Nara

by M. L. Buchman

  Kicking off her boots and pants, she plunged into the current and struck out. She drove herself again the current. Suz had ordered a special set of sensors and a pair of heavy duty pumps made, so that no matter how hard she swam, there would be enough current to keep her near the center of the pool.

  But there was no Josiah beating his prehistoric crocodilian jaws against the repulser field like in the Orinoco River Valley of Venezuela. There was no slim, blond genius waiting by the rock to make her a crazy offer to build a jungle in the sky. No new forests to discover. She dug her hands down into the water and drove ahead hard until suddenly she couldn’t lift her arms.

  She let the current carry her to the lower end of the pool. She barely had the energy to drag herself out to the drying rock. Once perched there, with the breeze tickling where it could as it dried her, she felt a little better. The night smells of the jungle were coming into being. She tipped her head back to listen to the rustle of the monkeys passing through the leaves. The parrots had roosted. The bats hadn’t survived so there was no sound of their departure.

  Some animal she couldn’t identify moved quietly down the wall behind her. She could see the motion at the far end of the clearing as it emerged gently from the trees. Only one animal that large could move so quietly through the jungle.

  “Jaron.” Her voice was just a breath on the night air.

  Her whisper was answered and they found each other in the descending dark.

  # # #

  Ri came to floating in the airlock between R4 and the incomplete R5. Everything hurt. Especially her eyes and ears. When she finally regained control of her arms, she touched a hand to her right ear. It came away red, but she could still hear when she managed to clap her hands. This is what had happened to Henri during the height of The End. She was sure of it. Too tired or distracted to notice the alarms. There had been so many since the flare that klaxons had become a part of the background noise.

  She dragged herself back to the entry to R4 and took the nearest lift down to a residence level. Life slowly returned to her limbs along with the gravity. She was shaking so hard she could barely push herself into the auto-doc chamber when she finally located one. Ri let the computer clean up her ears and check her eyes. When it started to lecture her about nutrition she hit the shutdown and stumbled into the corridor.

  She glanced at the wall designator to figure out where she was. R4L3 Northeast. It was ringing some bell, this time inside her head. Her mind registered it as an alarm, but she couldn’t imagine why. R4 was just a lot of pissed off agri-workers.

  She shook her head to clear it. As Chief Merkar had pointed out so succinctly yesterday, or maybe the day before, or perhaps this morning, they were highly-skilled space fabricators and she had best remember that when she referred to them, even if they were now dirt-hogs in their own parlance.

  The corridor was empty. A drop pole led to an equally empty expanse of L2. The place was a wreck. Dust coated the corridors. Windows were smashed, furniture and other goods were strewn down the halls. It reminded her of the old office buildings of Nara, everything useful long since scavenged and the rest destroyed in sheer frustration.

  Another drop pole. L1 was even worse if possible. Then she heard it. There was no other sound quite like the Zenbu taking a sacrificial. Every cadre who could, captured and chained an offering to the Zenbu to buy safety for their cadre’s hiding place.

  The high cry was usually cut off abruptly, but toward the end, the Zenbu had flayed their Naran captives while still attached to the chains. The sacrificial’s pleadings for death had echoed through the Tancho cadre stronghold sometimes for hours before the Zenbu took what was theirs. The high cry would soar and crash with each new horror perpetrated upon the flesh.

  Her weary brain finally kicked into gear. R4L1 Northeast. She spun on her heel and looked to anti-spin. She’d been here just hours ago investigating Jaron’s discovery. And that had been just four doors away with a full, armed security team. The scream spiked upward and echoed so that she couldn’t tell how close or in which direction it sounded. Then the final howl. Death was always recognizable when it finally came.

  She plunged through the nearest maintenance hatch and dropped to L0. She scrambled back to secure the hatch above her, double-thumbing the lock. Even the maintenance chief couldn’t get past that. She descended the ladder with more sliding than climbing until she lay on the decking of L0 and let the shakes run through her body.

