Giles Kurns_Rogue Instigator Page 7

  Rolf-nah hauled his pack back onto his shoulders. “Good. Well then, we should return before the sun goes down.”

  Arlene made a face, shaking her head at the blase-ness of the guide after they’d barely escaped with their lives. Finding the humor in the situation, Giles chuckled as he lightly patted her shoulder and followed the Queegert back into the vegetation-rich terrain.

  At that point, neither one of them made a comment about the futility of the mission. It was as if it was a given, and the whole operation had been them going through the motions just to make sure their suspicions had been correct.

  “We’ve been doing this too long,” Giles muttered as they ambled side by side.

  Arlene grinned and bumped into his arm playfully. “You’re telling me,” she agreed, understanding exactly what he was talking about.

  Mallifrax-8, Etheriam mines settlement

  The meeting had already been in session a good hour, and so far, nothing of any consequence had been shared. Bulthug droned on and on about core values of their community and how they needed to help each other out, but as yet, no talk of rebellion or uprising.

  “I don’t think this guy’s got jack,” Razeene whispered as quietly as he could out of the corner of his lips.

  Voyved nodded his top eye discretely, so as not to draw the shushes of the attentive listeners around them.

  Bokmom sat quietly, occupied by munching on a packet of dried roaches he’d brought along to the meeting.

  The three had joined another dozen miners to set out chairs for the meeting. There might’ve been fifty or sixty others in attendance now. It was nowhere near the full number of Queegerts who’d been sold the dream and brought here to slave away on Mallifrax-8, but enough to make a movement.

  If The Shepherd ever decided to do something.

  Razeene shuffled himself forward off his chair on the backrow, and as quietly as his inelegant form allowed him, he slipped down the row and out of the door at the back. Shepherd Bulthug’s voice carried with him out into the foyer of the old wooden barn that was once used to store excess ore . . . back in the days when they were overproducing.

  He stepped out into the cool atmosphere of the naked planet, drawing in breath. This wasn’t the life that any of them had signed up for. But things were as they were.

  Voyved ambled out after him and came to stand next to him, looking up at the night sky. The cascade and the exploding stars illuminated the community area with lux of multiple colors. “You know, this could go on indefinitely . . .” he said quietly to his companion.

  Razeene rocked on his toes, squelching in the nearly solid mud. “I know,” he concurred, wishing he had something grassy to smoke. “We knew we couldn’t wait for The Shepherd to change things. He’s here to keep the peace. Not to lead . . .”

  Voyved breathed slowly and said nothing.

  Razeene would be going ahead with the plan, and there’d be no talking him out of it. Even if he wanted to.

  Aboard the Scamp Princess, outside the Royal Settlement, Mallifrax-8

  Anne clambered back into the console chair, having made herself a rehydrated soup of some variety. She reached for the mug that she’d set on the console unit. “Ok . . . so where were we?”

  “I was about to tell you about their quest around the Moons of Orn,” Scamp relayed to her.

  “Ah, yes. So you say that it’s normal for them to argue like an old married couple?”

  “Yes. Perfectly. Remember, they were a couple for years and years. Although on this trip, their friend noticed it.” Scamp’s tone had the ring to it normally reserved by humans for when they were gossiping.

  Anne sipped her soup. “Serious? They take friends with them? On missions?”

  “Not normally. This was some leader who had granted them ‘permission to quest,’ as Giles likes to call it. They’d met him on another mission and seemed to get on . . . plus, I think he was pretty taken with Arlene.”

  “Seriously? She seems a bit . . . severe.”

  “Arlene?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Well, she can be, I suppose. She’s always been ok with me.”

  “You’re an EI though.”

  “Well, yeah. And that doesn’t stop people from being jerks to us.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah. Some folks are quite rude. Treat us like tools.”

  “Anne pushed out her bottom lip. “That makes me sad.”

  “Well, it makes me sad, too.”

  “Huh. Well, you just let me know when someone is an ass then, and I’ll fireball them for you.”

  “Hahahaha,” Scamp laughed. “That’s very kind of you, my friend. But there’s no need for fireballs. And in fact, I think the rest of the team is quite concerned about one of the jerks you might have to fireball for me, if I hold you to that.”

  “Sean?”

  “Exactly.”

  “Yeah, I can see how he might be a bit abrupt.” Anne paused. “Any news on him yet?”

  “No. Nothing. But I’m sure Molly will turn up something soon. I have every faith in them.”

  The pair were quiet for a moment, until Anne remembered where they’d been going with their conversation. “Ok, so Moons of Orn. What happened?”

  Scamp regaled Anne with tales of their daring adventure and how he’d ended up swooping in to save both their reprobate asses. Anne listened in rapt attention, hardly daring to interrupt in case the others came back before he got the chance to finish.

  When he eventually did, she sat silently, wide-eyed.

  “Anne?” he asked.

  “Yeah?”

  “You ok?”

  “Yeah. I’m just . . . that was one hell of a story!”

  “I’ve got a whole database of them, if you’d care to hear another.”

  Anne leaned forward and checked how long the grownups had been gone. “I would,” she confirmed, “but I really need to pee. And then I’d like to have a look at some of Arlene’s research before they get back. Can you help with that?”

