Zenn Scarlett (13 page)

She saw now that on both sides of the road a makeshift wall ran in either direction. It was cobbled together from more chain link, old sections of vehicles, miscellaneous junk and heaped-up dirt.

“Checkpoints? You mean, like roadblocks? What for?”

“To keep people out of town who shouldn’t be there,” Liam said.

“People from the valleys? The ones who lost their farms?”

“Yeah, fraid so,” Liam said. “It’s cause the shantytown’s getting so big. The council voted last month to start controlling who comes in. Thus, checkpoints and the wall.”

“But why would they do that? What do they think people are going to do? Rob them?”

“Already happened. Somebody broke the back door lock on Gangsted’s grainary, stole a truckload of amaranth. Everybody knows it was refugees who did it. Ren just hasn’t caught em yet.”

Zenn had to stop the truck to wait for the men to tip the gate upright. When they’d done this, she saw they’d attached metal wheels to the base of the piping. Struggling to keep the heavy structure from falling over again, they rolled it off to one side of the road and leaned it against what appeared to be a small guard shack, built of corrugated scrap metal with bars welded over its windows.

At the sight of the truck, one of the men broke free from the group and came over.

“Hey. You’re the Scarlett, girl ain’t ya?” It was Emrik Lund. “Thought I recognized Otha’s truck.” Emrik was tall, thin and scarecrowish, with a fringe of short, brown hair circling the bald dome of his head. He wore baggy, home-made hempweave pants and an old sweatsuit top with a black scarf tucked into the collar. The soles of his boots were held on with lengths of twine.

“Yes. I’m Zenn.”

“Say… Zenn… do me a favor?” He squinted down at her. “Tell Otha he still owes me for the stone work I did on that foundation out to your place. It’s been a couple months now. Pel Shandin’s after me for payment on the stone. I need credits or goods in kind.”

Zenn felt her face go instantly red. She should be used to this sort of thing by now, of course. The cloister was behind on any number of bills. But it still got to her. For some reason, having Liam looking on made it even worse.

“I’ll remind him, Mr Lund. I’m sure he’ll get back to you right away.”

“Uh huh,” Emrik said. “I gotta tell ya I’ve heard that before. Look, it’s none of my business, but you folks owe money all over town.” He leaned with both hands on the door of the truck and peered in at her. “We’ve all got bills of our own, ya know?”

“I know, Mr Lund,” Zenn told him. “Look, we’re expecting a big client to pay us soon.”

His look said he’d also heard this before. “We’re taking care of a Kiran whalehound. The royals always pay on time.”

“Well, if they do, I’d like my name at the top of the list. But Pel tells me there’s a chance the cloister’s lease could get voted down next session.” Did everyone in town know about their lease? She felt her checks going even redder. “It’d be good if Otha could settle up with me before that happens.”

“I heard about the vote, Mr Lund. And I know that some people on the council are concerned about our animals, but…”

“Some people?” He raised his eyebrows at this.

“But,” she continued, “our animals, our patients have never bothered anybody. There’s no reason to make us close the clinic, to make us stop our work.”

“Oh, there are reasons,” he said. “Like the Authority and the Rift, for starters. You think the Earthers will ever do business with Mars as long as aliens keep bringin’ their creatures down here? Sick creatures? Off-wa monsters with who knows what kinda diseases right outside our town?” Saying this, he glared at Hamish in the cargo bed of the truck, then shook his finger at him. “I mean, lookit this thing you got in the back there. Nine Hells! You’re paradin’ that six-legged whatzit around big as life and expect folks not to get bent outta shape? You Ciscans need to wake up and see what’s what, missy. And you need to tell Otha to get back to me, pronto.”

“Hey,” Liam leaned across in front of Zenn to confront Emrik. “You’ll get paid, Lund. Scarlett here just told you they’ve got credits coming from the Kirans.”

Well said
, Zenn thought at this unexpected show of support. Maybe having the towner boy along wasn’t so annoying after all.

“Yeah, well,” Emrik stood up and leaned away from the truck window. “Talk is cheap, Tucker. Now, if you people got business in town, go on through so we can finish up this gate. We gotta get it secure by sundown.”

Zenn put the truck into gear, and pulled ahead onto Arsia’s main street. It looked even shabbier than usual. Lined with one- and two-story buildings of stone, synthwood and the odd canvas tent, Zenn saw immediately that three or four more storefront windows had recently been boarded up. Garbage collection had also apparently become a casualty of the times, and teetering piles of trash had sprung up here and there on the curbside. Outside the derelict building that once housed the town’s only dentist, a scrawny, yellow mongrel dog pulled at a scrap of something potentially edible in the debris blocking the entranceway.

