“If I could stop, I would.”
The older Heywood nodded. “That was the reason I first came up here,” he said quietly, looking down at the drop beneath their feet, “to put an end to the thinking.”
Rick turned his head to look at his father. It wasn’t entirely surprising to hear he’d considered such a thing. Rick could relate to that, but it was the first time Carrol Heywood had ever admitted it to his son.
“What stopped you?”
Carrol was quiet for so long that Rick began to think he wasn’t going to get an answer. When the older man finally spoke, it was a surprise.
“I’d just found out we were expecting your older brother,” Carrol said quietly. “What kind of world have we made for ourselves when a man’s first emotion at such news is guilt? I was dooming him to the same soul-crushing existence that I’d endured and the shame of it nearly drove me over the edge.”
Another long silence followed. Rick didn’t want to risk prompting him for fear of breaking whatever spell had finally led the old man to open up.
“I realized I wasn’t doing your brother any favors by making him grow up a pariah and an orphan, so I figured I’d better stick around.” He looked over, waiting for Rick to meet his gaze. “I’m glad I did.”
“I’m glad too, Pop, but…”
“But nothing,” Carrol cut him off firmly. “So people treat us like dirt – it is what it is. We know the truth of things because we were taught by our parents. The others know hate because they were taught to think that way.”
Carrol put a four-fingered hand on his son’s shoulder. “I know you’ve been tempted to lash out because I’ve been in your shoes myself, but you have to remember the stupid bastard in front of you is acting the way he does because he was taught to be that way.”
“I doubt things will change in our lifetimes.” Carrol swung his legs up onto the hull. “But it doesn’t mean we should stop trying. Now, help your old man get back on his feet, will ya? You’re brother’s waiting for me down in dorsal thermodynamics.”
Predators
Tsekoh, Capital of Chaco Benthic
The patrons of the small pedway diner grew quiet as Graadt Fell and his two comrades stalked in through the gate. Graadt shoved an inattentive greeter aside and headed for a table by the railing.
The small establishment was completely full but that was hardly a problem if you were in the right frame of mind. He walked up to a table and grabbed a computer slate from its occupant, flinging it over into the roiling mists of the atrium. “Time’s up.”
He pulled the Eesari out of his chair and handed him off to Kaans, who enjoyed throwing people out of places. He turned to claim the still warm chair when his eyes lighted on the object on the table.
“Kaans,” he growled sharply. Looking up, he saw his man still holding the Eesari near the gate. “Bring that back over here.” He dropped his bulk into the seat as the frightened patron was shoved back over to his former table.
Though the Eesari were a relatively large race, this one showed no inclination to resist. Graadt and his cronies weren’t exactly lycohunds themselves. They were at least twice the size of their Dactari ancestors and they had an almost feral air about them.
After six generations living on Oudtstone and mixing with the local primitives, his people had become something new. They’d lost their tails generations ago. The gene was a recessive one, and Dactari tails would have had little impact on the balance of such large bodies.
It wasn’t their mixed heritage that made them so frightening. It was their training. On Oudtstone, standard Dactari training had been alloyed with the traditional tribal rituals of the natives. Graadt had needed to spend a full solar cycle on Oudtstone’s second moon, Chokbaan. He, like all his kind, had been dropped on the surface with nothing but the clothing on his back. Each year, a shuttle would pick up a limited number of successful candidates.
If you couldn’t fight your way into one of the pick-up pods, you never saw home again.
Long months of survival in the deep walds had given him the raw edge that instilled such fear in this big Eesari, and Graadt simply accepted it as the normal way of things. Prey feared the predator.
He picked up a small wooden bracelet. “How does a dung-heels like you get his front paws on spicewood?” He’d been noticing the steady increase of spicewood objects in Chaco and it was constantly nagging at the back of his mind. If you weren’t attuned to your environment, it wouldn’t be long before you became the prey, and this sudden profusion of luxury items represented a change he couldn’t put his finger on.
The Eesari’s mouth moved but no sound came out.
The corners of Graadt’s mouth twitched up – half grin, half snarl. “Boys, help him find his slate.”
Kaans and Nid dragged him over to the grimy railing and bent him over it. A slag carrier passed beneath in the fog, greyish white eddies in its silent wake. They reached down and grabbed their victim’s feet, lifting them up so he slid over the rail and hung upside down over the nine-story drop.
The Eesari found his voice. The other patrons guiltily ignored the screams and concentrated on their meals.
Graadt got out of the chair and leaned over the slick graphene rail, shoving a mouthful of half-eaten fish into his mouth. “You don’t expect me to eat with you hanging there shrieking, do you?”
“You were asked a question,” Kaans shouted down at him. “Didn’t your mother teach you any manners?”
“It’s cheap,” their victim screamed. “Some shops on twenty-three, near the pinch, they carry stuff like this.”
“How much was it?” Graadt brought the bracelet to his nose. His eyebrows shot up.
“Thirty-two hundred credits,” the Eesari whined. “You can have it…”
Graadt held out the bracelet for Kaans to sniff. “Thirty-two hundred is cheap for old wood, but this is fresh from the trunk. No way you paid so little for something this new.”