  When she could finally stand she shambled spinward. First beneath the Arctic, and then on toward R4U. She had to stop twice to rest.

  It took several minutes before she dared lock through to L1. The comforting roar of R4U echoed down the corridor as she left the maintenance access. A wall of humanity blocked her attempts to reach the bar. She’d never seen it so packed. The missing corridor lights gave it a heavy, twilight grayness filled with its surging mass of flesh. It was busy and tumultuous. The crowd moved as if to some harsh musical beat only an insane person could compose. Maybe this was just what she needed.

  She worked her way to the bar and raised a finger. Someone slammed a near empty mug down on the counter at the same moment Jaz slipped a chipped plas tankard into her hand. She spotted Bryce down at the far end changing kegs.

  “Damn shame, ain’t it?”

  Ri looked up at the man who towered over her. “I guess so. What is?”

  The man leaned back and shouted to no one in particular. “She don’t know what a damn shame it all is. Imagine.”

  No one paid any attention. He fell against the counter and leaned an elbow there as if that’s what he’d meant to do.

  “Damned shame being fuckin’ stuck in this shithole. Two monffs ago, I was pullin’ down damn good creds. Wasn’t we, ya damne space weevils?” He shouted once again.

  A small chorus of “Yea. You tell her,” answered his roar.

  Ri tried to back away, but the people behind her had turned to listen to his tirade. Free show. Momentary entertainment.

  Bryce had disappeared back into his storeroom and Jaz was ignoring everyone not requesting a beer.

  “An’ I had three,” the drunk tried desperately to hold up three fingers but could only manage two despite several attempts. “What the hell. Had two fine women down on Nearth. Lousy fuckin’ deal. Drink up, lady. You’re in hell and it’s a fuggin’ shame.”

  Ri managed to ease away from him as he went looking for the beer that was clutched in one of his hands.

  # # #

  Bryce set up a keg for Ri to sit on in the corner behind the bar. She drank as heavily as any ag-worker three times her size. He let her, she looked spooked. That anything could spook Ri Jeffers worried him more than he’d like to admit. At the height of the night’s third brawl, she fell asleep.

  He carried her into the brewery and set her in the hammock. After brushing her hair out of her eyes, he tucked a blanket around her and shut the door.

  When the crowd thinned out, he made himself as comfortable as he could and waited for her. He’d always been drawn to the long, showy ones with trim waists and slap-in-your-face breasts. Ri barely came up to his shoulder, rarely spoke, smiled even less and he couldn’t stop thinking about her.

  And it wasn’t about the physical this time. Well, his body certainly reacted when she was around. It wasn’t just about the physical.

  He didn’t remember falling asleep. One moment he was alone and the next she was standing in front of him.

  “Um, hi.”

  “Hi.” He blinked his eyes clear. Boy he sure was a charmer. “How’re you feeling?”

  She sat in a chair near his feet. “Much better after whatever the autodoc just fed me. Though I’m still a little woozy. How much did I drink last night?”

  He smiled, he couldn’t help himself around her. “Enough to impress even me.”

  “That must be why my mouth f
eels this way.”

  “Hair of the dog.” Bryce moved to the taps. She squawked in protest as he poured a half-pint.

  “I’d be sick.”

  “It really works.”

  “It’s disgusting.”

  “Now. Hold your nose, or do I have to do it for you?”

  She did just that; scrunched up her face like a little girl, pinched her nose, and swallowed it back.

  “Yuck!” She slammed down the mug.

  “Well said. Feel any better?”

  He could see her swishing her tongue around in her mouth and she slowly released her nose.

  “It actually does. But the cure is enough to make me never drink again.” She pushed her hair over her shoulders and leaned back in her chair.

  “Um, thanks for taking care of me last night. You keep doing that.”

  All he could do was nod as her dark eyes watched him. But silence was not a discomfort around her. Most people didn’t understand the companionship of silence. But he and Ri needed to speak very little.

