He might have been in his thirties, sandy hair, and those eyes . . . ah, custom. Genetically designed. The pistol on the guy’s belt was like nothing Dan had ever seen. Looked like a presentation piece, all wood, gold, and inlaid. Electronic no less. Fancy.
Had to be Taglioni, the one that slit Aguila had warned Ali not to exploit. All of which brought Dan’s curiosity to full boil.
“Why, I do declare. A new face. What a welcome relief after the butt-ugly mugs I’ve been staring at for all of these last long months.” Dan thrust out a hand. “Dan Wirth, owner, proprietor, and lord and master of The Jewel. Most pleased to be at your service.”
“Derek Taglioni,” the Skull replied, his handshake firm, and to Dan’s surprise, a confidence lay behind the man’s designer eyes. Something that reeked of power and influence. Be just Dan’s pus-sucking luck if this guy turned out to be another fucking Tamarland Benteen.
“Mind if I sit in?” Dan asked, swinging a chair around from the next table. “Been a while since I’ve played a few hands.”
Step Allenovich carefully swept his remaining SDRs into his pocket, saying, “Me, I’ve bled enough. I’ll leave it up to you to get my siddars back from Dek here.”
“Makes two of us,” Halston muttered as he picked up his plunder. “I want enough left to cover my meals until the Supervisor pays me for that last load of timber I cut for her.”
Dan took the deck, cutting and shuffling. The entire time Taglioni was watching him through those unsettling eyes. No change of expression, just taking his measure.
“What’s your pleasure?” Dan asked.
“Anything you like. We were playing five-card draw.”
“Works for me.”
Taglioni tossed out an SDR.
As Dan shuffled again and dealt, he asked, “So what tempted a man of your obvious good sense to entrust his life and sanity to a long space voyage? Not that anyone would expect a ten-year transit, but I was half-crazed after a mere two years in Turalon.”
“A small family disagreement,” Taglioni told him without inflection. “I found myself in need of new opportunities, new challenges.”
“You may have come to the right place. Anything I can help with? Property? Perhaps offer my services when it comes to making the right introductions? Not that a man of your means would be short on capital, but Corporate credit isn’t negotiable in Port Authority. Our libertarian brethren insist on hard cash or plunder. Wouldn’t be the first time I funded a promising venture when the right person was at the helm.”
A faint smile played at Taglioni’s lips. “What if I wanted to open a casino in that nice stone building across the street?”
Dan experienced that cold slowing in his chest, the keening of incipient combat. “I would wish you good luck. In the first place, Sheyela Smith is our local electrical wizard. Considered a non-replaceable asset, and she likes her building just fine, thank you. In the second, being the bustling metropolis that Port Authority is with its four hundred thriving souls, the traffic really wouldn’t support two such specialized institutions.” A beat. “Not even if they were clear across town.”
Taglioni answered with a knowing nod. “Yeah, not really my sort of thing. How about I leave any such dealings to you and Allison?” He checked.
That little spear of relief made Dan chuckle. The guy was good. He’d dangled the bait and studied the reaction.
“So, what are you after?” Dan asked, folding to give the mark a false sense of security.
Taglioni took the cards. His shuffle was good. Almost professional. Dan was dealt two fours, took three cards. Was stuck with his pair.
God, he wished Art Manikin was still alive. Tompzen was too new, didn’t know the game. Wasn’t trained to give the signals. No telling what Taglioni had in hand.
Dan bid it up to ten, lost to three sixes.
“Word is that people come to Donovan to leave, to find themselves, or to die.” Taglioni gave him a grim smile. “Me? I’m not leaving, so it’s one of those last two.”
“Let’s hope it turns out to be the former and not the latter,” Wirth told him with a placid smile. At that moment, Allison entered, shot him a victorious smile, and tapped a slim index finger to the corner of her jaw. Her signal that the Mitchman deed was taken care of.
Dan laid his hand on the table, two queens. He was surprised to see Taglioni lay down three twos. What the hell?
