Nara

by M. L. Buchman

  He looked at her. Really looked.

  And tried to gauge his own reaction, even that of his parent’s. There was a fear there. A terror of the power the Japanese had wielded at the peak of their economic might. They had ruled the world. And they had almost ruined it. Over a billion starved to death in the Financial Crash. A power almost impossible to imagine.

  This woman was not Ri Jeffers first, she was Japanese first. At least to others. How did she think of herself?

  She was just as outcast by society because of her looks as he was by the nightmare going on in his head. The Japanese were the most feared race in history before their destruction by his parent. And here was a pureblood, walking among them. Was she aware how everyone stared after her? What they said behind her back? Why wasn’t she enmeshed in armor and cowering in some well-locked hideaway? That spoke of an inner strength and certainty he couldn’t begin to comprehend.

  He reheated his mug before settling back in his chair. The coat collar had slid aside. Her fine features showed nothing of the strains she must have survived. His parent had read regular reports of the disaster that unfolded on the Japanese soil after they were driven back to their island, blockaded, and then destroyed by the greatest earthquake in history. One enhanced ten-fold upon Japan itself by his parent and a hand-picked team of specialists.

  Neither Jaron, nor what he could ferret out of the central computer with forged passwords, revealed much of her past. The one startling fact was that she really had come from Japan. The rumors about what had happened behind that six-decade blockade were quite horrific. It was hard to believe that this little wisp of a woman had survived.

  Jaron only knew of her passion in protecting the biomes and he had to admit that she had done as well as was possible in getting him the supplies and support he needed. Bryce suspected Jaron was a hard man to impress. But it was as if she didn’t exist outside of her work.

  Her command schedule on the public postings showed that she was pulling more shifts than anyone else, not including her tours of the biomes. The most obvious problem he could see was that she apparently hadn’t eaten in months. Her cheekbones were etched in sharp relief beneath those long lashes.

  He went to the kitchen and logged in as Johns; some poor sap who’d died in the initial flare while Bryce still slept. It had been a simple matter to hijack his food allotment. No one noticed that his account remained active. It was appropriate that a man who had died in the flare was feeding a man who should have died in the flare.

  Bryce dialed in for John’s weekly meat ration of eggs and bacon. While the tube was delivering them, he scrounged in the cooler and found some bread that hadn’t gone bad yet. A little salt and pepper, a bit of goat cheese he’d traded for a liter of beer and he had the makings of a decent omelette. A splash of hot sauce and a few herbs from under the grow lights in the culturing tank and he was ready.

  When he set the plate and a large mug of orange juice beside her, she slowly stirred awake. She unfolded luxuriously. It was a joy to watch her stretch; she unwound like a cat after lying too long in the warm spring sun. Suddenly her eyes flashed open and she pulled her coat tightly around her.

  He kept his voice light as he indicated the meal balanced on the stool beside her. “Omelette, toast, bacon, and fresh orange juice. Sorry, I don’t have any jam, never thought to trade for any.”

  He grabbed his own plate and slid into his chair. A fine hand slid into view and fetched a piece of bacon. Once that was gone, she reached a long, slender arm out the open front of the coat to take the plate and fork. She kept her penetrating eyes focused on him as she took a bite of the omelette.

  He couldn’t think beneath that frank, unreadable gaze. He could usually at least guess, but with this woman he had no idea what she was thinking. He watched her caution dissipate as the goat cheese reached her taste buds.

  “Thish is good.” She managed as she sucked in cool air. “Ow. Ow. Ow. Hot, but ish good.” She sipped at her juice. “God, that’s great. You even left the pulp in.”

  They relished the meal in silence until all that was left was to wipe the plates with toast to be sure nothing was missed.

  “Thanks, Bryce. I haven’t slowed down enough to taste a meal in a long time.” He saw her look around the room until she spotted the readout. “Or slept that well.”

  She favored him with a smile that made him think many thoughts, none involving food or sleep.

