Reckoning Page 2
The worst part for Falise was having to share the blister with the Suharto agent. She would rather have had the observation blister to herself. Endured the wait without an audience, let alone one as formidable as Cinque.
He kept glancing at her; his marble-black eyes almost creep-freaked her. Genetically engineered—just like hers—they had no visible pupil or iris, and even the sclera was black. They came off as inhuman, alien, and unnerving. Which was the whole point.
Goaded to say something, Falise noted, “Having been to the Capella system, you would think that Abibi’s people could verify our location instantaneously.”
The longer they waited, the more desperate she was becoming. Not only over whether she was doomed, but if she should kill Cinque. With each passing minute, the terror increased. They were lost. Adrift in space. With no chance of rescue.
I will die here. In this ship. Alone. Abandoned.
As that reality sank in, she shifted, crossed her arms so that she could place her right hand beside the hidden sheath.
If we had arrived in the Capella system, Abibi’s people would have already announced it.
She clamped her teeth, fought the urge to close her eyes, to gasp for breath. Since shipping out from Neptune, this had been her worst nightmare. Not being lost “outside,” not being trapped in some unfathomable alternate universe, but popping back into real space . . . only to realize that they were doomed to slow starvation and to live out what was left of their lives in the prison that was Turalon.
She carefully took a breath, charging her lungs as she slipped fingers between the layers of fabric that hid the small knife.
She didn’t dare telegraph her moves, had to keep Cinque from anticipating her strike. In her mind, she ran through the steps. First, rip the knife out, balancing with her left arm. Whirl on her feet, pivoting off of her right heel as she stepped out with her left. Right arm back as she shifted her weight. Drive the arm forward in a fast thrust. Slam the blade through Cinque’s side so that the quillions triggered the charge that would jet the poison down the tube inside the blade.
In that instant, she had to recover and leap back. If she caught him by surprise, she’d have enough time to twist out of his reach. Dash full-bore for the hatch. Once through, she’d sprint down the hall as fast as her legs could carry her.
Not that she’d ever outrun Cinque. She just needed to buy enough time to let the poison work.
“Magnificent stars, don’t you think?” she asked, dropping into the trained nonchalance her mentors over the years had cultivated for moments like this. “So very different than we knew at home.”
“They are indeed,” Cinque told her, his shoulders slouching, as if he were starting to relax.
She eased her hand deeper into the fabric, slipped them around the knife’s handle. The knife was designed specifically for her, and her fingers and thumb conformed to the short grip.
The beat of her heart was now like a hammer against her sternum. She’d killed before. But never like this. Never when the ramifications had been so great, the stakes so high.
The worst part was not knowing.
What if she struck? Killed Cinque, only for Abibi to announce that they had arrived safely? That Capella was in the ship’s scope, and Donovan lay but a few days’ transit away?
If she did, the repercussions would be overwhelming. Chad Grunnel and Bartolome Radcek would know it was an assassination and that she’d acted from fear. Abibi would have her arrested, tried for murder under ship’s law. Being in Capella III’s orbit, there would be no reason to fight for control of the ship’s resources. No survival of the fittest in the vain hope that somehow, in the coming decades, some miracle would allow them to escape.
Falise had read the logs from Freelander as well as the testimony given by Captain Miguel Galluzzi. Uncle Miko had ensured that they were in her briefing materials for the trip. That was one side of the nightmare. If she assassinated Cinque too soon, there would be another.
Wait? Or kill now?
“Who will we eat first?” Cinque asked reasonably, as if he, too, were following that path of logic. “I think we should toss the marines into the hydroponic vat to start with. For one thing, I don’t want them wandering around in full armor down on D Deck, thinking up mischief. Not to mention that they’re all pictures of health. Lot of vitamins, proteins, and fats in those bodies. Perfect to charge the hydroponics, don’t you think?”
Her grip on the knife secure, she half turned—all the better to rip the blade free—and glanced up at him. “A bit premature, aren’t you? Abibi hasn’t even announced that we’re lost, and you’re murdering the marines?”
