Allison nodded to and returned calls from patrons, gave a wave to others.
It no longer bothered her that old friends, people like Mellie Nagargina, Friga Dushku, or Amal Oshanti never so much as met her eyes. Losing their respect had been a price she’d had to pay. Odd notion that. Once she’d been one of them. An aspiring wife and mother, a homemaker for Rick. Only to lose him to an accident and then her infant daughter, Jessie, a year later to a quetzal.
So, where would she be if Dan Wirth hadn’t sniffed her out with the same acuity as a slug in the mud homed in on a bare foot? Remarried? With another two children? Teaching at the local school? A housewife bustling about her garden, preparing suppers, and ensuring the kids were properly dressed and supervised?
It brought a tired smile to her lips as she walked up to the chair beside Aguila’s and slipped onto the cushion.
“Good evening, Supervisor.” To Inga, she gave the hand sign for a glass of whiskey.
“Allison Chomko,” Aguila said in a flat voice. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
“At first I thought maybe we’d try girl talk. You know, chat about the weather and gossip about who’s doing what. Then I figured fuck it, we’d talk business.”
“And just what business did you have in mind?”
“How much do you want for Kalen Tompzen?”
Aguila laid her spoon down, fixed those laser-blue eyes on Allison’s as she asked, “You really want to go there?”
“Supervisor, history is what it is. You and Dan had to learn a few things before you could understand what Donovan is all about. There’s enough here for everyone, but it takes all of us together.” She grinned. “You beat Dan at his own game. Got to admire a woman with that kind of acumen.”
“What makes you think I don’t hold a grudge?”
“Fine. That’s your concern. Mine is business. How much do you want for Tompzen?”
“You assume he’s still alive.”
“I figure we’d have heard if he wasn’t. As for myself, I suspect you’ve had him doing whatever unpleasant thing you could possibly find or invent. At this stage, he’s probably so miserable that an up-close-and-personal encounter with a quetzal might come as a welcome relief compared to the crap he’s got to look forward to.”
“What do you want with him?”
“He has skills.”
“On Dan’s orders, he killed three people who worked for me. Threatened my life. I don’t forget.”
“I’m not asking you to. Twenty thousand?”
Aguila chuckled, returned to her chili.
Allison read the wariness in Inga’s eyes as she set the whiskey on the chabacho bar. Allison slid a five-SDR coin across the wood, saying, “Keep the change.”
“Hope this batch is better than that last,” Allison noted, swirling the amber liquid in the glass and inhaling the aroma.
“It is,” Aguila told her.
Allison sipped, swished it around her tongue. “Never had a taste for the stuff until I had to start drinking it as part of the job.” She paused. “You were up at the new ship today. You really putting the transportees out at Tyson Station?”
“Believe me, you wouldn’t want them here.”
“I lived out there for a while when I was a kid. My folks died out there. It’s about as far as you can get from anywhere. And these people are soft meat.”
Aguila finished off the chili, washed it down with a slug of whiskey, and turned to face Allison. The scars on the woman’s face rearranged as she smiled humorlessly. “I got to meet the leader. The guy’s sitting naked in a chair carved out of duraplast with human-bone insets. His skin’s all cut into fancy scars and he’s painted white. He cut his nose off to leave a hole. Says he’s a walking grave because he’s become a repository for all the people he’s eaten. The guy thinks he’s a messiah who will lead the universe as it consumes itself. Now, even if he doesn’t speak for them all, don’t you think we’d better get a handle on who these people are before we let them loose?”
“That bad, huh?”
“Before I came to Donovan, nothing scared me. Then there was Freelander, followed by Vixen, and now Ashanti. Not to mention Donovan itself. Makes you wonder what kind of moron would agree to be locked into a starship, confined in a small space for a minimum of two or three years, popped out of the universe by an energy field, to hopefully pop back in somewhere light-years away. And only then discover they were going to die of starvation or old age in that tiny little tomb?”
“Not all ships end that way.”
