Outpost

by W. Michael Gear

  “In the end, you and Cap were tougher.”

  “Yeah? You keep believing that, Raya. Fairy tales are good for people. Or so my mama used to say.”

  She stepped out into the hall, wincing at her own injuries. She might have been a quetzal herself, given how colorful, large, and plentiful her own bruises were turning out to be.

  The beast lay like a stone in her belly. Jesus, what came next? The thing had tried to kill her. When would it try again?

  “Yeah, well, fuck you,” she told it as she headed for the door. She had other trouble just now.

  Cap? A paraplegic? She thought back to his smile, the way his blue eyes shone. How he’d taken to the bush, learning, finding himself. She could almost feel his warm and strong hand on her breast. How it had reassured her. The way he’d looked the time she’d come home to find him on her doorstep. He’d given up everything for her.

  She stopped, eyes blurring with tears. Leaning against the hallway wall, she fought back the sobs.

  75

  In the holo, Captain Abibi’s tan-brown eyes were level, professional, and unblinking. “Having not heard from you in the allotted twelve hours, I am left with no other conclusion than that the decision to space is mine, and mine alone. As a result of that, I have given the order. Turalon is currently accelerating for our inversion point, which we should reach within the week.

  “Know that I did not take this step lightly, however. The disposition of my crew, their failing morale, and the contractual requirements and conditions of the returnees necessitated my decision.

  “My full report will be placed on file with The Corporation upon our return to Solar System. Should you have an addendum you wish submitted, I will be delighted to attach it herewith.

  “I have left you with a heavy-lift, A-Seven series shuttle, serial number 8755089227. Said craft should provide you with access to the entirety of Donovan as well as to the Corporate vessel Freelander that we’ve left in stable orbit around the planet.

  “If any of these circumstances or decisions is in contradiction to your express demands, interests, or orders, you must immediately communicate the nature and remedy of that contradiction, and I will do everything in my power to accede to your orders.

  “If I do not hear from you in the next twelve hours, I will assume that I have your complete concurrence, and will take all appropriate measures to ensure the success of my mission.”

  The image flickered out.

  Kalico leaned back in her desk chair, rapped her fingers on the scarred duraplast surface, and stared glumly around her office in the admin dome. A sense of despair sucked at her, seeking to pull her down into the depths of depression.

  Just a couple of hours until sunrise. That was all she’d promised herself that she’d sleep after the quetzal affair. Instead—and to her horror—she’d awakened and stumbled out to find Dushane’s house empty. Worse, when she’d emerged, it was into a rainy night. Checking with the marine standing guard, she found that she’d almost slept around the clock.

  “What the hell was wrong with me?” she demanded of herself.

  She turned, staring at the dark window behind her. The rain continued. Running nervous fingers through her hair, she stood and paced before the desk, aware of the two marines on guard outside her door.

  “Got a minute?” Shig Mosadek asked, appearing in the hallway. His short stature seemed incongruous, though it somehow matched his round face and the pug nose beneath that mop of tangled black hair. A curious gleam lay behind his dark eyes.

  “A minute? A week? A couple of years? Hell, I might even have a lifetime, Mister Mosadek.”

  “Ah, well, then might I invite you to share a drink with me? Inga has decasked, uncasked, decorked . . . Oh, you know, whatever they call it. She’s serving a new wine over at the tavern tonight. I wondered if I might buy you a glass while we discuss some of the consequences of your continued presence in Port Authority.”

  She laughed bitterly. “Yes, I suppose you’d be more than a little concerned about that.”

  From behind his back, Shig produced a raincoat. “I thought you might benefit from this. I don’t know how you might be outfitted for the weather.”

  She walked over, spreading her arms. “I’m assured that my possessions are aboard that A-Seven out on the shuttle pad. But she’s locked up, the crew’s somewhere here in town, and more to the point, it’s after dark and the gate’s locked.”

  “As it well should be.” Shig handed her the raincoat and turned to lead the way. “Have you a place to stay?”

  “I . . . No.” She made a face as she pulled on the raincoat. “All of this has . . . um, taken me a bit by surprise.”

  The marines fell in step behind.

  “I understand.” He led the way out into the night. Misty rain glowed in the cones of the overhead lights. “Turalon spacing took us all by surprise. The first we learned about it was when Two Spots reported that Captain Abibi had radioed saying that she was having difficulty receiving any of our transmissions. Two Spots immediately checked the system and radioed her that, to the contrary, our system was working fine.”

  “And the good captain radioed back that your transmission was breaking up?”

  “I would think you were clairvoyant, Supervisor.”

  She glanced over her shoulder at the two marines. What did they think? Happy to be stranded here, or really pissed off? Half of them had mutinied, wanting to stay. The others, backing Spiro, had voted to return. Or had they? Had it just been a sense of duty? Three of them were still missing. Desertion?

  A new unsettling reality now lurked just under her consciousness. The marines had always been her ultimate authority. Had, that, too, gone hollow?

  At Inga’s, Shig led the way inside and down the stairs. The place assaulted her ears with a low-level roar that dropped a decibel or ten as people recognized her. Shig, however, was smiling and waving to individuals, returning greetings as if they were old friends.

