Stars Beyond

by S. K. Dunstall

  “Sure I’m sure. But I’ve never seen anything like that before.”

  Gramps put the diagnostics onto the screen, enlarged the eye area. Nika scanned through the data that accompanied it. “Bioware,” as the telltale electronic components came up. Who would be crazy enough to do it? You risked sending your client blind. In all probability he was blind, because they’d destroyed the eyeball to put the electronics in. “I wonder who his modder is.”

  “Whoever he or she is, they can sort him out.” Gramps turned away to get supplies. “I’m doing basic healing only. Enough to get him on his feet. Not touching any eyes. Not touching anything not broken. Just the burns.”

  Nika had never seen bioware like it, and as to how they’d managed the interface between the electronics and the neurons . . . “I wouldn’t mind seeing the nerve links that take it up to the brain.” How had his body not rejected it? “And a gene read.”

  Snow leaned over to Gramps. “When she says she ‘wouldn’t mind,’ that means she wants.” He brought it up.

  “Lucky I’ve got you to decode for me, boy. I might ignore her otherwise.” He looked at Nika. “Some of us respond to plainer messages.”

  She nodded, but most of her attention was on Laughton’s read, which was as normal as any human’s except Roystan’s. There was nothing in the read to show that he could code for the proteins that connected the electronics in his eye to his muscles and nerves.

  She looked back at the diagnostics again. “This body can’t code for those eyes.”

  They both looked at her.

  There was more. “Look at the scarring around his eyes.” They’d had to cut to put the bioware in. The scars, faint as they were, were still there. They hadn’t used a genemod machine to fix the scarring.

  She followed the scar around. Why was it so long?

  “They did work on his brain too. Got into his brain and—” It was as abhorrent as some of Giwari’s experiments. “I need the brain scan.”

  Snow pulled it up for her.

  “Here. And here.” The angular gyrus, Wernicke’s area, Broca’s area. “Language centers.” They’d modified him so he could what? Learn languages faster?

  Nika looked at Snow and said softly, “Take a read. That is an astounding mod. We can study it later.”

  “You think there’ll be a later?”

  “Roystan will follow us. Of course there will be a later. Don’t give up so easily, Snow.”

  “Don’t get his hopes up, lady,” Gramps said gruffly. “The Boost doesn’t like people to escape. My boy won’t get a second chance.”

  22

  ALISTAIR LAUGHTON

  There was no Cam waiting with a cheerful smile or a sick joke when Alistair came out of the genemod machine. There never would be again.

  The doctor, a man as big as he was—there weren’t many of them—helped him out.

  “Captain is waiting to see you. Best head off.” The doctor indicated two armed guards. “You don’t keep him waiting. Quite a disciplinarian, our captain.”

  A red-haired young man cleaning out the machine glanced at him, glanced away again. The shattered and hopeless expression on his face caused Alistair to look again. He looked familiar. Where had he seen him before?

  Memory crashed back. Rik Terri. He couldn’t save Cam, but he still had another forty-nine colonists to save.

  “Bertram Snowshoe, isn’t it.” He turned toward the redhead. “I need to talk to you about Nika Rik Terri.”

  Snow glanced toward a stretcher.

  The doctor inserted himself between them. “Not now. The captain’s waiting.” The two guards put their hands on their blasters meaningfully.

  “Don’t keep him waiting,” one of the guards said. “Not if you want to live. Captain Norris doesn’t like tardiness.”

  “Is this a merc ship?” Alistair asked as the guards led him to the captain’s quarters.

  “What do you think?”

  What Alistair thought the ship was didn’t matter. What happened if the mercenary captain decided to kill him did.

  Guards were everywhere. Not all were armed. Many of them had empty holsters. Could he use that? And how?

  He laughed to himself. Who was he to think big when he couldn’t even save Cam? Even the memory brought the smell of charred flesh.

  “You find something funny,” Captain Norris said.

