Unreconciled

by W. Michael Gear

  Where the hell am I?

  He had sat up in panic, having no clue as to why he wasn’t in his cabin, surrounded by his . . .

  Another patter of rain sounded on the dome roof.

  The dome roof . . .

  Donovan. You’re on Donovan.

  It all had come rushing back to him. An evening of drinking and eating with Shig Mosadek. Well, he’d drank. Shig, somehow, had managed to make a half-glass of red wine last him the entire night.

  Shig had tapped on the door as Galluzzi was dressing. With two pails containing breakfast, the short scholar had led Galluzzi out through the misty rain, through the fence to the PA shuttle where the pilot was already spooling up the thrusters.

  Throughout the liftoff, Shig had resolutely refused to declare their destination.

  If anything, the mystery deepened as the shuttle climbed higher into orbit.

  “Coming up,” the pilot, a man dressed in quetzal hide and named Bateman, declared.

  “From the off side, if you don’t mind,” Shig added. “I’d like the captain here to get the full effect of our arrival without bias.”

  “Shig,” Bateman announced, “sometimes you don’t make any sense.”

  “If sense could be made,” Shig riposted amiably, “they’d sell it by the gallon bucket, and at a premium.”

  Galluzzi, from long experience, felt the shift in attitude, estimated that Bateman was making a 1.2 g burn to change delta-v. Then came careful maneuvering, the starfield wheeling beyond the shuttle’s windows.

  It came as a surprise as the sialon walls of a shuttle bay appeared outside, and Bateman neatly dropped them onto grapples. The resulting thunks could be felt through the deck.

  “Hard dock,” Bateman announced. “Powering the hatch, and . . . yes, we have hard seal.”

  “Vixen,” Galluzzi declared. If it had been Ashanti, the ship would have announced itself, asked to bring the shuttle in. Odd, however, that Captain Torgussen didn’t have the same protocol for his ship.

  Shig unbuckled, stood, and extended a hand. “After you, Captain.”

  Galluzzi noticed that the short scholar had picked up a pack, was slinging it over his shoulder. “So, Shig, you think a little heart-to-heart with Torgussen’s going to make me see myself from the outside? As I understand it, it was his crew who voted to stay here. Vixen’s circumstances are entirely different from Ashanti’s.”

  “They are indeed.” Shig paused long enough to cycle the hatch. As the sialon door slid to the side, he said, “Be my guest.”

  Galluzzi strode forward, relieved at the feel of angular acceleration as compared to gravity. He walked right into . . .

  What the hell?

  The room was poorly lit by a couple of flickering overhead panels. To one side, rows of chairs stood in the gloom. Trash, not to mention marks on the floor, gave the place an abandoned look.

  And then there was the air! What was it? A musty and thick odor. Something that smacked of an ancient tomb.

  And then he felt the first . . . What the hell did he call it? A smearing of reality, as if time and normalcy wavered? Whatever it was, for an instant the effect was as if he’d viewed the room from underwater. Felt himself shifted sideways through time and space.

  The hair on his head lifted, gooseflesh rising on his arms, and a shiver twisted its way down his back.

  “Where the hell . . . ?”

  “Welcome to Freelander,” Shig said softly. “Come. I have something to show you.”

  Galluzzi—a quiver of fear like a sprite in his guts—stood rooted as Shig walked past, paused at the dark corridor beyond, and looked back. “Come, Captain. I know you’re frightened. To date, however, none of the ghosts have proved malicious to the living. Though they are hard to ignore.”

  “Ghosts? You talk about them like . . .” Galluzzi winced, owl-eyed enough to believe in ghosts for once.

  “Yes. I do,” Shig told him amiably. “Do come.”

  It took all of Galluzzi’s will not to turn and dash full out for the shuttle’s lock.

  Instead, throat stuck, nerves electric, he forced himself to follow the short scholar into the corridor, the way illuminated only by Shig’s handheld light.

  And then something reached out from the blackness and touched the back of Galluzzi’s neck.

  39

  The comparison was hard to avoid. The last time Talina had flown this route with soft meat it had been with Cap Taggart sitting in the passenger’s seat. That time, as this, she’d been headed to Briggs’ place. Then it had been to ensure that Madison was transported to town. This time it was to allow Dek Taglioni the opportunity to visit one-on-one with Wild Ones.

