THE BELTERS’ WAR

by

Christopher Stasheff

Copyright 2010

 

CHAPTER 9

 

Kit found Trail’s hand there first, holding the butt of her pistol in its holster.  “They haven’t broken the law again today, Ms. Kildare.  Haven’t even threatened us.”

“Not quite,” Swayne said.  “I wonder what Mr. Flanagan thinks of their antics.”

“Hard to say, when he’s just back from Ceres, trying to corrupt the governor.”

Charlie gave a mirthless laugh.  “That won’t take long.”

“People do it every day,” Lucky said.

“Now, boys,” Trail said in mock reproof, “you hadn’t ought to make fun of the honorable and respectable men who govern us.”

“I promise not to,” Lucky said, “as soon as I find one who’s honorable or respectable.”

“Don’t you mean, ‘honorable AND respectable’?” Kit asked.

“Not really,” Lucky answered.  “I’ll settle for what I can get.”

But as they walked, a lean and sun-dried prospector fell in beside them.  “How do, Joseph,” he said to Trail.

“Well enough, Amos.”  Trail grinned, pleased to see the man.  “Find any gold in the rocks?”

“If I had, Flanagan’s man Martel would find a way to steal it,” Amos said, “maybe by hiring some more drovers.”

“Oh?”  Trail picked up the hint.   “Who’s he hiring now?”

“Fella named Morton.  Four more like him, from over Capitan way.”

Kit knew Capitan.  It was a huge asteroid, more than big enough for a settlement, but all nickel-iron, too.  People had been fighting over it for a dozen Standard years—those who lived on it battling those who wanted to smelt it.  Morton was the worst of the smelters, and so many people had been killed in the pocket war that the survivors were all mean and tough—but Morton was the meanest and toughest of the lot.  She felt a sudden chill as she realized the ones he brought with him wouldn’t be much better.

Trail inclined his head.  “Much obliged, Amos.”

“Figured you’d know what to do about it,” Amos said.  “Me, I wouldn’t want folks like that around my town—and I ain’t the only one who thinks so.”

Trail frowned.  “Nobody’s thinking of leaving, are they?”

“Quite a few,” Amos said, “thinking of getting out while they’re still alive.”  Amos tipped his hat and turned to spring across the flyway.

“Guess you folks fight better than Martel expected,” Trail said, “if he thinks he has to bring in more.”

“But Flanagan had nine drovers,” Jessie said.  “Even with Pepper and Dolly Baker gone, he still has seven to our six.”

“They’ll pay for him,” Kit said.

“It’s not your job to bring him the bill.”

Kit looked up at her former boss in surprise, and was shocked to see how stern he looked.  “Yes, sir,” she mumbled, turning away.

“Six and five,” said Agatha, “if anything’s happened to R.D. or Laurel.  Nobody’s seen either of them in a while.”

Trail noticed the glow of triumph in Kit’s eyes.  “Wouldn’t know anything about that, would you, Kit?”

“Lot of things can happen to a drover while he’s out looking for rocks,” Kit said.  “If anything did, they’d know from his shift recorder, wouldn’t they?”

Trail didn’t answer, only sighed and said, “Not even outnumbered by one.  Odds like that are likely to make someone like Flanagan feel uneasy.”

“You’ve got riders out at Home Bend, Mr. Trail,” Charlie said.  “Even without the six of us, you still have eight.”

”I do.”  Trail’s voice turned to steel.  “And I’m telling them what I’m telling you: stay out of it.  Spindrift wouldn’t want you killed for his sake.”

“That’s not justice!” Kit cried.

“Neither is a feud,” Trail said, in a tone that didn’t allow disagreement.  “Spindrift’s dead and Pepper’s dead.  Leave things even.”

Kit didn’t say anything, but she looked away.

“How about if they come gunning for us?” Jessie said.

“Then you run,” said Trail, “and if you can’t run any farther, then you defend yourself.  Try to make sure the video recorder sees it.”

A man even younger than Kit trotted up to them and held out a crystal with a blue tinge.  “Mr. Swayne?”

“I’m Swayne,” the lawyer said.

The boy pressed the crystal into his hand.  “Judge Clovis’s compliments, sir, and he’d appreciate your seeing him as soon as possible.”  He turned and gave another crystal to Trail—but his gaze was on Jessie the whole time, wide and wondering.

