Wynne knew he didn't give a damn about the meat, either, but he poked, prodded, and turned the charring sticks, letting the juices flow from top to bottom before putting them back over the fire. A world class chef supervising the cooking of some exotic delicacy couldn't have shown more care and concentration. It was a delaying tactic and she knew it.
She patiently waited it out, never taking her eyes from the squatting figure. It wasn't hard. Stooped low as he was his pants tightened across a pair of very healthy looking thighs. She could almost see the bulging outline of the muscles beneath. No softness there, nor in his backside either. Not too big and not too small, the butt resting on his heals was perfectly tight and perfectly rounded. She wished her sister was here to see it so they could share a good giggle later over a cup of tea.
From the corner of her eye, she caught Mohawk watching her with a sly and lopsided grin. She blushed.
"Good to see you ain't dead," he said in English.
"Aren't," she corrected automatically.
"What?" Tor turned from the fire.
"Ain't is an improper contraction used for am not or are not," she explained. "Mohawk picked it up from the kids."
Tor's brow furrowed. "You've mentioned them before. What kind of goats are these?"
Mohawk snorted and stuck out his tongue, another bad habit learned from the kids.
"Guilty," Wynne laughed. "Kids is an improper word for children. We call it slang."
He looked surprised. "You have children?"
"Yes."
"No." Mohawk's answer fell on top of hers. "They're orphans found on the street. She and her sister took them in."
Wynne didn't see the difference, but Mohawk's denial was so adamant, she thought it best not to argue.
"No spouse, either," the old man added, cutting her off again. "Is that meat done?"
She still wasn't sure what Mohawk's problem was, but sensed that it wasn't the time to question. His change in subject left an opening for her own.
"You were telling us how you came to be on the Romer, Tor." She kept her voice neutral and smiled when he rolled his eyes and issued a defeated sigh.
He handed a stick of meat to Mohawk after offering it first to her. She declined. He shrugged in resignation.
"After I told Orax the deal was off, we clasped arms. No hard feelings. He'd let me know when he had something more to my liking. Next thing I know, I'm waking up in an alley outside Masholo Spaceport and my ship and crew are gone. I've spent the last two cycles and my last credit tracking them down."
A cycle was about ten days on Earth. He'd spent three weeks searching.
"What did the police say?" she asked. "You reported it, right?"
"They're called GC Peacekeepers, Wynne," Mohawk corrected.
"And it's not like I have many friends among the ranks," Tor added.
"Because you're a smuggler," Wynne made her point.
Tor didn't deny it. "It does have its drawbacks." He stood and began to pace. "I caught a whiff of rumor about Orax asking questions about the Romer II. Nobody knew what it was about, but it came up just often enough that I thought it might be true."
"So you bought a ticket based on a rumor." Wynne didn't believe it. She knew how much their tickets cost. It was fortunate her soon to be brother-in-law was not only wealthy, but generous. Space travel was not cheap.
"Hell no. I told you I'd spent my last credit. I wagered my timepiece against a guy's uniform in a round of Sus Stones."
At last, something Wynne recognized. Played with six-sided dice, Sus Stones was a game similar to Craps. She'd watched soldiers play it, but hadn't yet figured out the rules. A grinning Mohawk spoke before she could.
"Steward? Midshipman?"
"Eggs."
"Eggs?" she and Mohawk asked together.
"Yep," Tor said, looking very cocky and proud of himself. "Reed is the last large spaceport before reaching Dendor where the sleeper ships orbit. You pay that much for the journey, you expect fresh food, yeah?" He nodded in answer to his own question. "The guy bragged about the money he and his brother were making supplying eggs to the passenger vessels. I wagered my timepiece against his uniform."
"You wagered everything on a roll of the dice, um, stones."
"What did I have to lose?"
Hands on hips, Wynne nodded at his empty wrist. "Your watch, apparently."
Instead of answering, he turned to Mohawk. "This is your fault. Before you got here, she was sweet, almost fun."
