by Steve Perry
“I’m not much on religion, but nobody makes the Bax drink the holy tonic if they don’t want it; the secularists would have denied that possibility. One offered a choice, the other didn’t. So we decided the best thing was to put it in abeyance. If the religious group wants the water, they can cut a deal with the government, which will take over the wells. They had any brains, they’d have done that in the first place; they were trying to get it for the price of a little war, and they didn’t. So nobody gets to screw with Earth’s resources on our watch.”
“You fucking assholes! I wanted the religious side to win! They have more money, so it would have been a bigger payout, but that would have given you your fucking justice!”
“But if they’d lost, you would have still done okay. The only way you’d have come up empty would have been if the Monitors zeroed it out or it ended in a draw.”
“Which you saw to.”
“Life is hard.”
Junior came back around the desk, still covering Cutter with his own weapon.
“And for some, life gets cut short. Here’s how it is going to go. I am going to shoot you. Then my staff will hear signs of a struggle. The door is locked, so they’ll have to override the program to get in. By the time they do, they’ll find you dead on the floor and me a bit winded. You came to kill me, but you got careless. We wrestled for your weapon—mine was in the drawer and I couldn’t get to it—and during the struggle, the gun went off.”
“You’ll have to be closer than you are to make that scenario work, Junior.”
“Go ahead, take what little joy you can calling me that; your clock is running out. Oh, and my office recording system is on the fritz. Been acting up all week, the tech came, fixed it, but it’s something in the hardware. And there’s a jammer on my secretary’s desk stopping any UA transmissions from in here, so if you came wired, too bad. The only person who can offer up what happened here is me, you being dead and all.”
Cutter shook his head. “Got it all worked out, haven’t you? What about what my people and Zoree Wood know?”
“Knowledge isn’t proof. Besides, you won’t care, being dead and all. Not going to beg me to spare you?”
Cutter shrugged. “Would it do any good?”
“No. But I’d love to see it. My father thought you were a superior soldier, but I was always better at sub-rosa tactics. I outmaneuvered you on Morandan, and I did it here.”
“Except for the war and the money.”
“But I’ll be around to figure out another way to get more. You won’t be. My father would be upset to see you go down this way.”
“Is that what this is about? Your wanting to prove something to your father?”
Junior gave him a mirthless grin. “Maybe a little. He’d be distressed that you were so easy to set up and take down, his shiny samurai. He thought you were quite the strategy-and-tactics guy.
“Thing was, the samurai were brave and loyal and fierce fighters, but the ninja had their place. Straight up, maybe you’d win, but you don’t get the choice.”
“I’ve already paid for your screwup on Morandan.”
“There are people who know you got a raw deal. They’ll understand how you would want to see me dead. You got to the place where you couldn’t stand it anymore, came to take me out, but too bad for you, I beat you. A classic tragedy.”
“So you murder me to keep covering your ass for the death of all those civilians.”
“That and you screwing me out of all that loot. This time, the bullet you take will be real and fatal.”
Junior took a step forward. Still outside Cutter’s hand-to-hand range.
“Come on, Cutter. Come at me. That’s your only chance.”
“Yeah. You’re right.”
He jumped—
The muzzle was only centimeters away from his heart when Junior pulled the trigger—
The loudest sound in the world is click! when you are expecting bang!
But if you know that click! is coming? It gives you an advantage.
Cutter grabbed the surprised Junior and brought his knee up—
—Junior’s responses finally came to life, and he turned, brought his own knee up to block—
—Cutter swung his right fist in a tight uppercut, driven by his hips, and slammed Junior under the chin, a solid blow. Junior’s head snapped back and he fell, stunned. He hit the floor hard. He lost his grip on Cutter’s pistol. He tried to come up, but Cutter drove the heel of his boot into Junior’s forehead. Junior’s crown smacked the floor, and even though the carpet was plush, it wasn’t enough padding to keep him completely conscious. His eyes lost focus.
Just like that, done.
Cutter bent and retrieved his pistol. He ejected the doctored magazine and dummy round in the chamber, caught the fakes, then replaced the magazine with a fully functional one and chambered a live round. Good job, Gunny.
He could have set it up differently. Could have arranged it so he shot Junior. He had thought about that. It wouldn’t balance the scales, but it would have been personally satisfying.
But, no. Better to let the Army do that, in its own way. Avoid the paperwork.
“Your secretary is out to lunch, and his jammer got shut off when I got here. Have a look.”
He reached into his tunic and removed the tiny VP mikecam disguised as the top button on the tunic. The feed had gone a couple of places; there had been people listening and recording on the transmitter’s band.
Too much for the Army to ignore, especially here on the homeworld. They’d have to do something.
Junior was fucked, and he had done it to himself.
He angled the mikecam to get a shot of Junior on the floor. “Because the samurai were honorable didn’t mean they were stupid.
“Junior.”
He turned and headed for the door.
– – – – – –
“How did you know for sure?” Jo asked.
