Free Nightzone by Steven F. Havill

“A seventy-five-acre patch on the southwest corner of the mesa-top. Got ’em to go for a buck a century. They agreed, and now it’s official.”
    â€œWell, sure. How could they refuse a deal like that?”
    â€œExactly the point. No traffic, no lights, no pollution. Flat, dark, and apparently perfect orientation for whatever portion of the night sky they want to listen to.” He glanced toward the kitchen as Fernando appeared with more coffee, and we waited until he’d left us to our little dark corner.
    â€œSee, they even drilled a couple exploratory holes in the mesa-top to make sure we weren’t sitting on top of a limestone honeycomb. From a geological point of view, it’s an unshakeable location, even with the limestone caverns at the north end of the mesa that the BLM is interested in developing someday.”
    â€œAs unshakeable as anything is on this old planet,” I observed. I read the story again. “Christ, Miles, it’s going to cost a fortune to bring that monster up to the mesa-top. What’s it weigh…five hundred tons?”
    The rancher settled back and carefully balanced his fork on the edge of the plate. “Actually, I know exactly what it’s going to cost.” His tone was cautious, and he’d shed a little of his rancher’s accent. “To sweeten the deal for them, I’m paying a portion of the transportation costs.” He held up a hand. “Just a portion. Sure, it’ll take a fair chunk of change. That baby weighs nine hundred and sixty tons, Bill. That’s when it’s all bolted together. Still, there’ll be sections of it that come up to thirty tons or more. That’s why the new road. You haven’t been up there in a while, have you? That old gun you found has you occupied.”
    â€œThe road is gated,” I said wryly, not that I was ever averse to slipping over a fence or through a stock gate.
    â€œWe’ll get you up there.”
    â€œAnd here all this time, I imagined you were going to buy yourself a ten-inch reflector and a lawn chair.”
    Waddell laughed loudly. “You ain’t seen the half of it, my friend. But what’s keeping you busy after all this?” He held up another loaded fork. “Other than writing a deposition or two? They got you working this case? Or are you settling in with a box of fresh pencils and a stack of legal pads to write your memoirs?”
    â€œNo. I told Estelle I’d help where I can, but this is a young man’s game. Hell, by the time the morning’s over, they’ll have federales involved, every state agency there is, and enough over-time requistions to make the county legislators quake in their boots.”
    â€œI guess we can expect all that.” He opened the leather case again. “You ready for the bad news?”
    â€œWhether I am or not…”
    â€œSee, you mentioned rumors before.” He hesitated with papers half out of his briefcase. “What’s your favorite?”
    â€œYou mean the most ridiculous one?”
    â€œI’d like to hear that.”
    I stirred a puddle of green chile juice with my fork. “I’d have to say that whatever it is you’re doing up there is designed to support a United Nations peacekeeping and drug interdiction force, with massive programs to randomly tap cell phone traffic. And on top of that, an airbase for surveillance drones. That tops my list.”
    â€œMine too.” Waddell slipped another publication out of his briefcase, this time a glossy, well-funded conservative Colorado publication that I recognized. “Friend of mine with the Colorado Livestock Board sent me this.” He had folded the paper so page seven prominently displayed the headline, “Foreign Domination of Ranchlands Gains Another Foothold.”
    â€œOh, for Christ’s sake,” I growled. Posadas County’s desiccated desert and short bunch-grass prairie