Pariah Read online

  “Remind me never to claim you as kin.” Wejee lifted his night glasses and scanned the brush line. “What are we gonna do about that quetzal out there?”

  “Hunt it down in the morning.”

  No. Her quetzal sent a spear of displeasure through her, followed by an intense pain. Once, it would have left her prostrate—had almost gotten her killed the first time the beast had punished her that way. Talina had learned to mute its effect.

  “What’s your buddy doing out there? Come to hunt?”

  Changing.

  “Yeah, right. Whatever that means.”

  Wejee watched her with curious eyes. “What’s it telling you?”

  “Not to kill the quetzal.”

  “Well, sometimes you gotta go with the spirits, Tal.”

  “Last time I went with the spirits, Wej, people died.” Which left her with the memory of a terrified infant girl crunching between quetzal jaws. Trust a quetzal? Not a fucking chance.

  Come sunrise, she was going to kill it.

  In her gut, the quetzal sent another stab of pain through her stomach in response.

  3

  Almost everything about Tamarland Benteen bothered Dr. Dortmund Weisbacher. The renowned planetologist cogitated on that thought as Benteen took the central chair at the conference room table on the crew deck aboard Vixen.

  The conference room was combination meeting, work, and study area. A sort of command center, social space, and seminar room where research, survey, and data crunching were supposed to take place. Each of the walls had holo projection capabilities, and through their implants, the survey team could access and display their research data as well as interface with Vixen’s AI.

  Dortmund had fought hard to get his posting to Vixen. He’d finished his second PhD in conservation management ecology at the age of twenty-six, then spent the rest of his life battling his way through academic politics to eventually chair the department of planetology at Tubingen University’s Transluna campus. His papers on conservation biology and management, long-term terrestrial management ecology, theoretical planetology, and re-wilding had made him one of the most influential conservation proponents in Solar System.

  When the preliminary data on Capella III had been released, he’d immediately understood not only the planet’s importance, but dedicated himself to the cutthroat Corporate politics necessary to get appointed to the next survey ship. Capella III would be the final battle that would see the evolutionists broken and discredited.

  He’d been instrumental in expanding and reinvigorating the re-wilding program on Earth, insisting that entire ecosystems be set aside, and ruthlessly managed them to propagate original native species, even if it meant supplementing and isolating entire populations.

  In the process, he’d had to fight the evolutionary biologists—colleagues who mistakenly insisted that, yes, an incredible number of species had slipped into extinction in the last twenty thousand years, but that the Earth was irrevocably changed. Their creed insisted that the remaining species had to adapt to modern conditions, that investing vast sums of money to maintain what was essentially a vanished ecosystem was folly when it couldn’t exist without intensive human management. They asked: Was it truly a “wild” ecosystem if humans were culling every invasive species, protecting resurrected species like rhinoceroses, mammoths, and tigers from epizootics by means of dome-enclosed savannahs and endless vaccinations?

  Dortmund had to be first to Capella III. His comprehensive report would establish the benchmark. Upon it, policy for the management of Capella III’s pristine biosphere would be implemented. Here, finally, was a world to save.

  Getting the position had cost him friendships, the chairmanship of his department, his husband of ten years, and every SDR to his name, but, thanks in part to Boardmember Artollia Shayne, he’d bribed, harangued, threatened, and finally wrangled the appointment.

  And he’d do it all again if he had to. He would become both the Linnaeus and Darwin of a whole new world.

  He just wasn’t sure he had the best team he could have for the job. Had it been up to him, he’d have chosen much more qualified individuals.

  Dr. Kobi Sax, the xenobotanist, had won her position by default. She’d conducted the initial analysis of the first “plant” specimens brought back by Tempest. She’d published the initial reports on Capella III’s biology, histology, and metabolic pathways.

  His zenobiologist, Dr. Shanteel Jones, had supervised the Cambridge/Harvard team that had described the preserved microbes, tissue samples, and animals collected by Tempest. The results had been controversial and disappointing to some scholars, but Jones had political clout.

