Outpost

by W. Michael Gear

  He knew Shig Mosadek and had seen Yvette Dushane often enough to know who she was. Talina Perez needed no introduction, her large, dark eyes almost glistening with dislike. Trish Monagan sat perched on a desk shoved into the room’s far corner, her arms crossed under her delightfully shaped breasts. He might have been walking fungus given the way she looked at him.

  He grinned at her and winked, which brought fire to her green eyes.

  Unexpected, however, was Cap Taggart’s presence, dressed as he was in quetzal and chamois. Recently dried bloodstains still spotted his sleeves and pants. Of course it was all over town that he’d either quit or been booted from the marines. His presence in the room this morning? Good lateral move from one seat of power to another.

  But then Dan had always thought Taggart was a talented man. Who else could have slipped so quickly into Nandi’s bed?

  All the more reason why he really hated the guy.

  “Very quiet out there on the way over,” Dan greeted. “Hardly anyone on the streets. And those you see? Not even a greeting called by old friends. Most tense if you ask me. Must have been quite the set-to last night.”

  “The town is indeed on edge, Mr. Wirth.” Shig opened with his placid smile.

  “Have a seat,” Yvette offered. “Coffee?”

  “That would be very nice.” Dan settled himself into the round-bottomed chair and kept his most charming smile in place as he nodded to each of the participants.

  Well, well, the high and mighty have come to me. A welling of satisfaction warmed his chest. Oh, Father, you miserable prick, if you could only see me now.

  Trish set a cup of steaming coffee on the table before him, her gaze as inviting as green frost.

  “I heard there were four dead,” Dan began.

  “Five,” Talina told him, her dark eyes hot enough to sear holes in sialon. “A young man whose arm was shot off died on the cart before we could get him to Raya.”

  “And the shooters?”

  “Turalon cleared them for transport up to the ship this morning. They’ll be gone by midday at the latest,” Yvette told him.

  “Then things should settle down?” Dan asked mildly.

  “That depends,” Shig said easily. “Sometimes these events trigger more events, take on a life of their own. Other times agency can mold the direction, intensity, and duration of such squabbles.”

  “Which agency? I haven’t seen a door marked ‘Bureau of Public Squabble.’”

  Shig’s smile irritated the hell out of Dan as the man said, “The agency of human action. Call it the wildcard in your poker game. In times of stress, a single person can often unexpectedly influence the outcome of great events. An entire branch of social science has been devoted to its study.”

  Dan kept his smile in place. Shig had just neatly, inoffensively put him in his place. A most subtle man, this Shig. Not one to be underestimated.

  “And you’ve asked me here to become this agent?” He spread his hands. “Gentlemen, ladies, I have no part in whatever objective Paloduro and Oman are after.”

  “Of course you do,” Cap told him, right eye narrowed in a deadly squint. “See, the thing is, when people are killing each other in the streets, plotting attacks, swearing revenge—not to mention bleeding and dying—they’re sure as hell not tossing dice down a craps table.” He paused to add, “Income suffers.”

  “Captain, you do make a point.”

  He waited, letting them make the next play.

  To his surprise, Trish Monagan said, “We know the ringleaders hang out in The Jewel. You’re a Skull yourself. Arrived on the Turalon. One of theirs. They feel safe there.”

  “That would be my clients’ personal business. Meddling in the affairs of others—as the good captain noted—leads to a reduction in income.”

  “Which leaves you at something of a disadvantage, doesn’t it?” Yvette asked. “If they’re rioting, they’re not gambling and whoring. And if you were to suggest a different course of action on their part, you’re in jeopardy of being accused of meddling and still stand to lose.”

  “Not to mention,” Shig noted, “as your business becomes more and more identified with the disgruntled, fewer and fewer of the rich Donovanians will be willing to patronize your tables. And—as the complaints of the Turalon demonstrators so aptly proclaim—the Skulls are . . . how do I put this? Of limited financial means and prospects? It seems you’d want more of the former and fewer of the latter.”

  Dan chuckled. “Nice try.”

