by Tammy Salyer
“Forget it,” Brady says. “You know how crazy that sounds? It’s a least a week of flying, probably more like two, and there has to be a solid force of Corps or Admin security surrounding the rock. Especially if this formula, or whatever it is, is as valuable as you’ve been saying. Anyway, we have what we need to keep the settlement running. This ‘soil enhancement formula’ sounds too good to be true.”
Scowling, Bodie folds the meshmo, his frustration evident in his slow and deliberate movements.
* * *
“We’re floating fifty meters off the bow of this frigate with its engine completely locked thanks to the EM pulse we shot it with. I’m thinking that we fried at least half of the thruster grid and maybe their coms, so it wasn’t going anywhere on its own. Erikson’s crew searched it top to bottom using both eyes-on and scanners, but there wasn’t anything. Their CO—you remember that guy, David? Captain Hobins or Hogans, something like that. What a bastard. Anyway, he was pissed because he swore the intel on these smugglers was right. My squad’s in the airlock ready to escort their crew to lockdown when David’s team brought them back on board. They came in and Hobins instantly starts chewing Erikson a new one. Why didn’t you find anything? Why was the search ineffective? Did you use the scanners? Et cetera, et cetera. Erikson’s just standing there, staring out of the airlock hatch, and then he blurts out, like the captain isn’t even there, ‘Doesn’t this class of frigate have a concave forward hull?’ Hobins starts to steam at being interrupted, but one of the other crewman says that’s correct and Erikson says, ‘Then why is this one’s convex?’
“Hobins hadn’t ordered a hull scan, and he gets so worked up about Erikson drawing attention to the fact that he makes him suit up and go check it out. Sure enough, the whole shipment of missing mining core-bits is there. One thing you can say about Eagle Eye, he never misses the obvious.”
We’re all seated around the main room in the center of Vitruzzi and Brady’s hexagonal dwelling. Dinner is over and Cross and David are reminiscing about the days when the three of us were stationed on the Corps long-range enforcement ship the PCA Thor’s Hammer. I glance around the room noting how everyone listens raptly to Cross’s story. He’s always liked attention.
David picks it up. “The funniest part about it was that the smugglers had left one of their men with the stolen equipment. When I broke into the compartment, he looked pretty surprised to see me. I think he was even more surprised when he realized his whole crew had been arrested and left him out there with no way to get back on the frigate. Since the controls were burnt out, he wouldn’t have been able to open the airlock hatch from the outside. And his buddies weren’t talking. Honor among thieves, right, Twig?”
He winks at me, no doubt thinking, as I am, about the way we’d been betrayed by our own former smuggling crew. I can only hope the attachments we’re developing here won’t turn out the way those had. Part of me still struggles against an ingrained reluctance to get too close to the settlers, people I hardly know, but Karl helps me keep from giving in to my old habits. Cutting bait and running every time things get tough is no way to live.
The thought makes me look over at Karl sitting next to Venus. He’s been quiet this evening, his forehead crumpled in a brooding scowl. Every so often, he walks outside by himself to smoke, but I’m starting to wonder if he just doesn’t want to be around Cross. Ever since the Red Horizon landed, Karl’s been edgy. Is it because he can tell that Cross and I have a history—though he hasn’t asked me about it—or is it something else?
“Man, I though Hobins was going to come apart,” Cross says, chuckling over the way our old CO had reacted about being upstaged by his subordinates. “He’d already reported that we hadn’t found anything, and then you come back with the entire missing cargo. That guy was your typical company commander—promoted beyond his capacity to be effective, but short of his capacity to realize it.”
Everyone laughs, even those who hadn’t been in the Corps. A pompous jerkoff too busy stroking his own ego to know when he’s wrong is a universal character.
“Aly, do you remember that time he busted us in the armory?” Before I can respond, Cross launches into another tale from our past. “Aly and I were getting in some off-duty ‘recreation’ in the Hammer’s portable arms storage when Hobins comes in and scares the shit out of us. I stood up too fast, trying to get dressed, and ran into one of the arms-locker doors. It latched with Aly’s shirt stuck inside and locked, of course. So she grabs her rifle and slings it over her chest just as the captain walks around the corner. We did what we were supposed to—came to attention and saluted. Me with only one leg of my pants on and Aly using her carbine to cover her top, and both of us nearly having a stroke from trying not to laugh. He freaked! Damn, we were so in for it.”
