Desert Stars

The flames from the fire shyly reached up towards the stars in the sky, flickering away before any contact could be made. The stars always caught Misae's eyes; there were so many. Moving out to the developing planet of Topho had broadened the young mail carrier's horizons, beyond the smoggy skies on Earth, to a clear, unpolluted glance into a spacious black ocean sprinkled with blue flecks of glittering luminescence.

Misae's reverie was rudely interrupted by Aroe hawking a ball of spit into the fire. He grinned observing his work, then reached over to his horse and grabbed a ball of trash from one of his saddle bags. His stubby, dirty fingers peeled pieces of garbage apart and tossed it carelessly into the fire.

"You can't jus toss all that shit in there, ain't everything can be burned."

Aroe glared at the group's de facto leader, but only when Chattox's molten, deep brown eyes were no longer boring into him. She had an aura about her of confidence, which defied any sort of back talking. Chattox was the guide provided by the Topho Main Mail Center, and was as enigmatic as any guide that Misae had made an acquaintance with, this dinner around the campfire situation was the first time she had seen Chattox without her broad brimmed cowboy hat on, revealing a head crowned with intricate Fulani braids.

"Personally, I would kiss you if you ensured our fiery demise."

"Shuddup."

"Have you considered tossing in a can of hairspray?"

"Shuddup! Chattox, tell that guy to shuddup, will ya?"

Chattox yanked the chains which trailed from the manacles around Jourkoda's skinny wrists. The outspoken prisoner grimaced a little, but his clear hazel eyes never left Aroe. For his part, Aroe looked disgusted with Jourkoda's sudden interest in him, and shoved his trash collection back into his saddle bags.

Misae was not sure what Jourkoda's crime was, and she received a none too pleasant vibe from him.

Silence settled around the campfire again. Misae undid her braid, and ran her fingers through her dark black hair. Without the baking sun, the air was now a little colder, and her bare neck was goose-pimpled below the brim of her tan Stetson hat.

Konrivy, the deputy who had been tasked with the transport of Jourkoda, came back from watering his horse, and "letting water out of the hoss" as he had called his personal business so discreetly. He sat down with a "hrrrph" and opened up a can of dehydrated meat, which he eagerly dug into.

He held it out to Jourkoda, who made a gagging noise and turned away.

"Suit yo'self, little hoss, you ain't gon like trekking 'cross the desert lands with jack-squat in your belly."

"I would take jack-squat over whatever the hell is in that tin."

Misae had traveled across Topho and its deserts several times since her arrival on the planet late last year, but rarely had she traveled with so many other people. Mail carrying had stood out to her as a profession of interest based on her own introverted tendencies.

However, as the planet continued its steady population growth, it was harder and harder to travel just mail carrier and guide anymore. Now, at least four or five mail carriers were escorted by one or two guides across the desert, sometimes along with travelers or tourists, or deputies, bounty hunters, criminals, peddlers, artists.

Some of the people mail carriers traveled with never disclosed their profession or plans.

The group with Misae right now comprised of herself, Aroe, Wakely and Rumeca, the mail carriers, Jourkoda and Konrivy; prisoner and deputy, Chattox, the guide, and a young, idealistic artist named Zaireah, who had already curled up in her sleeping bag and gone to sleep.

"Hey, skt! Get away from that!"

Wakely, the oldest mail carrier Misae had ever seen, was frantically waving his gun over in the direction of the horses. Konrivy was there, one hand poised on Wakely's saddle bag, one hand hovering over the handle of his own gun.

Chattox had leapt up so quickly Misae hadn't even registered when the transition had taken place, and was now aiming her guns, one at Wakely, one at Konrivy. Aroe, eager to have any excuse to show off his own recently purchased firearm, aimed the barrel at Chattox. Misae nervously grabbed at the butt of her pistol, deciding that if she had to, she would shoot at Aroe, simply because he had the most body mass that she could try to target.

The fire crackled loudly, causing Misae to jump and Aroe's itchy trigger finger to discharge a poorly aimed round at Chattox. Without missing a beat, Chattox fired a shot into the ground at Aroe's feet, then refocused her aim on Konrivy. Aroe began to cry blubbery, snotty tears, but he somehow still held his ground, gun sighted on Chattox.

A moth fluttered down, walked among the rocky border of the fire pit. Its soft feet made soft taps in the silent, shocked air around the travelers.

It finally launched itself and was swallowed up by the flames.

Still none of the travelers moved.

"I can shoot you all if no one else is going to do it."

Jourkoda's tone was an attempt at casualness, but the vowels were too shrill, the words spoken stretched to a point of almost cracking his voice. Even he was tensed to see how this showdown would end.

"If that damned sheriff would step away from my damned possessions, I'd be settled."

Wakely's voice was a growl.

Konrivy lifted his hands up slowly, the joints and tendons in each finger creaking stiffly. His light blue deputy's shirt was dampened under his arm pits and down his chest, where nervous, acrid sweat actively trickled from his pores.

He stepped backwards, the crunching of dirt under his heels percussively loud in the air that clung heavily to each traveler and their corona.

When he had taken five slow steps, Wakely finally lowered his weapon. He hobbled over to the saddle bags, and pulled sharply down on the leather straps to ensure they were still closed.

"Stay the hell away from my damned stuff, sheriff, haven't you ever heard of damned Sisten and Cherry?"

"I'm a deputy, hoss, and I don't give no two shits about what in the hill-diddly you are talkin' 'bout."

He sat down next to Jourkoda and set about locking his prisoner up for the night, attaching the manacles to the ankle chains, chaining the whole collection of limbs to a relatively sturdy desert tree.