  And why the hell was she risking her butt flying a privileged member of the aristocracy anywhere?

  Because Shig had asked her to.

  Sure. And quetzals could fly.

  At the thought, Demon shifted in her stomach. Other quetzal images played in the back of her mind. Scenes from Kylee’s childhood with Rocket, the little quetzal and Kylee playing fetch with a knotted rag. For an instant she was Rocket, feeling the joy as he charged out, his third eye keeping track of the tumbling knot of rag, air rushing through his . . .

  She blinked it away.

  Pay attention, or you’re going to get yourself killed.

  She was entering Mainway Canyon. This was the easiest route through the towering Wind Mountains. A gigantic crack in the high range, Mainway Canyon’s massive vertical walls of faulted stone rose to either side. Metals gleamed where veins crisscrossed the black, green, and red-brown rock. Overhead, the canyon rim made a silhouette a couple hundred meters up. And beyond it, snow-capped and soaring peaks shot up into the sky.

  “Now that’s stunning,” Dek said, rising from his seat to stare in awe at the bent and folded geology. Not only were the colors vivid where the strata were exposed, but the sheer walls, the deep and ink-black depths of the canyon, were some of the most awe-inspiring on the planet.

  She kept a careful hand on the wheel as the always-vicious winds batted them back and forth. If there was any good news, it was that no sign of airtruck wreckage was visible splattered on the walls, so Kalico’s vehicle hopefully made the passage without incident.

  When they crested the summit of Best Pass, they hit the winds head on. Bucked up and down. Talina fought the controls. Dek went pale, grabbing the support bar for all he was worth. Then they were through. Tal gave her geological lecture as they crossed the exposed deep-crustal rock, then skimmed over the two-billion-year-old ocean bottom.

  As they picked up the head of the Grand River, it hit her that unlike Cap, Dek Taglioni sat listening intently, his questions short and to the point. His eyes might be alight, but they gave off the intensity of a student trying to absorb all he could. As if his life depended upon it.

  On Donovan that was never just an academic concern.

  “See that distant knob? Closest to the right on the southern horizon? That was our refuge when Cap and I went down in the forest . . . just about . . . there.” She pointed to the approximate spot in the dense tangle of trees.

  “Once you were down, how did you orient yourself?”

  She pointed to her wrist unit. “Compass. The trick, as I’m sure you’ve heard, is to keep moving. In deep forest like this, if you stop, the roots will get you. My task was to get us to that knob. On Donovan, roots can’t penetrate rock. Not enough to grab onto if another tree wants to topple them.”

  “The trees topple each other? Why?”

  “We’re not sure yet. Might be that they’re some form of sentient life we haven’t figured out. Maybe it’s just instinct. Iji wonders if perhaps a tree gets sick, and the surrounding trees uproot it, cast it down as a means of keeping the illness from spreading. On the other hand, maybe it’s like children on a playground: One just pisses the others off.”
>
  She expected some snide reply. Instead, he nodded as if storing that tidbit. Then asked, “And if there’s no bedrock around?”

  “Climb. Lower branches are the best. You can sleep in the axial joint where the flat on the triangular branch juts out from the trunk. Nine times out of ten nothing will show up to eat you.”

  “And that tenth time?”

  “Welcome to Donovan.”

  “So, tell me about this nightmare I’ve been hearing about? Are they around here?”

  “We’ve never found one this far north. Or in any kind of tree except a mundo. Nightmares live up in the branches. Dangle wispy looking tentacles down to ensnare their prey. You’ll know a mundo tree by the big leaves. And I mean big, like a blanket.”

  “So nightmares don’t prowl?”

  “Seem to be solitary and sedentary. What this country is, however, is mobber territory. We see a flight of them headed our way, we run for it. They top out at a little over a hundred kph, and can’t hold that for long.”

  “And who was the lucky bastard who found that out?”

  She gave him a wink. “You’re looking at her. Kylee and me. Outran a flock of the nasty shits back down at Mundo Base.”

  “Then I guess I couldn’t have a better guide.”

