Abandoned Page 2

  And then she’d asked for the Donovan assignment. A high-risk gamble, a shortcut that would assure her final triumph. These days, the sight of her quarters acted as a spur to focus her dedication to the task at hand: she had to amass a fortune for the time when, hopefully, another ship would arrive from Solar System and get her off Donovan.

  If—and it was a big if—another ship was coming.

  She ran fingers through her midnight-black hair and glanced around her plastic and featureless white-walled room. A duralon chest of drawers, an improvised wardrobe, a cushioned recliner, bedside table, and sialon desk composed her furniture inventory and held all the personal items that remained to her on Donovan.

  Back in Solar System, her luxurious apartment at Transluna awaited her return. What a wonderful dream, with its high-glassed walls and incredible views of the city. Talk about a distance beyond comprehension. Sometimes she wondered if Earth, Solar System, and Transluna actually existed, or if, during the transit to Donovan, she and Turalon had come out in some alternate universe.

  The thing was—given the mathematical and statistical modeling that underlay space travel—neither the alternate nor null hypothesis could actually be proved. This might indeed be the same universe into which she had been born. It might, with actual greater statistical probability, be another universe entirely. It all depended upon which definition of “reality” a person chose to believe among the various hypotheses floating around in theoretical physics.

  The default response was “just deal with it.”

  She shot Lieutenant Spiro an irritated look, threw back the bedding, and swung her feet to the smooth floor. “What’s wrong, Lieutenant?” she asked as she padded over to her wardrobe. Checking her naked body in the mirror, she winced. The perfect figure she’d maintained for years had grown gaunt, the ribs too deeply outlined, toned muscles now thin, her belly too hollow.

  The lieutenant’s square face, heavy jaw, and black eyes had a grim set—not that she ever displayed anything more animated than mild disapproval. The word “dour” might have been coined specially for Spiro.

  “Deserters, ma’am. Two of them. Talovich and Cabrianne. Security Officer Perez just delivered them from Port Authority. Turns out they shipped themselves out in a tool chest. Pamlico Jones collared them as they were trying to sneak through the gate at the shuttle field.”

  “This has got to stop,” Kalico said bitterly. “That’s the second time this month. The threat of work details doesn’t seem to deter them anymore.”

  She slapped a hand against her wardrobe. “Don’t the damned fools understand? They signed a contract. They knew what they were getting into.”

  “Did they?” Spiro asked softly. “Did any of us have the slightest idea what Donovan was really like?”

  “No.” Kalico shot the lieutenant a sidelong glance. “We had no idea that six ships were lost somewhere in inverted symmetry. Or that Freelander would show up like some sort of Flying Dutchman with its crew dead and out of phase with time.”

  Kalico paused as she pulled on her black pants suit, then added, “Nor did we know just how incredibly rich this ball of rock was.”

  “What are all the jewels, rare-earth elements, gold, platinum, and silver worth if you can’t get them back to Solar System?” Spiro asked.

  Good question.

  When it came to Lieutenant Spiro, Kalico figured she needed all the insight she could get. The woman was too brittle, a sort of Corporate manikin. Spiro liked her world ordered—and her place in it well defined. She functioned best when she was a particular part in the machine. Following precise orders, seeing to the letter of their implementation.

  Donovan was anything but ordered.

  In the beginning, Kalico’s Marines had been under Captain Max Taggart’s command. Spiro had loved the guy in her own inflexible way—and his betrayal had broken something deep in Spiro’s rigid psyche.

  Damn it, Cap Taggart might have pissed Kalico off when he walked away, but compared to Spiro, the guy had been solid. She missed him. Longed for the man’s resilience and intuition. Then the son of a bitch had “gone native” and it got him killed.

  Deb Spiro was the wrong woman, in the wrong job, in the wrong place. Not that Kalico had a choice. But what if Spiro couldn’t adapt in the end? What if she snapped under the pressure?

  Then I’d better know sooner rather than later, because I’ve bet everything on this.