“It’s true, I didn’t believe the stories myself until I actually went there.” There was a series of rapid, shallow breaths.
Graadt nodded at his cronies and waited till they pulled him up. “Near the pinch?” he asked.
A relieved nod.
“What was the name of the place?”
A fearful glance darted at the railing. “Gods, I don’t remember. I just walked into some stores until I found that bracelet.”
Graadt wanted more information but he’d caught a scent and he wanted to start the hunt. He grabbed the Eesari’s wrist, holding it up for Nid to scan with an arm-mounted unit.
“Nish Ainashu,” Nid grunted.
Graadt stepped closer, his face inches from Nish. He cupped the back of the Eesari’s head with his right hand. “If I decide later that I’m angry with you, Nish, I’ll come looking for you. You don’t want that to happen, do you?” The question sounded more like a statement of fact.
A terrified shake of the head.
“Good.” Graadt patted the back of Nish’s head roughly. “You enjoy your meal.”
He pushed Nish back into his seat. Graadt had suddenly forgotten he was hungry. He hadn’t given much thought to the profusion of spicewood because he’d come here to hunt a Human agent, not to trade in luxury goods. Still, something seemed out of place and he couldn’t afford to ignore it any longer.
He led his two comrades out of the diner and over to a loading portal.
There were two lines waiting at the portal. One was a regular line where eight ordinary nobodies waited for their vehicles to be brought up and the other was a priority line where a single Dactari company man waited for his driver.
The nobodies watched the approaching hunters with mixed alarm. Graadt approved. They were attuned to their environment. They had the brains to sense the potential danger he represented.
The Dactari was completely oblivious. He obviously saw himself as the king of this little corner of the dung-heap and he had no idea trouble was approaching.
And that
trouble was heading right for him. Graadt and his friends needed a vehicle and the Dactari’s runabout was large, it was comfortable and it was the only vehicle currently docked.
The company man was just stepping into the back of his open-top ride when Nid shoved him from behind, sending him sprawling onto the floor. He rolled onto his back, holding a hand to his nose. Shock and anger fought for control of his features. The anger won as Graadt leaned over him.
“Hello, little cousin,” Graadt showed him a smile that did little to reassure. “We need to use your ride for a few minutes; just keep calm.”
Behind him, Kaans was throwing the driver up onto the loading platform. Nid hurled the driver’s crown-shaped dash ornament at the back of his head, whooping with delight as it connected.
“You’re those gods-damned ‘stoners’,” the Dactari spluttered.
Graadt nodded agreeably. Most full-blooded Dactari used the name as a pejorative derivative of ‘Oudtstoner’ but Graadt liked the sound of it. The moniker actually made him seem a little more frightening – a little more like someone who was outside the rules of orderly civilization.
“I know what I am, little mouse.” Unlike the Dactari choice of nickname, the Oudstoner’s handle for their pureblood cousins was clearly an insult. “Why do you think saying it will improve your morning?”
“We turn a blind eye to your activities,” the mouse protested, “even though your kind are persona non grata in the Republic, but don’t start thinking you can take liberties with senior planetary officials.”
The Oudstoners were descended from the renegade force led by Flota Reis Mas of the Krypteia. They fought the Alliance, and they did so more effectively than Dactari regulars. As a result, the official Republic approach was to ignore them. Stoners could travel freely within the Republic and their operators were largely ignored by local military and law enforcement.
They were able to carry out attacks against the Human/Midgaard Alliance without risking the shaky détente that had existed for the last fifteen decades. They were unofficial, so blame never came back to the Consul on Dactar.
It was possible for a stoner to go too far and run afoul of the local authorities, but Graadt knew he was far from red-lining the current situation. He noticed a small cooling unit in the back seat bolster and helped himself to a bottle of water. Despite the city’s location beneath millions of tons of water, it was still a very expensive product.
The company owned the only desalination plants and they kept the prices just below the point where riots would have broken out.
He grabbed two more bottles and threw them to Kaans as Nid maneuvered the vehicle away from the platform. “Senior official…” He let the words hang there like rotten fruit for a moment. “Why would a senior official be dressed like five drachmos of dung in a ten drachmo bag? Hmmm?”
The Dactari refused to answer. His clothing was better than most Tsekoh citizens but he certainly wasn’t dressed like anyone important.
“And why would he be here in a fleet runabout rather than a personal vehicle?” Graadt took in the view as they ascended. “No, little mouse, you’re a petty company functionary who’s going to keep his lips glued until we don’t need his vehicle anymore.”
The mouse squeaked as Nid banked to take them around the pinch at a more-or-less suicidal speed.
They eased to a halt next to the railing on the commercial side of twenty three in an area where a rail shop had recently collapsed. There were thousands of the unlicensed shops throughout the city, clinging to the outside edge of the railings. They sold anything they could to pedestrians and the city collected taxes, including a hefty initiation fee, but never issued them with licenses.
Construction was usually shoddy and collapses were common, often taking out the shops below them as they fell. The company administrators didn’t mind because it increased the ratio of initiation fees.