For a moment Dan stared at the cards, then shot a glance at Taglioni’s yellow-green eyes, noted the challenging curl at the corner of the man’s lips.
Oh, so that’s the game, is it?
Outside thunder crashed and boomed. Rain began to hammer on the roof. For the next two hours Dan played poker like he hadn’t in years. Every bit of his concentration, skill, the benefits of his implants and fancy tricks. He barely broke even.
Playing Derek Taglioni, he might have been playing a chunk of granite. The guy had no tells. Not so much as the flicker of an eye, not a tick, nor even a slight shift of posture. A robot couldn’t have played it better.
And through it all, Taglioni kept up a constant stream of small talk. Told of the cannibals, his hopes to get out in the bush, even asking about Dan and his background. Might have been the kind of meaningless chatter to be shared over a cup of tea.
By then The Jewel was starting to fill with locals, some calling for drinks, others catching on that a new guy was playing Dan at poker. As a crowd started to build, Dan thumped the table. “As enjoyable as this is, I’ve got to go to work.”
He stood, saying, “Come back with me, and I’ll exchange those chips.”
Taglioni rose, following Dan into the back hall and to his office. Shutting the door behind them, Dan asked, “Whiskey?”
“Sure.”
Dan poured, studying Taglioni as the guy took in Dan’s big and ornately carved chabacho-wood desk, the two safes and the mismatched furnishings. “Where did you learn to play poker like that?”
“Implants backed by a program that monitors data.” Taglioni didn’t even deny it. “That and I’ve been raised since I was a kid to study strategy, negotiation, statistical analysis of risk. Everything a budding Corporate cutthroat might need to succeed in the deadly world of high-stakes politics.” A faint smile. “Works for poker, too. Though I admire your ability when it comes to sleight of hand. That had to take years to perfect.”
Dan handed him the glass of whiskey. Shit, the fucker had seen the bottom deals, the hustle. “Let’s keep that last as our own little personal secret.”
Seating himself behind his desk, Dan asked, “So, as one card shark to another, what can I help you to accomplish? That is, aside from setting up a running game in my establishment? I don’t want the chuckleheads to figure out just how easily they can be skinned at the tables.”
“They haven’t figured out that the house always wins?”
“Oh, to be sure, they’ve heard the words before.” Dan tapped the side of his head. “It’s just the comprehension where they’re a little slow on the uptake.”
Taglioni pulled the big stuffed chair around in front of the desk, settled himself comfortably across from Dan, and stared thoughtfully at his whiskey. “So fill me in. I’ve heard the chitchat. You run the games and sex trade, have fingers in most of the local pies, loan money, investment. People who cross you end up dead of mysterious, and, yes, not-so-mysterious causes. Shig, Yvette, and Talina run what government there is, but you’re always there. Sort of in the background. Something needs doing for the community, you see that it gets funded. In the old days, the word was gangster, mafia don, or maybe capitan. Some say the Supervisor is the most powerful person on the planet. Others say it’s you. Which is correct?”
Dan rubbed the links of his vest chain between two fingers. “Aguila and I came to an unspoken agreement a couple of years back that we would never try and answer that question. But
the fact that you asked it, well that makes you even more interesting. The last major player who showed up here was Benteen. Got a lot of people killed. Precipitated a disaster. He ended up as a science experiment up on Freelander. I would hope you’re not entertaining similar delusions.”
“Not even close.” He studied Dan with those peculiar and evaluative eyes. “All I can figure is that you had leverage on someone in personnel to get a posting on Turalon. Some last-minute substitution for the real Dan Wirth. Which means he’s dead, and you can never go back to Transluna.”
Dan felt the cool calm seeping through his guts. His heart slowing. That clarity of purpose was taking possession of his brain and body. His pistol hung in its rack just below the top of the desk. He need only . . .
Taglioni waved it away. “Relax. I could give a rat’s ass.”
“Really?” Dan asked, trying to keep the emotionless tone from his voice.
“Mr. Wirth, how about we come to an agreement?”