Wow. Really? He thought she was sweet, almost fun? Wait a minute. Almost?
"Almost?" she asked aloud. "Would I get an upgrade if I'd said yes?"
His back to Mohawk, Tor winked at her. "Remains to be seen, doesn't it?"
"Lots of people think she's sweet," Mohawk mumbled around another piece of meat he'd taken from his stick. "Don't let her fool you. Kill you with kindness. You think that's another of their silly sayings until you get to know her. Patience is a virtue is another one, only with her it's not a virtue. It's a weapon. She wears you down with it and before you know it, you find yourself opening a window before you fart."
"I'm very proud of that accomplishment, Mohawk, and I thank God you finally learned," Wynne said primly. "And so does everyone else in the room." She took a seat, folding her legs beneath her and her hands in her lap. "But we aren't discussing my virtues or lack thereof, we're discussing Tor's." She smiled up at him expectantly. "Your timepiece?"
"See what I mean?" Mohawk took another bite from the stick.
"That's what I paid to ride along with the delivery. I helped him unload and then disappeared."
"You stowed away, hid out on the ship."
He nodded, completely missing the censure. "It's not hard on a ship that big. I found the laundry and changed clothes two or three times a day."
"Why?" Wynne started to ask, but then raised her finger to prevent his answer. "Let me guess. In case someone missed what you were wearing. It would turn up later. On a ship that size, it wouldn't be unusual to misplace an item now and then. No one would question it."
"She's pretty good," Tor said to Mohawk.
"She could be," Mohawk muttered.
"And what you're wearing now?" she asked quickly before Mohawk went off on another tangent about her reclusive life. She wasn't the only dog that wouldn't let go of a bone.
"I told you, I've done business with them before." He looked up at the sky fully lit by the orange sun. "And I have more business with them today, so if you're through with your interrogation, Princess, we have a long walk ahead of us and with any luck we'll get you out of here tonight."
She wasn't finished, but he was right. They needed to move.
"Just one more thing," she said as she began to gather the things Tor had emptied from his shirt the night before. "You programmed those pods to land here, didn't you?"
"I did," he admitted. "Without direction, the pods will seek the nearest landform that will support life. That doesn't mean there will be a way off that landform. I knew this place was close and I knew we'd find a way off."
"You knew those people would be here, too."
"Sooner or later." He shrugged.
"You thought you'd kill two birds with one stone."
"Catch a snake at both ends," he confirmed.
"What is this place?"
"Just what I said it was, a failed experiment. Its official name is TF295684."
"And unofficial?"
"The Devil's Den."
"A fitting name if there ever was one."
Tor's shirt became a pack again. Mohawk trotted over to the trees and retrieved what was left of the furry gator's tail.
"Will we be there before nightfall?" Wynne asked Tor.
"Hopefully long before."
She pointed at Mohawk's prize. "You're not bringing that. We have more than enough food for the day and I'm not breathing that stench if I don't have to."
"It's not stench, it's camouflage. Let me see your knife." Tor tossed i
t to him. Mohawk weighed it in his palm, flipped it in the air, and caught it awkwardly by the hilt. "Piece of shit," he muttered and stabbed the blade into the pointed end of the tail. "You should have a better weapon."
"His heart makes up for his manners," Wynne apologized from behind the hand holding her nose. "Can you make him get rid of it?"
"I'm better with weapons that have a trigger," Tor told the old soldier. "How's that going to hide anything?"
Mohawk had carved a handle into the thick hide. "You don't think I was carrying this thing for the exercise, do you?"
"I thought it was for lunch." Wynne grinned at Tor.
"That too," the old man snarled. "But after I killed it, other things left me alone, even Big Mama. She stayed with me until we met the maggots, but she didn't go for me, and she wanted to. I could tell. I saw some other nasty bastards on the way up here, none as big as these fuckers, but they all kept their distance except the snake that stopped by while I was having supper. They grow those suckers big around here, too."