  “I have to go on shift in twenty minutes and it’ll take me most of that to get there.”

  “Me, too.” It was a lie, but he didn’t know what else to say.

  She gathered the plates and went to drop them into the autocleaner. He intercepted her and took them from her hands to place them in the deep lab sink.

  “Never got around to recoding the usage register on the cleaner. Didn’t seem worth it for the odd plate now and then. Don’t want to show up on someone’s monitor system.”

  He could feel her hesitate beside him as she held the mugs. Her expression serious, trouble he guessed, but perhaps the corners of her mouth were trying to twitch upward.

  “Right.” The pieces came together in his head. “Okay, I’m an idiot. On your monitor system.”

  Her laugh was merry, but she placed the empty mugs in the sink.

  “Someday I’d like to know how you bypassed the locks at R4U and down below.”

  That was something he certainly didn’t want to explain. Bryce Sr. had his print hardcoded into every computerized print registration system and lock made in the last several decades. And being a clone, Bryce Jr. had the same thumb, or close enough. It was just a matter of burning out the lock before the central computer registered he was anywhere near the system. Any lock always opened locally to his print.

  Bryce heard her push out through the thermal seal. He grabbed his parka and followed quickly behind her to the West airlock. She cycled them through the inner door. He’d never used one of the main locks except on his trips into the jungle with Jaron. The emergency hatch he used would barely hold his long frame, this one would fit twenty people.

  As she hung her coat in the locker, he cursed to himself. He’d have to cycle the lock if he wanted to get his coat back. That would leave his imprint on the system clear as anything in existence. He might not even be able to bypass the security to get through the main doors and, if he did, they wouldn’t work for anyone else. He’d found this one coat in the lab along with a woman’s set of clothes.

  Who was he kidding? Ri Jeffers would lock the biome down and make sure he was registered. All the evidence implied she was pure duty and rules. And his parent had killed too many. Japan had been the least of his genocidal crimes as he sought to purge humanity of its detritus. As soon as his name posted onto the system, Bryce’s life expectancy would plummet down to hours, perhaps minutes.

  Ri stopped the cycle and ran it backwards, the chill air once again filling the lock.

  When he turned to look, she stroked a hand down the arm of his coat. Her dark hand was outlined in the rich, dusky red fabric like a frail butterfly. His skin tingled beneath the fabric exactly as if it wasn’t there between his arm and her fingertips.

  “This was Carla’s coat. She was tall also. She bought it and the matching thermal pants on her last field trip to Earth to the Ross Ice Shelf in Antarctica. She was my one friend aboard. She must have left it in the lab when she…”

  She shivered in the blast of air from the open biome-side lock as she helped him out of it. The cold wrapped around him as his arms came free. She folded the coat and placed it on a rock just inside the door and then cycled the lock closed.

  Suddenly they were standing in the empty corridor as the outer door sealed. He hadn’t even noticed the rest of the cycle. She double-thumbed the security back on.

  “No one can get in except me. The coat will be there when you need it, Bryce.”

 
He couldn’t think of what to say as she walked to the nearest lift going up to the core. She didn’t turn or wave as she disappeared from view.

  # # #

  Ri entered the command center with a bounce in her step. Sleep and food had done wonders. Half through the airlock a massive paw latched around her arm and twisted it fiercely back behind her.

  She leaned back as hard as she could tolerate against the pressure and used it to propel herself into a forward somersault. Whoever had grabbed her was good enough to not let go. That gave her the leverage to plant a heel sharply into her assailant’s face. He released her with a sharp cry as she dropped to all fours.

  A flash of orange moved to her left. Without focusing, she dove into a roll and could feel both his knees snap as he collapsed over her. A flailing elbow caught her ribcage and she broke the arm even as the wind blasted out of her body. The heel of her hand against the second person’s chin brought him to a rest and she dragged herself free.

