“Neither of us will ever be the people we once were. I’m still not sure that something terrible isn’t waiting for me when we reach Cap III. There has to be a price paid for what I did.”
“You made a choice and saved the ship.”
“I condemned three hundred and forty-two innocent men, women, and children to starvation and the survivors to a living hell. I locked them in and left them no alternative than to become monsters in a free-for-all of murder, inhumanity, and suffering.”
“I saw the holo. Supervisor Aguila didn’t bat an eye when you told her that you’d sealed the transportees in.”
“I expected her to order my immediate arrest.” A pause. “I think I know why she didn’t.”
“Oh?”
“There’s another ship in orbit around Donovan. She’s called Freelander. Something went really wrong when she inverted symmetry. Went someplace ‘outside’ where time is different. Some effect of relativity. She aged one hundred and twenty-nine years during a two-and-a-half-year transit. Freelander was carrying five hundred transportees. When her captain, Jem Orten—a man I knew and admired—figured out that they were marooned in time, he and his crew killed them. Asphyxiated them. Then froze the corpses and added them to the hydroponics over the years as the molecules began to break down.”
“Did you ever consider going to that extreme?”
Galluzzi pursed his lips, nodded. “Funny, isn’t it? I could seal them up in Deck Three, let them murder each other and become psychotic cannibals, but simple euthanasia was morally reprehensible. I guess, after what happened with Freelander, my actions with the Irredenta didn’t have quite the same impact they once would have.”
“Then maybe Supervisor Aguila has a pragmatic streak to her personality. And who knows? She may actually live up to her reputation.”
“Which is?”
“She was one of Miko’s protégées,” Derek noted. “As of when we spaced, she was the Supervisor of the Transluna district. Met her a couple of times back in Transluna. The circumstances of which I hope she’s forgotten. She has a capability ranking of 9.8.”
“What does that mean?”
“Means Miko thinks she could go all the way to Boardmember. Me? Best rank I ever got was a 7.6. My flaw was always emotional volatility. The kind that would make me lose control. Do something dumb. You know, like throw a temper tantrum and stomp off to join a ship headed for Cap III. Teach the bastards a lesson. Show them all what a real Taglioni could do.” A pause. “And you can see how well that worked out.”
Galluzzi chuckled. Pointed at the planet, and asked, “So, what are you going to do now?”
“Haven’t a clue, Miguel. That old original plan of making planet, throwing my weight around, taking charge of some money-making and high-prestige venture doesn’t have the same appeal. Not only that, but the files Vixen has sent on Donovan indicate it’s not the thriving colony we were told to expect. It never was. Even way back then. Supervisor Clemenceau, who I figured I could manipulate, has been dead for as long as we’ve been in space.”
He stared at the dot of light that was Cap III. As if he could feel it across the distance. Calling to him in a way that bordered on the mystical. As if the planet was in harmony with his blood.
Sheer silliness. But still . . .
“I’m sure Supervisor Aguila, if she’s in the Taglioni fold, will find something for you.”
“Maybe.”
“Why do you say that?”
“I know that you told her I was on board. Since then I haven’t heard a word from her.”
“So? She’s busy. She’s a Supervisor in charge of an entire planet.”
“You don’t understand. I’m a first cousin to Miko, and she’s in his stable. Kalico Aguila should have immediately placed a call to my com. Should have offered up her compliments, inquired about my welfare, asked what she could do to be of service. Doesn’t matter that we didn’t part on the best of terms, such a call is required protocol for a high-ranking member of the Taglioni family.”
“I see.” The look on Galluzzi’s face indicated that he was happy to only have a ship to worry about.
“That she did not immediately initiate contact is about as disturbing as my own reaction.”
“And what’s that?”
Derek lifted an eyebrow. “Supervisor Aguila is no longer playing the Corporate game. Either that or she’s switched allegiances to another Boardmember. But if she had, why would she tip her hand? That doesn’t make sense. You don’t just telegraph hostile intent to a potential opponent.”
