Nafti would go out into space unprotected, which seemed wrong, given how much Nafti wanted to protect that huge body of his.
Yu pushed the table to the exterior door. Then he looked at the man he'd worked with for years and hadn't really known.
"I'm sorry,” Yu said again, and used his one good hand to shove Nafti off the table.
The body landed so hard that the table bounced. Yu winced. He didn't look down. He didn't want to see if he had done any more damage.
Instead, he grabbed the edge of the table and pulled it behind him as he scurried out of the cargo bay.
Then he sealed the interior door and opened the exterior door to space.
He closed his eyes and counted to two hundred. Then he closed the exterior door.
With luck, Nafti would float out here with the asteroids, and no one would ever find him. He would show up as another bit of space debris on other ships’ sensors.
Space debris.
Yu shook his head and opened his eyes. Then he stood on tiptoe and peered through the window into the bay.
No body lay on the floor.
Nafti was gone as if he had never been.
* * * *
The medical base Yu's sensors had found doubled as a spaceport. The base had been built by one of the corporations as it expanded throughout the known universe, but that corporation had long ago sold it to a medical company that specialized in delicate procedures.
People came from all over to receive new limbs or to get high-end augmentations. The enhancements that were standard on places like Earth were discouraged here. If someone wanted a prettier face, they could go to some medical base in Earth's solar system.
If they wanted to upgrade their hand or augment their sense of smell to equal that of a dog's, they came here. This base improved on the human condition; it didn't repair the human condition.
Normally, Yu would have gone somewhere that specialized in repair. He didn't need a high-end hand. But this was the most reputable medical base the farthest from Earth, and it would be hard to track him here.
In fact, the base's information stressed privacy. No one would ever know if a piano player improved his dexterity or a chef upgraded his sense of taste.
Or if a Recovery Man who—by this point—was probably running from authorities got a new and better hand, replacing the one he'd damaged delivering a kidnapped woman to the Gyonnese.
The medical facilities were stunning—a luxury in and of themselves. He felt like he was going into a spa instead of an examination room. Everything was calibrated to his tastes—the spicy scented air, the goldish-brown lighting, the subtle reds and oranges on the walls. The medical personnel spoke in hushed tones, probably because someone had noted the Gyonnese influence on his ship, and they treated the wounds as if they were fresh instead of days old.
After intensive examinations and a lot of consultations, the surgeons here told him that medical avatar had been right; his hand could not be saved. He would receive an artificial hand that was, as Shindo had so snidely observed, much better than his own.
He received medication, instructions, and a helper who would see him through the latter stages of the procedure. At the moment, all he had to do was choose the make and model of the hand he wanted. He was stunned to realize he could afford several hundred of the high-end models, not because they were cheap, but because the Gyonnese had paid the first half of the last quoted price—the one that he had inflated beyond measure. He figured they would pay half of the first quoted price and cheat him of the rest.
They were being fairer than he expected.
So he ordered the most expensive hand. It looked like all the others to him, but it had features that the others didn't have, from various external chips that worked with his links to internal mechanisms that allowed him to set the hand's strength depending on the task before him. He could push a finger-sized hole in the hull of his ship if he wanted to, or touch a goblet without shattering the crystal.
They offered to replace both hands so that his strengths would balance. He knew that a lot of clients did such things, but he wasn't going to replace body parts unless he needed it.
Part of him was appalled he had to replace this one.
The doctors had him start the procedure immediately. They were afraid of infection in the damaged hand. So they unceremoniously cut it off.
He felt no pain—the initial injury had been a lot more painful than the loss of the hand—but it shocked him to look at the stump. They had sealed the skin, but they wanted him in the most sterile parts of the medical wing.
The risk of infection was too great to have him go to the recreation area or back to his ship.
So he had to find a way to pass the time.
Drinking was out. He didn't want to view the entertainment holos, and the live entertainments in the medical unit didn't interest him. His external links had been disconnected—too many false emergency calls from links happened during surgery—and he had shut off many of the other links.
He didn't want to be traceable.
But before he went completely off the grid, he had to check his messages. He wanted that final payment from the Gyonnese.
The message center of the medical wing looked oddly alien. Each message unit had its own privacy booth that rose around the equipment like a pointed egg. The booths were opaque, but transparent enough so that medical personnel could see if the person inside was in some sort of distress.
As he went inside, he felt like he was going into some kind of cocoon.
The privacy booth didn't seem that sterile. The opaque interior light made him nervous and exposed. All he could see through the walls were moving shadows.
He cradled his right arm to his chest, wishing he already had the new hand.
Once he settled inside, he ran his own diagnostic, checking for tracers that attached themselves to messages and stole the information.
Just as he finished, he'd gotten an urgent notice on his own links. The notice had come from the message center, saying he had a communication waiting.
He used his personal code to call up the message.
One of the Gyonnese filled the screen in front of him. Its whiskers moved, then an automated voice with a flat tone said, “You have cheated us. We tried to stop the original payment and could not. You will not get your second payment."
"What?” Yu said, but Gyonnese did not respond. The message was as automated as the translator's voice.
"The woman is dead."