  A quick scan revealed four more occupants. Two in orange headed her way and the massive bulk of Chief Merkar looming over the space-black blur that must be the Captain. The two goons came at her together from the front. None of the disciplined attack of Commander Levan’s troops, rather street-fighters leaping into the battle. No patterns, no predictability. But she was from the streets as well.

  No chance to dodge. She sprang from all fours and drove her head into the first assailant’s solar plexus. She tried to roll right, away from the other attacker, but the grapple-like arms of the first one held her. The second had one of her legs as the first one dragged her downward, tight in his embrace, as he collapsed. With a twist, she was able to make his head slam into the floor with a sickening thud.

  The last one dragged her free and threw her against a wall. Her knee screamed as it once again took the brunt of her collapse to the deck. A quick roll spared her from a stomping kick. Ri gained her feet and saw that the last assailant was one of the massively-muscled women.

  They squared off and circled slowly. The woman had clearly fought a great deal, light on her feet despite her bulk. She would not be easy to take down. Ri flipped over the divider from the upper walkway down between the consoles to buy a moment. It was a poor choice as her knee could barely hold up against her landing. The woman vaulted lightly over the barrier and collapsed into a heap on the deck. At first Ri was unsure what use such a ruse could possibly have, then her mind registered the noise her ears had heard moments before.

  A stunner. A stunner that the Captain was now pointing at Chief Merkar’s chest who was rapidly backing away.

  “Captain Conrad. We appear to have a misunderstanding here.”

  “That would appear to be the case.” The Captain was perfectly calm as she faced the Fabrication Chief.

  “I don’t know why your officer found it necessary to attack my people. They were simply making sure that you and I had a quiet moment together.”

  The Captain settled back into her chair and lazily set the stunner into the space within the chair arm, but didn’t close the cover she’d folded aside. The butt of the weapon remained only centimeters from her fingertips.

  “Attack? I only observed their incompetence as they stumbled into one another. Why they chose to brawl in my command center is my only concern.” She glanced over the scattered bodies and then focused on Ri.

  “Officer Jeffers. Your watch doesn’t start for another three minutes. You have my permission to space anyone still in this room at the start of your watch.” She closed the chair arm and thumbed it locked. She rose and stepped past Merkar toward her private lift. Before she entered the lift she turned once more to the room.

  “Officer Jeffers, that pertains to anyone. Conscious or not.”

  Merkar strode out offering his assistance to no one. The dazed woman and her winded first assailant dragged out the one with broken knees. His screams filled the room long after he was gone. The last one crawled, blood pouring from forehead and nose, barely clearing the doorway before the three minutes were up.

  # # #

  News usually traveled slowly between the rings, but the unexplained accident to four of Merkar’s goons had reached R4U within hours. No one missed that it had not happened in his R4 offices, but rather over in R1 in the Captain’s territory. It was the talk of the bar.

  The patrons were split into several camps. Some of the rowdier elements were quieter than usual as they huddled about their tables, drinking slowly between quick whispers. They had counted on Merkar and now it was clear that his attempts to grab power had failed and they were unsure what to think.

  Another contingent thought it was funny that anyone cared who ran this fucked-up operation.

  The third group was taking any rumor they could find and doing their best to add their own hearsay to embellish it for everyone’s entertainment. Bryce was in his own group as usual, he just didn’t care. Perhaps his silent bartender was also in that group, but as Jaz rarely spoke with more than a nod, it was hard to tell.

  Usually the bar was an amusing jumble of different conversations, but the evening’s sole topic was becoming tedious. Bryce poured himself a beer and then drew a round for one of the tables. He delivered their order, cleared the empties, and tossed their credits into the jug. He’d long since paid off all his bribes for hardware. He paid for water, power, and supplies with a trade for the results of his brewing. He doubled Jaz’s salary. Other than a small stash, he dumped the rest of the money into the recycler. He couldn’t think of a better use for it.