  “Yeah, you could. Kylee for one. Mark Talbot. Tip Briggs. Listen, I’m going to introduce you to Kylee and Tip. Doesn’t matter that they’re little more than children. If you’ve got a lick of sense, you’ll listen to every word they say. Those kids have been living in the wild since they were born. And they’re still alive. You follow what I’m saying?”

  “I do. And just in case I haven’t said it enough, thank you.”

  “Just hope I’m not making a mistake.” She shot him a look. “You know, I’m crazy for taking a Taglioni out into the bush. Something goes wrong? Eventually I’m going to end up in a pile of shit.”

  He chuckled, eyes fixed on the vastness of forest as they followed the Grand River west. “If I could have any wish, it would be that I could ditch the name. Just be Dek Smith. Or Dek Garcia. Being a Taglioni’s a pain in the ass.”

  “You’re kind of a puzzle.”

  “So are you, which makes us even.”

  She ignored his riposte, saying, “Okay, so you’re a rich guy. Corporate royalty who wants to be like the common everyday kind of Joe. Wants to turn himself into just another nameless cog in the giant wheels of life. Happens every day. Why should I be surprised?”

  “Let’s just say I’m here to find myself, and you’re free to attribute the reasons behind the quest to a peculiar idiosyncrasy on my part.”

  “That’s nebulous enough. How am I a puzzle?”

  “You’re the most capable and competent woman on Donovan. A third of the Port Authority triumvirate. Head of Security and the living legend who wants to be rid of her quetzals. Given the advantage that gives you on this planet, why would you want to be rid of such an asset?”

  She uttered a bitter laugh. “It’s like having strangers inside my head. I get images from the past. Unrelated memories of quetzals long dead. Visions of times and creatures I can’t comprehend. Understanding of things I don’t have a conceptual framework for. Screws with my sleep. And there’s times they butt in at just the wrong moment.”

  “My point, exactly. There, see? Now we understand each other.”

  She wheeled the aircar, turning north to follow the Briggs River where it cut down through the basalt, remembering the overland trip she and Cap had made. Ahead, broken hills beckoned where an upthrust fault had exposed metamorphic rock rich in metals. And atop the cliff next to the waterfall where the Briggs River thundered down into its chasm, Chaco and Madison Briggs had established their claim and farmstead.

  Talina took a turn around the place and settled the aircar on the farmstead flat just back from the canyon’s edge. The landing pad was on open ground next to the utility shed with its plug in. The garden looked lush where it stretched to the south, tall corn, beans, peppers, heads of cabbage and tangles of squash vines all mixed together. A trellis supported flowering hops vines. The wheat and barley were turning amber, almost ready for harvest.

  “Welcome to the bush,” Talina told Dek as the fans spooled down. She picked up the handset for the radio, keying the mic. “Two Spot? This is Talina. Made it to Briggs’ safe and sound.”

  “Roger that, Tal. Be careful out there.”

  “Any word from Kalico?”

  “Roger that. She set down at Tyson an hour ago.”

  “Let me know if you hear from her.”

  “Roger that. Give Chaco my regards. Tell him I haven’t forgotten I owe him that twenty.”

  “You got it.”

  Talina pulled her rifle from the rack on the dash and grabbed the pack she’d laid in the rear. Taglioni lifted his war bag and gun case, then followed her over the rail. She paused only long enough to plug the aircar into the Briggs’ grid to recharge.

  The Briggs farmstead consisted of a collection of drying and storing sheds, the workshop, and the solar collection array. A radio mast rose above the workshop roof to provide their link to the outside world.

  Chaco, an oily rag in hand, emerged from the shop, a wide grin on his face. He was third ship, had grown up on Donovan. Now edging forty, his broad face was tanned to a perpetual brown. Sandy hair hung down to his collar and contrasted with the gleaming black beard. The man wore chamois and quetzal, with a fabric shirt from town hanging on his muscular torso.

  “Hey, Tal! Always glad when you make it here on the first try.”

  “How you doing, Chaco?”

  He lifted the oil-blackened rag. “Rebuilding the bearings in the main pump. We’d be fart-sucking up the creek if ol’ Tyrell Lawson hadn’t found some salvage bearings the right size. Just got the thing back together.”