  Lots of planets and moons had life. Mostly simple reproducing organic or silicone-based cells. In many ways, Capella III was both fantastic and unique: a full-blown biology on par with that found on Earth, including complex higher organisms. While they were fundamentally different from terrestrial species in chemistry and evolution, the limited observations made by Tempest indicated a plethora of higher organisms. And best of all, the chemistry was organic, or carbon based. The study of Capella III’s life was going to make a monumental contribution to science, and Dortmund Weisbacher’s influence on that science would be every bit as immortal.

  Unless this new advisor, Tamarland Benteen, turned out to be an impediment. So far, the man hadn’t shown the slightest respect, let alone appreciation, for Dortmund’s position.

  In the conference room, Dortmund sat to Benteen’s right, a cup of coffee clutched in one hand, the other extended on the table. The geologist, Lea Shimodi—a PhD from University of Tokyo and a Corporate puppet—sat to his right, followed by Kobi and Shanteel. Across from them sat Captain Torgussen, First Officer Vacquillas, and Second Officer Seguro.

  Tamarland Benteen, his own cup of coffee in hand, leaned forward. The man appeared to be in his late thirties, as if one could tell given genetic therapy and med. He didn’t come across as a Corporate bureaucrat. Anything but. The guy was muscular in a way that spoke of action rather than hormonal augmentation. Something about that hard stare hinted at some deep-seated danger. It was the way he looked at a person, as if determining whether to ignore, manipulate, or dispose of him or her as an obstacle.

  And then there was the curious last-minute substitution. Advisor Maxim Grant had been originally detailed to Vixen. A survey supervisor, he’d had previous experience, mapping two star systems for their resources. Grant had actually had his belongings aboard when he was suddenly recalled, ordered back to Neptune Control, and Vixen had to wait almost a week for Benteen to be delivered before she could space.

  Dortmund had tried to get a feel for the new Advisor during the rushed hours before Vixen inverted symmetry, but Benteen had summarily curtailed each and every conversation. The way he’d done it was unsettling. Cold. Not just disrespectful, but dismissive. As if Dortmund Weisbacher wasn’t shit on the man’s shoe.

  As Dortmund studied Benteen, he thought, If he’s a trained Advisor, than I’m a monkey’s uncle.

  The saying had been a joke in his undergraduate genetics classes that stemmed from some unknown antiquity. Some hinted it went back to Darwin himself.

  “I’m going to call this to order,” Benteen began, his voice hard and flat. “Everyone knows that something odd happened on our transit to the Capella system. You’ve all discussed it, know what it means. What was supposed to take two years was instantaneous. I’ve listened to the crew’s arguments for an immediate return to Solar System as soon as we can generate the fuel for the reactors.”

  Torgussen took a deep breath, started to say something, then relented as Benteen shot him a warning glance.

  “An immediate return would be a mistake,” Dortmund said as much to establish his authority as anything else. “After all, we’re here. Capella III is the reason we came. Our concern isn’t the ship, it’s the data. What we discover
on that planet is going to change science, rewrite our understanding of—”

  Benteen snapped, “You’ll get your chance, Dr. Weisbacher. Vixen’s plotted a course to get us to Capella III within the next couple of weeks. All in all, we got lucky. We could have popped in clear across the system and been looking at months to match Cap Three’s orbit.”

  “So, what do you want us to do in the meantime?” Torgussen asked.

  Benteen turned his cold gaze toward Dortmund and his people. “I want you to take the next couple of days and provide me with an operational plan. I know you’ve got priorities that were determined back in Solar System. Locations you’ve plotted on the maps where you want to visit and collect samples. I need that list prioritized. If you could do just one thing, what would it be? Then work your way down from there.”

  “How clad in stone is this list going to be? Might change our priorities once we’re in the field,” Shanteel said.

  Benteen turned his emotionless and steely eyes on her. “Operational flexibility isn’t a problem as long as I’m aware of what you’re doing and why.”

