Dominant Species Omnibus Edition

by David Coy

  Turning the problem over in his avaricious mind, he nearly walked past the answer, right there in the dump.

  They didn’t use cylindrical drums much to ship anything anymore—they were considered junk and surplus to be jettisoned into deep space. About the only thing they used them for was fasteners, cables, pins and crap that the Riggers used. When they were empty, they were discarded. Sometimes they were grabbed up as trash barrels, but more often just left abandoned as expendable material. Never mind that the goddamned things were made of strong, lightweight composite and would last for decades in any weather.

  He was standing in front of a sloppy stack of twenty or more of them, part of an ever-growing mountain of waste, each of them big enough to sleep in.

  Perfect.

  He could move them into a spot in the jungle, line the damned things up and put labels on them. The lids clamped tight and would keep out the rain and bugs with no problem.

  Just perfect.

  He picked one up by the ends. It was light as a feather.

  * * *

  Eddie was right on time. Geary liked that. He didn’t like people who weren’t good on their word to the letter. He leaned on the truck and watched him walk up. He had that little cocky swagger that smart-asses had nowadays. Geary hoped he wasn’t too cocky; there was a fine line between cocky and stupid.

  “Gonna be a nice night,” Geary said.

  “You wouldn't think so if you was out in it,” Eddie said, reaching for a cigarette. ”Yeah, the bugs are terrible.”

  “Bugs up the ass, boy,” Geary agreed.

  “I saw one the size of a goddamned cat yesterday,” Eddie said.

  “Bullshit.”

  “Swear to God.”

  “Some of those cocksuckers bite, too.”

  “I bet.”

  Eddie lit up and blew smoke. “So this is the deal,” he said. “We do this fifty-fifty.”

  “Seventy-thirty,” Geary said.

  Eddie sniffed and spat.

  “I’m taking all the risk, see,” Geary added.

  “Well, not all of it.”

  “You damned well believe I’m takin’ most of it,” Geary said with a snort.

  Eddie took another drag.

  “You’re a greedy bastard, ain’t ya?”

  Geary let it slide. “Nope.”

  “I don’t need you, you need me,” Eddie tried, pointing a finger at Geary then himself.

  “Well, I tell you what,” Geary said. “You can steal the shit. You can stash it and you can sell it. You can do it all if you want to, just stay out of my way.”

  Eddie figured it had been worth a shot. He took another puff. “Okay. Sixty-forty,” he said. “But I don’t go near the shit after I tell you where it is. Period. You’re on your own.”

  “Now you see why I get seventy.”

  Eddie ignored it and took another puff.

  “I gotta work the manifests, too, ya know. I gotta fudge 'em so it looks like less came in than did. As long as I do that, we could stay in business forever. But it takes some doing. It ain’t easy.”

  “There still ain’t no risk in it—and don’t bullshit me. You can screw with the manifests in your spare time.”

  Eddie snuffed his cigarette in the moist dirt. “I don’t know . . . ”

  “I know you don’t know, and that’s why I get seventy,” Geary said.

  “You don’t have to get shitty about it,” Eddie blinked.

  “No offense, but I been at this a long time. Probably since you was in diapers. All you gotta do is tell me where the shit is— that’s it. You give me the goddamned container number and go have a smoke or a circle jerk with your little pals. When you get up the next morning the shit’ll be safely stored away. Hell, come to think of it, your part ain’t even worth thirty.”

  “Whoa. Whoa . . . thirty’s the lowest I’ll ever go.”

  “We got a deal then?”

  Eddie thought it over. Geary watched his face scrunch up like it was in a vise.

  “Yeah. We got a deal,” Eddie said.

  Perfect, Geary thought. “What ‘cha got?” he asked. “What’s come in that’s worth a shit right now?”

  “Not much at the moment. There’s some first-aid stuff coming down tomorrow. There might be some drugs.”

  “Good. Drugs are good. Good place to start.”