  He walked over, offering an oil-stained hand. “Chaco Briggs. Glad to meet you.”

  “Dek Taglioni.”

  They shook like equals, and to Talina’s surprise, Taglioni didn’t immediately wipe his hand. Didn’t even so much as glance at the smudges left on his skin.

  “Madison’s got crest and cabbage cooking.” Chaco glanced her way. “You eaten yet?”

  “Not since chili this morning. Brought your shopping list. Got everything except the pipe-elbow-thing. It’s all in the crate on the back seat.”

  Chaco was giving her his infectious grin. “Think I fixed the pipe-elbow-thing. Made a mold and cast it out of gold. It’s not like we don’t have gold running out of our ears around here, and it’s a soft metal. Squishes under pressure, so it makes its own seal. Don’t need a gasket. And being soft, it takes vibration well. It’s only a day since I put it in, but we’ve got water back to the house.”

  Taglioni had been listening intently. “Gold melts at over a thousand degrees centigrade. How do you get it that hot?”

  “Used to be tougher to do. Chabacho doesn’t burn as hot as hardwood on Earth. Lot easier now that Ollie Throlson’s got those wells producing hydrocarbons. As it is, I had to trade the guy ten chamois hides for the cylinder of gas.”

  “I love it,” Taglioni said with genuine amusement.

  Tal added, “Two Spot says he owes you twenty.”

  “Yeah, I made him a knife. Used quetzal bone for the scales in the handle. Did you know that when it’s buffed right, quetzal bone almost looks like mother-of-pearl?”

  “And how do you know what mother-of-pearl looks like?” Tal asked.

  “Madison has a brooch. Belonged to her mother back on Earth. Come on. Let’s eat.”

  Tal followed Chaco to the stairs, descending the fifty feet to where the main house was built into a cavern in the side of the canyon.

  “Wow,” Taglioni drawled as he stopped at the railing, looking up the canyon to where the Briggs River plunged some two hundred meters in a magnificen
t waterfall. Layers of mist shimmered in rainbow streamers. Here the canyon was narrow, not more than one hundred meters across. Sunlight sparkled in the mica, quartz, and veins of metal exposed in the bent and faulted strata below the layer of basalt.

  And in a dazzling display below them, the Briggs River tumbled over boulders and gravel banks as it roared its way south toward the Grand.

  “Not bad, huh?” Talina asked, stopping to share the view.

  “Back on Earth this would all be a Corporate-owned tourist attraction.”

  “Hey, Tal!” Madison Briggs called, stepping out on the deck to give her a hug. She stood tall and straight, just over six feet; her smooth dark skin had a satin tone. The high cheekbones and the unusual slant of her almond eyes made her one of the most beautiful women Tal had ever seen.

  “And you must be Derek Taglioni,” she greeted, taking Dek’s hand. “Welcome. Come. We’ll eat.”

  Madison had set a table just inside by the large window overlooking the falls.

  Taglioni was seated—as the guest—with the best view. For a time the man sat motionless, staring out the window. Chaco noticed, grinned. That window was his pride and joy. Just getting it here had been a feat. Then it had to be carefully lowered by ropes from above before it could be framed and set.

  “I understand,” Taglioni said, as if from a distance.

  “How’s that?” Madison asked as she set a plate of steaming meat and cabbage on the colorful aquajade table.

  “I see why you’re here. Why you’ll always be here. You have found what humanity has forgotten. You have made a dream.”

  Tal caught the look of shared communication between Chaco and Madison. Some sort of approval.

  “There’s worse places to be.” Chaco dug into the food with a big serving spoon. Splashed some on Tal’s plate. Then Taglioni’s before he saw to Madison and himself.

  “Where are the kids?” Talina asked.

  “Tip, Kylee, and Flute are out checking on a rogue quetzal. Youngster, maybe ten or so. Probably just passing through, but if it’s trouble for the local lineage, we want to know. They were going to try and make it back before you got here.” Madison gave her that irritated-mother look. “As to Maria and Skip, girls who don’t get their chores done don’t get to enjoy company until all the laundry is folded.”