  “Of course. Well, not the peeing part. You’ll have to manage that. But I can pull up some of her research. What would you like to start with?”

  “Give me the summaries for everything over the last five years. Then we’ll go from there,” she said, confidently, shuffling out of the console chair and padding out of the cockpit. “I’ll be back in a moment.”

  “Take your time!” Scamp called after her, clearly enjoying having someone to talk with on a more social level.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Outside the Royal Crown Settlement, Mallifrax-8

  Rolf-nah waved to them as he turned and headed across the grassy area in front of the Royal settlement. Giles stood still for a moment, resting, and watching him leave.

  Arlene slapped him on his back. “Come on you. No time for moping,” she told him, soldiering on ahead.

  Giles’s face was grim. “I just can’t believe we went all that way . . . for nothing.”

  The sun was low in the sky and light was fading. Arlene turned back to him. “We should get back,” she reminded him, glancing around. “Anne’s on her own . . .”

  Giles quickened his pace and caught her up. “It’s just . . . he knew. He damn well knew, yet he sent us off on a wild donkey chase.”

  “Goose.”

  “Huh?”

  “Goose. He sent us on a wild goose chase.”

  “How do you even know that? You’re Estarian.”

  “I read,” she said flatly. “Anyway, you’re just pissed because you knew he was playing you, yet you played along.”

  “Yeah, well, no more of that. I want that talisman, and he has it.”

  Arlene sighed. “Yes. He probably does.”

  “So . . . I’m going to go back and get it.” Giles turned on his heels and started marching back towards the settlement.

  Arlene, exhausted from the full day of hiking, turned and peered into the darkness. With a sigh, she followed him, connecting her holo. “Scamp? Are
you there?”

  “Yes, Arlene.”

  “Is everything ok?”

  “Yes,” Scamp confirmed. “Everything is within normal parameters.”

  “Is Anne ok?”

  “Yes, she’s fine. Would you like to talk to her?”

  “No, no. It’s fine. We’re just getting back, and Giles has an errand to run in the Royal Court. I should go with him.”

  “Ok. That’s fine.”

  “I shan’t be too long.”

  “Very good.”

  Arlene disconnected the call. Something was up. Anne wasn’t pestering for attention, and if everything was fine, she hadn’t broken anything or set fire to anything. Maybe she’s been playing video games, she thought, trying to convince herself, hardly daring to believe her own fibs.

  She shook the nagging feeling from her shoulders and hurried after Giles. Deal with one problem child at a time, she told herself.

  Royal Crown Settlement, Mallifrax-8

  Giles strode deliberately up to the door of the main building they had been in the previous evening. He banged on it loudly.

  The guards who’d met with them previously were nowhere to be seen.

  Perhaps they were just on guard at the front because they’d seen the ship arrive, Giles considered. He banged again.

  Arlene was about to caution him, when there was a scuffling of activity behind the wooden barrier, and a moment later, the sound of metal on metal heralded the bolts being slid open.

  The door creaked open, spilling yellow light onto the ground in front of them, and a Queegert they didn’t recognize revealed himself.

  He wore a similar outfit to Rolf-nah. A kind of spandex burlap which hugged his round shape and stubbly tripod of legs, all held in place with what looked like leather straps.

  “Good evening,” he said politely.

  “Good evening,” Giles responded. “I’d like to speak with The Crown.”

  “One moment please.”

  The door closed on them. Giles shot Arlene an annoyed glance as if to comment on ‘how very dare they!’

  Arlene closed her eyes briefly and almost imperceptibly shook her head.

  Giles simmered down.

  Not long passed before the door opened again. “Come,” the Queegert called, inviting them in with a tendril, waving into the hall way. “His Royal Highness will see you in the dining room. He has invited you to dine with him.”

  Giles, feeling suddenly very foolish, gathered his decorum and straightened his atmosjacket. “Thank you,” he replied with a slight bow. “That’s very gracious of him.”

  Arlene watched, feeling like a fly on the wall, or more like an anthropologist reluctantly in the mix of the subject matter, in a blatantly patriarchal society.

  Giles, remembering himself, glanced back at her for her agreement. She nodded once and followed him.

  They followed their contact down a wooden-floored hallway around a corner, and into another room in a different part of the construction. Inside, was a large table. Other important-looking Queegerts sat around noisily, occupying all but a few of the seats. There seemed to be a rearrangement already happening at the far end. Giles recognized The Crown, not least because of the oversized shower curtain ring on his head.

  The Crown beckoned them to come and join him. It looked like a couple of the other Queegerts were being relocated in different seats around the table to make room for the new guests.

  “Come, sit. Dine with us,” their host invited them.

  Giles and Arlene made their way down, feeling self-conscious in their sweaty, muddy gear.

  The Crown noticed. “Archie will see to your clothes. Please, feel free to get cleaned up,” he said, pointing with a tentacle-like hand to another door.

  After some faffing about and some rather speedy showers in what turned out to be a well-equipped restroom facility just off the same corridor as the kitchens, Arlene and Giles returned to the dinner. Food was already being brought out, and as soon as it hit the table, it was being served and passed around.