His gleaming black eyes, even more inscrutable in the observation blister’s half-light, fixed on her. “I assume you’re familiar with the history. I know the kind of captain Abibi is. She’ll act immediately to save her crew. Just like Gem Orten did on Freelander.” He paused. “Do you think that’s why she hasn’t made the announcement yet? Even as we stand here, she’s locked the hatches to the Transportee Deck? Evacuating the air? Suffocating them before they can organize and try and storm the ship?”
“Everything that happened to Freelander was classified. How would the transportees know?”
Cinque’s thin lips betrayed amusement. “That’s four hundred people. Marines, technicians, engineers, scientists of various stripes. A lot of fodder for the hydroponics.”
“Then you think we’re lost?”
“It’s more likely with each passing second.” The smile mocked her. “As you have come to conclude, yourself. Otherwise, you wouldn’t have your fingers on that knife you carry hidden away under your sash.”
And so saying, he backed a step, posture still slightly slouched, as if daring her to strike.
A dry chuckle formed in her throat. “Impasse.”
“So it would seem.” Again he crossed his arms, studying her. “I know that you’re well-trained in the use of that deadly little knife. I suspect, however, that I will kill you before the poison can take effect. Seems a shame to leave the ship to Grunnel and Radcek to fight over.”
“What do you have in mind?”
He gave that slight shrug that hinted at diminished interest. “I intend to be the last one standing. When it comes down to absolutes, leaving you alive won’t diminish my chances for long-term survival. Nor will my continued existence hinder yours. Rather, working together, we can definitely eliminate Grunnel and Radcek. And, of course, Soukup and his Four. Then take the ship as ours, keeping only those of your staff and mine that might be of continued service, as well as essential personnel from the crew.”
“What expectation do I have that, once the ship is ours, you won’t take the first opportunity to shoot me in the back when I’m not looking?” She arched an eyebrow, hating the sinking feeling in her gut.
Cinque gestured out at the stars. “That’s our future. We both know that Turalon doesn’t have enough fuel to reinvert symmetry and run the math backwards. If we’re lost out in the black, it’s for a minimum of decades, if not eternity.” His thick black brow lifted. “I’ve given this a lot of consideration. Since with every passing second it looks like we’re stranded out here, I thought I’d see if you would work with me. Quite frankly, Falise, if I’m to spend the rest of my life floating in the trackless black between the stars, you are the only person on this doomed ship who might make those endless years bearable.”
“Is that a joke? I don’t even like you.”
His opaque black eyes didn’t convey the same humor his bent lips did. “Like has nothing to do with it. I don’t expect us to be lovers, not even friends. But if I’m locked in this bucket of air for the rest of my life, I want someone around who’s interesting. Get it?”
r /> Interesting? Well, there was an amusing compliment if she’d ever heard one.
She gave him a slight nod, feeling sick to her stomach. The worst nightmare was unfolding before her. “That being the case, we should probably find our way to the AC. If Abibi’s taking action to secure the ship, euthanize the transportees, and prepare for disaster, that will be the safest place for us. Assuming that Abibi doesn’t do our work for us, we’ll need to take down good old Chad and Bartolome after she’s secured the rest of the ship.”
“You take Chad, I’ll deal with Bartolome. Never liked the Radceks. Arrogant pricks, all of them.”
She considered the extent of the disaster. Shit. It was real. With a feeling of desolation, she took a deep breath. “Deal.” Then a humorless chuckle. “Knowing what we’re in for? I should feel a lot worse than I do.”
“Yeah,” he agreed. “Sucks toilet water, doesn’t it? Come on. There’s nothing like mass murder to keep your mind from dwelling on how fucked you are.”
She took one last look at the swirls of stars, the endless new constellations, and the white glow of the Milky Way. Where the hell were they?
She followed him out into the hall, watching his opaque-midnight cape swirl around his photon-sucking black suit. The way he walked, she knew he was keeping track of her position, ready at a moment’s notice to turn and kill her.