She leaned on the wall next to Gunny.
Rags said, “There were two possibilities as I saw them. He was worried that I had some evidence that might point a finger at him. He was pissed we’d cost him the Bax’s money. So, I went to his office full of remorse and committed suicide, or I went to assassinate him and he outfought me and took me out instead. Either way, he needed my weapon to make the scenario work. I was betting on the fight—his ego made that more likely. A heroic encounter with a bitter old enemy who came to gun him down in cold blood? An unarmed man at gunpoint who prevails? That’s a much better story than suicide. He couldn’t resist polishing it that way.”
“You think the GU Army will court-martial him?”
“I’d guess they’d rather not air this dirty laundry. This business with the Bax would do it, but it’s been a long time since Morandan, and other heads would have to roll if that came up. Some of the folks involved back then have risen in the ranks and doubtlessly have influential friends. That part would get messy, and Junior’s lawyer would know it and wave it at them. Bad PR for the military all the way around, so why go there? Better to let sleeping dogs alone.”
Jo said, “Junior is going to have a sudden fatal medical condition or an accident.”
“It’s been done before.”
Gunny shook her head. “They do it that way, you don’t get exonerated. No reinstatement.”
He shrugged. “It doesn’t matter anymore. People will know the truth. And I’m happy with where I wound up. It doesn’t bring back all those civilians, but I will always remember the look on his face when he pulled the trigger, and the gun didn’t fire.”
Gramps stuck his head into the office. “Hey. Formentara wants to talk to us. Says it’s not that important, but we might find it interesting.”
– – – – – –
They were gathered around the table, waiting for hir to speak: Rags,
Jo, Gunny, Gramps, Kay, and Wink.
Formentara smiled, and it was a blend of happy and wicked. “The program I’ve been back-burnering is a one-size-fits-all male/female multiorgasmic aug. Install, light it up, and you can screw your brains out and climax as many times as you can stand before you pass out.”
“Christus,” Gramps said, “you’ll make a fucking fortune!”
Gunny looked at him. “That’s a really bad pun.”
“But true,” Jo said. “Congratulations, Formentara!”
“Thank you. I’ve sold the aug to Galactic Pharmaceuticals. Sixty million advance against 5 percent of gross royalties.”
“Whoa!” Gunny said. “That’s a shitload of noodle!”
“Not to GP—they’ll make that all back in the first thirty days if the aug is as good as I think it is, and, of course, it is.”
Jo laughed. “I knew you were well-off. I had no idea how well-off.”
Formentara’s smile grew larger. “You still don’t. If I converted all the money I have into big-denomination t-note bills and started shoveling ’em into a furnace? I couldn’t burn it fast enough to get ahead of the royalties that come in every year. I might have mentioned that I’m good at what I do.”
“So now you’ll be superrich,” Wink said.
“Already am that.”
“Really? Just how wealthy are you?” Jo asked.
“I don’t keep close track, I have people who do that. Three or four billion?”
“Motherfucker!” Wink said. “No shit?”
Gramps shook his head. “Buddha’s nuts! I’ve been making jokes for years about how rich you are, but I didn’t have a clue. Why are you here?”
Zhe shrugged. “Here, there, it doesn’t matter. It’s about the work. I can do it anywhere. And I am accepted here; none of you has ever looked at me crooked because I am mahu. Not once.”
Zhe nodded to herself. “That means something to me, you don’t know how much. I’m giving you a token of my appreciation.”
Gramps looked at hir. “What are you saying?”
“You are my family. During this war, I could have lost any or all of you to a stray bullet, just like that.
“When Jo got hurt, it . . . disturbed me. They are your lives, you can live them as you want, but I thought you should have a choice. So the money from the new aug? It gets divided equally among those of you sitting around this table, advance and royalties.
“If you want to keep soldiering, you can. But you don’t have to, and you don’t have to risk the stray bullet.”
The stunned silence was so deep, Jo could hear their heartbeats. Ten million New Dollars each? Plus royalties on what would likely become the best-selling aug ever? Holy shit! They’d be filthy rich!
Formentara laughed. It went on for a while, and zhe had to wipe hir eyes when zhe was done. “I wish you could see your faces in this moment,” zhe said. “I really do.”
THIRTY-THREE
As the group left the conference room, Formentara stopped Jo. “I have a new aug for you.”
Jo looked at hir. “I thought you said I’d reached my limit.”
“Well, yes, that was true, but I have been noodling with an idea. It’s a one-off.”
“Really? When can I get it?”
Formentara laughed. “Don’t you even want to know what it does?”
“I trust you.”
“Yeah, that’s the problem.”
Jo frowned. “Why is that a problem?”
“There are three, maybe four people I know of who can keep as many augs as you have balanced.”