  “Are we working late or starting early?” Robbie was standing in the corridor looking at them.

  “Depends, what time is it?”

  She shook her head, “You are really pitiful. Almost sunrise in the jungle. C’mon.”

  It was really sad that Jaron’s assistant always caught him at his worst. He checked for Ri’s reaction.

  Apparently her dose of medicine was working and she grinned back.

  They stood together and ended up so close that he could feel her body’s heat through their thin shipsuits. And it was not the inert warmth of the body he had placed in the hammock last night. And the smell of her hair, like a clear winter’s day. His head was swimming as they stumbled apart and headed for the biome.

  Robbie laughed aloud.

  Chapter 23

  13 January 1 A.A.

  “I can’t tell you much about that room, Jaron. Except, I’m sorry to say, you were right.”

  Bryce tried not to listen. He didn’t want the gory details of someone’s sordid demise, but was unable to stop following the sound of Ri’s voice.

  They’d found Jaron observing the sunrise and, after watching the parrots dance across the morning sky, had retired to this shaded grove. The parrot man was especially mellow this morning. And Robbie was simply far too cheerful a person to be around at this hour.

  “Two people entered the room and other than a few stains around the recycle chute, there is no sign of what happened to the one who didn’t leave. The one who left locked the door down as hard as she could just two weeks ago. Last time she logged into the system was three days ago. I have made some discreet inquiries, but conveniently no one even remembers she existed. I may have seen her on the day she disappeared.”

  Robbie leaned forward. “I don’t know if this counts. Wadworthy, one of our crew, has been missing about that long.”

  Bryce tried to place the guy by name. Short and balding? Tall and wiry? Couldn’t track him down. No one wore nametags in the pub.

  Jaron tapped at the screen on his commpad without looking up. “He’ll show.”

  “I don’t think so, Jaron. He’ll be the second one from our crew. Known them both since Venezuela.”

  Bryce rubbed his eyes trying to keep them open. The dreary heat of the jungle didn’t help. The creek burbled quietly along one side of the clearing. A few hours sleep perched on the edge of a chair wasn’t near enough.

  Robbie punched his arm hard enough that he had to cradle it against him to stop the sharp pain running up its nerves.

  “What?”

  “Sleeping on the job, Master Barkeep. Lady asked you a question.”

  He blinked hard at Ri. He could see the corners of her mouth sliding upward despite being in one of her serious modes. Great. Now he had two women laughing at him. She was perched on an arching root like some damn leprechaun. No, between the midnight hair and the electric blue shipsuit, she was more like a raven come to roost.

  He shared a smile with Jaron at Ri’s expense. Even better, without her knowing why.

  “Sorry, what?”

  “Can you quantify what’s going on in R4U?”

  “Never tried.” He closed his eyes to picture the previous night. The first thing he could remember was how she looked right before sleep. She’d yawned so deeply he could have removed her tonsils before she was done. But that couldn’t be what she meant. He opened his eyes and noticed how close Jaron and Robbie were sitting. He appeared unaware of her unusual proximity, but neither was he moving away. Surprising that he’d missed that change. Must have been recent.

  “The bar?” Robbie glared at him as she noticed where his attention had wandered.

  “Right. Fights are now more frequent than not. Attendance is at an all time high. Consumption has grown steadily with apparently no upper limit as Ri can attest.” She had a nice blush despite her darker skin.

  “I am still brewing ahead of demand, but that too is becoming problematic. If I have to limit sales, it could get very ugly, very fast. I don’t want to risk that.”

  His storeroom had already reached its physical limits despite two complete redesigns of equipment and shelving. In another few weeks, he might have to move some apparatus down into L0 and even add another assistant. Maybe he could knock a hole into the next storefront. Surely they wouldn’t mind a few brewing tanks in the middle of their restaurant.