  That included more than her opulent lifestyle as a Corporate Supervisor back in Solar System. She’d wagered her brains, ambition, drive, and talent. In getting the Donovan assignment she’d used her wits, played every card. Compromised her integrity, prostituted her body, and sold her soul.

  If she could save the Donovan project, it would fast-track her right into a seat on the Board, and—if she were clever and ruthless enough—ultimately into the Chairman’s seat. At which point she would become the most powerful woman in the universe.

  A marvelous dream. Right up until the day she’d set foot on this reprehensible ball of rock and watched it all come crumbling down.

  “The fact, Lieutenant, is that we’re here. The contract is the underlying fundamental of The Corporation, and we’re essentially on our own. This mine, this compound, is our single hope for the future. I can’t maintain it—let alone save us all—if people think they can turn their backs on their obligation to the job. Their obligation to me.”

  In the mirror, Kalico watched for Spiro’s reaction. Couldn’t tell if the obtuse lieutenant understood the nuance. Why did the woman have to be a blunt instrument when Kalico needed a fine scalpel? In irritation Kalico brushed flecks of dust from her shoulders, then nodded to Spiro. “Proceed.”

  She followed the lieutenant out and into a short corridor that led past the administrative offices, such as they were, and past the mess hall doors.

  At the dome’s main entrance she waited while Lieutenant Spiro opened the double doors, then stepped out into the glare of the yard lights. Sunrise was still several hours away. She could see the perimeter fence glowing silver in the lights; the buildings, haulers, and excavating equipment were parked in neat rows in the yard lot.

  Privates Michegan and Anderssoni stood over two men wearing dirt-smudged overalls. Both were on their knees, ankles and hands bound behind them. As Kalico stepped out, they looked up, hope fading.

  “Talovich and Cabrianne,” Kalico said flatly. “Didn’t learn a damn thing from the others before you?”

  “Look, Supervisor Aguila,” Cabrianne said in a desperate attempt at reasonableness. “My contract was for five years as a hydraulic systems specialist for agricultural sprinkler systems. They’ve got me down in a tunnel in the ground sticking explosives into holes in rock. I didn’t come here to be a dumb shot jockey like that. I’ve got rights that—”

  “You are charged with desertion in a hostile environment. Section fifteen, paragraph three. You want me to recite the clause to you in full?”

  Cabrianne winced. “I know. You have full discretion in the range of punishment.” He chuckled humorlessly. “If I didn’t have bad luck, I’d have no gagging luck at all.”

  Kalico scrolled through her implants, pulled up his file. “You have a reputation as a troublemaker. Your crew chief down-hole rates you as more trouble than you’re worth.”

  Cabrianne lifted a suggestive eyebrow. “Maybe it’s just a point of reference, but given that, what do you want to put me down-hole again for? After a couple of months of cleaning toilets, packing shit to the gardens, and mucking around in the sewage, it’s not like I’m going back underground motivated. You know what I mean?”

  Talovich had been silent the whole time, gaze fixed on the ground before him. She scrolled through his file. “Says that you’re a structural engineer. But we have you running a mucking machine. Your crew chief has you labeled as insubordinate.”

  For the first time Talovich raised his eyes. “I don’t mind working, Supervisor Aguila. I do mind working for a guy who’s so dumb he couldn’t prop his eyelids up with toothpicks.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “I’m running a mucking machine, and he’s sitting on his ass, drinking coffee, and farting around telling the shoring crew where to put timber. The guy doesn’t have a clue. I don’t want to be in that damn hole when it all comes tumbling down.”

  He narrowed an eye. “And it’s going to fall. Maybe not for a month, or a year, but structurally, that timber they’ve put in the Number One is worthless.”

  Talovich shrugged. “So, yeah, I ran. Better cleaning toilets than buried alive under a couple million metric tons of rock.”

  She studied his file. “Your expertise is in bridge building. We are not crossing rivers or gorges here.”

  “Supervisor, building a bridge, shoring up a mine, it all comes down to bearing a load, right? You’re still holding something up. In this case, the roof of the mine. Same principle.”