  “So tell me. How was your questing?” The Crown asked after proudly introducing the strangers to his subjects.

  “Not very good, to be honest,” Giles said, taking off his glasses and cleaning them on his napkin. His frustration seemed to have subsided only to be reignited again by the question.

  The Crown frowned. “Oh?”

  “Yeah, you were right about it probably not being there. There was nothing left for us to find. The place had been cleared out.”

  The Crown chuffed and slapped his tendril on Giles’s shoulder. Then he leaned over, picked up the carafe of wine, and filled Giles’s glass. “Not to worry, my friend. I’m sure what you’re looking for will turn up. Besides, we’re friends now. I’ll help you.”

  Arlene observed carefully despite continuing a polite conversation with the Queegert to her right.

  “Tell me,” Giles ventured as tactfully as he could. “It seems you may have the means of, er . . . finding this piece.” He paused, dropping his eyes to the table and moving the glass across the tablecloth a fraction of an inch as a distraction. “If you were to help us ‘find’ this relic, what would you need help with in return?”

  The Crown laughed a hearty laugh and slapped Giles on his shoulder again. “That, my friend, is a conversation for after we eat.” He raised his arms and looked down the table. “Eat. Feast! In honor of our new friends . . .”

  The table erupted in a cheer from the Queegerts, who had already started piling food onto their plates.

  Giles caught Arlene’s eye. They just knew what they were each thinking . . .

  ***

  Some time later, after all the feasting and drinking, The Crown insisted that Giles and Arlene joined him in the drawing room for yet another drink.

  Arlene, exhausted and wanting to go home, reluctantly agreed. “You know I can’t leave you on your own,” she whispered to him as they followed The Crown through to the other room.

  Giles slung his arm around her shoulder for a moment. “And for that, I am eternally grateful,” he slurred, trying not to slop his wine as he navigated his way clumsily through the door.

  “This used to be a good place,” The Crown started as he poured out a new type of drink. It looked like a liquor, but it was a faint green color which seemed to emit a warm yellow mist when exposed to air.

  “What changed?” Giles asked, taking the glass he was handed and sitting back in one of the arm chairs.

  “The commerce,” The Crown responded. A tint of sadness was evident in his tone. “It used to be the land of opportunity, where every Logan can work hard and build a life for himself.”

  “Logan?” Arlene asked as The Crown handed her a similar glass of green liquor with yellow mist gently evaporating from it.

  “An opportunity seeker. Like a business person. But someone on their own. You know . . . making their own way with their wits and hard work. Sometimes even talent.”

  Giles smiled. “I think he’s describing their entrepreneurial class.”

  “Well, yes,” The Crown agreed. “This is a whole segment of our social system. They’re the ones that our economy is based on, only . . .”

  The Crown sighed and went to sit on a sofa between Arlene and Giles. “The laws which originally allowed this segment of our people to flourish, got distorted and manipulated. Now, we have bigger corporations who offer similar deals to these people but then legally exploit them . . .”

  Arlene frowned. “How is that even possible?” she asked.

  The Crown lowered all three of his eyes to the glass he held in front of him. “They forced us into establishing a ruling on this colony in exchange for providing the funding we needed for building the structure for the mines—running power, drilling, maintaining the settlements. They funded it, where we couldn’t, but they also expanded it.”

  Giles frowned. “And why was that bad?”

  “Because in exchange, they wanted a ruling that would give them ownershi
p of one hundred prenhites of land to mine for every fifty of our Logans they brought in.”

  Arlene froze, her eyes horrified. “I’ve seen this in history before,” she explained. “Didn’t end well . . .”

  “No, well, it’s not ending well,” The Crown agreed sadly. “They’re also selling the opportunity to the new Logans, bringing them in from nearby systems, telling them about all the ore they can mine, which they’ll sell back to them. But they’re charging the high prices to bring them here, and then . . . they charge rent on each sector of the mine that the Logan is permitted to work.”

  Giles put his wine glass down on a nearby table, now holding just the green liquid. “And so how do your . . . Logans . . . make money?”

  The Crown shuffled in his chair. “They sell the ore they mine back to the same company—The MacKegans. Tribe-owned corporation, as it were.”

  “Lemme guess,” Giles predicted, “the MacKegans get to set the price of the ore they buy back.”

  The Crown didn’t answer the question. “As you can see, as their monarch, the people look to me to protect their quality of life. Yet . . . without upsetting the MacKegans and having them withdraw all the machinery and generators they’ve installed and built this community around, there’s nothing I can do.”

  Arlene’s eyes were blazing in fury. “So you allow your people to exist in slavery?”

  Giles shot her a look. “Arlene,” he said firmly, “I think The Crown is asking for our help to fix this so that his people don’t have to be enslaved anymore.”

  Arlene took a swig of the green liquor as if she could drink her anger out of the conversation.

  Giles continued. “So you want us to help you with this in exchange for the talisman.”

  “Well, er, I wouldn’t put it quite like that.”

  “But essentially?”

  “Essentially.” The Crown grunted, shuffled out of his seat, and made his way back over to the decanter. “May I offer you another drink?”