  He began emptying the cleaner and hanging the mugs on the racks he’d scrounged after he’d seen the Desert Pub setup. Worked pretty well.

  It was interesting to contrast the anonymous woman sitting in the dark corner of the Desert Pub with the woman who had spent the night nestled into a soft parka by his fire. One had been elegant, remote, even dangerous; the other gentle, beautiful, soft…and just as bloody dangerous. She was security, worse, the Security Chief.

  What was he doing even thinking about her? Bryce Sr. had plenty of thoughts about security forces being so far outside the system they enforced, that their own ideas took on the reality of law. It certainly explained much of the military corruption and coups over humanity’s history. Stellar One’s head of security also had a primary duty to the ship and her Captain. All deals about hiding his identity would be out the window at the first inconvenient moment. And she knew where he hid.

  A loud snap drew his attention. Sharp pain followed close behind. He looked down at the shattered plas mug in his hand. He dumped the pieces into the recycler. The long gash on his palm probably needed a quick graft but he hadn’t figured out how to circumvent the autodoc and its autologging of DNA to update medical records.

  It wasn’t all that bad, anyway. Sort of. He wiggled his fingers, at least they all still worked so nothing vital had gone astray. He wrapped a bar rag around his hand, finished emptying the cleaner, and kicked it closed. He wondered if the dent had been there before.

  He could see Jaz watching him out of the corner of her eye. Her dark skin and dark clothes almost made her invisible in the dim light behind the bar.

  “I’m fine.”

  She remained as still as her shadow.

  “Honest.”

  She turned to face him fully. Looked down at the bloody bar towel wrapped in his fist.

  “Uh-huh.” She took a fresh towel and wandered out to clear a few of the tables that had opened up.

  Damn her for being right.

  When Jaron sidled up to the bar with the large woman hovering at his side, Bryce cleared a couple of stools with a bribe of a free beer. Maybe Jaron could make him feel a little less stupid, he’d liked solving Jaron’s CO2 problem. No one ever tripped him up. Except the diminutive head of security; the one person he should be sharpest around.

  “You look terrible.” Jaron was pale and drawn. His
bloodshot eyes were emphasized by the dark rings beneath. The woman, Robbie, that was it, hovered about him like a mother unsure of her child. Neither touched the beers he slid before them.

  There was a call for a refill, but they’d just have to wait until Jaz got back from collecting empties. That might teach her, though he had no idea what.

  “I continued my observations after I left the bar last night.” Jaron’s voice was little more than a whisper. “We are in much more trouble than you suggested.”

  “Hadn’t realized I suggested that. But I guess I knew it.” He hunched his shoulders but couldn’t shake of the tingling feeling between them, as if a target had suddenly formed in the center of all their backs.

  “I spent last night mapping Homo sapiens. There are some strange things going on here. Robbie and I have been trying to figure them out, but now we’re stumped. You’ve been observing the species longer.”

  Robbie eyed him suspiciously. Clearly this wasn’t her idea.

  “First, you can’t just map Homo sapiens. Humanity isn’t some discrete biome all nice and neatly bounded.”

  The woman’s frown deepened. “But it is. Think about it from a biologist’s point of view. Yes, it is larger than any of our biomes, but with an area of only 1.5 square kilometers per ring, it is far smaller than any ‘natural’ biome that existed on Earth. For that matter, six square kilometers is barely a third the size of Luna City…before…well, before…”

  It was nice to see that she was human. He decided to rescue her.

  “Okay. You made your point. We’re a biome. A human one. So what’s to study?” Bryce Sr. thought it was the most important study there was, but the Old Bastard and his human genome data were a bloodthirsty pair and anything that smacked of that attitude made Bryce very cautious.

  “We’re quite sick, you know.”

  “And the rest of us are crazy. Make your point, man.”

  Robbie rested a possessive hand on the man’s shoulder. “Go ahead, Jaron. You’re the one who said he could help.”