  They’d expected any answer but that. He leaned forward over his coffee. “See, here’s the thing: I’ve got a brand new safe. Big thing. Tyrell Lawson made it. Clever man, that Lawson. He even figured out a way to bolt it to that huge sialon and steel slab it sits on. It’d take explosives to knock it free now that the adhesives have set.”

  “And what does a safe have to do with anything?” Yvette asked him.

  “It’s what’s in the safe.” Dan smiled. “Sharp lady like you, I’d expect you’d already have figured out why I brought it up. Surely not because I give a particular shit about Lawson’s great work, but there it is.”

  “All right, fart sucker, I’ll bite,” Trish growled. “What’s in the safe?”

  “Yuan, SDRs, nuggets, gemstones . . .” He frowned for effect, as if forgetting. “Oh, and a whole folder full of deeds for lots, domes, and businesses.” He held up a hand. “Wait! There’s more. Seems to me there’s a second folder full of notes. Loans that I’ve made to several of the town’s leading figures. Take Inga, for example. Needed a couple hundred SDRs to pay for a truckload of barley. Something about how her creditors were a little late paying up. Seems that cash has been flowing, but most of the money paid out recently from The Corporation has gone to the farmers. Most other folks are in hock up to their asses because they forked over their plunder to pay for town lots, buildings, and pieces of equipment when the Supervisor decided to sell. That cash flow hasn’t quite balanced out yet.”

  “And you get a percentage on these loans that you’re making,” Yvette filled in.

  Dan adopted a pained look. “Kind of causes me a bit of anxiety. Like, what do I call my place? The Jewel Casino and Bank?”

  “Your point?” Cap asked.

  “A bit slow, aren’t you, Captain?” Dan sipped his coffee, meeting the ex-marine’s hard gaze. “Let the local politics work out as they will. Any slacking of business because my fellow Skulls are upset, frustrated, and angry, or because the shiny-leather-folk—like you all here—are pissed, is a short-term problem at best, a minor irritation at worst.”

  He was aware of the violence brewing in Officer Perez’s black eyes, the thinning of her mouth.

  He lifted a hand in surrender. “Oh, sure. You could apply pressure. Threaten. Maybe do one of those ‘raid-in-force’ searches of my place. You know, break up the furniture looking for”—he hooked his fingers like quotation marks—“contraband.” A beat. “Won’t do you any good.”

  “Why not?” Cap asked.

  “Because I’d have to repair the damage. That would mean I’d have to call in loans from all over Port Authority. That or seize the businesses, property, or equipment listed as collateral down in the fine print. I have that right in the event of natural disaster or social discord.”

  “You piece of shit,” Perez hissed through gritted teeth.

  “Hey, Officer, I’m just a businessman. Don’t vent on me. Take it up with Paloduro and Oman. They’re the cause of your current difficulties. Me, I’m just a bystander.”

  Perez started to stand, one hand on her pistol, only to have Shig Mosadek lay gentle fingers on her gun hand. With a feathery touch he guided her back down to her chair.

  Still, the glistening and almost alien look in her eyes sent a shiver down into Dan’s bones. Fuck, what was it about the woman? She worried him like no other living human being. />
  In an effort to regain his equilibrium, Dan smiled thinly. “Now, all that said, I’m not unsympathetic.”

  “Really?” Yvette tried to keep the scorn from her voice.

  “Really,” Dan said mildly. “Violence in the streets? How ugly. Property can be damaged. Including my own. People killed. That sort of thing can be like a steel splinter, driven deep. It festers, and years later it can burst out again.”

  Shig, whose mellow expression had never changed, finally let loose of Perez and said, “We have at least one ray of light in all this. The returnees will be off planet within hours. Your festering splinter, as you call it, will be removed from our flesh. What remains is to ensure that another splinter doesn’t find its way into the currently exposed and vulnerable hide of our people.”

  “Good point, Shig. So, tell me. What have you got in mind, and how do I profit from it?”

  “You? Profit from—” Perez was cut off as Mosadek’s retraining hand shot out with amazing rapidity.

  “Glad you can keep her under control, Shig,” Dan said solicitously. “We’d never get to the point.”