  At the bar, Shig led the way to the empty stool at the end that belonged to Perez. With a wave, he dispersed the closest customers and took the chair next to Perez’s. “Talina won’t mind. She’s at the hospital looking after Cap.”

  Kalico climbed onto Perez’s sacred stool and felt a vindictive satisfaction in doing so. “How’s he doing?”

  “Badly, I’m afraid. The quetzal showed him little mercy. Might have been better if it had killed him.” He lifted an eyebrow. “You don’t seem sympathetic.”

  “We didn’t part on the best of company.”

  Shig lifted two fingers as Inga strode down her bar. With a curt nod, she turned back. A big wooden keg rested on blocks in the rear, and from the bung spigot Inga filled one glass full, the other half. She deposited the full one before Kalico; the half she placed on the scarred chabacho at Shig’s elbow. As she did the man laid out a coin.

  “What’s that?” Kalico asked, picking it up. The image of a quetzal head decorated one side, the other sported a crossed pick and shovel. The number two stood out prominently on each side.

  “A silver two SDR piece. We’ve just started to have them struck. I’ve had Tyrell Lawson working on a master die. Figured we needed our own currency. Me, I’ve never liked SDRs or yuan. They’re made of plastic, you know. Just isn’t the same as specie. Oh, we’ll keep the plastic and paper currency, of course. The difference being that we’ll back them with precious metals and gemstones.”

  “Starting your own bank?”

  “Unfortunately Mr. Wirth forced our hand when he began handing out loans. He might have Port Authority’s vices by the balls, but we’d rather not let him get his grip on the rest.”

  She raised her glass as Shig raised his. “To Donovan,” Shig toasted and clinked the rims. She tasted the red liquid, found it only slightly acid. “Not bad.”

  “We do have certain amenities,” Shig told her, r
eplacing his glass. “I like that one.”

  “A half glass?” She lifted a skeptical eyebrow as she took a bigger swig of her own.

  “The better to savor.” Shig glanced over his shoulder as a table erupted in laughter behind them. “We need to find you a residence. Several of the domes in the residential section are open.”

  “I’d rather stay in the shuttle. Though I’ll have to figure out a way to get to it.”

  “Yvette told me that you are welcome to her spare room until you find something more appropriate to your tastes.”

  “That’s kind of her. But I’d rather not.”

  “She said the bed suited you. But I do understand. If you’re not picky, Inga has rooms on the second story of her place. She rents them out to people who come in from the bush.”

  “I’m picky.”

  “Then they might not do. You could sleep in Clemenceau’s old quarters next to your office, I suppose.”

  She laughed. “Are we really having this conversation? I’m the pus-sucking Supervisor.”

  “A Corporate personage in a town without a single Corporate property except an office in the admin dome. A fascinating culmination of events, don’t you think?”

  She gave him a scathing look. “What do you suggest?”

  “I could loan you my study.”

  “Your study?”

  “A small dome behind my garden. I go there to get away, to meditate, to read, and to write my treatises on religion and philosophy. It’s clean. Has a small kitchen, a stunning and contemplative view of the perimeter fence, and the bed is most comfortable. I had the sheets—nice chamois ones by the way—changed just on the odd chance you might want to camp there. It’s quiet, and you’d have privacy.”

  She chuckled. “I’m broke. Coinage has been out of style in The Corporation for some time now.”

  “I’ll trade.”

  “What?”

  “Oh, something will come along one of these days. I have faith in you. It won’t hold your marines. I’d dicker with Inga over those apartments.” He smiled. “She’ll extend credit to cover the rentals if I vouch for you.”

  “You?” She tried to keep the acid out of her voice. “Will vouch for me?”

  Shig studied his wine thoughtfully. “You made the right choice, by the way. Letting Abibi and Turalon space.”

  I was a coward. And Abibi knew it. But then, like the time she’d lied to Nandi, Abibi’s strength was in letting people believe or do that which worked in the best interest of her ship and crew.

  To Shig she said, “Maybe Milton was right. It’s better to rule in Hell than to serve in Heaven.”

  “Which brings me to my question: How do you see this working?”

  She considered him through narrowed eyes. “I signed Port Authority over to you. Let you buy the mines, properties, and equipment. That’s a done deal. Freelander, however—and everything she carried—is still Corporate property. Despite the fact that your people have carted off half of it.”

  “More like a third.”

  “Wouldn’t matter if it was a quarter. It belongs to The Corporation. We have title. Or is that concept just a sham?”

  “Would you prefer if we just left it to sit, rust, and decay on the shuttle field?”

  “It would sit, rust, and decay as Corporate property. As Supervisor, it’s mine to administer as I see fit. That’s Corporate law. Your law, too, if this title and property rights jag of yours is for real.”

  “How would you enforce it?”

  “My marines are Corporate.” She glanced around. “And, for the moment, I don’t think you’ve got anyone who could dispute that fact.”

  Shig gave her that benign smile that curdled her gut. “Then it appears we have a curious impasse. You have the Freelander equipment, but no one to run it, and nowhere to employ it. We’ve got the mines, the know-how, and the people who can fabricate parts and maintain your equipment.”