I catch myself simultaneously wanting to smile and wanting to run Cross through with my dinner knife. How could he tell a story like that? Here? Desto and Bodie are practically falling off their chairs with laughter. In fact, everyone is getting a good guffaw at my expense. Everyone, that is, except Karl. He rockets from his seat like he’d been stung by it and strides out the door. His sandbike rumbles to life, the noise of its engine fading as he drives away.
The chuckles subside, and Cross asks, innocently, “What did I say?” But he’s looking at me knowingly, and I feel hot blood rush to my cheeks for the second time today.
I have to say something in my defense, but David beats me to it, “So Rob, now that you’ve done the impossible and made Aly speechless, I guess you probably know to sleep with one eye open tonight.” He’s trying to lighten the mood, but his eyes shift toward me with concern. He knows the deal between Karl and I, everyone here does. If the tables were turned, I’d probably be just as pissed off hearing Karl’s old flames talk so openly about their prior excursions. But dammit, this is all out of nowhere and I don’t really know what I’m supposed to say. I had not planned on crossing paths with Cross today—or ever—and I’m not sure how to respond to the whole situation.
“Actually, that kind of brings me to a question I wanted to ask.” Cross changes the subject, finally, and addresses Brady and Vitruzzi. “With the changes to Admin contracts coming down, we’ve found ourselves with a few less clients than normal and time on our hands until we can line up another job. I thought we might stick around the Beach for a while. Take a minivacation.”
He stops, taking in the silence and quizzical looks that surround him. “I mean, we can make ourselves useful, and we have all the provisions we need. We won’t put any strain on your food or other supplies.”
“Hell yeah! Give me a chance to win that pile of money back you fleeced from me last time you were here,” Desto responds.
Vitruzzi pulls up closer to the table and lays her hands flat against it, as if bracing herself. “What changes to Admin contracts, Rob?”
Sudden understanding settles on Rob’s face and his olive skin loses a shade of color. “You haven’t heard,” he states.
“Heard what?” Brady asks.
Before answering, Rob walks over to the counter and pours himself another glass of water. Turning, he says, almost to himself, “That makes sense. You wouldn’t know if you hadn’t traveled to the Obals lately.” He pauses, taking a long drink. “The Admin started rescinding all of their contracts with non-cit crews or crews with non-cits in them. They’re basically closing all Obal space to anyone who isn’t an Admin citizen. Some are saying it’s a matter of time before they even let anyone leave, citizen or not. There’s been so much upheaval, and that facility that was destroyed a few months ago…they’re on serious crackdown, doing a bigger policing job of the system than I”—he glances at me—“or any of us, have ever seen. They’re serious about catching whoever blew up their—whatever it was. The rumor is that an important research facility was destroyed. What kind of research is anyone’s guess,” he adds as an afterthought, finishing the water and setting the glass down.
My eyes find Vitruzzi’s fa
ce. If what Cross is saying is true, Agate Beach could be in real trouble. Much of our equipment, a good portion of our food, and all of our medical supplies are brought in from citizen ports. Ports that Vitruzzi and Karl have easy access to given their citizen status and Admin contracts. If they can’t leave the Spectras or run cargo for the Admin, this settlement could just dry up and blow away.
“Why don’t you want to head back to Obal 10? Isn’t that your usual port-of-call?” Brady asks, apparently deciding the subject isn’t to be discussed now. Brady and I may have our differences, but the man has shown me in these last couple of months that there is nothing he won’t do to keep himself, and the people he feels responsible for, safe. I often wonder what the system would be like if men like him were running it instead of the scum serving as members of the Admin Cabinet of Directorates.