Dead? Yu blinked in astonishment. There was no way she could be dead. She wasn't that badly injured.
He wondered if the Gyonnese were trying to cheat him. But cheating wasn't something they usually did.
Had she played a trick on them?
The message continued. “The medical program you sent confirms it,” the Gyonnese said. “You told us she lived and took our money. You will get no more from us. You will never work for the Gyonnese again. Do not appeal this decision. The woman's employer has placed notification all over the Alliance that she has been kidnapped. If you appeal, we will prove that you acted alone. Do not contact us again."
And with that, the image winked out.
Yu ran his remaining hand over his face. Maybe the Gyonnese had killed her. Or maybe she had died from the contamination.
The contamination. Something niggled at his brain.
He ran the message again. The automatic voice was flat, but the Gyonnese was angry. Its eyes widened and its whiskers moved rapidly as it spoke.
They hadn't killed her—or if they had, they had done so accidentally.
He hadn't realized she was so sick. If he'd known, he would have sent the good medical program, not the cheap one.
And he had given her the pills.
The pills.
Cydoleen.
He closed his eyes, trying to remember how many were in that bottle. He remembered the weight of it, the way it felt solid in his hand.
There had been more t
han enough cydoleen to kill her if she took it all at once.
She must have poisoned herself.
He wondered: was that an admission of guilt on her part? Or was it fear of facing the courts alone, without corporate support?
Yu sighed and shook his head. He would never know.
But he would always wonder. Why would a woman who claimed to love a child—even if it was a Sixth—kill herself? Was what she was facing from the Gyonnese that bad?
Yu made himself stop thinking about her. He had to focus on himself now.
The fact that the Gyonnese wouldn't pay any more didn't bother him. He had enough for the new hand, some ship upgrades, and a year without working—and that was just from this job. The remaining money in his various accounts would last him a decade or more even if he didn't work again.
He might be able to make that stretch.
Yu played the message one more time, recorded it onto his links, and shook his head.
The Gyonnese had never understood how the Alliance legal system worked. Just because they said they knew nothing about the kidnapping didn't mean that there wasn't proof of their involvement.
Yu had worried about this case, so he had kept everything—and not just on his own system. He had it on his ship, in one of his accounts, and on a back-up network that he occasionally used.
If the Gyonnese turned him in, they'd suffer the consequences. He'd make sure of it.
He double-checked to make sure he had a copy of the Gyonnese message, then he deleted the message from the private server.
Then he stared at his damaged arm. Maybe he'd get some kind of sterile sling or something to put over the wrist. He needed a drink—and not the crappy stuff they had in the medical wing.
He needed a drink and maybe some companionship and some kind of entertainment.
He needed to explore the rest of the facility so that he wouldn't have to think of the woman he'd given them, and wonder how she'd died.
With his good hand, he pulled the door open, and froze. People surrounded his booth. They all wore silver uniforms with gray logos and badge numbers along the sleeve.
Earth Alliance Police.
He willed himself to be calm. He'd run into them before, and survived. If he kept his wits, he'd survive this one.
The woman nearest him had ginger hair and skin so dark it made the hair glow. Her eyes were a silver that matched her uniform.
"Hadad Yu?” she asked.
"Yes,” he said, since there was no point in denying it.
"You're under arrest."
For any one of a thousand crimes. He wasn't going to guess. “I don't have to go with you unless you tell me what the charges are."
"Kidnapping,” she said. “Transporting a human through the Alliance with the intention of selling her. Related theft and assault charges. And attempted murder."
"Murder?” he blurted. They couldn't have found Nafti's body. It floated in the vastness of space between here and Io. There wasn't even proof that Nafti had been on his ship; Yu had cleared all that off.
Nor was there obvious proof he'd held Rhonda Shindo either.
"I didn't try to murder anyone,” he said.
"A young woman named Talia Shindo disagrees,” the officer said. “Now, would you like to stand or do we get to drag you out of there?"
He held out his damaged arm. “I'm here for medical treatment."
"And you'll get it, in the prison wing. We'll leave as soon as they've grafted something on there."
"I ordered a hand. I paid for it."
"Fine,” she said. “You're still under arrest."
"What am I supposed to have kidnapped?” he asked.
"A woman named Rhonda Shindo on Callisto."
The Gyonnese had turned him in anyway, the bastards. They were vicious when they were denied their revenge.
"If I tell you a few things, will you let me go?” he asked.
"Not with charges like this,” she said. “But you can see what an attorney will do for you. Do you have something to bargain with?"
"I always have something to bargain with,” he said as he stood and let them lead him away.
The attorney Yu hired was brilliant. Not only did he get Yu cleared of all charges, he got rid of the evidence too.
And did all of it using Yu's one and only bargaining chip:
The Black Fleet.
The Fleet owed Yu a favor. He concocted one and requested a meet.
Then he set up his ship so that a shadow version of himself sat at the helm. He removed the ship's computer and replaced it with another, so the authorities couldn't track all of his movements.
And then he gave the authorities the ship, contaminants and all.
Yu wasn't the one who was going to meet the Black Fleet.