She narrowed her eyes and said, “Don’t even think about it, errand boy.”

The lad reddened and ran off.

“You could have been kinder, Jess,” Agatha said.

Jessie only turned to Swayne and asked, “What’s it say?”

Swayne pulled out his reader and pushed the crystal into its socket.  He scanned it a moment, then said, “I’m summoned to appear before Judge Clovis next week, to explain why there was no irregularity in the trial.”  He ejected the crystal and slipped it and the reader away.

“Mine, too.”  Trail closed his reader and pocketed it.  “Seems I was Spindrift’s partner, so I have to answer for anything his drovers do.”

“That’s trash and you know it,” Kit snapped.  “All you did was lend him money and give him advice.”  She looked up at Swayne.  “Isn’t that so, squire?”

Swayne nodded.  “Absent any formal articles of partnership, in the Belt, that’s true.”

“They’re just trying to find a way to let you take a walk without a space suit,” Kit said to Trail.

“They won’t do it that way,” Trail said.  “Somehow, though, I don’t think it’s going to be a very long hearing.”

It wasn’t.  Clovis told the attorneys to keep it short, set a timekeeper on them, then sat back looking bored.  When they were done, he said, “Okay, I rule a mistrial, on the grounds that the attorney for the defense had not been given adequate notice of the recorded evidence from Kit Kildare’s sled.”  He whacked the counter with his gavel.  “Appeal is over.  You don’t like my decision, you can take your case to Ceres.”

Swayne did, of course.  He had the papers all filled in and ready to transmit.  He walked out of the makeshift courtroom into his office at the back of Spindrift’s store and hit the “send” button.  Then he went upstairs to the apartment he shared with Joan and found her already packing his suitcase.  He watched with a fond smile.  She glanced up, saw, and smiled back.  “What are you standing there grinning about?”

“A good woman who cares enough about me to know when I’ll be taking a trip.”

“I have to make sure you’re taken care of, don’t I?”  Joan stepped right up against him.  “Get that travel case off the bed and I’ll take care of you right and proper.”  After a long kiss, she amended, “Well, maybe not proper.”

Caleb saw them off—he wanted to make sure that if anything happened to Trail and Swayne, it wouldn’t be in his jurisdiction.  Then he went back to the dome that housed his office and jail.  He was only fifty feet away from the door when the laser bolt drilled through his heart.

 

*                       *                       *          

 

“I wondered what Flanagan was waiting for,” Charlie said.

“He only waited until Trail and Swayne left Port Alice.”  Skurly limped his way up a ladder with a box on his shoulder.

“Would you stop doing that?” Agatha snapped.  “It ain’t as if this store was going to open for business again.”

“It gives me something to do,” Skurly said.  “If I didn’t, I’d get so blasted restless I’d go out to Flanagan’s House and start shooting Martel’s boys just for to see them crash.”

“What’s wrong with shooting House drovers?” Lucky asked.  “Seems to be plenty where they come from.”

“Sure do,” Jessie agreed.  “Maybe Flanagan’s too stingy to hire the best, but he’s sure hiring a lot of ’em.”

Skurly looked around the store from the top of the shelves.  “I’m starting to like this place.  How much longer you think we can hide out here?”

“Until Flanagan gets the governor to appoint a new marshal,” Charlie said, “someone who will take off the seals and let Flanagan and his drovers steal all the stock and carry it over to his store.”

“We can’t let that happen,” Kit snapped.  “It’s ours now.”

Charlie shrugged.  “What else can we do?  Kill them all?”

“Why not?” Kit demanded.  “They’re trying to kill us, aren’t they?”

She expected Charlie to be shocked, to scold her, but he only smiled and nodded, his eyes glowing at her.  “Just so you know what you’re getting into, Kit.”

“So do I,” said Agatha, “but it’s like Kit says—them or us.”

“You can walk away,” Charlie said, “opt out of this dust-up before it turns into a full-scale war.”

“It already has.”  Skurly slapped his bad leg.

“You could catch a liner back to Mars,” Charlie said.  “Mr. Trail would probably give you the money for it.”

“How long would it take the people on Mars to hear I’d been a murderer out here in the Belt?” Skurly countered.

“Okay, so maybe not Mars,” Charlie said, “but there’s lots of rocks in the Belt.”

“Is it gonna be any different a few sectors over?”

