I looked over my shoulder at Blue Moon and spat at the sand in honor of the only radiant orb that was suspended in my mind's eye. Still, back in the Crotch, I had felt one of those radiant orbs in my heart after reading about the midshipman. It had been a feeling of hope. The shit never goes on forever. This too shall pass. I sighed as I realized the old Earth platitudes just didn't work on the sand. Tartaros was infinity hold and infinity hold does go on forever, or at least as much of forever as I'd ever see.
As we entered the limits of the old walking column camp, Stays asked and Paxati gave us the full story about the Kvasir maus. It seemed the majority on Kvasir was made up of haystacks, and the salt 'n pepper thing had been getting out of hand for some time. So the haystack cockroaches passed a few quick laws, redefined justice, and started rounding up the maus and sticking them in what they called resident areas. Sharks still call them concentration camps.
All of the maus, of course, were bent. What thumped Kvasir in the gyros, though, was the heap of haystacks who were angry at the government, as well. In their haste to throw all the maus into resident areas, the anti-mau haystacks neglected to change the laws concerning who is eligible to become president. So the maus and the opposition haystacks jumped into the sack and elected Lomon Paxati president of the world government of Kvasir. In addition, he was backed up by a congress with a narrow pro-mau majority. Things were looking up for a whole millisecond.
Unfortunately, while possessing a majority of the votes, the salt 'n pepper coalition did not possess a majority of the guns. Funny how things like that work out. The army and the national police held their own election, arrests were made, and those maus who weren't killed found themselves on a rocket ride to infinity hold. Although there were lots of gramps and urches in the load, most of the maus had been doing dukes for the revolution. They were angry and looking for someone to take it out on.
Stays had an observation. "Sherlock," he said to me, "With this bunch and the shipload of shadow talkers from Cumaris, it looks like more than sharks are getting dumped here."
"Your vision encompasses universes, swami."
"What I mean, chup, is that the council that decides who gets dropped on Tartaros isn't on the up and up."
"Write your representative." I pulled up my critter and looked at Stays. "We're not exactly in a position to file any charges, are we? Anyway, what do I care who in the Tartaran Administrative Council lines his pockets. All that's done past."
"I wasn't thinking of that."
"Then what?"
"The rifles. You've always wondered how they got here. So's everyone else. No one on the planet has the tools necessary to make them, and no one knows what the propellant in the ammo is made of. What if the rifles and blue goo come from outside? Off planet?"
I patted my critter's neck and frowned as I looked up at the Eyes of the Spider. Escape. That's what it meant. One slim chance to haul it off that rock. "They'd have to get here somehow. Ships." I faced Stays. "You think Quana Lido's gang has an in with TAC?"
"That's where everybody goes to get the blue goo. If she doesn't have an in with the council she's at least tight with the gun runners who do have an in with TAC."
I nodded as I looked back at Blue Moon, now low and greenish on the horizon. My wig was smoking as I tried to add the lit dynamite to my juggling act. "Possibilities. Possibilities."
"Speaking of guns," interrupted Deadeye from behind me, "shouldn't I have one? I might have to do some cop stuff someday."
I turned on the back of my critter and looked at the shadow riding on the critter behind me. Every now and then I put the death angel on my shoulder and pinch her ass. Maybe it's my way of tempting the powers out there. Here's a great chance to wipe Bando Nicos, the gesture would say. Do it and end the hoax, it would say. But, after loading the cannon, lighting the fuse, and sticking my head in the muzzle, if I was still alive the next day, what was the message? Did God love me or was it he hadn't quite finished running me through his bag of gags? More head smoke.
"Yeah, Deadeye. You need a piece." I tossed him mine. He caught it and gave me a look. Maybe that was the only point of wearing a death angel: just to see that look on somebody's face when you do something so stupid they suspect that they've misread the cards. They begin to wonder if they're the one's that's stupid instead of you. It's a way to kill the clock.