“Yeah, it is. But what’s the harm? It would be great to catch up with David and Aly. Eight years is a lot of water under the bridge, and by the look of those raccoon rings Erikson’s sporting, I suspect they’ve got some interesting stories to tell. Am I right, Eagle Eye?” Cross is referring to a residual pinkish discoloration of the skin encircling David’s eye sockets. A happy little reminder of the shit the Admin had put in them on the Fortress to test whatever god-awful chemicals they had concocted for whatever unspeakable purpose. David’s sight has returned as acutely as ever, but the skin around them seems burned, and it’s uncertain if it will ever look normal again.
David says, “I don’t see any harm in it, Brady. I’ll vouch for Rob.”
“I don’t have any objections.” Vitruzzi adds her piece. “If the material he just brought isn’t exactly what we need, maybe he can do another run for us before his next job. Save us some time and trouble, at the least.” Especially if we can’t get them ourselves, she doesn’t have to add.
“That would be no problem. Happy to help,” Cross responds.
After a few more seconds of quiet deliberation, Brady finally says, “Yeah, okay, fine. Desto or Bodie could probably find room for you and—”
“Don’t even worry about it. We’re fine sleeping on the ’Rize. She’s really home anyway.”
Cross’s three companions have said very little all evening, accepting food and drink with reserved politeness and melting into the edges of the group. I notice that even Cross rarely addresses them, and I wonder how long they’ve flown together.
“The night’s young. Why don’t you all come over to our place and pony up some of that hard-earned cash in a rematch? I feel like revenge may be mine tonight. Anyone else want to get spanked?” Desto’s poker tactics are a local phenomenon. I’ve learned that the only way to keep from losing money to him is not to play. David and Bodie, however, aren’t resigned to their collective losses and get ready to go.
Cross stands up and beams a winning smile at Vitruzzi and Brady. “Thanks again for the hospitality. Agate Beach has become my oasis from the Admin’s BS these last couple of years. Tomorrow, whatever you need help with, the crew and I at your disposal.”
“Thanks, Rob. I have some ideas,” Vitruzzi responds.
Cross looks over at me. “How about you, Aly? Care to join us?”
“No, I’ve got some things I need to take care of.” In reality, if Karl’s gone back to the dwelling he shares with Desto and Doug Mason, I’m not sure it would be a good idea for me to show up there with Cross. I’ll see Karl tomorrow and maybe find a way to smooth out whatever’s going on between us. That, or he and Cross will “smooth” it out tonight. Either way, I’d rather avoid being around if the two of them decide to beat their chests in a testosterone-soaked dick-measuring contest.
“Suit yourself. In any case, it’s good to see you again.” He walks out with his crew, leaving me to wonder how he could possibly sound so sincere.
When the sound of Bodie and Desto’s sandbikes and Cross’s team’s land transport fades off, I turn my attention back to Vitruzzi and Brady.
“You’ve known Cross for a while?”
Vitruzzi is collecting plates and piling them in their sanitizing system. “Since I was still on Obal 10. He was already a contractor and helped Karl and I find the Sphynx. He’s a good man, but it sounds like you know that.” Even she can’t avoid joking about my obvious embarrassment.
I manage to keep the blush at bay this time. “What about the rest of his crew: Baker, Montoya, Sims? Who are they?”
A crease slides down between her black brows like the drop of rain that precludes a thunderstorm, but it’s Brady who responds, “We don’t know them.”
“V, do you think it’s a good idea to have a bunch of strangers hanging around while we’re building the transceiver? I mean, yeah, you trust Rob, but these others? They do work for the Admin, you know.”
“Jesus, you two are more paranoid than rats in a storm drain during monsoon season. Look, the fact is, the transceiver will be ready for testing soon, and we could really use another ship in the sky to tell us if it’s working. I think we should ask Cross. With him and the Sphynx and…”—her eyes shift away from me and her jaw tightens for a split second—“and a lot of luck, we’ll know if our plan is a go, or if it’s just wishful thinking.”
The plan she’s talking about, she and Brady are thinking of it as the best insurance policy money can buy, but I’m not so sure.
She continues, “Rob’s loyalty to the Admin only extends up to a point. We can trust him if we can trust anyone. I’ll talk to him about it tomorrow.”