  Geary knew the kid wasn’t happy with the deal, but he’d get used to it. He watched Eddie kick idly at the dirt. He could almost hear the words getting and screwed swimming in his head.

  “You’re gonna make a lot of money, kid.”

  “Not as much as you.”

  “That’s right. But when all that money starts coming your way, you’ll be damned glad I’m your partner.”

  Eddie lit another cigarette. “How’s Tap Porter?”

  “Oh, he’s dead.”

  “No shit.”

  “Yep. Dead as a stick.”

  “What happened to him?”

  “I killed him when he shorted me. I cut him from here,” he answered, as he touched Eddie’s stomach and traced a line to his chin, “to here.”

  Eddie looked into Geary’s small, black eyes and tried to smile. He was a tough kid, but the malice in those eyes put his bladder on the very edge for a second.

  “Yeah . . . ?” he asked, trying to pretend he was tougher than he was.

  “Yeah. You stick to the deal. Don’t you ever cheat me. I won’t tell you again. If you fuck me over there won’t be nothin’ to discuss. I’ll just kill ya.”

  He tapped Eddie’s arm with the back of his hand as if they were best friends. “We got a deal?” he said.

  Eddie swallowed. “Yeah. We got a deal.”

  “Let’s meet here tomorrow, same time. You can tell me where the drugs are then. See you around.”

  * * *

  Geary left the kid standing there smoking. He’d given him something to think about, he was sure of that.

  Geary had always figured it was best to be upfront in your business dealings. He couldn’t stand wishy-washy deals or bastards who tried to screw you. It was best to just get it all out up front. He’d meant what he’d said. He’d said the same thing to Tap Porter. He hoped the kid had listened. Tap Porter hadn’t.

  When he got back to the dump that night, Geary was relieved when he saw the drums still there in a jumbled pile; he’d half expected someone to grab them before he got to them.

  The moonlight was bright enough that he didn’t have to use the flood just yet. Good thing. It wouldn’t do to advertise his presence at the dump, scrounging around in the middle of the night.

  He’d made a crude harness out of rope to carry the drums. He laid it out and tied up the first two drums, then gathered up the ends and started for the noisy jungle, dragging the drums behind.

  Bugs by the hundreds flapped at his body and at his face as he made his way. He knew about the ferocity and number of the planet’s bugs and had planned for the barrage by buying a net suit at the store that afternoon. In spite of the heat, he wore heavy cotton overalls under the net, and he’d tied his pants legs tight against his boots. The sleeves of his heavy shirt were taped down where they met his gloves.

  He had no idea where he was going to hide the drums, but it didn’t matter. The jungle was so dense, there was little chance anyone would find them regardless of where he put them. In order to find them himself, he’d brought a transponder that he planned to attach to one of the drums.

  Jerking and dragging the drums through the foliage proved to be more difficult than he’d expected. He wasn’t looking forward to doing this four more times, but every business enterprise had its hot and sweaty startup shit to do.

  Sweating and puffing, he tugged and yanked the drums through the tangle. The jungle suddenly thinned a little, as if he had come upon an old neglected and overgrown road and the going got easier. Fifty meters later the trail seemed to run right down into the ground, terminating in an underground cave. Swatting the bugs away from the lig
ht, he took a cautious look inside.

  The cave wasn’t very deep and looked as if it had collapsed at a point about ten meters in. Plants were growing up out of the floor of the cave and the walls near the entrance, but nothing like the heavy growth outside. The area near the back of the cave had few plants and was fairly level.

  The cave was dark, and the plant life choking the front half of it made it even more intimidating. It was the perfect place for something nasty or dangerous to hide.

  He kicked around until he loosened a rock, then pried it out of the ground. He hauled back and threw it in, aiming low and making sure it hit a lot of plants. It crashed noisily through the foliage.

  “Hey!” he yelled. “Hey!”

  He waited a while longer, cocking his head and trying to hear something from the big crawly bastard that lived inside. Nothing came to him over the background of clicks, hisses and buzzing.

  Perfect.