  At Dortmund’s side, Lea Shimodi said, “I don’t know if you were fully briefed, but my mission statement gives me a certain amount of autonomy and latitude in my reconnaissance of the planet. My job is to evaluate Capella III for its exploitable resources. Corporate prioritized geology over all other concerns not related to crew and ship safety.”

  Dortmund ground his teeth. Corporate always prioritized profit over everything else. Mine it first, study it later. Didn’t the bastards ever learn?

  Benteen took a sip of his coffee, level gaze meeting Lea’s. “Fine with me. We’ve got two shuttles. My assumption is that one was for geology, the other for the biologists.”

  “What about security?” Torgussen asked. “Tempest had a casualty, after all. Outside of the shuttle pilots there’s three crew for each landing party. Only two of them are security trained.”

  “Split them up. One armed guard per shuttle.”

  Dortmund said, “We went over this back in Solar System, but I must drive the point home yet again. This is a pristine planet with a unique biome. We cannot afford to introduce any contaminants into this ecology. Absolute category five quarantine and hazard protocols must be observed at all times.”

  “Even when one of the indigenous life-forms ate a person last time humans were on the planet?” Shimodi asked. “You ask me, that was a pretty big violation of the quarantine protocols.”

  “Not to mention that they buried the guy on Capella III.” Vacquillas had a wry smile on her lips.

  Dortmund raised a cautionary hand. “Yes, yes, but that doesn’t mean that we should compound the problem. People, let me stress. We’ve only got one shot at getting this right. Our own history back on Earth is rife with ecosystem after ecosystem crashing because of the introduction of pathogens, invasive species, predators. . . . Well, the list is endless. And that’s on a planet with a shared evolutionary ancestry. People, we’re talking about a totally unique, isolated, planetary biome. A simple, unguarded moment, a sneeze, could unleash a holocaust of destruction that will devastate this world in a matter of years.”

  Benteen replied, “Doctor, that’s your concern. Run it like you see fit. My understanding is that everyone’s been trained in biohazard management and quarantine protocols. We don’t want to make Capella III sick, and we don’t want to bring anything nasty home with us, either.”

  “Glad we agree,” Dortmund said darkly, and got an icy look in return.

  “Now that that’s all happily established”—Torgussen shifted in his chair—“what’s our time frame? I’m assuming we’re still looking at six months for the survey and data collection?”

  “What’s your estimate to regenerate the fuel reserves?” Benteen shot back.

  “A little over two months to one hundred percent in the tanks,” Seguro answered. “That’s assuming the normal scavenging rate for hydrogen and oxygen was correctly calibrated by Tempest’s crew. In the next couple of days we’ll have collected enough data to refine that figure given Capella’s solar wind and the system norms.”

  Dortmund saw the tightening of Benteen’s expression, as if the news was somehow displeasing. What was it about the guy? As if this whole situation was somehow distastefully inconvenient.

  Benteen narrowed an eye as he fixed Dortmund in his hard stare. “We’re here to establish the baseline when it comes to information about Cap III. To ensure that, I’m happy to give Dr. Weisbacher and Dr. Shimodi as much latitude as seems prudent to achieve those goals.”

  Dortmund felt his heart skip. Of all the scenarios he’d played out in his imagination since Benteen had come aboard, this was the least likely that he’d entertained.

  “Thank you, sir,” he told the Advisor with a slight nod, and flashed a look at his team. Everyone was smiling. Especially Shimodi, but she’d have to be watched.

  Torgussen said, “While no one doubts the value of the Cap III survey, what just happened, instantaneous transfer from Solar System to the Capella system, is of even greater importance to The Corporation. Vixen just cut years off the transition time, and the answer to why lies hidden somewhere in the ship’s mathematical programming. Getting that information back to the engineers in Solar System is our single biggest concern. Sure, we were slotted for six months, and let the scientists do what they can in the time it takes to refuel, but as soon as the tanks are full, we should space.”