  As Perez turned molten and volcanic, Shig said, “We’re not without sympathy for the new people. The Corporation brought them out here on a promise, only to find absolute disappointment. They have nothing. Not even a way home, since even their desperation cannot overcome their fear or distaste when it comes to spacing back on Turalon.”

  “Yeah, they’ve got better odds betting red fifteen on my roulette wheel.”

  Shig said, “We are willing to work with them. And we have a great deal more latitude to do so now that Freelander’s cargo is piled on the shuttle field. We’re willing to deal with individuals on a case-by-case basis to meet their needs and minimize the dislocation they are feeling.”

  “You’ve had free rein,” Yvette added coldly. “It would be a shame if we were to start causing you problems, wouldn’t it? Ordinances, laws, asking for protection money, fines, and fees.”

  God all-fucking-mighty it feels so good to have them on their knees!

  Dan kept the delight glowing in his breast from showing on his face. “Listen, we’re all in the same ship here. Now that we’ve got the chest-thumping over with, truly, I’m not unsympathetic. It’s my community, right? I need to live in it like all the rest of you. So yeah, I’ll help with your little problem.”

  “How?” Perez snapped.

  “Hey, Officer, down. I’m on your side.”

  He kept his lips from twitching as she, Taggart, and Monagan seethed behind gritted teeth.

  Hands raised in mock surrender, he told them, “Let me deal with Paloduro and Oman in my own way. Give me a week to get everything under control. I know these people. Spaced with them for two years.”

  He paused, looked at Mosadek suggestively. “You got an inventory for Freelander’s cargo?”

  “Unfortunately, no. The ship’s records were destroyed.” Yvette told him. “Turalon’s crew just unloaded the hold. Piled it all akimbo on the field outside the fence.”

  “Why would you care if there were an inventory?” Cap Taggart almost spat the question.

  “Because there’s equipment there that can help the transition for some of the soft meat,” Dan told them reasonably. “Take poor old Pete Morgan. He’s absolutely terrified to space back on Turalon. Figures he’s going to be murdered and thrown in the hydroponics like those fools in that bone pile aboard Freelander. A core drill—not as good as a rotary bit, I’m told—and seismic equipment were supposed to be on Freelander. If it’s there, he’s suddenly got his job back. The Corporation thinks there’s hydrocarbons in the rocks somewhere out in the hinterlands. It’s at least hope for them.”

  “We can work with that,” Shig said. “Your help will be deeply appreciated. You will be doing us a huge favor.”

  “Favor?” Dan gave the man his best and most winning smile. “Let’s call it a partnership, shall we? I’m a businessman, after all. Since I’m joining the cabal here, I want a percentage. Nothing big. Just compensation for my time. Oh, and a seat at your council meetings.”

  The room went coldly silent.

  Dan stood, tossed off the last of the coffee. “Good stuff you brewed there, Trish.”

  He turned, stepped out, and closed the door behind him. As he nodded at Step, Perez was shouting, “Toilet-sucking son of a bitch! I’m going to shoot that pus-sucking maggot in the back!”

  “Touchy, aren’t they?” he asked Allenovich as he started down the hallway, a skip to his stride.

  Wonder how long it’s going to take them to cave?

  And if they didn’t, there’d be another riot tonight. Something that would bring them to their senses.

  But it would have to be done carefully. No sense in pissing off the other Donovanians.

  64

  Kalico sat in the observation dome and stared down at Donovan where the planet passed slowly below the orbiting Turalon.

  Swirls and clots of white cloud contrasted with the green-brown patterns and textures on the surface. Mountain ranges crisscrossed the blue-green verdure. To the north, the world turned tan, accented by glaciers and snowfields as the planet’s curvature gave way to the polar region.

  She could make out the Gulf—a round bite out of the gently undulating coast of the continent. From a rim of aqua shoreline the water immediately darkened to a deep royal blue that matched the ocean’s tones to the east.

  The returnees had been boarded for a couple of hours. Their possessions were stored, and they’d been assigned bunk space in the barracks. Abibi had what was left of her crew conducting the last of the checks.

