COMPANY OF ADVENTURERS

Bluebell had set down near David’s home village just outside the palisade. Dr. Michael Chen looked dignified in his smart black silk suit, he walked with a steady pace, but was first down the ramp at Turtle Island. His calm was damaged when his big husband lifted him in a bear hug and spun him around. They stopped forehead to forehead clasped together. David’s bare torso shone coppery in the sunlight.

“Hey, Baby.” “Hey, Daddy.” replied David.

Mamie smiled. Michael was not a small man, about one metre seventy, but he just topped David’s shoulder. Still there had never been any doubt who was the leader in their relationship.

David’s family poured through the gates of the palisade, greeting their spacer friends. They were chivvied into the open square towards the longhouse that was the centre of community life.

Patterned on the bark longhouses of the First Nations of Eastern Canada on Old Earth the building was some twenty metres long covered with a round roof like a quonset, but the walls were flat, made of expensive board and batten wood with large windows and several entrances. There was a traditional central fire and, although it usually burned alcohol, on very important occasions sweetgrass and tobacco were added to the flames.

As the Commanda clan swept their visitors toward the longhouse an elder, clad in buckskin appeared at the door. Tall even among the men of the clan, and David was by no means the biggest, he waited quietly for the chattering group to approach.

Even the children quieted respectfully.

“Ogimaa,” said David with a large smile, “May I present my husband and our friends.”

“Megwitch,” boomed the clan leader. “You are always welcome.”

“Megwitch, Ogimaa,’ said Rand. “We ain’t had a chance to meet fore this, sorry to say.”

“I spend a lot of my time with my animals.” said the Ogimaa. “They give me time to consider the problems my people bring me.?”

“There’s a truthsome thing.”

“You must come to see my animals. Perhaps they will help your considerations.”

“Thank you, Ogimaa.”

Michael stepped forward with a package for the leader. Wrapped in red silk were several sticks of incense and a package of reefers.

In return the Ogimaa gave Michael a buckskin package of sweetgrass plaits and some cigars.The ritual completed, the two men hugged and the Ogimaa boomed, ’We have a feast prepared for our brother and our guests.”

The community longhouse had tables along the centre with platters of stews. johnnycake, bannock, boiled corn, fresh and dried bean dishes.

“And Nana Commanda’s Corn Soup,” squealed Mamie .

David and Michael had built their own house in the compound, although they were rarely there, being still actively practicing with the Flying Doctors of the Sufficient Grace Hospital out of Atoll City on Freya Moon where they kept an apartment, separate from Perse Aglukak’s compound there. The Turtle Island house had a guest wing.

“I was using it as a maternity ward until Michael waved you were all coming,” confessed David. “I hope the rooms don’t feel too clinical.”

In fact the rooms were rather feminine in style, soothing for a stressful pregnancy. Marco was disconcerted, his experiences with the feminine running more to the erotic than to the maternal.

The next day, David and Michael did not appear at breakfast. The cook just laughed when Mamie asked if they were holding a clinic. ‘Tomorrow or day after tomorrow, clinic. Today, no work all play.’

Mamie had found another problem that needed work on Bluebell. “She’s still my grand girl, Capt’n, but after a half century or more of hard graft, she’s a little cranky.” She kissed Rand quickly and turned back to the ramp. He held her left arm and pulled her back for a deeper kiss.

She gave him a a cheery grin. “Absence makes the heart grow fonder, so git absent and I’ll give Bluebell a spa day. You go talk to the Ogimaa.”

The Turtle Island leader was riding up on a big paint, leading a slightly smaller brown horse with a white blaze.

“That could be my Fred yer leadin,” Rand said. “He’s a handsome beast.”

The Ogimaa smiled, “Not too far to my ranch. Would you like the leisurely ride or would you prefer to let these boys stretch their legs.”

“Let ’em move.” Rand swung to the saddle gracefully, leaning back down to tousle Mamie ’s ponytail. “See you later, Amanda.”

“I’ll be ready for you, Randolf.”

The captain and the Ogimaa walked their mounts to the dirt road leading to the fur farm, then pushed the horses to a canter and finally a gallop. It took less than fifteen minutes hard riding to arrive.

“That was bracin,” said Rand. “You keep dirt roads for the horses?”

“Partly. And partly cement is expensive since we have to import lime. But most traffic is hover car or mules so the path is more important than the surface”’ He gave his reins to a thin young woman, dressed in coveralls much like Mamie’s, and led Rand towards the first barn.

“This is chickens. We grow them for meat and eggs.”

The barn was hot and noisy. A raised path ran down the middle and there was a susurration of moving water. Rand looked up at stacks of slightly sloped shelves.

“The chickenshit is constantly washed way to an underground tank. We sell it on as fertilizer.