  “There’s a whole planet out there,” she countered. “And I’ve got more than three hundred people on contract. Something tells me they’ll be able to use that equipment just fine.”

  “And you think you can enforce that contract if they’re no longer willing?”

  “I have marines.”

  “You’d have revolution. As we learned the other night, those waters have already been tempestuously churned. They need time to settle out and again grow tranquil.”

  She arched a challenging eyebrow, her mind clicking through possibilities. “So, tell me, what do you suggest?”

  “You have more than marines. You have a heavy lift shuttle.”

  “And?”

  “As you said, it’s a big planet, one with better ore deposits and richer diggings than we’ve been working here. Our people are settled. Making a nice living when something isn’t eating them, thank you. Your transportees need direction, a chance to make their own wealth. Your shuttle and equipment—more than your marines—allows them the opportunity to do so.”

  “What’s the triumvirate’s angle in all this? What do you get out of it?”

  “Survival.” He tilted his wine in her direction. “And on Donovan, that’s all that matters.”

  “Status and power?”

  He shook his head. “Clemenceau had those alleged advantages. He might not have had marines, but he had Talina Perez and her security force. At least in the beginning.”

  She said nothing, letting her expression communicate her distaste at the ultimate outcome for Clemenceau.

  Shig raised his eyebrows in response. “Supervisor, let me ask: How smart are you?”

  Just as she formed an unpleasant retort, he raised a hand. “I care not for what you knew back in Solar System, but how clever, capable, and agile are you when it comes to learning new rules, adapting, and finding innovative ways to solve problems in a totally novel environment.”

  “That’s what it takes, huh?”

  “That’s what it takes.”

  “Off the record. Given all that’s behind us . . . after all, I wanted you arrested and shot. Surely there’s part of you that wants to see me fail. That would revel in my defeat and destruction.”

  “Actually—and much to my surprise—you’ve succeeded remarkably well to this point. Your first test was the trial. You were smart enough to back off—though it was a closely run thing. You could have failed again when we asked you to honor the titles. And finally, you’ve shown promise by staying behind.”

  “I was left.”

  “Oh, come. The sham about radio communications makes a satisfying cover story. Abibi’s a professional. She gave you an out.”

  “Don’t buy the story that I was afraid.” Damn you, Cap.

  “You’d be a fool if you weren’t.”

  “I overslept.”

  “Uh huh.”

  “Are you purposefully trying to enrage me?”

  “By no means.” Shig smiled peacefully and took a delicate sip of his wine again. “I’m establishing that I think you have a chance here. Oh, to be sure, you’re struggling to surmount a lot of cultural debris clogging your mental pathways, but if you can manage to set that aside, look past who you were back on Transluna, ignore who you wanted to be back then, I think you’re capable of great things on Donovan.”

  “You’re saying I have potential?” She snapped off the words.

  “More so than the vast majority of transportees who come here.”

  “Transportee? Thanks for your glowing endorsement.” She let the acid drip.

  Shig, as if oblivious, said, “You’re welcome.”

  “Maybe I should still have you shot.”

  “The evening is young. And, as you say, you do have marines.”

  Kalico shook her head. “You’re all lunatics.”

  “Lunacy is catching, Supervisor. It’s Donovan. My suspic
ion is that you’ll have caught a dose of it yourself before this is all over.”

  And with that, he clinked her glass in a toast.

  76

  “Hey, handsome man, how are you doing?” The words had echoed around the inside of Cap’s head for hours as he stared at the eternity of his hospital room ceiling. Talina had said it that morning as she breezed in. He’d answered in his croaking voice. Turnienko had dialed back the drugs just enough to let him speak.

  For most of the visit, she’d pulled up a chair and sat just out of his field of vision. Her talk had been bright, optimistic. She’d told of how Turalon had spaced and was headed for the inversion point. Of how Supervisor Aguila now lived in Shig Mosadek’s little work studio as she took an inventory on the Freelander cargo. Of how Cap just needed to concentrate on healing and obey Turnienko’s orders, and how he’d be out of hospital before he knew it.

  He had replied with short pleasantries: “Oh?” “Good.” “Really?”

  “That’s it for now,” she’d told him, appearing again in his cone of vision. Holding her hair back, she’d given him a kiss and claimed, “I’ll be back in a couple of hours.”

  And, but for a couple of checks by Turnienko to monitor his IV pack and his urine for blood and volume, he’d had nothing but the eternity of the ceiling.

  The doctor had laid it all out: the fractures in his spine and neck, the broken ribs and legs. How he was lucky to be alive.

  Cap had taken it, told her he understood, and waited until she’d left the room before he surrendered to the hollow agony that still possessed him.

  In the days since, he’d pleaded with Turnienko to let him die. Made her swear not to tell Talina. And the Siberian doctor had given him a knowing smile, her dark eyes like cold stones behind the flat features of her face.

  He heard the steps as someone entered the room, and called out, “Tal? That you?” He could no longer judge time. It could have been a couple of hours since she left. Maybe days for all he knew.

  “Sorry.”

  The face appeared as he shifted his eyes as far to the left as they’d go. “You?”