Unreconciled

by W. Michael Gear

  Tompzen—his face like a mask—opened the door and straight-armed Pavel Tomashev into the room.

  The part-time miner, hunter, and prospector had a reddening bruise under his right eye. The man’s chamois-hide shirt and pants were filthy and scuffed, as if he’d been dragged for a distance in the street.

  Pavel blinked, swallowed hard, and fixed his eyes on Allison. “Hey, listen. I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking when I shot off my mouth. So, like, Ali, I won’t do it again.”

  Pavel’s exact words had been, “If sweet Ali thinks I give a shit, she can come suck my cock.”

  Allison gave him a humorless smile. “No. You won’t. But your stupid fucking mouth aside, you walked out on Shin Wong owing the house almost five hundred siddars. Four hundred, ninety-seven to be exact. Is that right Kalen?”

  “Yes, ma’am. And another fifteen that he stiffed Vik for drinks.”

  Tomashev winced. “Yeah, yeah. Five twelve altogether. Listen. I was drunk. Shit happens when I get drunk. I’ll bring it around soon as I can round it up.”

  “Put your hand out on the table. That’s it. Palm down. Perfect.” She smiled, fingers curling around the handle where the pick hammer lay on the shelf. With a fluid move, she swung the geologist’s hammer in an arc. Drove the sharp point through the back of his hand, through flesh, bone, and tendons, and into the wood beneath.

  Pavel let out a blood-curdling scream, tried to jerk his hand away. Immediately gave that up as a bad idea. He stared at his impaled hand, wide-eyed and panting. Just as he drew breath to protest, Kalen laid the blade of his knife against the man’s gulping Adam’s apple.

  Allison leaned close. “Pavel, you will pay us what you owe us. Immediately. Now, the talk around town is that with Dan gone, sweet little Ali’s going to be an easy mark. Not nearly so scary as that psychopathic throat-cutting Dan Wirth was.”

  She paused, watching the fear-sweat bead on Pavel’s face. “What do you think? Should I give Kalen that special nod of the head that says, ‘Do it?’ You know, just so people know that sweet Ali’s not a fainthearted little flower that just anyone can pluck?”

  The man’s bugged eyes were fixed on the spiked hammer. Blood was beginning to seep out around the steel. “N—No. I got the plunder, Ali. Don’t need no throat-cutting. I’m good for it.”

  “I figured you’d be. Not to mention that I know how it is to be a little drunk. I’ve done some foolish things myself when deep in the cups.” She gave him a saucy wink. “So it’s a good thing I’m sober, huh? If I’d been drunk—and pissed off like I am now—I’d be even more enraged when I sobered up tomorrow and had to clean up all of your stinking blood.”

  She worked the point of the hammer loose and pulled it free; Pavel clutched his bleeding hand to his chest.

  “But, you’re right about one thing: It’s not the same as when Dan was in charge. He’d have thrown you out in the alley to bleed. I wouldn’t do that.”

  “Y-Yes?”

  She told Kalen, “Take Pavel over to Raya’s. Have her set his bones, sew his tendons together, and what have you. We don’t want him lamed up, not when that latest strike of his out in the Blood Mountains is showing color. And wait, seems to me that The Jewel has a half interest in the proceeds from that claim, right, Pavel?”

  “Y—Yes, ma’am. It’s in the papers. Dickered it with Dan.”

  “Nice to know your memory is good. Now, don’t let anything else slip your mind.”

  She gave Kalen the nod, and he removed his knife, steered the weeping Pavel Tomashev out, and closed the door.

  Allison, sighed, inspected the blood dripping from her pick hammer, and wiped it clean with a rag. Retreating to her desk, she laid the hammer on the ornate wood with a clunk and seated herself before retrieving her whiskey. “Sorry. Like I said. I only do business these days.”

  Taglioni had an amused twist to his perfect lips. “Good. Because, along with cadging a free drink, I’m here for business. Now that Dan’s gone, would you have any objection to me running a game at your tables now and then?”

  “House gets fifty percent of your take.”

  “Twenty-five. Not to mention that being the only Taglioni on the planet, my presence brings a certain cachet to the place.”