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The Volunteer
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Blue Moon and the Eyes were gone as we reached the tail end of yesterday's walking column camp. Behind us there was a disturbance and we all turned on the backs of our critters to see what it was. It was a rider, someone who obviously didn't care how much noise he or she made. The rider was hollering my name and raising one primo clatter. Since it might've been a messenger from Rojas, we pulled up and waited. The rider's critter came to a halt and the figure on the critter's back moved in the shadows.
"You're Bando Nicos?"
"I'm Nicos."
"May I have a word?" It was a woman's voice, strong and all business.
Stays lit a cube and tossed it on the sand between us. The person was a pale mau, very slender, and she carried a pack on her back. More packs were strapped across the critter's shoulders in front of her legs. The hood on her silvered Kvasiri weather cape was thrown back revealing a face that came from a dream.
"Who're you?" I asked. I looked at Paxati but the President only shook his head. I went back to looking at the rider, which was okay because she was easy on the orbs.
Very white teeth grinned in the darkness. "My name is Jontine Ru. I'm a reporter."
I started laughing, "For what? Grit Publications?"
The smile faded. "Mihviht World Vidwatch.
That was an even sillier answer than mine. "You're a real reporter? I mean, you're on the job?"
"That's right."
I laughed as I shook my head in absolute wonder. "You telling me you volunteered for this place?"
She hesitated and shrugged. "In a manner of speaking."
I glanced up at the belly of the Spider. The big bug's eyes were over the horizon and it seemed to be laughing at everything. I lowered my gaze until it landed on the reporter. Maybe she was a caress on the orbs but she was a bent on the struts. I had other problems; too many of them to sit and drool over impossible fantasies.
"So what can I do for you, Jontine Ru?" There were a couple of giggles at the unintentional poem.
"I'd like to tag along for a few days. I'm doing a piece on Tartaros and—"
"You mean like you're a reporter for real?" I interrupted.
"Yes."
I dismounted, walked over, and stood up close to her. She was very pretty and slender. She looked more like an actress than a crowbar bitch with a five ton ass to swing. I was astounded she hadn't been eaten alive. "Are you out of your mind, lady? How did you get here? Why wasn't your candle snuffed yards ago?"
"I followed a story. That's all."
"No, that's not all."
"Very well. When I was covering the elections on Kvasir, the roundup began and I sort of took the place of one of the exiles."
"Sort of?"
"Yes."
I scratched my beard, rubbed my neck, and shook my head in sheer wonder. "Jontine Ru, you may cause the universe to entirely revise the concept of asshole."
Her words came out steam pressed. "From what I can determine, Nicos, twenty or thirty million exiles have perished on this damned desert. Perhaps even double or triple that number. Don't you want the bastards who sent you here to know what's going on?"
I climbed back up on my critter and settled down on its broad, hairy back as I thought. There were a lot of causes out there carrying signs, but the Free Bando Nicos Movement never had gotten off the ground. In fact, it was Bando Nicos who'd gotten off the ground. What with all of the new ships coming in, getting ready to face the Hand, trying to stay alive against the Forever Sa
nd and Boss Kegel's thirty thousand rifles, the back home public's right to know really wasn't one of my peak priorities. Did I care if Saul and Sally Straightmeat heard the truth about Tartaros so they could go tch, tch, tch over their morning chocolate? Pull a short and curly and wake up, sly.
"Look, Flash, I got no time to make TV shows." I pointed at her pack. "You really got a vid recorder in there?"
She held up her hand, and in her palm was a tiny black box a little smaller than a pack of nails. "This is my camera. In the packs I have editing equipment and about four hundred hours worth of high density micro discs to fill."
Stays chuckled and said, "You must be planning on staying a long time."
"I believe we all are," said Deadeye. What do you know. The hitter made a joke.
"It's a big story," she responded. Looking at me, she asked "Do I get to tag along?"
Marantha stepped up to Jontine and asked, "What about getting your discs off planet? Do you have some kind of arrangement?"
