advanced.

  The miners had introduced them to mankind’s vices.

  The sheriff’s thoughts had returned full circle. He was there to do a job. Maintain the peace, enough that people could do their jobs. Keep the natives from rising up against the authority of the Company.

  Thad reminded himself that he better check in with the Company’s representative as soon a
s he could. His orders didn’t say that he had to, but military training told him that he had best make nice with his new boss.

  The Company Man.

  Thaddeus Fry, Sheriff of Darklanding, opened the door and walked in to the Mother Lode, a saloon from another era where people and aliens alike gathered to forget their woes.

  And go deeper in debt to the Company.

  The clash of noise and light stopped Thad in his tracks. He blinked and winced at the assault upon his senses. He oriented himself and headed straight for the bar. The bartender looked at him sideways, but didn’t speak.

  “I’m supposed to have a room here,” Thad said matter-of-factly.

  After a long hesitation, the man replied, “Rooms are handled at the front desk.” He jabbed a finger toward a desk on the other side of the bar. It couldn’t be seen from the front door, and there was no sign.

  Thad thought about telling the bartender that questions could be allayed with a little effort, but bringing that up wasn’t his concern. Never volunteer, a lesson he learned in the army, applied to fixing other people’s problems. They might not see them as problems and any fixes would be seen as an intrusion.

  “Obliged. Thank you.” Thad moved to the empty desk and stood there. There wasn’t a bell to ring. He suspected his presence would alert someone to do their job.

  Shortly, the bartender arrived and took a seat behind the desk. “How can I help you?” he asked gruffly.

  Thad held his gaze steady, torn between rolling his eyes and grabbing the man by the throat.

  Sometimes, you just have to revel in the absurdity of it all.

  “My orders show that I’m billeted here. Temporarily, that is.” Thad handed over his pad with the orders prominently displayed.

  The man’s face dropped as he recited the first line. “Sheriff Thaddeus Fry.”

  The sheriff had blocked out the sounds from the saloon, but the sudden silence was as loud as a rifle shot. He turned to see a variety of faces looking at him. From their seats at the gaming tables, from the dancers on stage, from the restaurant at the far end, to others drinking by themselves, all eyes were on him.

  Revel in the absurdity. He smiled and waved. “Howdy!” he called. “I’m Thaddeus Fry, the new sheriff of Darklanding. I’ll be around to talk with each and every one of you, introduce myself properly.”

  He watched as the people looked away, returning to their own affairs, as he wanted to return to his. The bartender handed the sheriff his pad and a small key card. “Up the stairs to the third floor. First door on the left. Temporary could be a long time, Sheriff. Your official quarters were bombed. And yes, that’s what happened to the old sheriff. If you know what’s good for you, you’ll mind your own business, because we don’t want the Mother Lode to be on the wrong end of mining explosives, if you get my drift.”

  The sheriff leaned close to the bartender. The man rocked back, shocked by the dangerous look on the old soldier’s face. “Maybe we’ll just find the bombers first and put them away. You wouldn’t be able to point me in the right direction for that, would you?”

  The bartender shook his head.

  “I didn’t think so,” Thad said, barely above a whisper. He stood up straight and in a loud voice, stated clearly, “I appreciate the tip! That will speed up my investigation like you can’t believe. Thank you! I’ll get right over there and talk to those gentlemen.”

  He winked at the expression on the bartender’s face.

  “And you can suck my ass,” Thad said under his breath. “So much for the group hug.”

  He climbed the steps quickly, finding the gravity light by comparison. He’d been on too many planets and on too many ships to know what normal was. He expected he’d have to work hard to stay in shape. That’s one way to show the flag, he thought.

  At the top of the steps, he waved the card at the first door on the left and it popped open.

  His room was small and austere, but it had its own small bathroom. The bed was beat up, but the linens smelled clean. Surprisingly. The desk was nice enough, but the chair had to go. He’d talk to management.

  By that, he meant that he’d take one from somewhere. It was all Company property so theft was limited to taking from the Company, not each other. He expected he could requisition one that the Company would take from his pay, delivering the chair promptly a good week before he shipped out at the end of his two-year assignment.

  Assignment: Darklanding.

  The ominous name of the mining outpost on the frontier beyond the comfort of the inner systems. His new home. He chewed on the inside of his cheek as he surveyed his surroundings. He shook his head, put his bag on the chair, pulled out his pistol belt, hitched it, and left the room in search of the Company Man.

  CHAPTER TWO

  The bartender ran for cover when Thaddeus reappeared and headed toward him. The sheriff stood and waited, smiling and nodding at the man cowering behind the bar. “Tell me where the Company Man is, and I’ll leave you alone.”