  “I think we can see our way clear for thirty-five. Same as the tables pay off. Any other interests?”

  Here it came. How long before he wanted to bed her? Tonight? Or was he thinking to make a longer play of it? Try and convince her it was true love?

  To her surprise, he said, “Nope. That will do. At least for now. Sometime, in the future, as things progress, however, I’d like to talk to you about some of the properties you hold.” He stood, tossing off his whiskey. “But that is for another day.”

  At the door, he gave her a respectful salute with his index finger. “Good night, Allison.”

  And then he was gone.

  “Oh, brave new world,” she told herself, and drained the last of her whiskey.

  87

  Kalico Aguila strode down the avenue, gravel crunching under her feet. She’d just left the shuttle, coming through the gate in the forefront of her weekly rotation up from Corporate Mine. Things were going well. Thanks, in part, to the brand-new mucking machines that had been included in Ashanti’s cargo manifest.

  Also, and most auspicious, were the cacao seeds that had been included along with the agricultural supplies. Of less value were the two heavy-duty gleaners. Giant machines built for harvesting grain fields. Neither of the monsters could manage a complete turn without exceeding the limits of a local Port Authority grain field.

  But then, this was Donovan.

  Toby Montoya was eyeing both of the beasts, a gleam in his eyes. He was just waiting for the next time something broke at Corporate Mine, something that required his skill to fix. When it did, he’d be rubbing his hands in anticipation of the chance to dicker the harvesters away from Kalico. No telling what he’d make out them. Dump trucks? Brush hogs? Or something even more outlandish?

  When it came to imagination on Donovan, The Corporation could have learned a thing or two.

  “There you are!”

  Kalico turned in time to see Dek Taglioni step out of the gunsmith’s shop. The scion of wealth and privilege wore a quetzal-hide cape, a claw-shrub-fiber shirt embroidered with colorful quetzals, and knee-high boots. Pouches hung from his belt, and the wooden grip of his fancy pistol was polished to a sheen.

  “Derek Taglioni,” she replied as he walked up, a grin bending the scar on his cheek. “Thought you were out at Briggs’ place.”

  “Back in town. Wanted to be sure that Wirth got off without issue. Had some other business. Trip’s a lot faster in an airplane. Made my life easier after Pamlico Jones finally got it unpacked.”

  “Making yourself right at home out there, I take it?” She shot him a sidelong glance. The scar would slowly whiten, adding to his rakish charm. His hair was longer, and he now wore it combed back.

  “Been out with Kylee and Tip. Made a couple of passes over the forest out west of Tyson. Been dangling biosensors down into the trees. Took us a couple of times, but we’ve got it. We can find the damn thing.”

  “You’re talking about the beast that killed Dya and Talbot?” Memory of that day still plagued her nightmares.

  “Kylee pegged it. The day she and Flute lured Batuhan into its lair, she caught a faint whiff. Called it a ‘rotten blood’ smell. It’s something we’ve never seen. Huge. Probably arboreal. The sensor indicates it’s about fifty meters across, has some sort of adaptation that allows it to cling to branches.”

  “I was there. Looking right at where Dya’s body vanished.”

  “And you know how good Donovanian life is at camouflage, right? This thing is different. And it’s smart. Bems, skewers, they freeze in place. This thing moves. Like it knows when we’re looking for it.”
>
  Big as it was supposed to be? Muldare’s shots should have hit it somewhere.

  “Buy you supper?” he asked as they came even with Inga’s.

  “Sure.” She said it without thinking, only to be shocked when she realized how comfortable she felt with him.

  He caught the look she was giving him as he held the door. “What?”

  “Who the hell are you?”

  Quick as he was, he caught her meaning and bit off a laugh. “Not really sure these days, but I’m working on it. Make you a deal?”

  “Yeah?”

  “If I ever find out, I’ll let you know.”

  She took the lead, heels rapping as she led the way down the stairs. Passing tables, she called out greetings to people, answered their waves, surprised that Dek got his share of smiles and hellos.

  She perched herself on her usual high stool, Dek climbing up beside her.

  “Amber ale and a whiskey?” Inga asked, striding toward them.