Wynne stepped closer to Tor. "Did you kill it?"
Mohawk snickered. "You wrap your mouth around my leg, you better be a good looking woman, and the leg better be the one without the foot. She looked a bit surprised when she bit and I didn't say ow."
Mohawk had a synthetic leg that functioned exactly like a real one. Age and the injury had forced his retirement from the military.
She laughed. "Okay, I get it and I'm glad it's dead. Can we go now? Are you ready?" She started to walk away having no idea where she was going except uphill.
"I'm always ready."
Tors facial expression must have given the innocent sounding remark a second meaning because Mohawk snickered.
"You're both pigs," she called over her shoulder.
"Was that an insult?" Tor asked Mohawk.
Chapter 8
The sleeping giant wasn't a mountain, but the climb was steep. The pace Tor set wasn't as fast as the day before and he stopped regularly for short breaks. It wasn't long before they were on the downward slope. This side of the island looked more tropical. There were fewer trees though those few had trunks too large to wrap her arms around and secondary trunks supported the weight of their massive limbs. The undergrowth was large leaved and lush looking and more closely packed, though not so dense that their passage was hindered.
Far below them, sun glinted off the metallic dome that was their destination. The structure was huge. What once had probably been a clearing surrounding the dome was overgrown with tall grasses and low shrubs. Encircling it all was a dense wall of green.
"There's a real wall beneath it," Tor explained when she asked. "Though sections of it are crumbling and the vines have taken over. The wall was built to keep the experiments out. It didn't work. There was a massacre. The Godan Scientific Mission abandoned the place and declared it off limits, which means no one ever checks on the place because everyone knows the Godan's word is law and no one would dare break it."
"Do I detect a note of sarcasm there?" she asked innocently.
"You detect a whole symphony. I was only here once. The brothers wanted me to know how clever and powerful they are. I doubt it's changed much. There are two more buildings beyond the dome, a dormitory and a laboratory. Honarie spends most of his time here. He rarely leaves the Devil's Den, and Orax thinks the outside operation is his." He glanced down at her. "It's not."
"How do they keep the monsters out?"
"Who?"
"The brothers," she said. "The scientists couldn't keep them out. How does Honarie?"
"Maybe he's meaner than the monsters."
At intervals along the way, Mohawk would hand her his furry burden and take off to scout the area. He reported once that he'd spotted four men, but they were moving in the opposite direction.
"I will never complain about carting pots and pans again," Wynne swore as she took up the smelly carcass once again. Tor, who walked beside her, gave her a questioning look. She laughed. "Every time we moved, I ended up carrying all the awkward or breakable stuff."
"Did you move often?"
"Ten times in six years. Upward mobility." She laughed again before she explained. "The first two places were just cover from the rain. After that, each place was a little better, although looking back, better is relative, isn't it? A toilet that still flushed for a while, windows that were unbroken or at least boarded over, more room." This list went on and on, but she stopped it there. "My sister was always looking for something better and she usually found it. Our last place was the best because Mira was earning enough to pay the rent. The kids had more space."
"Kids, not goats," he laughed. "I have to remember that. I almost asked if you raise them for milk or meat."
"I don't know where the name came from."
"We called our children pips, seeds," he clarified. "Did you always live like that? Moving from place to place?"
"You make us sound like nomads. Before the Hahnshin came, I lived in the same house my father grew up in." She told him about the house, about the apple and plum tree in the backyard, and about the garage they used as a shed because it was too narrow to house a car. It felt good to talk about the way things were.
She and Mira rarely talked about the days before the war. She supposed because it was a reminder of all they'd lost. It was as if their past didn't exist, except for Nona Donazetto, the grandmother whose presence had done so much to shape their lives. Nona died when Wynne was fifteen, and she missed her every day. It was long before the Hahnshin came and she often wondered what the woman would say about this new and alien universe.
Her world was as big a mystery to Tor as his was to her. He listened and asked a lot of questions though he rarely looked at her. His eyes moved constantly in surveillance of their surroundings.