  Alistair realized he was still laughing, although it wasn’t sane laughter.

  “My own stupidity.”

  He’d interrupted an argument, or the makings of one. A woman stood to one side, mouth still open as if she’d been about to speak.

  “We’re done here, Pol,” Norris said.

  “We’re not done,” the woman said. “I’m telling you. That is not Arriola you have in the hospital. It’s the other body modder.”

  She thought the woman was Rik Terri too. Alistair had wondered if he was wrong.

  “I said, we are finished.”

  “I’m calling Wickmore, telling him you’ve botched it.”

  And confirmation Wickmore was involved.

  Norris nodded at a tall, female merc behind Pol. The woman stepped forward, took Pol’s arm. “Captain Norris is busy.”

  Pol allowed herself to be dragged away, but she said over her shoulder, “You’ll answer to the executive.”

  Norris, hands clasped behind his back, had already turned to Alistair. He looked him over. “I have downloaded your records, Agent Laughton. It’s unimpressive. It appears you got booted from the Justice Department two years ago.”

  “I didn’t get booted, I took extended leave.” For the first time, Alistair was glad Paola had kept his position open instead of accepting his resignation. It made things easier.

  “Involved in a scandal, no less.”

  “My wife was involved.” He was tired of taking the blame for his ex-wife’s transgressions.

  “Hard for the husband not to recognize what his wife was doing.”

  “Not as hard as you think.” Not when you were living separate lives, living in different apartments, working on different cases. Alistair had spent his final six months in the Justice Department chasing Tamati Woden. He hadn’t caught him. Something that annoyed him even now.

  “So you’re freelance.”

  “No. I am back with the Justice Department. You know all this, Captain, if you have looked at my record.” He couldn’t stop himself adding, “So was the man you killed.”

  “I didn’t kill anyone.”

  “There is little difference between killing someone yourself and ordering them killed.”

  Norris pursed his lips. “It’s a moot point, anyway. You are a dead man, Agent Laughton. Unless you want to deal for your life.”

  Alistair nearly laughed again. Deals with men like Norris only went one way. Norris’s way. “And what would I have to deal with? Knowledge?” He wouldn’t need Alistair to get inside knowledge on the Justice Department. Many agents would be happy to supply insider information for a small consideration.

  Norris indicated the fire-breather. “I find this an interesting weapon. I haven’t seen the likes before.”

  He wouldn’t have. “The fire-breather.” Alistair moved to pick it up.

  Norris slapped a blaster over the top of it. “Don’t even think of it. A fire-breather, you call it.” He flicked a glance at one of his crew. The crew member touched his jaw. Researching fire-breathers, if Alistair had to guess.

  “They won’t find anything.”

  “You might be surprised how good our security is.”

  Alistair wouldn’t be surprised at all. “You still won’t find anything about the fire-breather.” He smiled. Norris didn’t. If Cam had been the one smiling, would Norris have matched it? Everyone smiled back when Cam smiled at them. Even Alistair.

  Memory of Cam
sobered him. Blaster fire wasn’t always lethal if you got to the injury in time. But Cam had gone down hard.

  “Not smiling now,” Norris said.

  No. And if he was on a merc ship, how was he going to get to Rik Terri and then get to Zell?

  “You’ll think of something,” Cam would have said. “You always do.” But for the last two years Cam had been at his side, dependable, reliable, always there with his ever-ready smile and his willingness to do what needed to be done. All hidden behind a fragile self-confidence.

  Alistair wasn’t thinking fast enough now.

  * * *

  • • •

  The day Barry and Angel had made their move, he hadn’t been thinking all that fast either.

  The trip to the Santiago ship and back, including medical attention for Barry and Talli, had taken all day. They’d returned to find a party in progress.

  Yakusha came up to Alistair with a glass. She was wearing one of her Zell-made robes. One with the colors that he saw as bright greens and yellows but that the colonists saw as dirty brown and pink. “Drink, Alistair?”