“The laying hens stay here for about four years. They can go out to the yard days if they like, we have several yards and open different doors so that none of the yards are picked clean of plants. Then they go for slaughter. That’s industrial meat. Sold for prepared meals and animal feed.

“The meat birds are in the next barn, they get slaughtered at four months, then frozen and shipped for human consumption.”

“Different breeds?”

“Several. My uncle, the last Ogimaa, bought some fancy chickens from a new discovery generation ship some years ago. We produce the usual brown eggs, but also pure white for the luxury market and some pastels from those Old Earth birds. Pretty feathers too.”

The Ogimaa led him out of the hen barn and past the large yard of squawking pecking chickens. “This is where we use the waste meat from the hens.”

The next barn, like the first was filled with cages stacked several feet high with the waste from the animals constantly being washed away.

“These are fur animals. They can’t run free because most of them would fight and kill each other. We got mink, raccoon, wolverine. They’re some vicious beasts. It gets cold enough here in winter that we can raise ermine weasels and silver fox. We feed them on the waste meat from the hens and also on the leftover carcasses from the fur harvest.”

“There’s enough demand to make it worthwhile?”

“Oh yes! Most of it is luxury trade of course, but wolverine is the best material for trimming arctic wear and fur is lighter and warmer than most plant based synthetics. We supply a lot of fur to the Armed Forces. We raise cattle too, and the furries eat that waste. You should see a carcass after the wolverines have ravaged it, Nothing left for the maggots.”

“I’d preciate seein your cattle operation. I’m a rancher myself by birth, mebbee will be again one day.”

“David said you were in transport.”

“I got reparations for my mother’s spread on Ciccone.”

The Ogimaa nodded. Everyone knew the tragic story of the world destroyed when terraforming failed. “Didn’t want to settle and Dita was from a spacer family. So I bought Bluebell with the reparation money and here I am twenty years on. Made a good life in transport but we keeping talkin about a ranch near the wife’s family.”

“Your wife is the tall woman?”

“My wife is Mamie , the bundle of sunshine in coveralls. Dita and me been friends since she pulled me outta a barfight when I was still wet behind the ears, and First Mate when we bought Bluebell. She stayed even when she birthed Hope.”

“Two very different women.”

“Yep, I done good there anyways.”

They had ridden out to the open prairie where herds of cattle grazed peacefully. Near to were cows, obviously, from their heavy udders, milk cattle. They stayed closer to the milking barns. Farther out were the heavy square shapes of beef animals and…

“Sweet! Are those buffalo?” Rand said, urging Fred forward at a canter.

The Ogimaa, followed laughing. Rand slowed as he reached the magnificent, ugly animals. It was summer and they had shed a great deal of their wooly manes, which looked patchy and grubby. Rand was wonderstruck. “I heared of buffalo. I ain’t never seed none afore,” he murmured.

“We have several thousand on this ranch. More on other ranches. These are Woodland Buffalo, there are other breeds that are larger. Some of our people have them as totem animals. The buffalo is part of our spiritual lives. We were lucky that some were brought from Old Earth. There are records that indicate more were on other arks, but as you know, not all of the immigrant ships have been found.”

As they rode to the pastures a klick down the unpaved road, Rand and the Ogimaa discussed the state of the economy for ranchers and other food producers.

“Agribusiness is always chancy. If the costs of shipping goes up, and there are rumours from Third Rock that make that likely, a lot of farm and ranchers won’t be able to export profitably.”

“Can’t figure the advantage to the Central Planets. The New Worlds produce food that they can’t ’counta you can’t grow a cow in the city. Some of those worlds have higher population than Old Earth. They have to import food. Same with mining and fabrication. New Worlds can do it without disturbin the environment. Why pull the work away?”

“Cutting off their noses to spite their face.”

Above them there was a sudden roar and the horses shied. A huge spaceship, Leviathan-class, flew low enough for them to read the licensing numbers on the bodywork.

The Ogimaa, normally the calmest of men. Swore. “The bison!” he yelled and spurred his horse ahead. Ogimaa opened his comm. “Joey- are you tracking that boat? Send a posse if they stop on our land, eh?” Rand heard only a crackle as Joey replied.

“Good, and send some reinforcements to the Bison Herd #6. They’re a bit spooked and we might have a stampede.” He looked over to Rand. “Can you help here?”

“If they run, where do we not want them to go?”

“They can’t go north,” he pointed. “That’s the buffalo jump we use for harvest. Else just a matter of letting them tire.”

“Still not good for the meat, all that running,” Rand said watching the restless herd.

The Ogimaa grunted in response and started walking his horse northwards, encouraging the bison on the side of herd to turn west, away from the rise just north where the spaceship had disappeared.

A group of riders appeared on the track, reining in from a gallop as the herd came into view. They joined the older men in pushing the herd westward.