  “Have you observed any regulars who are no longer around?” Jaron looked up from his commpad and Robbie used the excuse of looking at it to lean in even closer.

  “Sure. Several, but that could be meaningless. I lost track of one only to see her crop up two weeks later in an R2 pub.”

  Ri rose slowly to her feet and faced him. “What was her last name?”

  “Never knew. Why?” It was true. Wirden, Stevens, or something else. He didn’t know and he wouldn’t tell even if he did. He’d promised.

  She took the commpad from Jaron’s hands and tapped in a request before turning it to Bryce. Emilia’s exquisite face and flaming red hair looked out of the small screen at him.

  He nodded. Then the implications struck him like a blow in the solar plexus as Ri explained.

  “Emilia Wirden. Hers was the print that locked down the room in Northeast. We think the blood may have belonged to this man.” She updated the screen again and handed it to him.

  He recognized the digger. He was the one who’d suggested to Emilia that he was the one who was right for her. He’d unknowingly helped name the pub. Bryce very much wanted to be sick.

  “Otto Kenman, formerly registered as a jungle worker, is the one she sent down the chute. It had to be in pieces, he was a big man and it’s a small recycler. The last time she thumbed into Stellar One’s computer was three days ago in R2L3 at the entrance to a system’s maintenance closet. We don’t know what happened after that because there is no recycler or airlock in there. She may still be alive somewhere, but we have no way of confirming that.”

  He dropped the commpad from his nerveless fingers. “Her real name is Celia Wirden. She was married to World Premier James Wirden. And if she hasn’t surfaced by now, she’s gone.”

  He tried to stand and walk away, but the blazing jungle heat didn’t give him enough air. He’d last seen her stalking out of the Desert Pub. A tall, gorgeous fire of righteous anger when Jackson Turner had leapt from her arms to follow Ri out the door.

  That must have been shortly before she’d died. She’d been so angry that she’d done something stupid. He should have grabbed her and swept her into his arms. Made love to her until he reached the young girl filled with dreams who been twisted by a man wicked before his time.

  He fell to the grass and hung his head. If only he’d reached out, but he hadn’t thought of it until she was out of sight. If only he’d been quicker, some part of his past m
ight be redeemed. To undo a piece of the Old Bastard’s cruelty, but now that chance too was gone.

  A small hand grasped his shoulder, but he didn’t have the strength to pull away.

  “Why?” It was the only word in him.

  “I don’t know. That’s why I need your help. All of you.”

  He dipped his hand into the nearby stream. After running down from the sun-baked walls it was almost the temperature of blood. With the way the recyclers worked, it could be Emilia’s blood flowing through his fingers.

  “To do what?”

  “I’m not a scientist. Jaron and Robbie are. I’m just a fighter. I don’t know how to study a population. And you…”

  He could feel a squeeze on his shoulder. Did she know? Was it possible that she’d found out he had the memories of the great murderer of the modern era?

  “You are a man of many resources. I ask for your help as an observant bartender to help us solve what is occurring. You see things I don’t, but need to. Tell me what you see and hear. Is that too much to ask?”

  It was too much. It meant listening with the Old Bastard’s ears, watching with his eyes. Swimming in the deep, deep memories from which he might never surface again. And what did it matter? Emilia was dead. His mother was dead too. He scooped a handful of the blood-warm water onto his palm.

  Let them all die if they were destined to. That was the right choice. The safe choice, too. The Old Bastard had come too close to winning too many times. Don’t give him the least little chance.

  “I won’t force you.” Ri squatted down beside him. Her voice was a whisper barely louder than the bubbling of the water.

  “But I need your help. I need someone to see with your grandfather’s eyes. I think you have that ability, Bryce.”

  The voice inside crowed in triumph. He slowly closed his fist on the little puddle in his hand. He turned to tell her to go to hell. To tell her he was sorry. That he wasn’t in control. To tell her that the voice in his head was wrong. He opened his mouth and felt as if he were drowning.