That perked up my ears. If her company had gotten her on the planet, they must've figured out a way to get her off. That was what I figured until I saw the expression on Jontine's face. "No. We didn't work out anything like that. This was a last second thing." There was something about her expression that seemed guilty, defensive. "We couldn't quite work out the details. I'm on my own."
Deadeye chuckled and shook his head. "What you mean is you were covering another story on Kvasir and got caught up in the mau sweep."
If looks could kill, Deadeye Jay would have been doing contract hits in Heaven for angels with ambition. Jontine moved her gaze from Deadeye to me. "Yes."
"Perfecto," I muttered.
She nodded her head toward me. "The conversation I overheard back in the rear guard made it clear to me that someone probably has contact with Tartaros on a regular basis. That's where the guns and ammo come from. I'm a professional at finding out things like that. How about it, Nicos?"
"Are you talking Quana Lido's gang?"
"That's right."
"From all we've heard, Boss Lido's territory is a long way from here. Even further south than Kegel. We're going east. For all I know, it might be years before we make any kind of contact with Lido."
"One way or the other, I'll get the story out. How about it? From what I've seen and heard so far, there's at least a few things you people might want to tell the governments who dumped you here."
"What can you tell a cockroach?" asked Slicker.
While the others picked at her with questions and made fun of her, I chewed her request. Actually, it was no big deal. As long as she shoveled her share of the shit, I didn't care what she did on her own time. I really couldn't think of a single objection except that I look upon reporters as not much higher on the social scale than cockroaches. I've had words stuck in my mouth more than once by one of those plastic-headed, microdried vidstars that do their editing with a turd. And right after he turns a purse snatching into a mass murder to boost ratings, the next thing you see is the same clown holding forth on some commentary about journalistic objectivity. They make my hemorrhoids throb.
There seemed to be something different about Jontine Ru, however. It wasn't just that she was in the same shithole with the rest of us. It was something else. It was an intensity, an energy, about her. Something in me wanted to trust her, and that was the thing that I mistrusted the most. What to do?
In my pack I had Big Dave's copy of the life of Lord Nelson. Inside the book was my copy of the law. What to do with Jontine Ru was Freedom Rule, number two. She was allowed to go wherever she wanted.
"Okay. You can come along until I say different." Right then I felt a real uneasiness about my decision. "Just don't turn your little viddie cam on me unless I know about it. Okay?
Her eyebrows went up. "Why?"
"Because I told you, that's why. I don't want to be worried about you getting shots of me while I'm pulling up my drawers or shaking off out in the dunes."
She laughed again and nodded. "Very well. No nudity." They all laughed, except me and Slicker. I figure we were both thinking about Kegel and his thirty thousand rifles. Slicker mounted up and began heading east. We all mounted up and followed him while Marantha instructed Show Biz how to quiet down all her packs of junk. Soon we were all riding in silence. As we rode I buried myself inside my parka hood and desert sheet against the cold, cursing the silence. Every time the noise level outside went down enough, the noise from inside began taking over.
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Trust, Death, Love, and Blisters
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We had just reached the front end of the old walking column camp and Nance's sled was still beneath its camouflage sheet. There was another sled containing supplies, and surrounding them both was a small force of fifty or so armed sharks. The few who were left behind were beating their gums about Boss Kegel's column of rifles. On the steps going into the rear of Nance's sled stood Mercy Jane talking to a man wearing one of the Mihvihtian desert sheets.
I climbed down from my critter and walked over to the stairs. "Why didn't this crate move off with the rest of the walking column?" I demanded.
Mercy Jane looked at us for a moment, then came down the steps and stood on the sand in front of me. "She still can't be moved."
"Why? I mean, I thought she was getting better."
"If she's moved, it could permanently damage her spinal cord. It might even kill her. We're going to have to operate again, and much sooner than I had expected."
I looked up at the Mihvihtian shark who had been passing the time of day with her. "Why are you here, yard eagle?"