Then there was a booming over the rise followed by a scraping whine. The buffalo surged into motion. Avoiding the cowboys trying to move when west, they started north - towards the noise. “Dumb beeves,” muttered the Ogimaa, signalling his crew to continue turning the herd west.

To no avail, Rand heard a new thunder of thousands of hooves. A brown tide of stampeding buffalo. The movement of the buffalo turned to stampede and the herd ran panicked over the rise.

The cowboys stopped their gentle encouragement and moved into high action, whooping an waving hats. The bulk of the herd turned but a dozen or more continued in their panicked flight.

The Ogimaa was swearing in a language Rand didn’t know. He headed up the rise , skirting the westward stampede. Rand followed.

The land over the rise dipped and Rand could see the bison running for the horizon, which ended abruptly about seven hundred metres away.

“They’re gonna go over!” he yelled.

“Buffalo jump, remember?” said the Ogimaa bitterly.

They followed the doomed animals as they stampeded over the cliff, disappearing from their sight. Rand and the Ogimaa rode more slowly to the cliff’s edge.

It was a steep drop, nearly twenty metres to the bottom of the canyon. There was a trail, easily wide enough for the horses, to the bottom. But in the canyon was parked the Leviathan transport, nearly reaching the top of the cliff . The large cargo bay door was open and some of the crew had emerged into the fresh air on the ramp, a relief after the recycled atmo of travel Out There.

Their relief had been cut short by the rain of buffalo. Two men had been crushed by a falling

Buffalo Jump/4

animal, probably killed. Another was trapped, his legs beneath 500 kilos of bleeding intestines. A skinny woman was frantically banging on the cargo ramp closure button, but the weight of men and bison was too great for it to move.

As Rand and the Ogimaa approached they drew their weapons. Ogimaa commed again. “Joey, we found the ship. Tell the cowboys to come to the bottom of the Jump.” He considered, “Better send David’s man too. We’re needing a doctor.”

The reached the carnage on the ramp. “Step away from there , young lady, and call the rest of your crew. You have some explaining to do.”

The woman muttered into her comm and glared a the Ogimaa. “Your animals kilt two of our crew.”

“Doctor’s on his way. Step outside.”

Rand had a pistol covering the airlock and pushed inside, passing the woman and another crew member swathed in a long apron. He checked the upper companionways for armed crew, but the only ones there were heading out into the bright sunshine.

The Leviathan lived up to its name. Rand knew he had little chance of finding a crew member who really wanted to stay hidden. He heard noises outside and returned to the sunshine.

More of Ogimaa’s people were arriving. Some crew come on mules, carrying large knives and hatchets. Expertly they began the job of skinning and bleeding the dead buffalo, first killing those which had incredibly survived the horrific fall.

A tiny woman, armed with a knife that could almost be called a machete, grinned up at Rand. “Head Smashed In Buffalo Jump is our abattoir. Usually we hafta deal with ten times this many, come harvest. Traditional, eh?”

Rand blinked and nodded. He supposed that without building an actual abattoir, the buffalo jump was an efficient way of turning live beeves into more easily handled carcasses.

The ship held most of his attention. The cargo bay access door was padlocked, perhaps the prevent the crew from using it for private assignations. Rand sent a cowboy to make sure the pilot was not on the bridge. None of the captured crew would admit to having the padlock key, but one of the cowboys found sticky explosive and the door was quickly opened.

Inside the door were animal pens. And in the pens, packed like the fur bearers in the Ogmiaa’s barn, were people. Pale, naked people who cringed back from the cowboys looking in. None of the prisoners would leave their cells until they reached the fourth cage.

The man who stood there had been fat, but had lost a lot of flesh very recently. His skin hung loose around him. Still he stood head high. Behind him several young women stood rigidly. And behind them a very pretty girl who looked vaguely familiar.

She was glaring at Rand and the Ogimaa.

“Are you going to let us out?” she demanded.

The Ogimaa asked, “Do you know where the key to these cages are?”

She sniffed. “The fat one carries them. I don’t know his name They don’t use names around us.”

Ogimaa told one of his cowboys to find “the fat one” and get his keys. “How long have you been here?” he asked.

“We’ve been in the hold of this cargo ship for over a month. At least, I confess we have no reliable way of keeping time. Our captors even took out the clocks and calendars. Some of us think they have been fiddling with the day/night cycle of lighting too.

“Some of us were hurt when we were captured. And the ...others. Would medical attention be available for them?”

The Ogimaa gave herhis arm and led her and her staff into first the cargo bay and then down the ramp. The other prisoners followed slowly.

“So who’s yer lady?” Rand asked the man from her cage. “She’s right sure of herself.”

The man looked astonished. “Priya Parsons! Only one of the best known entertainers in the System! I’m sure our disappearance has been all over the newcasts.”