  As he moved the light around, a dark shiny thing scurried out. It scrabbled over his boot with quick hard legs.

  His foot kicked out in a quick reflex but hit only air. “Shit!” he barked.

  He looked for it under his foot, but the thing was gone.

  A cluster of glossy brown egg-like things stuck to the ceiling in the center of the cave. Geary made a face at the patch of eggs and avoided walking directly under it. When he looked closer at one wall, he could see hundreds of bugs on it. A few of the smaller ones darted and scrabbled over the wall’s irregular, brown surface. Some moved sluggishly as if cold; others seemed completely frozen, waiting. Looking closer at an especially bizarre one, he suddenly realized the bug’s odd shape was because it was two bugs—one devouring the other. Geary could hear the thing’s mandibles clicking as they cut through the squirming victim’s exoskeleton. He stood back and smashed them both with a high kick of his foot.

  Well, it would have to do, bugs and all.

  There was enough room for all the drums, and it was below ground and out of sight. All that was good.

  Something hit his arm and tried to pinch through his thick clothing. He brought the light to bear on the spot and saw the ugliest bug he’d ever seen. Its pointed head was working feverishly against the tough sleeve of his shirt as if it were trying to penetrate it.

  “No you don’t, you sonofabitch . . . ”

  Geary grabbed it with a gloved hand and plucked it off his sleeve. The thing’s sharp legs stuck to the material like fish hooks. He yanked it loose, threw it down and mashed it into the soft dirt with his boot.

  He tugged the drums down into the cave, kicked the rough spots out of the ground in the back and set them in place. It wasn’t a bad spot for a start. When the money came in, they could move the stuff to a proper shelter. It would do for now. He took the transponder out of his shirt pocket and put it on the closest drum. Then he took a step or two back, turned his locator on and waved it back and forth, watching the indicators light up when it pointed at the transponder.

  He scratched his way up the incline, using the plants as handholds. He pulled out the locator again, changed the channel on it and moved it in an arch until the indicators lit up, pointing him at the transponder he’d set up in his shelter.

  Following the locator’s lead, he trudged through the foliage and back toward the clearing. On the way back he thought about getting some kind of gas or spray to kill the crawling shit in the cave, then thought better of it; the damned thing would fill right back up with bugs in no time.

  Two hours later, and completely exhausted, he worked the last drum into place, sawing it back and forth to level it in the soft dirt. The lid of one drum wouldn’t quite close, but that was all right—he wasn’t going to make another trip just for that. He banged at it with his balled-up fist a time or two and got it mostly down.

  There. Nice and neat.

  He headed back to the shelter.

  * * *

  Geary had just heated a dinner in the microwave when his roommate, a laborer named Chris Burkett, came staggering into the kitchen, hissing through his nose and squinting at the light. He shuffled over to the refrigerator and opened it, squinting even tighter as the light from inside it hit his face.

  “I got hungry.”

  Geary just grunted.

  “‘Zat all there is?” Burkett asked.

  “I guess . . . ”

  “Shit.”

  “Store’s down the road.”

  “Ain’t open.”

  When the microwave chimed done, Geary took his platter to the table. He pulled the plastic chair up tight.

  “‘Zat one any good?” Burkett said looking at Geary’s plate.

  “Don’t know. Ain’t tried it yet.” He took a bite.

  Burkett just stood there and watched Geary chew.

  Geary knew he was watching him and waiting for an answer, so Geary gave him one.

  “Ummm!"Best goddamned platter food I’ve ever fuckin' ate! I might have two of the goddamned things.”

  Burkett didn’t miss the sarcasm. He snorted and looked in the refrigerator again. He came up with a meat and potatoes just like Geary’s and put it in the cooker. “Guess I’ll have one,” he said.

  While the oven hummed at the food, Burkett leaned against the wall and noticed Geary’s net suit hanging from a hook in the rear entryway.

  “‘Zat your net thing?”

  “Yep.”

  “What’s it for? You going out at night?”