Jo nodded. She knew that. Normally, every major system augmentation you had installed cut years off your life, the balance of natural and artificial hormones, nucleo- and myotides, the biodegradation, everything combined to cause wear and tear. If you were running fifteen or twenty augs, you could effectively be superhuman, but not for long. Jo had known that from the beginning and elected to go that route anyhow. It wasn’t until Formentara told Jo zhe could keep her balanced that she had any notion of living past fifty or sixty.
“So, you have enough money to find one of those people and pay them if I get run over by a pubtrans bus or something, but let’s face it, the best of them won’t be as good as I am.”
Jo laughed. Formentara could say that with a straight face because it was true, and zhe had never been one to offer false modesty.
“And with everybody rich, I don’t know what will happen to the Cutters. I’m thinking maybe we might all go our own ways. If you and I are halfway across the galaxy from each other, it might make tune-ups a problem. So I came up with the new aug. It’s a regulator. It will monitor and record your systems. Plug yourself into a docbox anywhere and run it, it will balance you. Not as good as I can, we’re talking art more than craft, but better than almost anybody else.”
Jo blinked. She managed to get “Uh . . . ?” out, then ran out of speech.
Formentara grinned. “Didn’t see that one coming, did you?”
Jo found her voice: “No. I didn’t.”
“Thought about marketing it, but that’s not a good idea. Aug hogs would push the limits of what a human is way past where you are, lot of folks would install a score of programs, and I can see how that could get nasty. Not everybody needs to be able to run like the wind or kick serious ass.”
“Playing God, Formentara?”
Zhe shrugged. “I’ve been doing that all along. If you have the tools and the knowledge of how to use them, you get that option.”
“Thank you,” Jo said.
Zhe nodded. “All in a day’s work, sweets.”
– – – – – –
Grey waited by the kiosk as Kay approached. Troops moved around them, moving this way and that. Nobody drew close, though.
“Still alive, I see,” he said.
“As are you, I notice.”
“Does this please you?”
She said, “It does not displease me.”
He smiled.
“It was an odd engagement,” he said.
“Yes. I would never have predicted this outcome at the onset. There were reasons; perhaps we could speak of them later.”
“I would be happy to do that.”
She paused. “You seemed to have done your job well. We saw evidence of it.”
“One does what one is contracted to do as best one can.”
“Of course.” She paused, then, “I would have you meet my friend Jo Captain.”
“I would be delighted to do so.”
Kay said, “Jo?”
“On my way.”
She arrived less than a minute later. “Jo Captain, this is Greymasc.”
Jo nodded. “We saw examples of your work; you seem passing adept.”
The Vastalimi nodded. “Thank you. It is my pleasure to meet you. A friend of Kay is by default my friend.”
Jo grinned a little.
They exchanged a few more words.
He had a dry, quick wit, certainly a point in his favor. He seemed at ease talking to Jo. Kay liked males who were quick. And strong. And not hard on the eyes.
Jo said, “I have to get back, much documentation to be done before we decamp. Could I have a word privately, Kay?”
Kay looked at Grey. He gave her an openhanded shrug. “I will wait for your return.”
Jo moved away, and Kay followed her.
“Well?” Kay said.
“He’s smart, funny, and while I’m no real judge, good-looking for a male. Stands well. And he adores you.”
“You can tell that last part?”
“Oh, yeah. His attention is focused. Radiates from him. My approval isn’t necessary, but he looks like a keeper to me.”
Kay smiled. “Good to have my own view confirmed.”
– – �
� – – –
Grey waited for her, smiling as she approached.
“And so now to matters of some importance?”
She considered him. “To what do you refer exactly?”
“The war is done. I speak of us.”
“Us?”
“Yes, fem, us.”
“You have a proposal?”
“I do. I would have us contract and be mates.”
That should have surprised her, but it did not. She had known he was going to say that before he formed the words—she could taste it, smell it, feel it.
It was quite the thrill. She felt it all over her body.
Still, she needed to offer the logical argument. “We hardly know each other.”
“But we do know each other, cherished fem. I have been looking for you since I ran Seoba in the Great Grassland as a dijete cub. I simply didn’t realize who you were until we met. You are the one; there can be no other.”
She was inordinately pleased. “Really?”
“Thirty seconds into our first conversation, I knew it. No doubt. It will be something to tell our offspring. Did you not feel the attraction?”
She had. She still did. She looked at him. “I spoke earlier of a history on the Homeworld. I should tell you of it.”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“It might, should we ever wish to go back to Vast.”
“We established that neither of us wish to be on Vast, else we wouldn’t be here. Whatever you were, whatever you did, anything that passed before? None of that is important, only now matters. If you will have me.”
“There is another complication.”
“You toy with me as a div maka does its prey.”
She grinned. “Perhaps a little. Still, I need to tell you. I find myself unexpectedly wealthy.”
“So? Little money or a lot, who cares? It doesn’t matter. Will you have me?”
She nodded. “I will.”
He looked relieved. “Good.”
“Were you truly worried I would not?”
“What mere male can fathom the mind of a fem?”
She whickered. “A good attitude. Perhaps we could find a private place and do a little . . . grooming?”