The man was craggy faced with dark hair turning to gray. He looked like a retired sea captain, someone who ought to be sitting on a dock someplace whittling trees into toothpicks.
"I heard about the Iron Lady's injury, and offered my assistance to Dr. Sheene. My name is Wolfgang Toffel. I am a neurosurgeon."
Dim memory itched at the back of my head. What finally shook it loose was when Jontine Ru said, "The Bordentown Ghoul."
"Oh, yes," I muttered as little electric itchies ran up my spine. I studied him all over again and he no longer looked like a fatherly type who ought to be whittling toothpicks. He used to do other things with knives. Basically he looked like someone who ought to have a wooden stake driven through his heart.
It had been a bunch of years ago. The stains and black rags had nailed him on Mihviht, but the Wolf had earned his rep on Earth. It had been at Bordentown Rehab fifteen years or more ago. He had been part of the rehab staff and had conducted a considerable number of unauthorized experiments on the inmates. One inmate had died, and two or three more wound up drooling in their diapers and discussing the meaning of life with the jellyfish.
"I'm surprised you're still alive," I said to the Wolf.
"Why is that?"
"After what you did to the sharks at Bordentown? I figured the yard monsters would've eaten you alive by now. Maybe the grapevine doesn't reach to Mihviht."
"It reaches." The man studied me for a moment and smirked. "I thought what had happened before the landing was done past."
At that moment I thought that I just might thin the bastard myself. But that would have to wait. Too many things were coming down. I turned to Mercy Jane.
"Do you know the story about this clown?"
She nodded. "And he knows mine. Whatever else you think about him, understand this. He is a skilled neurosurgeon, which I am not. I trust him, which is all you need to know." She held out her hand. "I need your ice pick."
I took a step back. "Like, hell."
"I need your ice pick and at least five more if you can find them. The cutters we have are too crude for the work we need to do. Wolfgang needs some delicate tools made, and the Trolls said they could make them, except that it would take a lot less time if they could start with ice picks."
I pointed at the door o
f the sled. "Is she awake? I have to talk to her."
"Don't take too long. She's had half a thumper, and I want her to stay quiet."
I climbed the stairs, pushed the Wolf aside, and entered the compartment. There was a fire cube burning in a holder mounted above her head, and it made her look like a stiff stretched out at a wake.
"Nance?"
Without opening her eyes she answered. "Bando, what were you bellyaching about out there?"
I sat down next to her bed. "Nance, you got to appoint somebody else number two. God, now I know how the number two came to mean shit. Look, I just can't handle everything that's happening. Nkuma's brought in another fifty thousand sharks, and he's going out to get more."
Nance nodded. "Good. We need more fighters. Is he running on his own, or did you okay it?"
"I okayed it, but—"
"You did good, then. So, what else're you worried about?"
"Well, for one thing, Kegel!" Remembering that Nance was very sick, I tried to calm down. In a quieter voice I said, "Lady, we are in a corner. Hasn't anybody told you about Kegel?"
"I heard." Her hand reached out and gently enclosed mine. "Bando, I want you to push all your stupid macho bullshit out of the way and listen real hard to what I'm going to tell you."
I sat up. "I don't do that stuff."
She smiled. "That's right, you're all better now." The smile faded under the force of the thumper Jane had given her. "I'll tell you something, Bando. There's only two ingredients you need to make a macho muffin: fear and bullshit. Right now you are full of both. You going to listen?"
"Si, Mamacita."
It was deadly quiet for a few seconds, almost as though Nance had forgotten how to breathe. Her eyelids fluttered and she inhaled. "Those were some power drops you handed Mercy Jane. The world is spinning." She moistened her lips and turned her eyes toward me. "Bando, you can't do it all by yourself. I know the brown sugar. I grew up surrounded by it. I know you think to be a man you should be able to run everything by yourself. That isn't so. It's not even smart. You have to rely on your people. Understand?"
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