  Dawn was just graying the eastern horizon. Her people should be waking up in the barracks, griping about the coffee ration, pulling out their overalls, and shuffling to the bathrooms.

  “Lieutenant Spiro?”

  “Ma’am?”

  “Your pistol, please.”

  Both men looked up, horrified, as Spiro laid her sidearm in Kalico’s hand. Fitting her palm and fingers around the grip, Kalico hefted the heavy weapon.

  “I must have discipline,” she said firmly. “The desertions have to stop. Now. If they don’t, it will be but a matter months and we’re all dead. Punishment, up to now, has proven ineffective. Therefore, I’m going to have to resort to something different.”

 
Cabrianne cried, “Look, I was wrong. You let me get down into that hole again, and I swear, you’ll never hear so much as a peep out of me again.”

  “Not a peep. In that, you are correct.” She shot him through the head.

  The man’s corpse flopped limply onto the ground. His limbs twitched; a gasping rattle sounded deep in his throat.

  Talovich sucked a panicked breath. The muscles at the corners of his mouth were quivering; his jaws bunched as he clamped his eyes shut in anticipation.

  Kalico handed the pistol back to Spiro, saying, “Mr. Talovich, after breakfast you will give me a personal tour of the Number One mine. You will show me where the crew chief is in error. Assuming I agree with your analysis, and if I give you a crew and the authority to do so, how long will it take you to properly shore the Number One mine?”

  Talovich swallowed hard. “I uh . . . ma’am?”

  “Is something wrong with your hearing?”

  “N-No, ma’am.”

  “How long?”

  “T-Two weeks. Maybe three.” He was staring in horror at the bloody remains of Cabrianne’s head.

  “If you convince me that you are right, you will have two.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” he whispered, horrified gaze torn between her and Cabrianne’s still-twitching corpse.

  “Lieutenant Spiro, see to Talovich’s bonds. My records indicate that Anderson has experience in building and construction. Have him accompany me and Mr. Talovich when we take our tour.”

  “Yes, ma’am. And Cabrianne?”

  “Strip his coveralls and have them washed. It’s not like we can requisition new coveralls from stores. As to the corpse? Toss it over the fence. Donovan can dispose of it.”

  At that, she turned on her heel and headed back into the dome.

  Damn it! She’d been wasting a structural engineer on a mucking machine? What the hell else had she missed that might end up dooming them all before this was over?

  Think, Kalico. A mistake won’t just destroy you, but every man, woman, and child under your command.

  3

  Breakfast wasn’t up to Security Officer Talina Perez’s standards. Compared to the tasteless pap they served at the Corporate Mine cafeteria, her usual fare of chamois steak, potatoes, and jalapenos, all seasoned with achiote, was a royal feast. Supervisor Aguila’s miners were fed rehydrated rations. Additionally they got a single, small cup of coffee. Or they would until the last of the supply of freeze-dried packets ran out.

  Talina’s gut squirmed uncomfortably. Her quetzal made its presence known. The thing presented itself as a foreign body in her belly, turned out it was just the alien creature’s molecules playing with her brain. Flowing through her blood and tissues. Back in Port Authority, Cheng was still trying to figure out the biochemistry.

  She glanced around the cafeteria, took in the distribution of coverall-dressed men and women. These were transportees: contract labor who had spaced from Solar System on Turalon. Most were bound to The Corporation for a five-year contract, some for ten. Three quarters of them had arrived on Donovan to find their job didn’t exist, that the machine, animals, or study they’d hired on to take care of had vanished during the long years before Turalon’s arrival. Never one to waste a human body, The Corporation reserved the right to reassign a person to whichever profession was in need.

  Supervisor Aguila had decided they would be miners. And she had the marines to back her decision.

  To Talina’s way of thinking, the transportees were still “soft meat.” Skulls—so named for the shaved heads they had sported upon arrival—who hadn’t a clue about how to survive on Donovan.