“There’s a lot of us out here because we don’t have anywhere else to go.”

Charlie wasn’t looking at Kit, but she felt a chill at his words.  She didn’t brag about the man she’d killed, but all the other drovers knew it—how, she didn’t know, but everyone did.  Must have been that story on the news band.  “We still don’t have any place else—unless we make one here.”

“Come on, Charlie,” Skurly said.  “You know we don’t have all that much choice.”

“There’s always a choice.”

“Yeah, but my best chances are here.  I’m staying.”

The others nodded in agreement.

“All right, then.”  Charlie nodded, too, with a smile of pride.  “Fort up.  Pile crates against the doors and windows.  Leave openings to fire through, but no more.  We’ll stay until the proctor orders us out.”

The drovers shouted and turned to the work with a will, catching up boxes and crates, stacking them and tying them down.  Lucky barricaded the front door, Jessie the front window—then dropped a box, pulling out her laser.  “Trouble!”

The others crowded around to see Judge Clovis leading a dozen of Flanagan’s drovers down the street.  They stopped right in front of Spindrift’s store.  Clovis held a book out to Martel and raised his right hand.  So did Martel, and laid his left hand on the Bible.  They couldn’t hear what the two men said, but they didn’t need to.  As Clovis slapped a star-shaped patch over Martel’s heart, Charlie swore.  “He’s making Martel the new proctor!”

Skurly said, “Tells us right where to shoot, anyway.”
            Martel turned to his fellow drovers and raised his right hand.  The others raised theirs in response.

“The son of a dog,” Skurly snarled.  “He’s making them all deputies.”

“We shoot at them now, we shoot at the Law.”  Jessie’s tone was that of a curse.

“We can still shoot back,” Kit said.  “Just because they’re deputies doesn’t give ’em the right to kill us.”

Charlie nodded.  “That’s true—but not here, not with a hundred witnesses.”

“They wouldn’t want to get themselves in trouble, either,” Jessie said with a frown.

“That’s so,” Skurly said, “but out among the rocks, who’s to know who shot first?”

“Their recorders,” Lucky said.

“Gadgets can be damaged,” Kit pointed out.

“That they can,” Charlie said slowly.

In the street, Martel turned and started toward the store.

“He’s coming to impound the stock,” Charlie said.  “Out the back way.”

Swearing, they all started toward the rear door—except for Kit.  “We just going to let them have Mr. Spindrift’s store?”

“We’ll come back when they’ve gone,” Charlie said.

“They’ll leave guards,” Kit protested.

“Not for long,” Jessie said.  “They’ll have to deal with Joan.”

Kit stared, then laughed and followed her.  Joan could be downright unpleasant—in fact, Kit had never known her to be otherwise.  Of course, she’d seen her flirting with Mr. Trail, but she didn’t think Joan would find any common drover to be worth her smiles.  Kit followed Jessie out the back way, leaving the store to its guardian, the harpy who lived upstairs.

 

*                       *                       *

 

As they neared First Base, Charlie’s voice said in their headphones, “Company.”

“I see it,” Agatha answered, and the others chorused agreement.  A burro-boat was moored near the dome.  “A prospector.”  Kit made sure her laser was loose in its holster.

“Calm down,” Charlie said.  “Might be on our side.”

“Or nobody’s side,” Skurly said.

“Then we want to make him a friend,” Agatha said.

Nobody disagreed.

A tall, lanky figure came strolling around the dome wearing a helmet logo they’d never seen.  Kit frowned.  “What’s that on his helmet—flying saucers?”

“Hats,” Lucky said, “big wide-brimmed hats.”

They were, sure enough, now that Kit knew how to see them.  She frowned—why would this stranger choose such an odd pattern?

Whoever he was, he or she was taking all the time in the world looking over the dome, then raising a hand to press the ring plate.

Charlie switched to the public frequency.  “Nobody home in there, stranger.”

The tall one looked up, and there was a smile in the voice.  “You live here?”  It was rich and resonant, a male voice that made Kit feel wobbly.  Lordy, I must be really starved if that’s all it takes to turn me on.

Though it was a very nice voice.

“We live here until the proctor kicks us out,” Charlie told him.  “If you’re looking for a place to rob, stranger, there ain’t enough in there to be worth your time.”

“Only one I’m looking to rob is the Belt itself—and you do have some rich-looking rocks around here.  No gold, though, and that’s what I’m looking for.”  The stranger’s voice sounded amused.

