The engines wound down and Wren and I jumped down in the stifling heat to meet the sellers, with Raez trotting at our heels. Wren carried the funds Pazarol had given us in a black bag. Raez seemed quick to make a show of the armed bulge at his hip, the R4, as if he were a real cowboy. I forbore comment on that.
The Urgon’s loading hatch dropped and Grisheimer, efficient as a bulldog, clumped out with two of his heavily-armed men to stand at either side. Their AKs gleamed in the sun while the pilot stayed on the bridge, keeping the ship online in case a quick getaway was necessary.
Eight Tanza guards stood loitering about the rig, carrying a mix of submachine guns and semi-automatics; a few might have been women among that motley lot. Hard to tell from this distance. Their hair was tied up in flat brown fur caps, and no help either the baggy clothes that hid a lot of telltales. Rake-thin desert types, bronzed skin, yellow-bleached hair from decades of sun.
The steel-mill trestle-thing poked up from a low mound in the sand, like some twisted grasshopper of an earlier age. The gears worked, and a grinding, back-grating whir of an engine at high rpms brought a giant, metal, pear-shaped gourd up on heavy chains. An operator worked a side lever; chains and clamps tipped the thing lengthwise into a massive lode cart, dumping the raw, small blue crystals in without ceremony.
Some of the miners did not look good—pale, haggard and hacking with dry, rasping coughs. I only guessed the beryllium or whatever derivative of it they mined, was not the healthiest of substances. They started up the six-wheeled tractor that hauled the massive lode cart.
I caught a fleeting glimpse of the dark stuff as it tumbled into the loader, sending shrill echoes up the rugged ridge. A rare mineral combo of emerald, beryllium, quartz, and something else. Whatever the case, it didn’t look too stable. I was glad the smugglers’ freighter would be carrying it, and not my ship. Maybe I’d take a rain check on the ‘enhanced’ fareon beam for now.
The Tanza crew met Wren, me, and Raez at the foot of the loader, as the freighter’s engine, noisy in age and construction, ramped down and its four landing struts sank deeper into the sand. Grisheimer signaled for the man inside to shorten the ramp to facilitate the cargo transfer.
Hardened, blunt-nosed men worked the ore cart’s hatch to get the stuff dropped inside.
“These thugs look like regular guerillas.” I whispered, indicating the foremost gunmen, wrapped in their tan, camel hides, roped at the waist, each with an Uzi slung over a shoulder, another gripped in hand.
Wren snorted. “More like the local terror guard hired to keep the crystal from getting snatched.”
“And? You got a problem with that?” snarled Raez. “What universe do you subscribe to, woman?”
“Shut up, both of you,” I hissed. “They’re coming closer.”
The young chief met us, waving in gruff, blunt manner. “Welcome. I didn’t expect you on time. I’m Dolgra. On Besi, nobody is on time.”
“Well, we are,” I grunted. “My name’s Rusco.”
I couldn’t help but notice the patch of trees, three stubby ones, on which hung grungy patches of blackened flesh of what had once been human.
The chief peered to where I was looking. “Those are ones who thought to betray our interests. Reminders of doom, a powerful incentive for obedience on Besi.”
“No doubt.”
Dolgra seemed smaller than the other tribesmen, lighter boned and with a face that at first glance seemed feminine: the fine nose, the soft eyes, the delicate lashes, all were testament to a misconceived gender. But on deeper inspection the layers of sinew on his oiled biceps and forearms showed muscle that’d been amassed after years of hard discipline. One of his dog-faced men pulled off his cap to wipe his sweaty brow and I saw darker hair underneath. So, they were not all fair. Many were lank-limbed with shaved chins, and there was a curious slant to their eyes, wide-spaced like oxen, but their skin and bodies were as lean as greyhounds and toughened from generations of stinking hot sun.
“You have all the Beryllium crystal?”
The chief held up a hand. “Here… Wait, you fools!” he yelled up at his loading men, then faced us. “You have the money?”
Smoke from a nearby village curled farther down the valley. I guessed they lived up in the rugged hills. The 80k yols they were due, and the 120k later when the buyer paid out, would be nothing less than a small fortune. I jerked my head to the bag Wren clutched. “In there. All 80k yols.”
“Good. Let me see.”
“I unzipped the leather bag and held it up for the chief’s inspection.
His emerald eyes twinkled with greed. He curled a finger in beckoning. “Pass it over.”
“First load up the merchandise,” I insisted.
The chief shrugged. He gave a brief signal to his men. The loader jerked forward.
I frowned. There were only five hulking bins sitting tucked away to the side that looked anything like a stash of valuable ore. “Is this all of it?” I demanded. I’d expected more.
The chief scowled and fluttered his fingers. “There were complications. My workers are this minute digging out the last of the beryllium crystal.” He motioned to his other loader and his men began tractoring the five heaping carts into Urgon’s hold.
Raez’s mouth quivered in slack-jawed anger. “Is this a joke, Dolgra? We had an agreement.”
Dolgra showed a line of brown teeth. “Couldn’t be helped. You’re getting the goods at a fair price, so consider yourself lucky. Be patient.”
“Patient?”