  “And a supper special,” Dek called, “Plus whatever Kalico wants.”

  “Chili,” Kalico called.

  “You buying?” Inga asked.

  Dek tossed a ten-SDR onto the bar. “Keep the change.”

  After Inga flipped her towel up over her shoulder and bellowed, “Special and a bowl of chili” at the top of her lungs, she lumbered back toward her taps.

  “Keep the change? What are you doing for a living?”

  “Hunting. A little prospecting. Spending time with Kylee, Tip, and Flute in the bush when they’ll let me. It’s the airplane that makes the difference. Locked away in its crate in cargo, I couldn’t trade it off back when I thought we were all going to die. Don’t know what I’m going to do with the exercise equipment and the entertainment center. I’d set up a theatre, but stupid me, I can’t access Corp-net for content.”

  “What could you have been thinking?”

  “That Donovan would be a cruder sort of Solar System. The kind of place where a cruder sort of man could be top dog. I’ll never be that naïve again. Which is why I’m so taken with the bush.”

  “It’s a miracle that you’re still alive, you know.”

  “Nothing is as sobering as being human on Donovan. But I’m learning. I suppose in the end the odds will get me.”

  “Talbot said the same thing,” she said softly. “And they did.”

  Dek took his beer as Inga set the drinks on the battered chabacho bar. He clinked it to the rim of Kalico’s glass. “To Mark Talbot. And living every day as if it’s the last.”

  “What the hell were you thinking, getting Dan Wirth a berth on Ashanti?”

  “He wanted to go back. I gave him the chance.”

  “Why?”

  “He was getting bored, Supervisor. The man is no one’s fool. He’d risen as high as he can rise on Donovan. He knows better than to fiddle with PA or Corporate Mine because the minutia of everyday operations would drive him to insanity. He was the king of his heap. But what’s the point of being the richest man in the universe if he’s stuck on Donovan where no one cares?”

  She felt that old wariness begin to stir down inside. “And what’s your angle?”

  “Completely mercenary. I like it here. As we just determined, given my penchant for the bush, I’m a short-timer before a bem, a skewer, a flock of mobbers, a quetzal, or some other weirdness gets me. But when I come to town, I want to spend time with Shig, you, Talina, and enjoy the place. If PA is to have any long-term prospects, Wirth had to go.”

  “What made you think he’d screw it up?”

  “Bored? Frustrated? Eventually he’d have gone sideways at the worst possible moment. Someone would have pissed him off on the wrong day. It would wound my soul if, in a fit of pique, he’d have killed Shig.” He fixed his yellow-green eyes on hers. “Or you.”

  “Thought you didn’t like me.”

  “People change. I did.” He gave her a noncommitted shrug. “So the best way to avoid Wirth’s kind of trouble was to get him off the planet. He’s a sick fart sucker, and he thinks he can play the big game in Corporate politics. Maybe he can. I give him a ten-percent chance of living out his first year.”

  “How do you figure that?”

  “Because I just shipped two entire safes full of his plunder off to Transluna under a Taglioni seal. Of course, I get my share. Miko and the family get theirs. Makes us the richest family in Solar System. And Dan still has tens of billions of SDRs to play with. He’s out of contract. Makes him a pain in the ass for the Board, but they’ll deal.”

  “Or have him suffer some unforeseen accident.” She saw the brilliance of it. “Should have thought of that myself. There’s no way they can hush up that kind of wealth. The story will get out that a petty criminal, out of contract, returned from Donovan as the wealthiest man in Solar System. That’s going to shake the Board to its roots. If a scum like Wirth can accomplish what he has, what could a talented, educated, capable, and well-backed individual achieve?”

  He was smiling, something smug about it.

  “Ah!” Kalico smacked the bar. “Well played. Miko will be wondering exactly that about you. Derek Taglioni, with all the family advantages, is loose and ungoverned on Donovan. Given the way Miko’s going to twist and fret about what you’re doing out here, he won’t get a good night’s sleep until he can send a ship and find out.”

  “Hey, Miko can sleep in peace. Me? I’m just a local hunter and prospector.”