“Ain’t we all,” Charlie said.  The need of gold for wiring and circuits had driven the price of the metal far above what it had been when it was only fit for money.  “You won’t find any in there, though.”

“No, but I am hoping to trade for a meal that doesn’t come in ration bars,” the stranger said, “and maybe even a hot shower.”

Charlie’s reply was slow in coming.  “I reckon we can manage that.  We’ve got enemies, though, stranger.  You might get caught in the crossfire.”

Startled, Kit realized Charlie was recruiting.  Good thought—if Flanagan was hiring, so should they.  But what were they going to use for pay?

“Crossfire?” the stranger asked.  “Wouldn’t be the first time—and a hot shower would be worth the risk.”

“Well then, come on in and make yourself at home.”  Charlie slotted his sled into the rack by the door and went to shake the stranger’s hand.  “Name’s Charlie.”

“Atticus.”  The stranger shook.  “But most folks call me ‘Trick.’ ”

“Well, come on in, Trick.”  Charlie turned to punch in the lock code and led the prospector into the dome.  The others racked their sleds and followed.  Kit managed to worm her way up next to Trick as they waited for the pressure to equalize.  The green patch lit; Trick twisted his helmet loose and tilted it back.

Kit nearly died of the stench that flowed out of his space suit.  How long had it been since the man had taken a shower?

At least a couple of weeks, maybe a month, she realized.  He was a prospector, after all—out searching for precious metals for months at a time.  Burro boats had room for showers, but the prospectors could rarely afford the water—they needed it for fuel.  They could even less afford the energy to heat that water.

The door opened, and she managed to worm her way back, letting her mates crowd close.  She saw the light in Jessie’s eyes as she pressed up against him, then saw it turn to alarm with the first whiff.  Trick didn’t look so good, either, with a scruffy beard covering his cheeks and chin, not at all trimmed, and too-long hair draping his forehead.

All the drovers tried to crowd away from him.  Charlie managed it most easily—being at the front, he strode into the dome, calling back over his shoulder, “Food or drink first?”

“Water, if you don’t mind,” said Trick, “from a shower.”

Everybody breathed a sigh of relief, then caught their breath and moved farther away.

“Right in there.”  Charlie waved at the coffin-sized stall.  “Guest bedroom’s on the other side.  Towels and robe on the door.”

“Thanks.”  Trick went into the bedroom.  “See you in a few minutes.”

It was closer to half an hour, which gave them all a chance to discuss their guest.

“We need more lasers,” Jessie pointed out.

“Yeah,” said Lucky, “but ones we can trust to point at Martel and his crew.”

Skurly nodded.  “Why should this prospector throw in with us?  It’s not his grief.”

“Unless he’s gonna try and buy his own sector,” Agatha said, “and Flanagan sells him one that’s mined out.”

“From the size of that asteroid he has parked behind his boat,” Skurly said, “he just might have enough of a stake to buy a place of his own.”

“Depends on what kind of ore it has,” Jessie said.  “If it’s nickel-iron, he’d better just add it to his savings.”

“Yeah,” Skurly said, “but if it’s rare earth metals, he’s got his stake right there.  And if it’s gold…”

His voice trailed off, and the drovers sat in silence a moment, estimating the price of an asteroid of gold ore half the size of a burro boat.

Charlie turned to Kit.  “You’re being kinda quiet, Kit.”

“Yeah,” said Skurly.  “Not like you.”

“What do you think?” Charlie asked.  “Offer him a job?”

“I think it depends on what he smells like when he comes out of the shower.”

The others stared at her for a minute, then whooped with laughter.

Trick came walking right into the middle of it in their spare bathrobe, toweling his hair and looking inquisitive.  “Told any good jokes lately?”

Kit tried to stifle a chuckle.  “Lord, it feels so good to laugh again!”

Trick raised an eyebrow.  “Not much funny stuff going on for a while?”

“Not a bit,” Charlie said, sobering.  “Just the other way, in fact.”

“Who died?”

Kit spun to face him, harsh words on her tongue—then saw the man’s face was absolutely serious.

“Our boss, Mr. Spindrift.”  Charlie looked Trick up and down.  “Couldn’t have been any older than you—less, likely.”

“Sorry to hear it.  Who killed him?”