“No. But too many of them do.” Aguila shook her head. “There’s something going wrong with the theoretical physics that we don’t understand. What’s really frustrating is that with the time lag, unless Turalon made it back to Solar System, they don’t have a clue back there that there’s a problem.”
“You were high in the ranks. What do you think they’ll do when they find out? Stop sending ships?”
“It’s a possibility. The Corporation was founded on the principle of limiting risk, controlling business cycles, providing social value through efficient distribution of resources. The biggest aspiration was getting rid of uncertainty and the destabilizing effects of nationalistic governments. Extraction, refinement, manufacturing, production, logistics, distribution, and consumption. All perfectly monitored by AI and ever-evolving algorithms.”
“And you think The Corporation will balk over the number of dead aboard Freelander and Ashanti?”
“You think The Corporation gives a shit about people? Human beings are a renewable resource.” Aguila’s expression tightened. “It’s the cost of the ships verses the potential returns. We’d just damn well better hope that Turalon made it back on schedule, and with all of its cargo intact.”
Allison took another taste of her whiskey. “Welcome to Donovan. Which means we’re on our own. And that brings me back to my purpose: Will you take twenty-five thousand for Tompzen?”
“Wirth getting tired of cutting his own throats these days? By the way, in case you haven’t noticed, that’s a real nice playmate that you’re in bed with.”
“Dan is more than capable of keeping the chuckleheads in line and assuring that the marks cover their bets. But that’s not always good business. It behooves us to have another person in the position of enforcer. A layer of insulation between the occasional strong-arm tactic and the loftier position to which Dan has aspired in the community.”
“Doesn’t want to have to build any additional schools to rehabilitate his image, huh?”
“As he says, ‘Once was enough.’”
Aguila chuckled. “Fifty thousand.”
“Supervisor, you’re not thinking this through. A great many of your people from Corporate Mine patronize our establishments. Knowing that we’ve taken one of your ex-marines as an enforcer reminds them that certain standards of behavior are expected. And that Corporate Mine’s interests are aligned with ours when it comes to their welfare.”
Aguila’s gaze had sharpened. “You’re not exactly the woman I thought you’d be.”
“Let’s just say I had a rough patch a couple of years back. Life didn’t deal me the cards I thought it would. When I came out of it, I realized that where I found myself wasn’t where I wanted to be. Or who I wanted to be.”
“And who are you now?”
“The second-richest woman on the planet. One who can sit here as an equal, dealing with the most powerful and richest. For the moment, we’re dickering over the value of a man’s life. And no, I don’t have aspirations when it comes to your mine or authority. I’ll do everything in my power to keep you where you are and successful.”
“Why?”
“Because you and your people are making millions down there. As long as you do, Dan and I get to take our cut, and we get to do it without the headaches of administration.”
Again, Aguila gave her the probing look. “So you’re sitting on all that wealth. What are you going to do with it?”
“Me? I’m young. The day is going to come when The Corporation figures out the problem of the missing ships and the navigational errors inherent in inverting symmetry. When they do, I might send them a couple of shipping containers of the finest gemstones on the planet, buy myself a townhouse in Transluna.” A beat. “Or maybe I’ll buy Montana, or that island they call Fiji.”
“Assuming that in the process, you don’t run afoul of the good Mr. Wirth.”
Allison took another sip of her whiskey. “You’re right. He is a dangerous playmate. There isn’t so much as a whisper of empathy, remorse, or regret in his body. The man’s as forgiving as a sidewinder. So far I’ve been smart enough to avoid any conflicts that would incline him to slitting my throat in the middle of the night.”
“Who said that only the wildlife was deadly around here?”
“Welcome to Donovan,” Allison agreed, clinking her glass against Aguila’s.
“All right, twenty-five thousand. And one other thing: Derek Taglioni? He’s hands off. Get my meaning? I don’t care if he plays the tables, buys a whore every now and then, but that’s it. Just simple business. You and Dan don’t try and play him because of who he is.”
