The Vastalimi Gambit

by Steve Perry

  For his money, if he had to pull a knife, it was going to be because he had to use it pretty soon, and that meant whoever was in his face or coming up on his back was probably already past the point of being shooed off. When the adrenaline flowed, those small movements you could do in your sleep almost reflexively tended to go away—it was the nature of the system. Big muscles, the ones that worked for running and jumping and getting the fuck away from a predator, those took over, and fine motor control went into the toilet. Wink had seen guys who could plug the bull’s-eye on a target all day long at fifty meters miss an incoming trooper at spitting distance with an entire magazine’s worth of ammo.

  Primal fear could be a killer.

  Shoving a knife was a big motion, not like squeezing a trigger.

  Twirling it was not a big motion. And if your weapon was a knife, you most certainly didn’t want to drop it when you needed it most.

  As an adrenaline junkie, Wink tended to slide past that—he lived for the rush and had learned how to function when it took him for the ride. Chances were, he was going to hit his target, or stick it, just fine.

  Of course, handling the knife like this made it into an extension of his hand. He did that with his handguns, too. If you were completely familiar with a weapon’s balance, the heft, the way it would move if you did this instead of that? That was a plus, come the real need . . .

  The door slid open, and Kay came in, followed closely by Droc.

  Wink slipped the knife back into the sheath behind his right hip. It was old-style, cloned-leather rather than pressure-formed plastic. A bit bulkier, but more organic. Plus, he liked the feel and the smell of leather.

  “Anything?”

  Kay shook her head. “Completely nonreactive for zoodozoa.”

  “Damn.”

  It had seemed like a promising lead. Zoodozoa were a pseudolife-form discovered eighty years ago in a methane sea on some godforsaken moon somewhere. Not exactly flora or fauna, they had viral-like qualities, were as small as medium-sized varieties of viruses, and they had been implicated in some esoteric illnesses among humans. The zoodozoa tended to hide inside cell nuclei, where they were hard to spot even if you knew to look for them, and while they caused problems, they didn’t replicate with any kind of predictable regularity, nor in numbers enough to jump out at somebody trying to find anomalies. Sneaky little bastards.

  “Some of my colleagues are beginning to invoke notions of religion or magic,” Droc said. “We are cursed by the gods for our hubris and the like.”

  “Yeah, well, if that’s the case, we are shit-out-of-luck,” Wink said. “But excuse me if I don’t buy that one.”

  “Not religious?”

  “Actually, I don’t have a problem with the idea of something beyond the physical. Lot of strange stuff out there in the galaxy. But I don’t believe in a deity who manifests as a giant white-haired old man in the sky setting up roadblocks, hurling lightning bolts, or striking us down with assorted plagues. That seems awful petty for any kind of being capable of building or destroying universes with the wave of its appendage. Why bother?”

  “Who can know the mind of a god?” Droc said. “And it would be a white-furred old Vastalimi and not a human around here. Our deities are territorial.”

  Wink looked at him. Funny guy, Kay’s brother.

  “However, I agree with your assessment of God,” Droc continued. “I see Him as a twirler. He sets the galaxies in spin, then moves off to other serious business. Whether He or She will be on the Other Side when our spirits arrive there, if indeed they do? Who can say? I also doubt that an omnipotent being needs to poke a finger into the doings of Vastalimi or humans or any other species on an individual level.”

  “On the other hand,” Kay said, “if that were the case, we could importune God to lift this particular affliction and perhaps Zhe would see fit to do so, if we asked properly.”

  “You believe that?”

  Kay smiled. “Not for a human second.”

  “Which leaves us where we were before.”

  “Well, it eliminates another possible cause,” Droc said.

  There was a pause. Then: “Epidemiological inquiries have come up empty, other than the illness has occurred in families or in close associates. I am positing some kind of intentional introduction of an unnatural causative agent by unknown parties,” Kay said.

  “Based on?”

  “Based on the theory that somebody wanted to kill Vastalimi deliberately using a method that wouldn’t likely be traced back to them. Either a particular target, without regard to sequelae regarding others; or with mass murder in mind, for whatever reasons.”

  Wink nodded. That made as much sense as a natural, completely undetectable disease, more so, actually. More diabolical creations had come from labs proportionately than from nature. Why somebody would go to this much effort, were that the case, might be beyond easy measure, but that it was possible? People had been coming up with ways to kill each other since people became such, and they had gotten better and better at it . . .

  “We have studied the patients with this affliction from various standpoints,” Kay said. “Primarily medical, then geographical, genetically, environmentally, looking for links that would isolate a natural cause. If the illness is artificial, then we won’t find those particular links. So we need to examine other factors, based on that notion.”

  Wink nodded. “What might they have in common regarding their sociology rather than biology. Who are their friends and enemies? Who might they have pissed off?”

  “Exactly,” Kay said. “If there is something that links them together worth murdering them for, and we can find it, we can backtrack that and figure out who is responsible.”

  “It is a thin theory,” Droc said.

  “If you have a thicker one, Brother, I’m ready to hear it.”

  Droc shook his head. “A small chance is better than none.”

  Wink said, “So, how do we start?”