  Shimodi shook her head. “Unacceptable. My mission guidelines are for six months at a minimum. Three months is barely enough time to run a planetary scan, let alone establish even a baseline survey of the geology.”

  “With instantaneous travel,” Seguro shot back, “you can be back in no time. The key to that lies in this ship’s deep com. Something special the engineers and programmers wrote into the code. If we had the fuel, I’d vote to power up, invert, and get Vixen back to Solar System immediately. Dump the data, refuel, and you’re back here. Just like that.”

  “But we don’t have the fuel,” Benteen said, “which makes it a moot point.”

  “We’re arguing for minimizing the mission,” Torgusson replied reasonably. “Listen, each of these ships is programmed differently. Each run we make is an experiment. No one understands how inverting symmetry works, or how statistical navigation functions. The explanation for Vixen’s instantaneous transition lies hidden somewhere down in her qubit core. I’m not trying to be dramatic here, but it could be the key that unlocks the entire universe for humanity.”

  “Getting that data back is critical,” Vacquillas agreed.

  “And it will still be in the qubit com in another six months or however long it takes us to finish our studies,” Dortmund protested. “That bit of delay won’t hurt—”

  “In the meantime, you could be condemning some ship and crew to years of transition,” Torgussen declared. “Don’t you get it? We need to get this information back before another vessel goes out.”

  Benteen’s lips quivered, a calculating look in his eyes.

  Dortmund, again, had that uneasy feeling, as if he were in the presence of a lurking spider.

  “We’ll finish the scientific survey,” Benteen said with finality. “The ship’s data can wait.”

  Seguro cried, “But, you don’t—”

  “I damn well do,” Benteen snapped. “And more to the point, I have the authority to make the decision.” He pointedly glanced at Shimodi, and then Dortmund. “I’ll be expecting your priority lists.”

  With that, the Advisor stood, and still holding his coffee, strode out of the room.

  “I don’t fucking believe this.” Vacquillas knotted her fists on the table. Seguro and Torgussen were staring uneasily at each other.

  “It’s just a delay,” Shimodi said reasonably. “In the end, you’ll get Vixen’s data back. And once there, it’ll take the en
gineers and programmers months to analyze everything in the core. I’ll deliver a complete geological report, and Dr. Weisbacher’s team will rewrite zenobiology. We’ll be immortal.”

  “Precisely,” Dortmund told Torgussen. “You and your crew will be remembered in the same light as the captain and crew of the H.M.S. Beagle.”

  Vixen’s officers were glancing back and forth, looking slightly perplexed. “Never heard of it,” Seguro muttered under her breath.

  “Old sailing ship on Earth, as I remember.” Torgusson had a disgusted look on his face.

  Dortmund smiled to himself as he stood. Sure, everyone remembered Darwin and the Beagle. There wasn’t any point in telling Torgussen and his officers that no one remembered the names of the captain or his officers.

  4

  “You’re headed into the bush to find a quetzal? You’re out of your fart-sucking mind,” Trish Monagan declared as she squinted skeptically toward the horizon. Mist rose in the morning sunlight, making a haze above the distant treetops.

  “You could go back and have a cup of tea with Step Allenovich while he flies the drones. Hungover as he is today, he’d enjoy the company.”

  “If I was smart I’d be lazing around in bed and sleeping late.”

  Talina grinned to herself. The only way Trish would miss a hunt like this was if she was bound to a stone pillar with chains or locked in a dungeon’s deepest and darkest cell.

  Capella’s morning light shone golden, emphasizing the various greens and blues of the Donovanian bush.

  Trish shook her head as she followed Talina off the haul road and into the stands of aquajade and thornbush where the three-toed quetzal tracks led.

  Tal shot a glance her companion’s way. Trish wore a chamois-hide shirt and pants; she had a pinched and troubled expression on her face. The dusting of freckles on her nose and cheeks, in addition to her auburn hair, set off Trish’s wary green eyes. She’d shifted her rifle from its sling to an easy carry, ready for a snap shot.