“Don’t let Lund’s bad-mouthing get you down, Scarlett,” Liam said, slouching back in his seat as they drove slowly down the street. “It’s not like everybody in town hates you.”

Zenn knew Liam meant this to be encouraging, but she also knew that what Emrik Lund had said about the cloister’s rising debt level, and the towners’ sentiments in general, was true.

When she stopped the truck in front of the cinderblock hut that housed Ndinga’s store, Wilson immediately bustled out to meet them, rubbing his hands together. He was a small, energetic man in his sixties, wearing a colorful kaftan sort of garment that reached to the ground.

“Ah, mistress Scarlett. I know what you’re here for,” he said in his lilting Earther accent, his wide smile revealing several gold-alloy teeth. “The rhina grub, isn’t it then?” He went to the back of the truck and looked in. “And what have you brought to tempt old Wilson today?”

TWELVE

Two days later, Zenn was returning from early-morning chores when she overheard Hild talking to someone in the calefactory entrance hall. Katie had accompanied her that morning, and Zenn scooped her up into her arms, opened the door leading into the hall, and was surprised to see Vic LeClerc. The woman held a mug of hot tea in her hand, and wore an old-fashioned cowboy hat atop her white-blonde hair. She was tall, attractive in a severe sort of way, and a bit younger than Otha. She was also one of the valley’s wealthiest landowners, with a family history dating back to the earliest days of the colony. The LeClercs raised the only remaining source of fresh milk and meat in the area – a voracious herd of scruffy but adaptable little goats. So, instead of calling herself a farmer, Vic insisted she was a livestock rancher, the ever-present cowboy hat worn as proof. Vic LeClerc was also president of the Arsia town council.

“Zenn, you’re just in time,” Hild said. “Vic’s herd needs worming. She asked us if you could take care of it. I said you’d be glad to.”

“The Sister told me you’re familiar with the procedure,” Vic said, giving Zenn an appraising look. Katie stretched out to try and sniff Vic’s arm, prompting the woman to pull back, eyebrows arched.

“Can you come with me now?” Vic said, setting her mug down on the windowsill.

“Yes, sure,” Zenn said, the thrill of leaving the cloister’s confines making her feel just a little more awake than she’d felt moments before. “I just need to get the meds.”

“Otha left the pre-mix here for you,” Hild said, pointing out the large tub of homemade worming powder sitting on the floor.

“The Sister says she’s got a loaf of fresh bread for us,” Vic said. “You can take the medicine out to the truck and I’ll be there in a minute.”

Zenn put Katie down, picked up the tub of powder and carried it out into the cloister drive.

Oh no. Not him…
 

Leaning against the fender of Vic’s aging but well-maintained six-wheel utility truck was Graad Dokes. The heavyset ranch foreman wore bulky, insulated canvas pants and knee-high rubberoid boots. His fleshy jaw was dark with his usual unshaven stubble, and a fat ring of tarnished silver hung from one ear. He looked up at Zenn from under the brim of his leather hat and spit a gob of black tobacco juice into the dust.

“So Otha’s sending in the B-team, huh?” he said, continuing to lean back against the truck.

“He’s in surgery all morning,” Zenn said, her mood quickly souring at the prospect of riding out to the LeClerc ranch in Graad’s company.

“You comin’ out on your own then? For the goats? Just you?” Graad said.

“Just me.”

“Well, well. They’re lettin’ you out of Fort Freak all on your own. Aren’t we a big girl?”

Zenn said nothing to this.

Why encourage him?
 

“First time outside the walls all on your lonesome?” he asked.

As a matter of fact, it was. But she wouldn’t give Graad the satisfaction of knowing he was right.

“Guess we’ll just have to live with it,” he went on. “I mean, having the B-team. That being you.” He nodded at her, grinning at his own presumed cleverness, and spit again.

“It’s just worming,” Zenn said, then immediately regretted taking the bait.

“Not just worming to us, girlie,” he said, the grin vanishing. He jabbed a stubby finger at her. “Those goats are money, kid, and don’t you forget…”

A shrill animal shriek sounded close behind him.