  He took it suspiciously. “This isn’t one of your home brews, is it?”

  “Genuine japonica rice sake, from back in the days when they used to deliver supplies we asked for. Melda complained how much they charged us for it.”

  It wasn’t the only thing Melda had complained about, and with good reason. The Santiago visitors were making themselves unpopular with their unreasonable demands and their prying. Alistair took a sip. “Why are we celebrating?”

  “We made quota. We hit a freak current where the transurides had collected. It was only small, but it was enough. Ten kilograms of transurides in the bag. In the safe, rather. Plus an extra eleven grams, just to make sure. These people can pack up the equipment whenever they like now, although they’ll probably insist we mine the pocket out. It doesn’t matter. We can all go home.” She clicked her glass against his—it wasn’t really a glass, just one of the plastic tumblers, which was all they had—and leaned close. “Come to me when you need it topped off. Those”—she inclined her head toward the table—“are for our guests.”

  Most plants and animals on Zell were poisonous to humans, but no matter what world you were on, Alistair had found the residents could always distill a drinkable alcohol. Zell was no exception.

  The drinks on the table had the rainbow sheen typical of alcohol brewed on this world. The Santiagans weren’t enjoying it. How long before one of them brought out their own supplies?

  As Yakusha disappeared back into the crowd, Barry cornered Angel. Moments later he, Talli, and Angel went out.

  Melda came in the door they’d exited. Cam came in from the other end of the room. Melda joined Alistair, followed his gaze. “Barry commandeered my office. They didn’t want me at the meeting.” She finished her sake and held up her glass high. “If I didn’t hate Angel so much right now and not even want to be in the same room as her, I’d be annoyed.”

  “Hate is a reasonable response under the circumstances,” Cam said. “Glad you made it back in one piece, Alistair. Some of us were worried you wouldn’t.” He gripped Alistair’s shoulder hard enough for Alistair to know he was one of the ones who’d been worried. “Can you still see?”

  Alistair nodded. “As well as ever.”

  “Good,” and Cam’s smile flashed out.

  Yakusha swept up in a swirl of yellow and green, poured Melda another drink, and held up the bottle inquiringly in Alistair’s direction. “There’s not much of the good stuff left.”

  Alistair shook his head. “Not for me, thanks.” In a moment he planned to go to his own office, which was next door to Melda’s. Santiago’s stingy building materials meant the walls weren’t soundproof. Maybe he could hear what they were discussing.

  “You heard we made quota,” Melda said.

  “Yes.” Would it matter? Unease curdled Alistair’s stomach. He had not gotten anywhere by ignoring his instincts, and the crowded ship in orbit would not fit fifty settlers.

  “Melda, what are the terms of the contract? What happens at the end?”

  Melda sighed. Looked at her glass. “Why does he have to spoil everything?”

  She took a long drink and started toward her office. “I think I need this drink even more than I did before. Let’s take it out of here. It will be easier for all of us to see on a big screen, and that way it’ll only spoil our night. Let the rest of them celebrate.”

  Alistair put out a hand again. “Your office is being used.” And his was next door. “Maybe Cam’s.”

  “If we can even find the screen in there.”

  Cam shrugged. He hadn’t used his office in months.

  Yakusha followed them. “I’ll clear it,” she said. Most of the items in there were hers. Wool from the bovines, more alcohol. Some reeds she was trying to make cloth from. She cleared the area in front of the screen.

  Melda linked in. “This would be so much easier if I was in my own office. I could use it as an excuse to kick them out. What am I looking for, Alistair?”

  “What happens at the end of contract? What do they do with us, how do they transport us home?” His own contract had said he would be paid, then dropped off at the nearest Santiago hub station, Enos Three. From there he could do what he liked. His bonus would allow him to rebuild his life. He’d planned to go back to Kitimat, to his apartment. From there he would take stock and work out what he was going to do next.