“You have my undivided attention.”
“Good. But first, answer me a question. Answer it honestly. What do you intend on doing with all that wealth? Word is that both of those safes are full to bursting. Are you eventually thinking about shipping it back to Solar System? Maybe going back as a rich and powerful man one of these days?”
“Maybe.”
“Okay, so here’s the agreement: You leave me alone. Stay out of my hair, don’t cause me any problems. For my part, I’ll do my absolute level best to stay out of yours. In return, if and when Ashanti spaces back, you can be on her. With all of your plunder. I’ll use my connections to ensure you get to spend that wealth. No questions asked.”
“Just like that? Out of the goodness of your heart?”
Taglioni grinned. “Well, all right. There might be a fifteen percent service fee tacked on.”
“Ten.”
“Ten . . . with the provision that you pay all additional expenses for bribes, fees, gifts, entertainments, and the associated graft that will be an unavoidable necessity when it comes to the Corporate Board.”
Dan arched an eyebrow, the subtle feeling of satisfaction rising within. There might actually be a way out of this.
“So, Mr. Taglioni—”
“Call me Dek.”
“So, Dek, outside of ten percent and expenses, what do you get out of this? Seems to me, you could get the plunder back to Solar System, turn me in for a reward, and claim a lot more than your ten percent.”
Taglioni took a full sip of the whiskey, ran it over his tongue as real whiskey drinkers did, and held it. After he’d finally swallowed and savored the finish, he said, “The Derek Taglioni who boarded Ashanti off Neptune would have done exactly that. The one who scrubbed toilets and mucked the hydroponics tanks for the last seven years in a bid to stay alive discovered different priorities.”
“Such as?”
“I’m not sure that a man with your form of narcissistic and antisocial psychopathy can understand. It’s more attuned to Shig Mosadek’s kind of world view, but for me, there’s now a need to measure myself against my soul.”
“You’re right. Only Shig could understand shit like that.”
Taglioni laughed. “So, there it is. Laid out. I’ve no designs on your operation here. If, in the future, for whatever reason, we come into conflict, I’d prefer that we figure it out over a glass of whiskey before we go to cutting each other’s throats.”
Outside, lightning flashed and thunder boomed. Rain came down in earnest.
“Yeah, I can live with that.” But why the hell is it that I don’t really trust you?
35
The sense of despair was hardly an unknown companion as Miguel Galluzzi ambled his way down the main avenue. After parting with Benj, he’d taken the opportunity to stroll the length and breadth of Port Authority. Not that there was a whole lot of either before running headlong into that impossible soaring conglomeration of fence.
This is the height of human achievement on Donovan? This miserable collection of disabled vehicles, ramshackle housing, junk, clotheslines, toys in the dirt, and makeshift warehouses?
His feet hurt. His back ached, and his limbs were tuckered from the gravity. The yawning sense of despair just wouldn’t turn loose from him.
Didn’t matter that people had been friendly, had greeted him with a smile, and almost to the last, had introduced themselves. Hadn’t even recoiled when he told them who he was. All had been most cordial—a fact that surprised him given that even the women had been armed.
Galluzzi had never been too taken with airs, but the fact remained: He was a captain. Here, even the children treated him with a most unsettling familiarity. What irked was that he was not one of them. Never would be.
Nevertheless, he’d been polite, done his best not to offend. After all, it was their town. Their world and ways. Not to mention that good manners seemed particularly prudent when talking to an armed man or woman—even if they were of menial status.
Glancing up at the clouding sky, Galluzzi sighed. How damn forlorn could a man be? He hadn’t expected much of Port Authority. What he’d discovered, however, made him want to drop his head into his hands and weep.
He passed The Jewel. Considered entering, having not been in a casino since Macao some twenty years ago. But after laying eyes on the brown-haired man in a quetzal vest who was watching him from the doorway, he’d had second thoughts. Benj had already given him fair warning, and besides, after the glory, color, dash, and excitement of Macao, what depths of disappointment could a Port Authority casino plumb?