With a spastic jerk of his body, Graad propelled himself away from the truck, arms flailing wildly at the air. “What the…?” He spun around to see Katie materialize on the hood of the truck where he’d been leaning. He raised a hand to swat her away.

“You stinkin’ overgrown rat…”

“Don’t!” Zenn screamed. He stopped his swing, dropped his arm. “She didn’t mean anything. Katie, come.” Zenn signed, and Katie hopped to the ground, ran to Zenn and leaped up into her arms.

“It ain’t natural...” he growled, red-faced. “That thing comin’ outta nowhere… Nine Hells. Damn near gave me a heart attack.”

“It’s just her usual behavior,” Zenn said, stroking the agitated rikkaset. “It’s completely natural.”

“And talkin’. Damn alien off-wa thing like that, talkin’ to humans in sign-lingo. That natural, too? I don’t think so, girlie.”

“She’s intelligent. If she’s smart enough to talk to us, why shouldn’t she?” Zenn said, feeling proud of herself for sticking up for Katie.

“Intelligent, huh? Well, you better hope so. I mean, it better be in-tell-i-gent enough to keep away from some of the freaks and monsters you got out here…”

“You don’t need to worry about Katie,” Zenn said.

“Because it’d be a shame if it, you know, wandered into the wrong cage some dark night.” His lips curled up into the slightest of smiles. “Wandered in and… snap!” He mimed breaking a twig between his hands. “…there go those smart little paws.”

Was he… threatening Katie? Zenn felt her low-key anger mounting to fury.

He leaned down, hands on knees to bring his eyes level with hers. “Wouldn’t be talkin’ any smart-ass sign-lingo then, would it, girlie? No. I don’t think so.”

Before she could say something she would almost certainly regret, Vic appeared at the calefactory door. She cradled a loaf of bread wrapped in a clean dish towel.

“All set out here? Good,” she said, oblivious to the charged atmosphere. She walked to the other side of the truck and opened the door. “Let’s go. We need to get the novice out to the ranch.”

Still fuming, Zenn put Katie down and shooed her back through the calefactory door.

“And you stay.
Stay
, Katie.” Zenn spoke the words and signed emphatically. Katie sat down in the doorway and became suddenly very interested in licking a spot on her foreleg, pointedly ignoring Zenn. Keeping one eye on the rikkaset, Zenn went back out, snatched up the tub of meds and got into the back seat behind Vic and Graad. She slammed the door shut hard as she could, and that helped drain off some of her wrath. But just as Graad started the engine, Hamish appeared at the doorway, and then ambled out into the drive.

“Novice Zenn.” he called to her. “Please delay your leaving a moment.”

“What is it, Hamish?”

He stooped down at the truck window.

“The director-abbot instructs me to accompany you.”

Graad pushed his hat up on his forehead. “What? We’ve gotta lug this off-wa cockroach with us? Nine Hells. What for?”

“The director-abbot tells me attending this activity will increase my knowledge of the procedure involved. He thus instructed me to…”

“Oh, very well,” Vic said, sounding suddenly impatient. “If you must, then… just get in the back.”

Zenn knew full well Otha had other reasons for sending Hamish along. Hamish was babysitting. Hyper-vigilant as usual, Otha still wanted Zenn to have a chaperone outside the cloister walls. And almost as irritating: her sense of relief at having Hamish come along.

“Well?” Vic said, glaring at Hamish, who hadn’t moved.

“Novice Zenn, do I have your permission for this?”

“Yes you do, Hamish. Hop in.”

Hamish did as he was told, climbing into the cargo bed. The truck’s back end dipped with the addition of his weight. Graad glanced sideways at Vic.

“Boss?” Graad said. “Ya know, our… visitor, out at the ranch?”

“We’ll just have to conduct our business another time,” Vic said, her voice sharp. “Get going.”

Now Vic now sounded more than impatient. She was mad. Because of Hamish? It wasn’t his fault he was here. Otha had sent him out, after all. Why was the woman so put out?

With a final grunt of disgust from the foreman, they pulled out onto the road and headed east.

THIRTEEN

The ride to the LeClerc ranch was mercifully silent except for Vic’s occasional curt comments about the dead and dying farms they passed and how their owners were “…just too foolish or idle to keep their places running.” When they pulled into the circular drive in front of the rambling, synthwood ranch house, there was a tri-shaw taxi parked in the yard. The taxi’s puller, a black-haired, raggedly dressed boy who looked too small for the job, sat on the house steps. He jumped up at their approach, and went to stand by his cart.