by Steve Perry
The burst of giddy good humor lasted as long as it took her to limp two steps away from the elevator. The Shell was not her home, but Earth hadn't been her home, either. Her entire life prior to her meeting with Broken Tusk had been a pallid one. Socially, living with the Clan had been terrible-but the Hunt itself ...
Nothing matched the thrill of risking everything against success. On Earth, people paid small fortunes to experience even a taste of the hyperawareness and adrenaline high that came from putting one's life on the line, and that was only a taste. It was simulation, a fake; there was always an out, a panic button, no matter what the experience, the liability laws firmly established.
Suddenly, she felt a deep longing for what was happening on the planet below the cloaked Shell, the screams of triumph, the hot reek of pouring acid, splash, the dance with the blade. The Hunt, that she'd never know again, and not because she'd chosen to turn away. She'd been cheated, systematically worn down and forced out, it wasn't fair and she hated them for taking her very life from her.
Noguchi limped slowly to her quarters, wanting nothing more than to sleep for a while.
* * *
Chapter 15
Kelly Irwin was pleasantly surprised to hear a familiar voice coming up from Bunda, particularly after taking orders from Dickhead Briggs for the last couple of weeks-not to mention fending off his man Keene, the walking steroid. It was enough to make a girl want to get shit-faced drunk, and her only hope for Bunda was that the science boys had a stash of something or other put aside for emergencies.
She'd sent a standard comp alert to the station and had already dropped the lux Sun Jumper into the upper reaches, the planet a dark blur beneath them, before she made vocal contact. The necessary info had been shot back and forth and triple-checked via the Herriman-Weston FC, but Irwin liked the personal touch, always had. Sun Jumpers were so state that she was bored, the auto self-monitoring and IFTDS making it about as complicated to fly as a paper plane.
Stifling a yawn, Irwin put in the call, watching the fly-by-light with only half an eye.
"Bunda survey, this is WY-1117 requesting confirmation of landing clearance, come back." The planet looked pretty in the early starlight, at least, lots of greenery. She was a city girl herself, but nature made a nice backdrop.
"WY-1117, you're cleared for Three ...Irwin, is that you?"
She grinned, suddenly awake. She recognized Matt Windy's soft tones, the clipped way he said her name. He'd been training in communications and pattern control at the same WY program she'd gotten her license from, Earthside. Buddha, how long's it been? Six, seven years?
"I'll be dipped! Windy, I didn't know you were working the outskirts. What'd you do, piss in someone's drink?"
He laughed. "Hey, Company pays top to anyone willing to leave the known universe, don't knock it. What's your excuse?"
"Playing chauffeur, thanks so much for reminding me. Anyway, gets me off of the merch runs, nice change of pace," Irwin said. "At least usually ...
Windy laughed again. "Usually? Don't tell me you're not enjoying a Jumper, that's some kind of pilot sacrilege, isn't it?"
Irwin grinned again. "Actually, I am getting bored, but it's more the suit, this time. Briggs, Lucas. A real tightass. He's been after me to bend the laws of physics since Zen's Respite-and no, I was not allowed to enjoy any of the Company amenities, so shut the fuck up."
When Windy spoke again, some of the humor had bled from his voice. "Hey ...you know what all this is about? The Assman won't-"
Irwin interrupted, smiling. "Assman?"
"ASM, you twit. Vincent."
Cute, she hadn't heard that one. "Anyway, you were saying?"
Windy pitched his voice even lower. "He won't tell us what's going on. Shuttle lands this A.M., he says it comes from XT, but no way they've got chambers on that thing, and the heads up we got says it happened days ago. So they can't be carrying, right?"
Irwin glanced at the cabin screen before she answered. Everyone was still belted, though Briggs looked constipated as usual, shifting in his seat. Whoever was on that shuttle, he wanted 'em bad.
"Got me," she said quietly. "Don't ask, don't tell, you know? It's big, though. This guy's hooked up, had the full service at Zen, priority calls on scramble, two hunks of meat in suits following him to the head, with wipes. And keep shut on this, but we left Zen's Respite yesterday, dig? Before your ASM put in the call. You wanna make some points, tell him to get his ass out on that deck."