“Flanagan,” Skurly said, “or at least, his foreman Pepper with some of his drovers.”

Trick nodded.  “How do you know?”

“We saw it.”  Kit’s eyes blurred.  “Saw it all, but we were too far away to do anything about it.”

“We just had to grab one more rich asteroid,” Lucky said in self-disgust.

“Wouldn’t have mattered,” Trick said.  “They would have waited until later, when you went away from him for some other reason.  There’s too many miles out there to stay close to anyone every minute.”

Kit looked up, surprised and grateful.  She blinked away tears and felt a warm rush of desire as she looked at Trick.  With his hair slicked back wet, he looked a lot better than he had before.  She wondered about the face under the beard.

Then some remote part of her mind, a part that stood back and watched, laughed at her in derision.  Doesn’t take much to turn you on, does it, girl?

Silently, Kit admitted the criticism.  Spindrift had been the only man she’d wanted to take to her bed, and she’d waited too long to tell him.  That was it—she should have come right out and said it, the way Jessie would have, a month after they’d met—what man ever turned down free sex?

But it was because of Spindrift, wasn’t it?  This crush on Caleb, and now on Trick?  A new man coming by, reasonably good-looking, with his feelings in the right place—and if she couldn’t have the man she really wanted, why not take what was on offer?

“What we could do, was kill the dogs who’d killed him,” Charlie said, “their boss first, even though Flanagan’s judge-buddy appointed him proctor…”

Trick stared.  “You shot the proctor?”

“We did,” Charlie said, “and we’re going to get his buddies too, one by one.  Want to help?”

He locked gazes with Trick, but there was no tension in the air, because Trick leaned back, looking thoughtful.  “Cleaned house, huh?  If the proctor was bent, you didn’t think his badge should protect him.”

“No,” Jessie said.  “It’s just revenge.”  She smiled at Trick, and the come-hither seemed to flow out of her.  Trick smiled back, and his gaze kindled.

Kit let the fury rage through her and ebb.  It wasn’t fair that Jessie should get all the hot ones—but that was the way it was, and Kit had gotten used to it, back when she’d first signed up with Trail and wondered why Jessie hadn’t hooked into Charlie.  Turned out they had tried it, and it hadn’t worked out.  They were still friends, though.

“Well, I’d like to think there was some justice in it,” Charlie said.

“There is,” Jessie said, “but that’s not why I’m doing it.”

“And it ain’t my revenge,” Trick said.  “You’re good people and I thank you for the shower and the company—but it ain’t my fight.”

“Yet,” Lucky said.

Trick turned to him.  Then, slowly, he nodded.  “From what you say, if I’m going to stay in this sector a while, Flanagan and his hands will make it my fight sooner or later—and if they do, I’ll probably be asking to sign up with you.”

“If,” Kit said.

“If,” Trick acknowledged.

So he wasn’t planning to stay around.  That meant that if Kit wanted him, she was going to have to move on him soon.

The thought raised a wary hesitation.  Did she really want to give up being a virgin?  “If,” she said aloud.

“When,” Charlie said.

“Either way, I’ve loaded down your hospitality long enough.”  Trick stood.  “Thank you for the shower.”

“Hey now, don’t rush.”  Charlie rose, too.

“Stay the night.” Jessie said, with her hottest heavy-lidded gaze.

Trick looked down at her with a slow grin.  “I’d love to—but it’s morning for me, and a day’s work to do.”

Kit cursed under her breath.  That was the trouble with living in space, without nightfall or daybreak—the daily cycle was whatever the people around you agreed on, and the prospectors were loners with no one around them.

On the other hand, it kept him away from Jessie for a while—though that probably wouldn’t matter; Jessie gobbled men like peanuts and threw away the shells.

So there he went, back into his shell, his space suit, and into the airlock, only stopping to inquire about the way to the assay office so he could find out how much to ask for his ore-stone, then off to Port Alice and out of her life.

Well, almost out.  The outer hatch closed behind him and the public-frequency radio in the common room let out a blast of profanity that would have taken the stripes off a zebra.  The drovers stared at each other in surprise, then piled into the airlock and sealed their helmets while they waited for the air to exhaust.  Even as they did, they heard Trick’s voice flaming through their helmet speakers, every other word an obscenity.  “Those sons of Pluto stole my asteroid!”

 

TO BE CONTINUED...