"What about you?" she asked when the questions dwindled. "Where are you from?"
"Nowhere."
"Oh, come on, everyone's born somewhere."
He shrugged. "A terraformed planetoid in the Zyrkian system. Our settlement was called Freedom Farm Cooperative."
"Your folks were farmers?"
"Everyone on the cooperative was a farmer, but everyone had other jobs, too. My father was a mechanic at the mill. My mother served as a midwife. In between field work and jobs, they raised fowl for trade, eggs mostly. That's how I met the eggman at the Alehouse. No one else was interested in eggs.
"Credits were scarce and they went for parts for the machinery at the plant. Most local trade was based on barter, my eggs for your vegetables, that kind of thing. My mother got paid in cloth. We never wanted for clothes." He smiled and his face became soft.
"My father used to boast that she never lost a babe and since we had no healer or medical facilities, I guess he had a right to be proud. He did repair work for other householders in exchange for whatever we needed or for what he thought he could barter with someone else. He wasn't very good at it. We had a storm cellar that was stocked with things nobody wanted." He looked down at her and smiled. "I learned everything I know about trade from my father. He taught me what not to do."
"When was the last time you visited?"
"A long time ago. It's all gone now," he said.
He said it matter-of-factly, but Wynne heard the underlying pain in his words. Without thinking, she slipped her hand into his.
"How?" she asked softly, but was afraid she knew. She, too, had lost almost everything to the Hahnshin.
Tor squeezed her hand once and then let it go. "The god cursed Godan."
Wynne stopped in her tracks, tugging at his hand. "Aren't you Godan?"
He nodded slowly. "My father used to say that you can choose your whiskey, but you can't choose your genes, and neither one should rule your destiny." He looked over his shoulder to make sure Mohawk wasn't near. "He hated the Godan military."
"But weren't you in the military?"
"Yes." He said the words so quietly it was almost as if he was talking to himself. "And he hate
d that, too."
Mohawk appeared ahead of them, sprinting up the slope. "We've got company," he called. He glanced behind him, but didn't slow his pace. It always amazed Wynne that anyone could move that fast on such short and stocky legs. He carried two poles, branches stripped of bark and broken into dull points at the ends. He tossed one to Tor.
"I counted five. Didn't hear 'em or smell 'em. They were just there." He turned back to face the way he'd come, spear held ready. "And they ain't furry."
Tor caught Wynne's arm. "The tree," he shouted, but it was too late.
The grotesque creatures charged in from different directions, a pack working together. These were not the same animals they'd seen before. Huge, and doglike in build, their thick, mottled hides were sparsely coated in wiry hair that reminded Wynne of elephants or rhinos. Their legs looked too short for the length of their bodies, their heads, too large and square. The only things they had in common with the furry gators were their massive jaws and long pointed teeth. They stopped about ten feet away.
Tor took the remains of the carcass from Wynne's quaking hands and held it out toward the nearest of the beasts. The thing snarled, curled its head away from the stench, but only moved a step away. He did the same to another with the same result. He kept moving around the circle.
Mohawk's theory only worked to a point. These monsters didn't like the smell, but weren't intimidated by it either. Their numbers worked to their advantage and they seemed to communicate with each other with low snarls and sharp yips. A new routine developed. When one moved back, another moved forward.
"The eye. Aim for the eye." Mohawk's whispered reminder was followed by a growl as he bared his teeth at the creature before him. The creature whined, but the one to its right snarled, not at Mohawk, but at its cowardly pack mate. Encouraged, the coward drew back it lips, showing teeth that made a mockery of Mohawk's sharply pointed grimace.
Wedged between the two men, and frozen in terror, Wynne felt Tor's body shift as he bent to retrieve his knife from his boot. He righted and the stinking chunk of meat slapped against her chest. She grabbed it, clutched it to her, and screamed when the first monster attacked.
Tor (Women of Earth Book 2) Page 7