  Rather than accept their fate, each and every one could have opted to ship back on Turalon when she spaced for Solar System. True, they’d have lived the rest of their lives in debt to The Corporation, but the overriding fact was that most had been too afraid to make the trip. Especially after learning how many of the big cargo ships had vanished in transit over the last fifteen years. The list was impressive: Nemesis, Governor Han Xi, Tableau, Phoenix, Ashanti, and Mekong. And before that, four of the smaller survey ships had vanished in the early days of Donovan’s exploration.

  Even as they were trying to assimilate that chilling fact, Freelander had popped into orbit. A mere three years out of Solar System, her crew was dead of mass murder, old age, and insanity. Three years. But according to the ship’s clocks, she’d spent one-hundred-and-twenty-nine years in transit through whatever reality, universe, or physics she’d inverted to.

  Everyone knew that spooky shit happened when a ship inverted symmetry. Until Freelander, no one had known just how spooky.

  All of a sudden, life in a mine on Donovan didn’t look so bad.

  Talina had originally come to Donovan under a ten-year contract. That had been eleven years ago. At this stage, she figured she didn’t owe The Corporation a damned thing. She spooned up another heaping of rehydrated ration and wished she’d thought to bring a bottle of Tabasco. It wasn’t the real thing, of course, but in Port Authority they made a palatable substitute from the variety of different pepper plants that thrived in the gardens.

  A door in the rear opened, and Supervisor Aguila entered, followed by Lieutenant Spiro. At sight of Spiro, Talina’s gut tightened, and a cool rage built under her collar. She and the lieutenant had way too much bad history for the short time they’d known each other.

  The quetzal coiled into an angry ball below Talina’s heart and hissed its rage.

  Aguila glanced around, spotted Talina, and started toward her. The woman wore a natty black pantsuit, her thick black hair gleaming in the light. Behind her, Spiro was in shining combat armor, as if about to engage in a firefight.

  “Oh, joy,” Talina whispered under her breath and surreptitiously reached down to unsnap the strap on her pistol. Her vision sharpened—colors leaping out vividly and shading into the IR and UV ranges. Her hearing grew more acute, registering every sound, the clinking of utensils, whispers of conversation, the shuffling of feet on the floor.

  That was the quetzal’s doing as it played with her senses.

  Aguila seated herself unceremoniously across from Talina and straightened her cuffs. The woman fixed steely blue eyes on Talina’s. “Unusual, isn’t it? Flying solo at night?”

  “Couldn’t sleep,” Talina told her. “Not only that, but we opened a crate with upgraded night vision screens for the aircars. We’ve been looking for an excuse to try them out. Your deserters gave us the opportunity.”

  Talina let her gaze slide sideways to Spiro. “How you doing, Lieutenant? Ducked out of any fights lately?”

  “Been saving myself to beat the crap out of smartasses.” Spiro’s blocky face broke into a thin grin. “Know anyone who might fit the bill, smartass?”

  Talina picked the spot on the Spiro’s high forehead. Right there at the point of a squat triangle drawn between the woman’s eyes and just above the nose. That’s where she’d put the bullet.

  Aguila waved Spiro down. “Enough, Lieutenant. At ease.” To Talina she said, “Thanks for bringing my two misguided wanderers back.”

  Talina leaned forward, fully aware that all eyes in the place were on her and Kalico Aguila. “We made a deal. When a person gives their word on Donovan, they mean it. I would have figured that you’d been here long enough that you’d be picking up on that.”

  “Any sign of my missing marines?” Spiro asked through gritted teeth.

  “Nope.”

  “Like so many of my contractees,” Kalico said, “they’re absent without leave. Just so we’re clear about who they belong to.”

  “Nothing’s changed,” Talina said coolly. “We haven’t seen so much as a footprint. Haven’t heard a word. And if Garcia, Talbot, and Shintzu were wearing battle tech, someone would have said something.”

  Kalico nodded as one of the kitchen staff—a young man wearing an apron—brought her a bowl of the same ration the rest were eating. The Supervisor shook a fork out of the rolled napkin and took a bite.