They made it to the companionway that would deposit them at Astrogation Control when the intercom announced, “Attention all hands. This is the captain speaking. Apologies for the delay, but we had a little trouble with an electrical fault in the equipment. Once we managed to track down the glitch, we made our initial observations.” A pause. “Let me be the first to tell you: Welcome to the Capella system. We made it.”
Falise didn’t realize when she’d stopped. Let alone sank back to brace herself against the sialon wall. Her heart felt like it was about to explode from her chest. She took a deep breath, realized she was smiling.
She looked over at Cinque; he, too, was grinning, the lights shining in his stone-black eyes. “Those are the finest words I’ve ever heard,” he told her through an exhale.
Falise let loose the hilt and pulled her hand free of the knife. Apparently the IG, Chad, and Bartolome would live to set foot on Donovan after all.
2
Talina Perez flew warily above the mixed chabacho and aquajade. She was headed across the bush lands northwest of Port Authority. The low profile of the Blood Mountains lay just ahead. Beyond them, against the far horizon, the high and jagged peaks of the Wind Mountains rose like a serrated quetzal’s jaw.
As the aircar passed, the branches on the trees below twisted so that the leaves could follow her movement. That was one of the eerie things about the scrub aquajade that grew in the broken country around Port Authority. Hunting in the bush was always a mixed bag. The trees fixed on movement. The hunter’s as well as the prey’s. Made detecting movement a tricky game for both parties.
The country here was mixed, with short trees, brush, scrubby thorncactus, sucking scrub, low-growing gotcha vine, and bite ya bush interspersed with patches of ferngrass and claw shrub. The names were descriptive and might have offended a botanist, not that Donovanian plants were really plants in the terrestrial sense. But, hey, what else would you call them? The colorful names got the point across: Bite ya bush, with its peppery odor, would extend a branch in the direction of an unwary passerby, and the clamshell-shaped pod on the end would snap closed on flesh or fabric. About the only way to get loose was to cut the pod free.
Taxonomy wasn’t Talina’s concern as she piloted her way west-northwest from Port Authority. Rather, it was Liz Baranski, a wizened and salty forty-year-old miner who’d made a strike at the foot of the Blood Hills. Liz was one of the few Wild Ones—as the free-roaming prospectors were called—who was female. For whatever reason, Liz wanted little to do with people. She preferred the bush with all of its dangers and seemed to revel in the solitude of Donovan’s wild country. A little over six months ago, Liz had barged into Yvette Dushane’s office in the admin dome, slammed a fifteen-hundred-carat uncut diamond onto Yvette’s desk, and declared, “That’s one of the little ones. I’m staking my claim.”
The last anyone had heard from her, Liz had caged a ride into town from Stepan Allenovich, dropped a twenty-kilo canvas sack full of uncut stones for safe keeping with Shig Mosadek, traded for ammunition, tools, and two months’ worth of dried vegetables, and headed back to her claim. That had been three months ago.
Not a word had been heard since.
That morning, Shig had collared Talina over breakfast, asking, “Could you run out to Liz’s claim? Two Spot tried to raise her on the radio and has heard nothing. She’s overdue.”
So here Talina was, cruising along under a partly cloudy sky, wary eyes on the lookout for mobbers, headed for the low headlands where the Blood Mountains thrust up from the crater bottom. The range got its name from ocher-colored mantle rock and ruddy magma released from deep within Donovan. A big metal-rich rock had hit the planet more than a million years ago. The force of the impact had squirted magma and buried strata from the depths; the rich olivine deposits that resulted were rife with diamonds. It was in one of these kimberlite concentrations that Liz had found her jackpot. The wealth was exposed where a drainage had eroded down through uplifted strata.