Neither Brady nor I say anything more. At least in this one thing we’re united: neither of us likes to show our cards unless we know we have nothing to lose.
Reading the doubt in our eyes, she adds, “If it makes you feel better, I’ll ask him to keep it quiet and leave his crew out of it.”
“I think that’s the best option. Cross is reliable, but that doesn’t make him one of us, Eleanor. You know I trust your instincts, but we can’t risk too much,” Brady says.
I’m not convinced that it’s a good idea to let anyone else in on the transceiver. The thing itself might be a harmless communication device, but the way we plan to use it is a one-way trip to the Admin’s version of hell if we’re caught—but arguing with her isn’t going to change her mind. “I’d like to be there when you tell him about the transceiver.”
Vitruzzi levels her hard almost black eyes on me in a stare that would make most people uncomfortable, but I’m used to it. “Sure,” she says flatly. “See you at work tomorrow.”
As I walk out the door, I feel a strange discontinuity turning knots in my stomach. Besides David, I know Cross better than anyone here, and eight years ago I wouldn’t have thought twice before trusting him, even with my life. But people change. Things grow unstable, unpredictable. Sometimes, people can be pushed, or they take risks that are too big. And before they even realize what happened, their backs are against the wall and they’re doing dangerous, unexpected things just to survive. Sometimes that means sacrifice, sometimes it means betrayal. I can’t help but wonder, what has Cross been doing since I saw him last? What kinds of risks has he taken?
It’s a subject I know a lot about. In the six years since David and I deserted the Corps, I’ve made compromises and taken risks that seem insane. That were insane. Risks that eventually culminated in being betrayed by Rajcik, nearly losing my brother, and almost dying on the Fortress. The wound has fully healed and I no longer walk listing to one side to compensate for the nerve damage caused by Rajcik’s bullet—the only thing he ever gave me—but it could have gone another way. For a while, every decision I made, even the ones that seemed firmly rooted in self-preservation, was the wrong one. My recklessness may or may not have been wise, but David and I are still alive and I’ve learned a hard lesson. Cross had never been reckless in the same way, at least not when I knew him. But, just as Vitruzzi had said, his loyalty has its limits. Always has.
* * *
Karl and I had gone to Vitruzzi and Brady’s for dinner together and his abrupt
departure earlier leaves me on foot, but I’m content to walk. Venus had dragged me out of my bunk on the Sphynx a month ago, telling me that living underground wasn’t healthy, and it’s only a short distance to the dwelling we now share. The cool night air of the desert will be a perfect balm to my overheated brain.
At the time, I thought Venus was doing me a favor, but as the weeks have passed, I realize she needs me more than I needed somewhere besides the Sphynx to go. Her constant frenzy makes managing routine tasks, such as cooking without burning the place down, a challenge. The only time I’ve seen her truly calm is when she’s at the helm of a ship, and almost as a matter of survival, I’ve embraced the challenge of ensuring she doesn’t kill herself, or me, out of pure absentmindedness. Besides the bathroom and main room, we each have our own room for racking out, but unless we’re sleeping, we’re never there. The settlement, despite its isolation and limited resources, keeps me busy and there isn’t much slack time. It’s better that way. The routines I’ve carved out here bring me a kind of satisfaction smuggling never could.
The western horizon is a deep shade of red where Algol B spins, only fully setting for a few short hours each night. As I approach the dwelling, lights and laughter twine together in an inviting stream that spills from the doorway. Jeremy La Mer—a prisoner from the MCACS we’d hijacked to infiltrate the Fortress—is here. I stand outside for a minute, hesitant to enter for some reason. Hearing Venus and La Mer, their happiness and carefree youth, sends a pang of…what? sadness?…through me. Karl and I have our fights, loud ones, but since the first night we’d spent together—lying out under the shadow of the cliffs to the west of the settlement, the scent of night and desert grasses making me giddy, his hands moving in delicious exploration over my body in a way that left my skin thirsty for more—I haven’t considered the possibility that such fulfillment may be temporary. But his coolness since Cross had landed today and the way he’d reacted tonight at hearing Cross’s story jams that possibility into my gut in a way that hurts more than any bullet ever could.