Allison shrugged, wondering just who Derek Taglioni was and why Aguila would be worried. “Done and done.”
18
The mine gate on the north end of town was a huge square opening in the fifty-foot-high monstrosity of fence. The size was large enough to pass the haulers coming down from the clay pit. The gate itself rolled on large wheels and cammed into place when closed. Truly a remarkable piece of engineering.
Unlike so many of Dek’s kin, he’d spent time during his youth in many of the re-wilded areas on Earth. He had enjoyed the open air, hunted—as only a Taglioni could—and come to relish the out of doors.
Maybe that’s why Donovan called to him. He’d been ten years stuck in the confines of Ashanti’s few decks. When a person is removed from nature for any length of time, coming back into contact with it is an almost mystical experience.
He extended a hand—a futile attempt to touch the ethereal. Closing his eyes, he let the breeze caress his outstretched fingers.
Better than nothing.
Dek laughed at his folly and raised his face to the partly cloudy sky. He let his gaze rest longingly on the dusty haul road where it vanished into the scrubby trees. The curious scent that he equated with cardamom and a hint of cinnamon tinged with the lightest touch of saffron teased his nostrils.
The sound of the place was just as enchanting with its melodic rising and falling of harmony. Something similar to a symphony that was on the verge of finding the perfect musical score. But each time it was almost there, it would drift off into an atonal direction and have to start all over again. He’d been told that those were the invertebrates—a series of species of winged, shelled, and legged creatures that made up one of the lower trophic levels of Donovan’s biome.
“Kind of a treat, huh?” the guard asked. He was a red-haired, brown-skinned man with a large triangular nose and knowing black eyes that stared out from under a shelf of brow ridge.
“I could listen to it for days on end. There’s a magic here. Something that echoes in my soul,” Dek told the man. Then offered his hand. “Derek Taglioni.”
“Wejee Tolland. I’m part of the security detail. I like being posted at the mine gate the best. You see, that’s the bush out there. Right close and personal. The other gates, they all let out on farms, the aircar field, the shuttle field. But that’s pure Donovan running right up to the fence.”
Dek took a long step, planting it firmly beyond the high wire enclosure.
“Uh, sir? I gotta ask you to step back inside.”
Dek retreated, asking, “Is there a problem?”
Wejee gave an offhand shrug. “Orders are that we’re not supposed to let you—and especially you—get eaten. Of all the gates, the quetzals try this one the most often. Whitey brought two others of his lineage right through here last time we had a major incursion. And that’s not counting the bems, spikes, sidewinders, and skewers. Cheng’s slug poison is working pretty well, and dry as it is, slugs aren’t a major threat. At least not today. But I wouldn’t trust it to be out with those soft town shoes of yours, sir. You’d be a heap better off in boots.”
A man had to appreciate orders that said he wasn’t to be eaten. “Can’t set foot outside the gate, huh? Those are Kalico’s orders?”
“No, sir. She don’t give orders here. That comes from Tal. And if Talina Perez asks me to wrestle a quetzal bare-naked, shoot a hole in the moon, and toss Freelander out of orbit with one hand, I’m going to do it.”
“I guess you and I see Talina Perez in the same light. Where you from, Wejee?”
“North of Alice Springs in the red center of Australia. Mother made the trip out from the city so I’d be born on the ancestral lands. Family’s lived in Sydney for a couple of generations. I’m the first to qualify for deep space. I came here on the seventh ship. Never wanted to go back.”
“Worked for Talina the entire time?”
“Yes, sir.”
“I’d rather you called me Dek. I wasted too much of my life being called ‘sir.’” He turned his gaze out to the bush. What the hell was it? This incredible longing, as though some unseen thing was beckoning him from just beyond that line of trees. After ten years in Ashanti, he really wanted to go wander, smell the land. “Who do I talk to about going out there?”
“Talina Perez.”
“What is it about her? I’m not sure yet, but she may be the most amazing woman I’ve ever known.”