The Earth Alliance Police were, armed with the device the Fleet had given Yu, confessing to stealing the flowering fidelia. He had a hunch the Alliance would find a lot more on them.
He was sure the Alliance had a lot more on them.
Not that it mattered to him.
All that mattered to him was learning how to use his new arm, buying a new ship, and figuring out his future.
His future was the hardest part.
He was tired of working hard and gaining nothing. He had put three years into the flowering fidelia, and all it had gotten him was the enmity of Athenia, a near loss of his life savings, and a willingness to break all his rules.
Not to mention the worst part: two deaths that he felt responsible for—Nafti's and Shindo's.
And then there was the daughter. The Sixth, as the Gyonnese would call her. The one who had pressed the charges against Yu.
Because Yu had spent three years tracking down the flowering fidelia, because he had lost it to the Fleet, because he had decided to take a job he didn't believe in, Talia Shindo's life was ruined.
She no longer had a mother. She didn't really have an identity either.
Sometimes, at night when he couldn't sleep from the pain of the procedures, he kept hearing her plaintive voice. That tiny “What?” after he had cruelly told her she was hatched.
He wondered if she thought of that. He wondered how she had dealt with it.
He wondered where she was now.
He would never know.
He didn't dare know. He couldn't track her down. That would violate his agreement with the Earth Alliance Police.
They made him promise not to break Earth Alliance laws again.
It was a condition of his release.
In the past, he would have laughed at that condition. But he was no longer the same man.
For the first time in years, the universe was open to him.
But he was no longer thinking of it as a place full of things. It was a place full of creatures—sentient beings with lives of their own, problems of their own, loves of their own. Creatures he had never gotten to know.
He had been afraid to get involved with others, afraid they would hurt him.
And one of them had. He had a new hand to show for it.
But he had hurt her worse.
And her daughter—her innocent cloned daughter—was paying for all of it.
Yu couldn't make up for what he had done to Talia Shindo. But he could make sure he didn't do anything like that again.
And the first way he could do that was to stay out of the Recovery business. To live an honest life, whatever that meant.
He wasn't sure how to do it, but he could learn anything. If he could remove a flowering fidelia from its colesis tree without killing the tree, the vine, or the flower, he could do anything.
He just had to concentrate on it.
And he had to think through the consequences, something he had never done before.
Everything he did effected someone else.
Strange that he had to live half of his life before realizing it.
But he knew it now.
He'd learned that lesson.
And it changed everything.
ANALOG
[Back to Table of Contents]
Reader's Department: GUEST REFERENCE LIBRARY by Ian Randal Strock
The Valley-Westside War, Harry Turtledove, Tor, $24.95, 288 pp. (ISBN: 0-7653-1487-8)
Year Million: Science at the Far Edge of Knowledge, edited by Damien Broderick, Atlas & Co., $16.00, 336 pp. (ISBN: 978-0-9777433-4-6)
Victory of Eagles, Naomi Novik, Del Rey, $25.00, 384 pp. (ISBN: 978-0-345-49688-1)
Juggler of Worlds, Larry Niven and Edward M. Lerner, Tor, $24.95, 352 pp. (ISBN: 0-7653-1826-1)
Laugh Lines, Ben Bova, Baen, $23.00, 528 pp. (ISBN: 1-4165-5560-9)
The Reel Stuff, edited by Brian Thomsen and Martin H. Greenberg, DAW, $15.00, 456 pp.
* * * *
The Valley-Westside War is the sixth book in Harry Turtledove's “Crosstime Traffic” series, but it works just fine as a stand-alone novel. The series is set in the many parallel worlds accessible through the technology discovered by the company Crosstime Traffic. This particular story is set a century and a quarter after a nuclear war didn't destroy the planet, but did knock all of humanity back to a pre-electricity era. Buildings are left, along with a partial knowledge of the time before, but none of the comforts the home timeline is used to. In this milieu, Liz and her family are researching the causes of the nuclear war. They know it happened in 1967, but they are trying to figure out who started it (the US or the USSR?) and why.
Teenaged Liz has recently graduated from high school in the home timeline, and is on assignment with her researcher parents. She's thinking of becoming a crosstime researcher herself, and is hoping to bulk up her resume before entering college. Her parents’ grant has sent them to this timeline, where they're living as traders in the mini-kingdom known as Westside. The cover works, as Liz spends most of her days at the remains of UCLA, in the library, reading 150-year old copies of Time, Newsweek, and any other contemporary news sources she can find.
Her research is threatened when the neighboring kingdom of The Valley invades Westside, in response to the Westsiders attempting to charge their neighbors a toll through the wall across the 405. The war is limited in the ways a war with bows and arrows, a few flintlocks, and the exceedingly rare high-powered guns from a distant past must be. Indeed, one machine gun discovered by the king of the Valley is enough to turn the tide, and suddenly Liz and her family are living under an occupying force while trying to continue their research. Keeping their heads down as unremarkable traders wouldn't be terribly difficult ... if Liz hadn't attracted the attention of Dan, a soldier in the Valley army who is smitten with her.
Analog SFF, January-February 2009 Page 37