Wakely brought his horse over to his spot by the campfire and was setting up his sleeping bag.

"Hey, Wakely, I am interested in those guys, what's their names? Someone and Cherry?"

Aroe was probably asking in the hopes it was some shortcut to making it big as a mail carrier. He seemed the type to perform minimal labor, and then overindulge himself in the rewards. When they were preparing for this particular journey, Misae had accompanied Aroe to the Topho Main mail carrier depot, a large central store that carried just about anything anyone would possibly need for an excursion into the Topho desert lands. Aroe had methodically gone through every aisle, and in every aisle he had picked up something to put in his cart.

By the time they had reached the checkout line, his cart was full, and he had spent his entire five-hundred dollar stipend they had been allotted to use for supplies. Misae still had over two-hundred dollars left.

"Why are you so damned interested?"

Aroe looked like he might start crying again, his nose was working overtime in snot production.

Wakely grinned.

"Suppose you damned newbies have to learn sometime. Sisten and Cherry are why us damned mail carriers gotta keep our damned inventory safe from prying eyes like the sheriff over there."

He glanced over at Konrivy, then launched into a legend he had clearly heard several times before.

***

Mail carrier had been one of the earliest jobs created on Topho. It seemed like wherever people went, they could never tell enough people about it, and they never stayed put. There was a thin line of connection that kept new settlers together and it was strung along by the dedication of a few strong folks on horses packing letters back and forth.

Some mail carriers worked in tandem with one another, it was a pretty long, lonely road by oneself and that bothered some people. One such pair would lend themselves to infamy.

Umeko Sisten and Cublan Cherry; or just Sisten and Cherry, the surnames alone were enough to strike a cord with persons familiar with the story. The two men had been as close as brothers. They had snuck aboard one of the earliest shuttles to Topho and had been watching each others' backs ever since.

Sisten had started working as a mail carrier first, and worked his charismatic charm to get the Topho Main branch of the mail system to hire on Cherry as well. Sisten was always the more outgoing of the two, it was rumored that every time he returned from a mail run, he brought a new young woman he met back with him.

Cherry on the other hand was a quieter soul. The rumors about him were few and far between, but there was one theory that he always rode his route with a book in one hand and the reins in the other. He was content with his own company, and let very few people glimpse into his personal side.

Only Sisten saw the full scope of his companion's personality. And it must have been worth it.

Until their final delivery together.

Due to his senior status within the branch, Sisten was hired for a special, high value delivery. He had to write up an in-depth report in order to even have Cherry considered as a co-traveler. Up until the day the two set out together, it was unknown if Cherry would be allowed to travel with his best friend on this assignment.

Fatally, the boss came out with the papers clearing Cherry for the journey just as Sisten had mounted his horse, fully loaded up.

So the friends went together.

For the first two nights, there was no incidents to speak of. Sisten's journal, picked up from deep in the desert, mentioned how much fun he was having, and described an afternoon wherein he and Cherry perfected a method of riding two to one saddle, so that their horses could get a bit of a break sometimes. His writings were light and full of brevity.

On the third night, according to the journal, Cherry was the one who began inquiring as to what exactly was so important that they were transporting. Sisten had tried to dismiss the question, claiming it was not their point of concern. But Cherry was described as being relentless, slinging forth question after question upon Sisten, even continuing his inquiries into the next day, and they sharpened in their pointedness. They became like thick prongs at the end of a fire poker, digging into Sisten's mind, driving him to confusion.

On the fourth night, he finally broke down. They finally unclipped the saddle bags and looked inside.

Their gaze feasted upon a thick mountain of black pearls, mined from one of Topho's old undersea caves.

Neither man had been rich in their lives, at any point. Seeing the plethora of loot before them, suddenly they saw unopened doors springing forth with welcoming arms, inviting them into places they had not even known existed. Bookstores containing pages of unexplored knowledge. Social clubs, glittering with the colors of hundreds of evening gowns, sparkling with the gems of interesting conversations.

The floodgates had been opened and from then on, would not be closed.

On day five, Sisten wrote a terse journal entry about Cherry being poor company, having dropped behind to look for any pearls that might spill out onto the sand.

On night five, there was another journal entry of a particularly bitter nature regarding an argument the friends had over which side of the fire to sleep on.

On day seven, the boys were supposed to arrive at their destination. When they did not turn up, several deputies and mail carriers from the Topho Near-Border city went exploring in the desert.

They found a delirious Sisten, stumbling in the sand dunes, making loud moaning sounds which slightly bore resemblance to Cherry's name. He screamed when they approached him and collapsed in the sand.

He never got up again.

Cherry's body was found, burned and stabbed, at the campsite the men had stayed on the fifth night of their journey. The horses were still there as well, their eyes crazed with the violent images they had seen that they could not convey.

They had been stripped of their saddle bags, presumably by Sisten.

But the bags and their contents had never been located.

***

"They both had damned large funerals, wouldn't you know it? Mostly just damned gawkers I guess, though some of the damned women that Sisten hung around with probably showed up. I think Cherry's damned father was there, but he hid in the damned back of the crowd, so no damned holier than thou asshole would come harass him."

"So no one knows where the pearls are?"

Aroe's voice was hushed. Everyone was. Even Jourkoda, who had been throwing a fit about his manacles being too tight, had ceased his complaining when Wakely's rusty voice had really gotten into the meat of the story.

"Nope. Some people at least have a damned clue about where they might be, but no damned human has been able to find them."

The silence after this statement was pensive.

Misae wondered if perhaps again, the saddle bag had been opened, taking each travelers' mind to a separate idea of immense wealth.

She wondered if their group was setting up to leave one lone survivor stumbling alone in the desert too.