  Burkett had to be one of the dumbest bastards Geary had ever roomed with. It wasn’t just a casual dumbness but a pervasive lameness of thought that got under Geary’s skin like a maggot.

  “Huh?” Burkett persisted. “What’s it for?”

  “Well, there ain’t no bugs during the day much, so I’ll probably wear it at night.”

  “Why come?”

  He was nosy as hell, too.

  “I like to take a stroll, you know, at night. Thought that thing might keep the bugs off me at night. Wouldn’t use it during the day much.”

  Burkett thought it over and nodded his head.

  “Gotta be careful, though,” Geary added just for fun. “I wouldn’t want to go out at night and forget the thing.”

  “Oh, hell—me neither. You’d better remind me if I ever start out on a walk at night and forget that garsh-darn thing.”

  Geary nodded knowingly. “Get your own,” he said.

  Just as the microwave chimed, Geary got up from the table, taking his plate with him.

  “Think I’ll finish up in my room, then call it a day.”

  “Yeah, okay,” Burkett said.

  Burkett was just the kind of guy who’d screw you. He was too dumb to be truly crooked and lived instead under a veil of self-righteous honesty. Such men were unpredictable. They could be counted on to do whatever their malleable consciences told them to do. About the only thing you could count on when it came to such men was that they’d turn you in to save themselves every damned time. He’d have to be careful around him.

  “Yeah, okay. I’ll see you tomorrow,” Geary said cheerfully.

  Burkett sat down and started to eat.

  * * *

  Eddie Silk was there right on time the next afternoon. Geary was liking the kid better and better.

  “Mr. Silk.”

  “Mr. Geary. I have some good news.”

  “Lay it on me. I could use some good news.”

  “That shipment of first aid shit’s got about ten kilos of Xercodan in it.”

  “No kiddin’.”

  “Yeah. These are the professional models. Each kit’s got one of these in it.”

  He pulled out a tinted bottle and shook it. It rattled a little.

  “Nice,” Geary said taking it out of Eddie’s hand.

  Xercodan was a powerful painkiller and narcotic. A favored drug among those predisposed to take it. One tab could put you in the ozone for hours.

  “One hundred tabs. Two hundred fifty milligrams each. I got two full containers of first aid kits with
one of these in every one.”

  “Looks like we’re in business, Mr. Silk,” Geary said with a grin.

  He put the pill bottle in his pocket. The problem was that he’d have to open up every last one of the first aid kits and dig out the Xercodan. It would take some time.

  “Where're the containers?”

  “There in section WW03. Here're the container numbers.” Eddie handed him a slip of paper. Geary looked at it briefly, then pocketed it.

  “Perfect.”

  “Not quite,” Eddie said.

  “What do you mean? Speak up.”

  “Well, that section is right out in the open. The guard’s post has a good line of sight on that section.”

  Geary pursed his thin lips and thought about it. The guard would probably be asleep, but you never knew—it could get dicey.

  “Move ‘em tomorrow night before you quit your shift. Put ‘em someplace nobody can see. Then move ‘em back the next morning. Simple.”

  “Not so simple.”

  “Why not?”

  “I can’t move them that easily without attracting attention.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because there’s no reason to move them now. They’re . . . they’re checked in and shit . . . put away.”

  Geary looked at Eddie like he was nuts. Eddie met the gaze as steadily as he could.

  “You mean to tell me that you can’t find some reason to move two goddamned containers?”

  Eddie swallowed. “I’m just saying it’s not that easy, and it’ll attract attention is all.”

  Geary shook his head and lowered it. This was disappointing. The kid was all bluster and no balls. Maybe it was time he got some. Geary didn’t look up—he knew he didn’t have to. “You move those goddamned things where I can get at them without being seen. You understand me?”

  When Eddie hesitated, Geary reached out and grabbed his wrist. He squeezed. “If you’re gonna work with me, you’d better listen to what I say.” Geary’s steely hand clamped tighter.

  “I’ll try . . . ” Eddie said.