  “The Shadows can parse much of it. They have the ability—if it can be found, they can find it—if they have sufficient reason to look. They might need more than a theory, though my sister will at least listen. We can continue our own investigation. We know the names of those afflicted, and in which order they became such. The dead will have family, friends, coworkers, and they are potential sources of information.

  “If we ask the right person the right question, it might open a door.”

  “Works for me,” Wink said. “Let’s go places and talk to people.”

  _ _ _ _ _ _

  Gunny was dozing off in her chair when Cutter said, “Okay, what do we have?”

  They were in the conference room, the walls still smelling faintly of ferrofoam-setting solution, a not-particularly-pleasant chemical stink.

  Gramps said, “I have the bank they use, and where they buy their local supplies, courtesy of our new banker, Fluffy.”

  The others looked at him. “A nickname, based on his hairstyle. I didn’t get a location. Probably they have a bivouac somewhere away from their main camp, too, but we can poke into the deliveries.”

  Cutter nodded. “Formentara?”

  “Like so many of the stone-age planets you drag us to, this one is lacking much in the way of technology.” Zhe kept hir face deadpan. “They do have augmentation parlors here—mostly muscle and endurance augs for the miners, a few that offer more than basics. I was able to determine that there have been a few soldiers newly arrived, in for tune-ups, and a backwalk of their payments for such services link to the corporate account Gramps found.”

  “Which is a shell,” Gramps added. “‘John S. Mosby & Associates.’” He smiled.

  Cutter grinned, too.

  “What’s funny?” Jo asked.

  “Our competition has a sense of history,” Cutter said. “John Mosby was the leader of a m
ilitary unit on prespaceflight Earth during a large and nasty early-industrial regional war. Led a group of rangers, guerrilla forces, hit-and-run against much larger armies. Quite successful, albeit they were on the losing side.

  “Mosby was, I believe, a colonel by the end. He was known as the Gray Ghost, based on uniform color and his ability to vanish when pursued. You should brush up on your history, Jo.”

  “Friend of yours?” Gunny said, smiling at Gramps.

  “Johnny? Sure, knew him well. One of J. E. B. Stuart’s boys. Great soldier. Became a diplomat after the war. He was a lawyer, but I never held that against him. I thought you were from that region—why don’t you know this?”

  Gunny shook her head. Point to Gramps, for the research.

  “Gunny?” Cutter said.

  “Scuttlebutt from the pubs, but my source seems fairly reliable. Seems there’s a group of ‘religious tourists’ who have rented a parcel of land a couple hundred klicks southeast of Adit. Some kind of retreat, so the story goes. They’ve built a camp and seem to be importing a lot of supplies in heavy-duty vans and hoppers. Maybe they are erecting big idols or something.”

  Cutter said, “So that gives us something to look into, doesn’t it? Can we get a spysat overfly?”

  “Not unless we launch it ourselves,” Jo said. “The locals are touchy about such things. Might could hack into one long enough to get a view, but if they are running camo, we won’t see anything.”

  “Do we have a bird in stock?”

  “Not as such. I could buy us one.”

  Cutter shook his head. “Seems like a lot of expense, given as how we have all you highly trained and well-paid soldiers who can figure out cheaper ways to put eyes on the site.”

  “Might could sneak a couple of firefly drones over, drop a few birdshit cams in,” Jo allowed. “Though if they are any good, they’ll find and disable those pretty quick. Even the on-demand-only transmitters would trigger halfway-decent scanners, and they’d zap the cams.”

  “Which would tell us something, wouldn’t it?”

  “Yeah, either they are undercover mercs or really paranoid religious nuts. Unfortunately, it would tell them something, too.

  “Too bad Kay isn’t here. She could sneak in and out, nobody the wiser.”

  “Well, I leave it to you, Jo. It’s why you get paid the big money.”

  “Thanks. I’ve been meaning to talk to you about a raise.”

  “Next assignment.”

  “That’s what you always say, Rags.”

  “And don’t you want a consistent commander? Besides, what would you do with more money? I have to force you to take leave now as it is. You probably have more noodle in the bank than the rest of us put together.”

  “No,” Gramps said, “that would be Formentara. Zhe’s richer than some planets. And zhe doesn’t spend it, either. I had that much, I’d retire.”

  Jo shook her head at Cutter. “Amazing how good you are at changing the subject.”

  “Mark of a good commander. You gonna stand around all day or get us some useful intel?”

  TEN

  Jak was no less truculent than he had been before, but he tried to keep it hidden better. Perhaps because Wink was with Kay this time, and Jak did not want to reveal anything that might put him at any kind of disadvantage in front of a human. Given that she already knew what a kurac-head he was, he wouldn’t put much effort into trying to sway her.

  He couldn’t help himself, though. When he saw Wink next to Kay, he said, “So this is your tame human I’ve heard about.” He spoke in NorVaz instead of Basic.

  Jak didn’t know that Wink Doctor had an unseen translator feeding his earbud, and the sound was low enough so that Jak couldn’t hear it.

  Before she could speak, Wink said in Basic, “Yes, that would be me. I have heard much about you, too.” He smiled, not showing his teeth. “All manner of things.”