Wejee’s grin wrinkled the brown skin around his mouth. “Don’t go getting a thing for her, Dek. Half the men in this town cast covetous eyes at Tal. Problem is, she’s got quetzals inside her. That, and she’d break any man in two if he riled her the wrong way.”
“So, she doesn’t have a man in her life?”
“Here’s the thing about Tal: I’d die for that woman, and she’s saved my skinny Aboriginal ass more than a couple of times. But she’s had her share of heartache. Buried her first man, Mitch, when he died from an infection. Cap, the second, got broken up by a quetzal, crippled, and somebody overdosed him. Then there was Trish. As close as Tal was going to come to a daughter. Trish’s in a grave up at the cemetery after some soft-meat piece of shit shot her by accident. That was a couple of years back. Since then Tal’s been different. Aloof.”
“Tell me about these quetzals inside her. I overheard her talking to herself this morning. Not that I don’t talk to myself, but this sounded like she was answering questions.”
“She say, ‘You piece of shit,’ on occasion?” At Dek’s nod, Wejee said, “Yeah, those are the Whitey quetzals. The ones she calls ‘Demon.’ Local lineage around here. They’ve got a blood vendetta against humans.”
“Hold on a second. How does she have these creatures inside her?”
“It’s the molecules, Dek. We humans got DNA: two strands of nucleic acid. Quetzals got what they call TriNA. Three strands. With three they can encode three times the information for a given length of molecule. I get a little hazy on this, but Cheng, Dya, and Dr. Turnienko, they figure the molecules are intelligent. That they think, or at least process information.”
“So Talina has smart molecules running around inside her? And they talk to her?”
“Talk is the wrong word. They communicate through transferRNA, just like in terrestrial cells. Hey, I’m a security guy. You want details? Take the microbiology up with Cheng and Dya Simonov.”
“The quetzal molecules don’t just interface with her brain, do they? Is that the difference in her eyes and face?”
“She can see into both the UV and IR spectra. Hears way better than any
human should. And she may not look it, but she’s twice as strong as any man I ever knew.”
“How does she deal with it? Must be, well, unsettling at best.”
“She had a tough go of it a couple of years back during the Benteen excitement. Then, to lose Trish? That girl was like a daughter to her. Damn near broke her, but somehow, she put it all together, keeps the quetzal part of her separate.”
“Hell of a lady.”
“Yep.”
“Hey! There you are!” a voice called.
Dek turned to see Michaela Hailwood’s tall and slender form striding down the avenue; her long legs were clad in some dark fabric; an embroidered shirt was tucked in at the waist. She had one of the quetzal-hide capes over her shoulders.
“New wardrobe? Looks good on you.”
“Hell, yes,” she told him with a wide grin as she came to a stop; Capella’s harsh light glinted in her fuzz of short black hair. Sticking out a hand toward Wejee, she said, “Doctor Michaela Hamilton. Maritime unit. Glad to meet you.”
“Wejee Tolland,” he replied with a grin. “What’s a maritime unit?”
She gestured east, past the fence. “We’re supposed to establish the first research base for the study of Donovan’s oceans. We’ve got a submersible research module aboard Ashanti. I’ve spent all morning with the Supervisor and Dr. Shimodi about where to set up. Looks like it will be on a series of reefs five hundred kilometers out from the coast.”
Dek gave her a grin. “That’s the best news I’ve heard all day.”
She gave him a wan smile in return. “Hard to believe after all we’ve been through. But, yeah, we’re finally in business. They’ll start downloading cargo as soon as the Unreconciled are safely planetside.”
Dek made a face. “Glad I don’t have to be part of the team that has to clean up Deck Three. Something tells me it’s going to be a nightmare.”
“You and me both.” She looked out the gate. “So that’s the storied bush, huh?”
“It is,” Wejee told her. “The sound you hear is what we call the chime. It’s the invertebrates singing to each other. Not sure if it’s something they do to distract predators, or attract mates, or locate food. And since we’ve figured out about the intelligent molecules, it could even be language for all we know.”
Unreconciled Page 13