“Not something I’d pay much attention to. My wife’s a great one for the gossip casts, though.”

“Perhaps you’ll be interested in the reward. I’m sure Ms. Parsons’ agency has been offering one.”

Rand was impressed that the cowboys had already bought several wagons and hover mules to the Jump, then realized that they were working vehicles , meant to bring the meat and hides from the unplanned harvest back to the village.

The young woman however took the bloody scene in her stride. “Is that a buffalo jump? I’d heard of those but never thought to see one.” She glanced at the available vehicles. “I wonder if I could borrow a horse for the trip to your village? It is very difficult to keep up on exercise routines while captive on a small ship.”

The tiny butcher called out, “Ogimaa, I’m gonna be here for hours yet. Let the lady have my Goldie.” She indicated a palomino, dressed in a worn working saddle but well groomed. with a flowing blonde mane and tail.

“What a magnificent animal,” said the young woman. “Thank you…?”

“Cyn, Ms. Parsons.”

“Thank you, Cyn. I will treat her well.”

“The pirate crew have been put in their brig. It seemed more secure than our village jail, ” the Ogimaa told Rand and Ms. Parsons, whose natural charisma demanded that she hear everything that was happening. “We have medical personnel at the village, including an excellent trauma surgeon, Dr. Michael Chen, of the Flying Doctors.”

“Doctor Chen? Excellent, we have met before, socially, when I toured the Sufficient Grace Night Emergency on Freya. A renowned surgeon, you are very lucky. I did not realize he was from Turtle Island.”

She had appeared to be wearing a long skirt, but when she swung herself, with no help, into the palomino’s saddle, Rand saw she was actually wearing culottes, a garment allowing much freer movement. She raised her face to the far off sun and drew a deep breath. Then she made a face. “It’s fresh air, and I’m glad of it, but shall we get away from the blood and feces?”

Comms had buzzed between the Jump and the village and most of the town was outside the palisade waiting for the procession. Two small girls had even managed to put together bouquets of wildflowers and weeds for the visitor.

Although neither Rand nor the Ogimaa had recognized her, Priya Parsons was a popular celebrity, a super-vedette whose inter-world tour had been interrupted when her tourship disappeared. She had been captured by the slavers, who had at first been delighted with their prize, then furious to discover that she was too hot to handle.

Not being interested in the gossip casts, the two leaders did not realize they had solved one of the most baffling headlines of the year.

Ogimaa escorted Priya into his lodge and to the Cortex room so that she could wave her family. When her father’s ashy face appeared on the screen, she whispered, “Hello, Daddy-ji.” Ogimaa shooed everyone out of the room. “Give the girl some privacy.”

Most of the prisoners had been examine and treated by Michael and David. They were mostly dirty and hungry, although both fleas and lice were plaguing them. The village once again presented a feast of breads, stews and fresh vegetables which along with the village’s sweat lodge mitigated the worst of their physical problems.

“We’ll have a medicine tent ceremony in a few days. Before the federal police leave,” the Ogimaa promised. “That will go a long way to curing their souls.”

Priya Parsons spok e first as he approached. “Captain Hudson . I would like to thank you again for my rescue.”

“No need, Priya,” Rand could feel her manager wince at the incorrect form of address. “Maiden in distress and all that.”

“Is there any way I can show my gratitude to you and the Ogimaa? I am not without influence.”

“I was explainin to yer man there that your rescue was basically an accident. I can’t speak for the Ogimaa, but you should understand that we wasn’t a rescue party. We was just mad that they had stampeded the herd and in the mood for a little frontier justice. The rest was just a happy accident.Reckon you don’t owe us anything.”

“You’re a businessman Captain Hudso,. a pillar of the community. Surely you can see that rewarding help is good for both of us?”

“Both?”

“Part of my daily quota of graciousness.”

“Huh.”

“We all have a public face and a private face, Captain. I have been briefed on your public face, you may be familiar with mine.”

“M’wife watches the fashion zines. Your outfits have cost me a lotta coin.”

“But can I give you any practical help?”

’Well, I do have one ambition.... any way you could help us get a salvage permit?”

In the end, Turtle Island hosted the popstar for a week

Along with the federal police, Turtle Island received a platoon of casters who were fascinated by the Buffalo Jump. The publicity gave the villagers access for their bison products to the most trendy Central Planet grocers and restaurants, and at a substantial premium.

The police took the kidnappers into custody. “We can get them on the kidnapping of Priya Parsons and her staff and on their maltreatment of the prisoners. But real or fake, the labour contracts are in order. Technically they weren’t transporting slaves.” the lieutenant in charge told Rand.

“You ask the slaves?”

“Some are too traumatized to talk. Some really did sign bonds. And a strong defence lawyer could argue the rest are lying to keep the money tehy were paid. Burden of proof.”

He spat on the ground.