  It was a good insult. Veiled, not enough to trigger a Challenge for slander between two Vastalimi, and Wink would be immune to such in this case anyway. Nicely played.

  Still running on surprise, Jak said, “You understand me?”

  “Oh, I understand you perfectly well.”

  That shut him up.

  Kay said, “I have more questions about your uncle.”

  “Ask them, then.” He had to clench his jaw shut to keep from saying something else that would make him look bad.

  Kay already knew the answers to the questions she meant to ask. Jak’s responses were less important than his knowing she had a purpose in asking and what that purpose was. She was on the hunt, she had quarry, she was seeking a trail, she wanted Jak to know what it was and, generally, where she was heading.

  They went through her list, Jak growing more impatient and wary with each question, and finally they were done. They left.

  On the walk back, Wink Doctor said, “Okay, what was that all about? You already knew all that stuff, didn’t you?”

  “Yes.”

  “You think Jak is involved? Trying to rattle him?”

  “No reason to think he is directly involved. But Jak is weak. He will speak of this to somebody, and word will get around that we suspect the illness was a deliberate attack upon The People.”

  “Ah.”

  “If we are wrong, it won’t matter. But if we are right, it might provoke someone into doing something. People suddenly made nervous by the notion that we are looking for them. Skittish prey will make mistakes.”

  “Won’t it also make you a target?”

  “A risk I am willing to take.”

  “Hmm. I had a thought: Could Vial have been a part of this?”

  She considered it. “Possible. Although we had history that he might have thought necessary to play out. I suspect he was contracted to challenge me before I left Vast and never got the chance to act on it. But maybe somebody took out a new contract.”

  “Somebody worried about you could hire somebody else.”

  “Yes. And there are those swaggerers who would dismiss Vial’s abilities as inferior to their own willing to try. However, they will now know that their actions will fall under careful scrutiny.”

  “And this means what?”

  “It is technically illegal to Challenge for hire, though the crime is hard to prove, and thus the law seldom enforced; however, with the Shadows paying close attention, potential challengers will thus have to step with care, and anybody who would hire them would know there would be a chance they could be found. They might not wish to risk such.”

  “That’s something, at least.”

  “I would rather they try, and give me a direction in which to go. Meanwhile, I am going to talk to my sister. I should be back soon. I’ll meet you back at the hospital.”

  _ _ _ _ _ _

  They were in Leeth’s office, a spartan cubicle mostly devoid of decoration. There was a window, screened and open to the outside, so the air wasn’t so stale.

  There was a computer terminal on a desk, two chairs, and a row of silvery medallions, a dozen or so, mounted on small, stripewood plaques on a shelf. Awards for winning various competitions: shooting; martial arts; Za, the Vastalimi version of three-dimensional chess.

  Only Firsts were on display.

  “Don’t keep the second- and third-place medals?”

  “What joy in showcasing a loss?” There was a pause, and she shook her head. “I am unconvinced.”

  “You can’t see the possibility?” Kay asked.

  “Of course I can see that it is possible. But I find the idea hard to believe.”

  “That somebody would do it? Or that they could?”

  “Both.”

  “Yet the problem persists. The top Healers on Vast have been unable to find a cause, using the best available equipment and tests.”

  “Which
does not mean your theory has any more weight. One does not automatically follow the other.”

  “No. Save that we have eliminated all kinds of possibilities, to the point where we have no idea how to find a solution. We must look at other things. To ignore this might be a critical error.”

  Leeth was obviously skeptical.

  “I have a feeling,” Kay said. “Not as strong as some of the times when I have known, but there is something there.”

  Leeth looked at her. She knew of Kay’s ability in unsubstantiated diagnoses. She raised an eye ridge. “Really?”

  “Yes.” Kay wasn’t above using that to add impetus to her request. “Consider the gravity of the situation. So far, the deaths have been relatively few, but without a cause, there can be no treatment, so any new cases that arise will continue to have a one hundred percent mortality rate. If the rate of infection increases, it could become pandemic, epidemic, and the death rate catastrophic.”

  “Or it might disappear as quickly as it appeared.”

  “True. But that’s a completely passive approach, and we are not prey to sit frozen and waiting for the end. If it does not stop, or if it increases, what then? What is the cost then?”

  “High,” Leeth allowed.

  “Sena investigate. So let them investigate this.”

  “Easy to say. We are stretched thin, you know that. The pool of qualified applicants has never been deep, and those who will make it through the training? Not many. We are always working simply to replace those who die or retire; we never seem to gain. Fewer of our young ones now elect to travel the Path. When I began, two or three thousand hopefuls would apply each year. Now? We are lucky to get a third as many.

  “Each of the Sena has much more territory to cover than we did, even five years ago. There has been talk of . . . relaxing standards.”

  It was Kay’s turn to raise an eye ridge. Relaxing standards? Oh, Leeth could not abide such a foolish concept. Her loyalty was to the Shadows, first, last, and always. To put somebody unqualified by her measure onto the streets? An abomination.

  “It is true. The People as a whole simply do not realize how critical the Sena are. Something must be done. But in the meanwhile, to spend effort on this will take resources from our other areas we can ill afford.”