  For a moment, perplexed, she studied him. “For a newcomer, your acumen amazes me.”

  Dek shrugged, sipped his beer. “Like I said. I like it here. I don’t want it ruined.”

  “And how do I fit into your calculus?”

  “You’re right where you need to be. You don’t know it yet, but you’ve found your place, and it’s found you.”

  “I still want to be Chairman of the Board.”

  The corners of his lips twitched in amusement. “Who wouldn’t? At least for a week or two. Unfortunately, once Donovan sank its claws into you”—he ran a finger along the scar on the back of her hand—“the woman who would have been Chairman was forever altered into something greater.”

  She shivered, surprised by the daring of his touch. “Greater?”

  “As Chairman you’d be a master when it came to the intrigue; you’d revel in the accolades. But your heart would remain unfulfilled, your triumphs oddly vacuous. Each victory somehow hollow and bland in aftertaste.”

  She shifted uncomfortably, took a swig of Inga’s whiskey. Savored it. “Who the hell do you think you are? Shig?”

  “I’ll never be that insightful, but he’d agree.”

  “Okay, guru, where the hell is my perfect destiny?”

  “Right here. Living. Totally and unabashedly. Not only does Donovan need you, but you’re complete as a human being. Vibrant. If you ever gave it up to go back to Transluna, it would rip a hole in your soul.”

  “You a psychotherapist now?”

  He smiled as the food was set before them. “I cheat. I come from your world. It’s an unfair advantage.”

  “I cheat, too. You’re a Taglioni. Leopards don’t change their spots.” She took a spoonful of chili.

  “The fact that you let me buy you supper is a start.”

  “Let alone that you saved my life . . . how many times?”

  “Only a toilet-sucking boor would bring that up in a craven attempt to curry favor. I have other qualities.” He pulled out another ten-SDR coin. “I’m turning into a pretty good hunter as well. Look! Earned by my skill and hard labor.”

  “Miko’d scoff.”

  “That pus bucket can fuck a skewer.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Sorry. Too much time around Kylee.” A twinkle filled his eye. “I have to fly back out to Briggs’ tomorrow. Got a job to do. Well, assuming the cannib
als at Tyson don’t eat us. Have supper with me when I get back? My treat?”

  “Why should I make a habit of this?”

  “Hey, I’m not just any soft meat. When I go hunting it’s with a quetzal and two teenagers.”

  Kalico threw her head back and laughed in a way she hadn’t in years. Dek Taglioni? Well, hell, who knew?

  88

  The forest had taken on an ominous feel. In the dim quarter-light of the forest floor, the air pressed on a person, hot, almost syrup-thick. Kylee swallowed hard. Experienced that prickle of anxiety running through her muscles as she climbed up onto the root tangle. Perched on high, she balanced. With her quetzal-enhanced vision, she searched the high canopy. Up there, in the tracery of branches. She could sense it: the old, dark memory.

  If she closed her eyes, she could feel a cold and hollow hunger. Something ancient. A sentience so alien it tickled her soul with feathers of terror.

  Didn’t count that it was a matter of honor, that she owed this to Mom and Mark. Fact was, she’d rather be back at Briggs’ with Tip and Flute. Safe. Not here in the dim forest, knowing that she was being hunted.

  Flute had been willing, would have endured another flight, taken a chance at being killed. That he knew the risks, would have done it for her, said something about quetzals.

  Maybe, because she’d said no when every fiber of her being wanted him here with her, it said something about her, too.

  The chime rose and fell, ending in its uniquely atonal harmony. She was learning. Each region of Donovan where she’d traveled had its own unique chime, always a composite of the different species. The Tyson chime was as much a signature as Mundo’s.

  A faint rime of perspiration dampened her cheeks, her neck and chest. Warily, she shifted, following the slow twist of the root mass beneath her feet. Something called out in the heights, the sound low and warbling. Tree clinger? Hopper? Some unknown creature?

  She tensed her muscles, flexed her legs as she shifted her balance in time to the root’s movements. Her heart was thumping, driving adrenaline-charged blood through her veins.

  “Hey!” she shouted. “Fucker! You up there! Come get me, you piece of shit!”