  “I can go,” Kalico whispered to herself. “Just give the order.”

  The image of her emerging from the temple of bones seemed to hang in her memory. “If you go back . . .” she whispered in time to the apparition’s utterance.

  Even as she said it, the cold fear ran through her. The nightmares that woke her—night after night—seemed to loom in the air behind her: An eternity. Locked in these corridors and rooms. Ghosts prowling around her ancient and withered corpse as it rotted in some dark recess.

  I don’t want to die that way.

  How had she come to this? She’d been fearless back in Solar System. Willing to tackle any risk despite the probability of her destruction should she fail. She ground her teeth, knotted her fists. What had Donovan and Freelander done to her?

  She only needed to give the order. One word to Margo Abibi: “Space.”

  And she couldn’t. If she so much as took a breath in anticipation, the sick curling started in her gut. It might have been the same if a cold pistol muzzle were being pressed against her temple. To have uttered the word would have been to pull the trigger.

  “Ma’am?” Abibi’s soft voice called from the other side of the pressure hatch.

  “Come in,” Kalico said softly, refusing to pry her gaze from the planet. They were out over the eastern ocean now, crossing the terminator, the Gulf falling behind toward the sun-bathed horizon.

  “Your com’s off. Lieutenant Spiro was looking for you. She’s got seven of her marines in hack. Three, Garcia, Talbot, and Shintzu, are missing. The eight who stood with her had to force the others onto the shuttle just before the last lift. She told me she’s going to have to bring charges for insubordination.”

  “Shit.”

  Abibi was giving her that calm, brown-eyed stare, as if seeing into her soul.

  Abibi seemed to hesitate, then took a breath. “Something else, ma’am. A delay I’m afraid. Nothing serious. Just a recalibration of reactor six. Figure twelve hours before we can space.”

  “I see.”

  “I was wondering, ma’am, if you might want to take those marines. There’s the question of Freelander. It should probably be decided. Ownership, I mean. We’re spacing. You’re leaving that ship in orbi
t. Mighty tempting for the triumvirate, don’t you think?”

  “Tempting?”

  “Yes, ma’am. Floating around in orbit like it is. Mosadek and Dushane might look at it as a prize to be looted. Stripped. You ask me, it wouldn’t do to have the next ship to Donovan arrive and find what’s left of Freelander to be nothing more than orbiting hulk. Questions might be asked. ‘Boardmember Aguila, did you or did you not have a written agreement with the Donovanians that Freelander was Corporate property, and not to be touched?’”

  “How would they get to it? They don’t have a shuttle. We berthed them all on Freelander.”

  “You willing to bet your career on that? That they can’t build one? Lot of talent down there.”

  Kalico stared thoughtfully at the dark ball of planet below. “It’s impossible.”

  “Spiro said that the people who attacked the returnees figured to eventually take Turalon. Turn it into a station. Why wouldn’t they move on Freelander the moment we space?”

  A sudden anxiety grew in Kalico’s heart. “You’re right.”

  A reprieve? Perhaps a day? Another chance to ask herself if she was making the correct choice?

  “Just doing what I have to for my ship and crew, ma’am.”

  Kalico nodded, forcing herself up from the seat. “Very well, prepare the shuttle. Have Spiro assemble her marines. I’ll need all of them to make a statement of force. Even the ones under disciplinary action.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Abibi told her, a sympathetic smile on her lips.

  As the captain followed her out of the dome, she said, “I’ve taken the liberty of having your possessions packed and stowed on the shuttle.” Abibi’s gaze sharpened, boring into Kalico’s with the full intent of her message: I’m giving you a way out.

  “Thank you, Captain.” The fist that had been tightening around Kalico’s heart seemed to loosen, and for the first time in days, she realized she could take a deep breath.

  “I’ve told my people that, pending counterorders from you, we’re ready to space in twelve hours. I’ll expect to hear from you sometime within the next twelve hours in the event you wish to change those orders. Otherwise, I will proceed at my own discretion.” Abibi carefully asked, “Do you understand?”