"He's been out there for the last twenty minutes, since your comp signal," Windy said. "Assman's sweating on this, and I don't blame him."
While they were talking, the Sun Jumper had dropped to an LZ alt, the dark treetops spinning beneath them like a corrugated sea. At the edge of her vision, Irwin thought she saw a flash of light somewhere deep in the jungle. It was gone before she could finish turning her head, but it reminded her that she wasn't getting paid to actually enjoy herself. Time to pay attention.
"Listen, gotta fly," she said. "You still gonna be on channels after we land?"
"Affirmative."
"Meet you in ten, then," she said, and tapped off the 'com, calling up a list of stats in the same movement. Fan pressure, skis down, bleed flaps flux, the numbers as text as they got. A yawn. Good ol Windy, though. Briggs could go play corporate cloak and dagger; she was going to find Windy and see if he still had a taste for cheap whiskey, among other things.
Of all the outposts in the known goddamn universe they pick mine to land on, as if I didn't have enough to do already, bringing the Company down on the back of my goddamn neck---
"Do you hear something?"
Kevin Vincent glanced at Cabot, then turned his face back to the star-flecked sky, uninterested in hearing anything unless it was Briggs's ship. "No."
Cabot persisted. "I thought I heard ...like a howl or something."
Probably Rembert, howling for supper.
To say so would be cruel; Cabot and the missing geologist were friends. Pratt and Rembert hadn't checked in since before lunch, and day teams were required to put a call in every eight hours, which meant they were officially a couple hours overdue. No big deal, except they wouldn't answer a 26 hail, the code for, "drop everything and answer your goddamn radio."
Vincent rubbed the back of his neck, sighing. They'd probably just dropped their damn radio, but it was one more hassle in a day of hassles. He'd have to send out a team if they hadn't shown by midnight. With any luck at all, Briggs would have his business finished by then and be gone.
Sure, why would he want to stay here? Little operation like this, no frills, he'll want to be out of here before the dust settles
His wishful thinking was interrupted when he heard what Cabot had. A distant sound, southwest of the station maybe a couple of klicks --- a kind of weird, harsh trilling sound, like nothing he'd ever heard before. Cabot looked at him, a vaguely smug expression in his eyes.
"Mating season?" Vincent asked, knowing that it wasn't. And he'd never heard a sound like that coming out of a primacet, the only Bunda inhabitant with lungs big enough to project that kind of noise ...
Before Cabot could do more than shake his head, the lights of a transport ship appeared on the near horizon, followed closely by the rumbling purr of an expensive engine. To hell with strange noises, probably an injured bird. Vincent had more important things to deal with.
He straightened his shoulders as the small ship moved toward them, wishing he'd never agreed to the admin position. He'd been six months away from his phytobiology doctorate when his theory on the medical applications of bryophytes had crashed and burned. The Bunda position was only two years and the idea of being an ASM had been appealing, a chance to raise his income, to relax far away from the viciously fevered world of scientific patenting ...
...and what I got was a shitload of paperwork and the nickname "Assman. " And the joy of groveling before men like Briggs.
The ship was a Sun Jumper, a private-elite. Briggs was
definitely the highest suit ever to come to Bunda, the ship worth more than Vincent would see in his lifetime, with extensions. It smoothly moved over the deck, the blast of heated air from its thrusters whipping at their clothes, and set down as gently as an extremely expensive feather.
Before the engines had finished powering down, a ramp slid out from near the back of the ship and the shining metal above it parted, melting to either side. Vincent and Cabot waited, Vincent taking a deep breath, reminding himself that this would be over soon.
Lucas Briggs stepped out onto the ramp looking as cool and elegant as he'd looked over the 'phone, his impeccably tailored suit the color of dried blood. Two men-two very large men, stepped out behind him, their stone faces and darting gazes telling Vincent who they were. Keene was the blond who'd placed the call on Briggs's behalf; the other was of some Asian descent that Vincent couldn't place. Both looked extremely capable.