  The man didn’t answer right away. Thad leaned on the bar and looked at the patrons. People eating, as it was the only restaurant. The chow hall offered different options, but the people were willing to continue mortgaging their lives for a decent meal.

  But health care was free, or so he’d been told.

  Gamblers played while lonely men watched the showgirls. The down and out nursed their drinks, desiring to get drunk but not having enough money to do so. How many centuries have we gone backward? Thad thought as he watched the people, his favorite pastime. He felt sorry for most of them.

  Thaddeus spotted who he expected was the facility manager. He wore the jumpsuit of the service class with a rank badge showing management. The woman next to him wore something far less official.

  He expected she was the madam. The second floor of the Mother Lode was a brothel, completely legal in the frontier. And it struck him. I sleep above a brothel.

  He shifted his gear, resting his hand comfortably on his hand blaster. He hoped to never use it. He was ready if he had to.

  ***

  “He wants me,” Miss Dixie drawled, slowly moistening her lips with the tip of her tongue, curling her hair around one finger.

  “I don’t think so,” Pierre replied gruffly, sneering as he watched Miss Dixie’s lust on full display. “I think somebody wants somebody, but it sure ain’t him.”

  “You curtail that sharp tongue of yours, Mister Pierre,” she shot back, looking sideways at the man sporting a clean and crisp jumpsuit, hair perfectly coiffured. He even smelled good. She wanted to know his secrets, but didn’t want to ask because she didn’t want to listen to some long, drawn out diatribe on his mastery over the human condition. She still thought he was a pig. “How could anyone not want this?”

  Miss Dixie stood and twirled, drawing the curves of her body with both hands, finishing with a flourish.

  “You must be eating more than the rest of us, despite what I’m charging,” Pierre muttered.

  Dixie turned cold and glared. “Maybe I’m skimming more off the top than you realize,” she suggested before storming off.

  I better check on that, Pierre thought while eyeing the sheriff carefully. The man remained as a statue, looking at the doors to the entryway, a small room that kept the arctic cold and the desert dust from blowing directly into the saloon. The sheriff had one hand on the hand-blaster he carried on his right hip.

  He only wanted people to do as they were supposed to. He didn’t want to be bothered. Pierre could read it all in his expression.

  What an odd duck, Pierre thought.

  ***

  The bartender wouldn’t come clean. He refused to talk with the sheriff.

  “Fine.” Thad strolled casually through the saloon, weaving between the tables and greeting anyone who made eye contact. He intercepted the madam as she rushed toward a doorway beside the stage.

  “Ma’am,” Thad said, bowing his head slightly.

  “You can call me Dixie,” she
said, blushing, with a well-practiced flutter of her thick eyelashes. “Actually, my dear Sheriff, you can call me whatever you want.”

  “Thank you, Dixie. I am looking for the Company Man, I need to check in with him. Just to see what he thinks I’m supposed to be doing.”

  “She,” Dixie said coldly.

  “The Company Man is a woman?” Thaddeus Fry wasn’t dense, but this was his first Company gig. He didn’t know what he didn’t know.

  Dixie raised one well-shaped eyebrow. “Do you need an escort, Sheriff? I would be happy to drop everything I’m doing for you, if you can make it worth my while,” she said coquettishly, trying to look demure.

  Thad smiled and tipped his hat. “I thank you greatly. Just point me in the right direction. I have to figure this place out sooner or later, and since I’ve been here all of an hour so far, I expect now’s a good time.”

  She pointed to an office beside the entrance to the restaurant seating area. “You’ll find Miss Shaunte Plastes through that door.”

  Thad smacked his lips. “Time out of your busy day to escort me? Forty-seven feet, Miss Dixie? I’ll be watching you, which won’t be too hard on these old eyes, if you get my meaning.” He traced one finger down her neck and made a swirl on her bare shoulder before smiling and walking away.

  He hadn’t missed the goosebumps that appeared on her arm.

  He brushed past two natives who were sitting funny because of how tall they were. They grumbled and stood up. One said something in their language. It sounded harsh.

  The sheriff was experienced enough in dealing with alien races that he didn’t overlay his language expectations on them. He turned and bowed his head. Their experience with humans had to be far greater than his experience with them.

  “I’m sorry if I bumped you. Please accept my apologies,” Thad said before turning to move on.

  A skeletally thin hand gripped his shoulder, so he turned back. “I’m sorry, I’ve never met a Glok before. I don’t know what you want, but I prefer that you not grab me.”