“Hold him here, lads.” Graadt jumped from the side of the runabout, landing with one foot on the edge of the pedway and both hands on the railing. He swung his legs over the rail and dropped into the space that had opened up in the wary pedestrian flow.
“What’s our play?” Kaans called out as he moved back to sit near the Dactari.
Graadt turned back, sorting out what had, until that moment, been a collection of hazy thoughts. The instinct of the hunt. “This spicewood thing is too juicy for our quarry to ignore.” He nodded to himself. “Follow the spicewood and we’ll cross trails with the Alliance agent soon enough.” He turned to head into the first store.
Finding that agent would go a long way toward squaring the three of them with their own people. Being a stoner meant being outside of Republic society. Being an outcast from the stoners meant you were completely alone.
And they had this particular agent to thank for their exile.
Alone Time
Planet 3428
Rick dropped to one knee, his eyes just clear of the low-level mist flowing down the ravine. Discovery lay ahead. Somewhere in front of him, no more than fourteen seconds ahead, something had been placed to betray his presence. A branch across the path, a trip wire – whatever it was, Nell had put it there to know he was approaching.
He looked ahead to the abandoned cargo shuttle lying against the steep wall of the ravine, overgrown by centuries of lush tropical vegetation. Maquahuitl vines fought each other near the stern. For reasons nobody understood, the sharp-edged plants were drawn to the energy of a pitch drive. Even an old shuttle like this one, its engine dead for centuries, drew the deadly vines and they slowly ground against one another, slicing at each other in their quest for dominance.
The forward entry point was well clear of the vines and Rick had been surprised at the comfortable living quarters inside. He’d cleared out the skeletal remains of the monks who’d crashed there, and started using the shuttle as a hunting camp. It had quickly become a second home – a place where he could be free from the disdain of his fellow crew-members.
Small comforts had been finding their way to this shuttle for the last eleven months. The place was actually more comfortable than Rick’s accommodations on the Canal.
He now wished he’d never shown it to Nell. In the early flush of infatuation, he’d brought her here and she had quickly become as avid a ‘hunter’ as Rick. Many had remarked on how much time she now spent in the jungle. Though he’d enjoyed their time here, he suddenly realized that his sanctuary had been compromised.
He gazed up at the decrepit vessel, frowning as his friend’s warning nagged at him. Barry’s disapproval was directed at his own sister, and that gave Rick pause. If Barry had simply warned Rick to stay away, it would have made him do the opposite. In articulating the true reasons for his position, he’d slipped past Rick’s guard.
He looked back on all the time he’d spent in that shuttle. Suddenly all his fond memories soured. He saw Nell’s behavior in a new light, without the blinders of infatuation. It wasn’t just a forbidden romance.
She was toying with the ‘help’.
He only had himself to blame. Did he really expect anything to come of it? He picked up a stone, adjusting his angle until he knew he’d hit whatever was out there and let it fly.
A thin smile ghosted his features as he backed into the dense brush, turning to continue with his hunt. The ‘help’ wouldn’t be coming today.
Dropping By
Tsekoh, Capital of Chaco Benthic
The warehouse was nicer than Cal had expected. The entire front was a windowed office space, opening onto three different levels. The window mullions hadn’t developed the smutty patina common to Tsekoh, marking the façade as a new addition, probably during the last year.
“The son’s name?” he asked over his shoulder as he crossed toward the main doors, jamming a Tauhentan buck-herder’s hat on his head.
“G’Mal.” The Ufangian gazed at the ridiculously out-of-place hat for a split second before trotting after Cal.
They pulled the doors open, str
iding confidently into the comfortably dry and warm atrium. A catwalk led across the three-story open space and Cal headed across without breaking stride, acting as if he knew where he was going. He completely ignored passing office employees and they repaid the favor, glancing at his hat, but not thinking to wonder where the confident stranger was headed.
Momentum was crucial in a situation like this. If you stopped and took in your surroundings, you didn’t belong. If you acted as though you knew what you were doing, chances were good you’d avoid entanglements with territorial staff. Just pick a point and start walking.
They reached the end of the catwalk and Cal swerved left to pass a reception desk, aiming for the heavy spicewood doors at the back of a small seating area. The heady scent was nice for a few moments, but he couldn’t imagine spending entire days behind those doors.
“Excuse me,” the young Tauhentan man at the desk got up, speaking in an authoritative tone. “Can I help you?”
Cal supressed a grin. In a confrontation, most people had a chronic aversion to saying what they really meant. This receptionist was a prime example. What he really wanted to say was Stop; you can’t just walk in there. It would have worked a hell of a lot better in this case. Instead, his choice of words gave the impression that he was just offering help.
Taking him up on his offer was the best way to keep the momentum alive. “Three algae floaters and see that we’re not disturbed – G’Mal’s on a tight schedule today.”
The flustered receptionist frowned in confusion as the two interlopers pushed the heavy doors open and disappeared inside.
The office stank of spicewood. The desk in the center of the room was made of the stuff and it was probably the reason the ventilation system was running full tilt. The twenty-something Tauhentan behind it looked at the closing doors for a second then back to his unexpected visitors. His eyes slid up to Cal’s ostentatious hat, then darted away diplomatically.
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