A herd of chamois broke from beneath Talina’s aircar, the fleet creatures bolting in all directions, racing ahead of her, dodging, leaping, and darting between the trees. In their flight, they spooked a flock of scarlet fliers that rose around her aircar, flitting and whizzing on their agile crimson wings. Talina enjoyed the whistling shrieks as the flying creatures vanished back into the trees as rapidly as they’d appeared. The quetzal part of her went into hunt mode, raising her heart level, pulsing in her blood.
“Easy,” she said. “No hunting today.”
Her phantom, the one called Rocket that rode on her shoulder, whispered, “Yes” just behind her ear. Demon, down behind her stomach, hissed his disappointment. She was surprised to hear from either one. Both were being abnormally quiet. Flying bothered her quetzals. Made them nervous. And, for the most part, left her in peace.
Talina grinned as she turned the wheel, heading for the broken uplift where Liz had her claim. This was epic country, great blocks of quartzite, slate, and schist that reminded Talina that she was seeing the very bones of the planet. These formed the resistant core of the Blood Mountains along with younger sandstones, shales, and mudstones higher back in the range.
As Talina approached, Capella’s light caught the red and black quartzite ridge above Liz’s camp, giving it an almost vitreous gleam.
Talina slowed, scanning the low forest at the mouth of the draw where an alluvial fan spilled out of the deep drainage. She saw no sign of a camp. But according to Step’s information and the claim location, this had to be it.
“Careful.” Rocket’s voice came from her left shoulder.
“Waking up now that we’re this close to the ground, huh?”
She could feel Demon stir down behind her stomach. Spectral. Imaginary. Knew it was all in her head. As if her brain had to give them a physical location and identity when in reality they were just molecules floating around in her blood: TriNA. The Donovanian version of terrestrial DNA. It was a three-stranded deoxyribonucleic acid that carried three times as much information as DNA. An intelligent molecule, the stuff thought. Used RNAs and recombination to exchange and process information. That she was so infected made Talina a hybrid, a mixture of human and quetzal.
I just want this shit out of my body. Didn’t matter that it had been years. That her features and anatomy had been forever altered. She was and would remain a freak, though Shig and the rest never referred to her as such.
“Careful?” she replied. “This is the bush, guys. Out here, I’m never anything but careful.”
As she drifted closer to the canyon mouth, she saw it. Liz had made her camp on a rocky
prominence at the base of a stony slope leading up to the exposed quartzite on the heights. Here, layers of kimberlite lay interbedded with the country rock. And given the rocky soil, it was a smart location. Not the sort of place where slugs would be found. Additionally, the more noxious of the vegetation had been cleared away and piled in a semicircle around the camp to create a kind of protective barrier, like the traditional African boma. Outside of that, twine had been strung, to which tins, bits of foil, a couple of bells, and tinklers had been attached. It might have been low-tech, but quetzals had never been known to figure out how trip wires worked. Anything approaching the camp would run afoul of the strings, send the whole thing crashing down in a noisy alarm. That it was still up was an encouraging sign.
Talina let her aircar drift closer and rose high in her seat, studying what she could see of the camp. A couple of cabinets stood atop skinny stainless-steel legs. The kind that couldn’t be climbed by invertebrates. That the doors hung open—the contents scattered on the ground—didn’t bode well. An elevated bed in a plastic cocoon—the kind commonly used by Wild Ones—looked to be undisturbed, and through the transparency, Talina could see the bedding. No Liz was inside.
The firepit looked long-cold; what had been a stack of chabacho branches to one side was now scattered. No smoke rose from the hearth, and from the looks of the ash, it didn’t appear to have been used since before the last rains.
Talina reached under the dash, retrieved the megaphone, and called, “Liz? You around? Hello?”
That’s when she saw the clothing. What might have been tattered rags were strewn across the rocky ground, sort of like they’d be if the wind had blown them. And there, to one side, she could see a boot. Lying on its side.
Not good. Wild Ones left boots upright so that creatures couldn’t crawl inside. And if the boots were being left for any length of time, Wild Ones put them—and anything else leather—into a sealed container to keep the invertebrates from turning the edible portions into a meal.