Vincent cleared his throat and stepped forward, determined to make things pleasant. "Welcome to Bunda, Mr. Briggs. This is Tom Cabot, our Research Team Coordinator. I hope that you had-"
"Save the pleasantries, Vincent," Briggs said, stepping close enough that Vincent could smell his subtle cologne. He had that lightly tanned, muscle-stim look that the privileged tended to wear to parties, and an attitude to match. If he noticed Cabot at all, he didn't bother acknowledging him, and hardly glanced at Vincent's face.
"Where are they?" Briggs asked, apparently not interested in extending any pleasantries himself.
Terrific. "Deck Seven, sir. As requested, they've been isolated and watched since their arrival ...
Briggs didn't seem to be too big on expressing praise, either. Vincent continued, feeling entirely out of his league ....and, I'm sure you're eager to-ah, interview them. If you'll follow me ...?"
Briggs looked bored. "Nirasawa, Keene, go with him, search the shuttle. I'll be along shortly, I want to make sure Irwin refuels before she goes wandering off."
The bastard was addressing his own people, ignoring him entirely. Vincent gritted his teeth in what he hoped looked like a smile, saw Cabot assume the carefully blank expression of a man on the brink of rolling his eyes.
Lord, please keep this man from ruining my life ...
Briggs was waiting.
"Of course," Vincent said, motioning toward the deck's flight prep room behind them; he'd had it cleaned for Briggs's arrival, although he was starting to see that trying to impress Lucas Briggs would be a monumental waste of time. "Mr. Cabot, please show Mr. Briggs to Seven when he's finished his business here. This way, gentlemen."
The two blank-faced guards followed obediently as Briggs turned around and moved back up the ramp. Cabot looked miserable, but Vincent couldn't muster much sympathy for the man; if Briggs decided to fuck with them, file a report on Bunda, "Kevin Vincent" was going to be the name at the top.
Thinking of how great it was going to be when the contract expired on his administrative experience, Vincent led the guards through the efficiently bland prep room, the bizarre sound that he and Cabot had heard a few moments earlier the very last thing on his mind.-
* * *
Chapter 16
The shabby little transport was clean, no trace of the log in the system or on hard copy. It would have made things a lot easier, of course, but Briggs wasn't particularly disappointed. He was a negotiator, not some Company thug. Without a challenge, what was the point?
Not that there will be much challenge here ...
He could see how easy his job would be from outside as he'd watched his guards finish their search, Vincent watching over them anxiously. The three people he'd come to see were in terrible shape, grubby and tired-looking, not to mention rather fragrant. Even outside, the warm Bunda air pressing down from a cloudless night sky, he caught the unpleasant scent of their nervous sweat and unwashed bodies ...
...and that horrible musky smell ...That seemed to be coming from the dark wilderness far below, where unseen creatures shuffled randomly through the undergrowth. He hoped his runners would cave quickly; Bunda was one of those stinking Company murkholes that wouldn't be livable until they cleared the green, hooked up a compressor, and paved it over with plasticrete.
It shouldn't take long; the trio backed against the wall inside had the helpless look of the desperately unprepared; and would probably give up the data before he could even finish his pitch. It was anticlimactic, really.
Assume nothing. Be ready, be sincere, don't forget what's at stake.
Briggs breathed deeply, realizing that he was a little nervous himself; he tended toward overconfidence when he was uncertain. If they didn't have the log, it was all for nothing ...
No. They had it. Positive thinking.
When Nirasawa called the shuttle empty, Briggs stepped aboard, silently reaffirming the names with the faces as he motioned his men to move back, give him some room. They did the best they could, looking strangely dwarfed by the MAX at the back wall. Vincent made no move to leave, leaning against one of the pilot seats, although his man Cabot had already disappeared. Briggs thought about asking the botanist to do the same, but decided it didn't matter; he would know better than to open his mouth-and if he didn't, or if things got out of hand, one less paper-pushing biotech was no great loss.