So he had forced his tired feet to carry him past, headed back . . . Where?
He stopped short in front of the admin dome, could see the hospital marking the south end of the avenue. Was about to turn and follow the side street to the shuttle field, when Shig Mosadek stepped out of the admin dome’s double doors.
The short Indian was clad in a quetzal-hide cloak, his embroidered fabrics looking rumpled. The man squinted at Galluzzi, then smiled and waved. He shot a look at the sky, and called, “Just a moment. I shall be right back.”
Then he vanished back inside for all of twenty seconds before emerging with a second hat and another of the quetzal-hide cloaks. These he presented to Galluzzi, saying, “I heard that you were in town, Captain. Forgive me for not finding you sooner. We had to work out a title dispute on a couple of claims out west. The previous owner was killed by a rogue quetzal we call Whitey. Old Mao had left his claim to Muley Mitchman but owed a gambling debt to The Jewel.”
Even as Shig spoke, a most remarkable blonde woman, tall, dressed in a suggestive form-fitting sheath crafted from some local fabric, emerged from the admin dome.
Galluzzi instinctively straightened, squared his shoulders, as he reminded himself not to stare. What the hell was wrong with him? Damn, he hadn’t been locked up in a ship for so long that he’d gape like a drooling idiot.
If the woman noticed, she didn’t let it show, but stepped up next to Shig, dwarfing the Indian as she fixed enchanting blue eyes on Miguel.
“Don’t let me interrupt,” she told him in a melodious voice.
“No interruption,” Shig told her. “In fact, I’d like to introduce Captain Miguel Galluzzi, master of the Ashanti. Captain, this is Allison Chomko, one of the partners in The Jewel.”
“My pleasure,” he told her, taking her offered hand. The touch sent an electric pulse through him. In that instant, he could have lost himself in her smile and those wondrous eyes. His heart began to hammer in his breast.
To Shig, the woman said, “Thanks for your help in there. I’ll give Dan the rundown. I think Muley is happy with the settlement. If not, we’ll work something out.”
“He’s young. If he can stay alive out there long enough, it could be the turning point for him. Mao had high hopes for that new diggings of his.”
Again she fixed that miracle-blue gaze on Miguel, adding, “My honor to meet you, Captain. Do come by. I’d find it a pleasure to buy you a drink, and you’ll find me a rapt audience if you’d be kind enough to share your experiences.”
“I . . . well, of course. I’d be delighted.” What in hell was it about her? She’d turned him into a stammering idiot.
He remained mesmerized as she gave him a radiant smile, turned, and strode away in a walk that hinted of almost feline grace. She seemed to float, the sway of her hips, the straight back, the way the light was shining in her . . .
Galluzzi blinked, tried to shake it off.
Shig, an amused smile on his lips, glanced up at the sky. “Might want to get indoors. This one’s going to come down hard. I don’t have Ali’s allure, but I’d stand you a drink. Perhaps we could talk about your plans. Have you a place to stay?”
“I, uh, assumed there would be Corporate housing somewhere around the shuttle port.”
“Ah, well, even when we were Corporate they never quite got around to such basic facilities as spacers’ quarters, let alone an officers’ lounge. As Dek has recently relocated to a dome of his own, you’d be more than welcome to use my study. My futon has a reputation for remarkable comfort. I’ve passed many a pleasant night on it myself.”
“I couldn’t—”
“Oh, no inconvenience. I assure you. It’s a separate building. I won’t even know you’re there.” Shig smiled. “Come. This hat and cloak are for you. By the time the night’s over, you’ll be thankful to have them.”
“Where to?”
“Inga’s of course. There really is no other place except the cafeteria, and though Millicent’s cooking is filling, it’s rather uninviting for extended conversation.”
Back to the tavern?
The first drops of rain began to fall as they made it to the tavern door. Galluzzi fingered the thick quetzal leather, amazed at the patterns of rainbow light that ran under his thumb. Had to be the crystalline scales on the hide.
Unreconciled Page 22