  “Let me see.” Melda scrolled through the details. “Santiago takes back the equipment. Minus a percentage for depreciation. Blah, blah, blah. They take off our final fee. They then pay the contract out. Plus bonuses, if applicable. Drop us off at Enos Three. Is that what you needed to know?”

  “Do they say when they’ll drop us off? Or how?”

  “You’re starting to worry me, Alistair. I’m jittery enough with Angel here. I doubt it’s familial affection. Her job is usually to close down unsuccessful businesses.”

  “But we’re not unsuccessful,” Yakusha said.

  Cam twisted a hank of wool through his hands. “It depends how you define success, doesn’t it.”

  “Don’t mess that up, Cam.” Yakusha took the hank from him.

  “Successful for us might not be successful for them.”

  Cam was right, and some of Alistair’s unease solidified into full-blown misgiving. “Think about it,” he said quietly. “They come here early. They are ready to pack up our equipment before we finish, perhaps to ensure we don’t make quota. But we do. Our people are good. Now they have to pay out on a bonus. A massive bonus. A bonus they never expected to pay.”

  “Where are you going with this?”

  “Once we get to Enos Three, we have contracts and the Justice Department on our side.”

  It wasn’t a lot of money for Santiago, but they would still hate to pay it.

  “Why do you even think this stuff up, Alistair?”

  “Because I was up on that ship today and there is nowhere for us. Their people are already packed in. Not unless they plan on taking us as cargo.” Right now he wouldn’t put it past them. “I want to know how they plan to do it.”

  “This is nonsense,” Melda said. “They’ll have another ship coming.”

  “Before they take anything of ours, make sure of it. They’re not taking anything until we see this other ship.”

  “And until they’ve paid us,” Yakusha said.

  Melda looked at Cam, standing to one side. “Do you agree with him?”

  “They don’t call Angel the Hatchet for no reason,” Cam said. “You’re as worried as we are that she’s here. You said so before.”

  “Let’s sort this.” Melda marched out of Cam’s office, down to her own. She lifted a fist to bang on the door.

  The door opened before she could knock. “Let’s do it while the
y’re inebriated.”

  “Do what while who’s inebriated?” Melda demanded.

  Angel swept out. “Have you been listening, Melda?”

  “No, but I wish I had if you’re worried about what I might hear. What are you planning to do?”

  “Not in your need to know.”

  A scream shattered the standoff. Mayeso. Alistair took the steps four at a time. Mayeso crashed into him at the bottom. “They’re here. The Ort. They’re here.”

  He steadied her. “Where?”

  “The storeroom. They’re here. We’re all going to die.”

  “They haven’t killed anyone yet.” He passed her to Yakusha’s care and ran. Barry, Cam, and Melda were close behind.

  There was no one in the storeroom, but the safe was wide open. And empty. The transurides were gone. Two years of hard work, gone. Their bonus. Gone.

  Melda choked off a cry.

  Alistair swung around, moved into Angel’s space. “So this is how you get out of paying our bonuses? Why?”

  He knew he was big and could intimidate. Right now it was deliberate.

  Barry stepped between them. “I wish we’d thought of it, but it wasn’t us.”

  From the rage on Angel’s face, Barry might even be right.

  “What were you planning on doing while we were inebriated?”

  “Closing down the operation,” Barry said.

  “We won’t mind now. We’ve met quota. We met contract.”

  Barry gave a shrug.

  “What about us? What about our contract pay, our bonuses? Tell me that you plan to pay our bonus. And while you’re at it, tell me how you are going to get us home. No lies. Or do you plan to take the machinery and leave us here?”

  Angel said, “You’re not obligated to tell them anything, Barry.”

  Barry spread his hands, shrugged. “We owe them that much.” He waited till Alistair stepped back. “Santiago owns the machinery. Much of it can be reused. We’re taking it back.”

  “And us?”

  “We planned to notify another ship you were here.”