He smiled gently at the ragged trio, remembering the psych profiles, open conversation to begin, see which way they're already leaning ...
"My name is Lucas Briggs," he said, letting the little smile fade, letting his face take on the sadness that their drama inspired. "As a Weyland/Yutani representative, please allow me to express our deepest sympathies to you for what you must have experienced on DS 949. I'm not sure if you're aware, but there's a possibility that one of our executives may have been involved in perpetuating this tragedy. I want to assure you that the matter will be thoroughly investigated."
No one spoke, although Briggs saw that they were listening very carefully. He looked down, a touch of embarrassment in his gaze when he raised his head again.
"On a more personal note, I'd like to apologize for keeping you here all day, it's entirely my fault. I'd asked Mr. Vincent to hold you until I arrived, and there were some mechanical problems on my ship, a connection break ...in any case, I meant to be here hours ago and was unable to send a message to tell him I was delayed. I'm truly sorry, and if you'd like to take showers or eat before we talk, stretch your legs, perhaps, I'd understand."
It was Katherine Lara who shook her head, taking the lead. "No, thank you. We're fine."
Briggs nodded, relief in his eyes, that's what you think, you people need to bathe, smiling a little. "Well, that's good. I won't keep you any longer than necessary."
So far, not much of a read. Lara was nervous, but obviously still the one to negotiate with. The convict, Jess, held so very still that Briggs decided he was probably struggling to hold his temper; his profile suggested anger problems. And Ellis seemed-tired, perhaps. Dazed. Briggs couldn't see his alleged injury and decided that it was probably some sort of head trauma. They were all still listening, that was the important thing; the bit about a Company exec being involved should have erased any doubts they had about his honesty, and his apology for keeping them waiting had established his sincerity.
Now, then. They're as ready as they're going to be.
Briggs clasped his hands in front of him, as if pleased and excited about what he was going to say next. Nice, not to have to fake all of it.
The suit was so full of shit, he squeaked. Jess had been a little surprised at the admission of Company involvement, but it was as carefully designed as the rest of his patronizing little act.
"Trust me, -I'm your friend "-the windup, and ...here's the pitch!
"The Company has authorized me to make retribution to you, for the terrible losses you've suffered," Briggs said, his black eyes shining as though he were about to give them some incredible gift. "Substantial retribution. Not only will you receive the Nemesis's full bonus, we want to make
certain that all of you feel that your futures are secure with Weyland/Yutani."
Arrogant, lying, backstabbing bastard
"Whether or not you decide to continue with the Company, we'll see to it that your contracts are renegotiated to bring you the financial gain and freedom that you deserve, for having been the unfortunate victims in this matter. Whether or not a Company employee was involved, the incident at 949 never should have happened."
Briggs finally paused, apparently having shoveled enough for the moment. The twin muscle boys hovered in the background, arms crossed, their faces unreadable. Kevin Vincent, the asshole who'd kept them stuck on the shuttle all day, was the only one with any expression at all-and he looked mildly terrified.
Jess wanted to spit in the suit's eye, but kept his face as blank as the threatening bookends that flanked the Max; he'd promised to keep cool, Lara was calling this one and he wasn't going to blow it.
"We-appreciate this, Mr. Briggs," Lara said, "really. But all we want is to get back to Earth, try to put all this behind us."
Briggs nodded, smiling even wider, and for the first time since he'd come aboard, Jess saw the thread of steel buried beneath the layers of plastic.
Will the real Lucas Briggs, please stand up ...
"Whatever you want. I'll make the arrangements tonight." The grin sharpened, glittering as brightly as his eyes. "Although there are a few final details that I need to get confirmation on, before we conclude our business. Specifically, there was a ship's log that was supposed to be downloaded to the Nemesis, from a Company transport on board the DS station. The Trader?"
Lara had this one nailed. He's good, but not as good as he thinks.
Lara nodded slowly. "We downloaded it."
Briggs was dancing inside, Jess could see it. He shot a glance at Ellis, but the kid didn't seem to be tuned in, he was watching the bodyguards. Or maybe the Max.
