“Can’t help what we are.”
“I’ll give you this, Yul, you followed your dream, pursued what path you wanted, shoddy as it is.”
Yul scowled, irritated at his father’s disparagement of something he knew nothing about. The freelance merc trade was nothing to brag about, true, but he’d wised up in a short time. He’d hired onto a lot of tough jobs and they’d paid his way. Never liked that mild condescension in his father’s cynical tone. Hadn’t eased up one bit.
Rande gestured a gnarled, sun-browned hand. “Friend of mine, former client, quite distraught, is having some trouble with some extortionists, embezzlers, if you like. Some syndicated wheelers and dealers out of Veglos. Moved in last season, squeezed a hell of a lot of local folk. Think they can push honest folk around.”
“Plenty of those around. Every planet’s got ’em, no matter how small.”
“Thought you might say that. Well, Banzari’s got himself mixed up with some hard-edged types. Almost got his head blown off from what I heard.”
Yul’s broad face darkened. “What do you mean?”
“Exactly what I said.”
Yul pressed him for details. “What’s in it in for me?”
“You’d have to discuss that with Banzari. Lives down by Smokey’s Hollow on Line 12. Got a ranch, boardwalk, lakefront, the whole kit.”
“Okay, will check him out.”
“How you get down here?”
“Walked over from the station, then the geotrak.”
Rande licked his lips. “Guess that means you don’t have a ship of your own.”
“Who does, Pop? Why even ask?”
He smiled. “On account that I heard stories…rumors perhaps, that you were some big space merc.”
Yul looked at him hard through slitted eyes. “No evidence of that from where I’m standing.”
Rande grinned with amusement. “You go over see Banzari, Yul. We’ll get caught up later.” He spat out a wad of tobacco. “Got some legal hassles to deal with. Need some patching up with Judge Sloane. Long overdue.” He sighed. His father’s cheeks burned red from many days working in the hot sun.
Yul didn’t expect much from the old man, as warm and peachy as usual. Nor did he think he’d be putting his hard-earned skills to work too soon.
Chapter 2
Rather than waste the day walking and catching sporadic geotrak connections, Yul rented a four-wheeler at the local dealership. He drove out to the Banzari property, about eleven miles away, parked at the end of a long gravel driveway and decided to walk the rest of the way to the ranch house, for whatever reasons.
Banzari’s operation was several grades above what Rande’s was, with its trimmed hedges, big rambling farm house with wooden logs and peaked roof. Wide acreage ran on both sides. Pristine forest and graze-land ranged behind, tall bonderol trees rising on the ridges. But signs of decay lurked around the edges: creeping rot on the clogged eaves full of wild boysenberry leaves, green mildew on the shingles, vines creeping up the walls, torn-up fencing in a garbage pit, still smoking, the wire mesh blackened. Old piping lay beside it, twisted and corroded as if a sewage or plumbing job had been done. The smell of brush fires wafted his way. It came from the backwoods in a thin curl of blue smoke. The whiff reminded him of his childhood, growing up in a sleepy farm community. Not necessarily unpleasant, but not that pleasurable either.
An eight-foot-high wire fence ran at the back as far as the eye could see, behind which several horse-like animals peered through, their lower jaws munching on long grass in mild interest. Grey-russet ears perked up at his approach. Oval pools of bovine eyes looked through the mesh, as if lusting for the greener grass on the other side. Yul smiled. He could relate.
One of the same large four-legged creatures ran in front of him and stomped its hooves, startling him.
Yul stepped back. A voice intruded from behind, “Those pipes are due for the dumpster. Messy job, re-plumbing this old place.”
Yul turned, sized up a spry man with deep-set eyes and bushy brows standing to his right, arms laden with metal pipes carried from the nearby barn. He was stocky, fit, a man of purpose with a mane of black hair and a short white billcap tucked over his ears. An angry blue bruise blossomed on his left cheek. “Don’t worry. Kaybra’s just plain territorial.”
The shoulder-high animal eyed Yul with no warmth, showing a healthy rack of white, blocky teeth. Its slumped, shaggy back bristled.
“You’ve got a mighty light step, sir.”
“And you’re trespassing on private property.”
Yul pursed his lips. He stared, wondering if he should be worried about the bulge at the man’s hip, obviously an E4 handgun, as he put down the pipes.
“Just a reminder, stranger.” The man smiled. “This is the main riding area, and over there is the lodge. What brings you here, to Brindlewood Ranch?”
“My dad, Rande, sent me.”
“Rande Vrean? Oh.” His expression changed immediately, all smiles and chuckles. “Any son of Rande’s is a friend of mine.” The man’s tanned face beamed. He stepped forward, a build robust and sturdy, held out his hand. Yul took it.
“Lan Banzari. You are?”
“Yul Vrean.” Yul took the outstretched hand.
“Yul…heard about you. Skipped off years back, worried your mother sick. Sorry to hear about your mother.”
He licked his lips, looked away. The dengal came up to nudge Yul under the armpit.
“Go on, git!” Banzari smacked the animal’s rump and it trotted off and began munching grass elsewhere. “Damn dengals. Always underfoot. That one’s tame. Had her since a foal. You like some wine? Beer?”
“Beer is fine.” Yul shrugged.
“Follow me.” While the dengal contentedly munched its grass, they moved toward the lodge. Banzari let Yul in a side door. Yul took in the