“What are you going to do if she’s changed sides?”
“That’s the second remarkable thing. The miracle of my reaction to Aguila’s slight. Hey, I’ve scrubbed corridors and toilets, worked in hydroponics, bumped elbows and starved with you and your crew, worried from day to day that I was going to die. I’ve watched the rise of the monsters down in Deck Three. Spent nights in terror, unable to sleep for fear they would break free and cut my intestines out while I screamed. That Ashanti was my tomb. Do you think that after that, I could give a damn over a skipped courtesy call?”
But that still left the question: Now that the impossible appeared to be happening—that they were going to actually live long enough to get off Ashanti—what was he going to do once he set foot on Capella III?
And worse, what did it mean when Kalico Aguila wasn’t acting the way she should? Derek might not have wanted to play the game, but that didn’t mean that Aguila wouldn’t still use him as a pawn in a game of her own.
6
The thing about living on Donovan was that it always seemed to take a series of unexpected twists. Just when a person figured he or she had a handle on life, it was only to find oneself zipping off at a ninety-degree angle from the expected path. Traveling in a direction never anticipated—and initially so stunned from the trajectory-altering impact as to be incapable of reacting to the change.
Security Second Mark Talbot’s life had taken exactly those kinds of hits. He’d arrived on Donovan as part of Kalico Aguila’s Marine detail. He’d backed Lieutenant Spiro’s faction of “loyal” marines when Cap Taggart resigned from the Corps. When Turalon was about to space, he’d joined fellow marines Shintzu and Garcia for a quick trip into the forest. Just a chance to say they’d been face to face with Donovan’s wilderness.
The forest had immediately crushed their aircar. A nightmare had finished off Garcia. Slugs had eaten their way through Shintzu’s guts. Talbot had found himself alone; only his armor had saved him on his march across the forest to Mundo Base.
Again his life had been smacked sideways: Within months he was a polygamist married to three women, had a family and responsibilities as a father. Only to lose it all when Mundo Base fell apart, the local quetzals turned against humans, and he and his wives and children had to flee to Port Authority.
In the curious calculus that was survival on Donovan, he’d been there to save Talina Perez’s life when a rogue marine would have shot her from ambush.
Since then he’d been a jack of all trades, with his time spent between Corporate Mine and PA. Father, husband, teacher, advisor, and finally, somehow catapulted into the position of Security Second.
He considered that as he studied Talina from the passenger seat. She was piloting the aircar due west over the vastness of endless forest. They’d passed the Briggs River and given him a longing glimpse of the homestead at the head of Black Canyon. His eldest surviving daughter, Kylee, now lived there. A half-human, half-quetzal child who teetered precariously between two different worlds.
And then there was Talina Perez, the woman who had murdered two of his wives’ first husbands. A once-despised enemy who had miraculously appeared at his family’s moment of greatest need. A quetzal-haunted woman who was now his superior.
They couldn’t ask for a better day for flying, with the temper
ature in the low thirties, sunny, and no chance for rain. The forever forest stretched off to the horizon, a lumpy mat of greens, blues, and every shade in between. Here and there rivers cut winding paths through the verdure, and ridges, bluffs, and hills receded in distant hazy lines toward infinity.
Talina seemed to be in better control of herself today. Working around her was always interesting, but at times the woman was locked in combat with her inner quetzals. Generally, if a comment contained the words “you piece of shit,” it was a dead giveaway that quetzal molecules were whispering in her mind.
Talbot had lived with his daughter Kylee and her pet quetzal, Rocket, for long enough to have at least a hazy understanding of the symbiosis. And his wife, Dya, had explained the best hypotheses that she, Turnienko, and the chemist, Cheng, could come up with: That essentially quetzal TriNA was a “smart” molecule that interacted with human brain cells through common transferRNA.
But all it took was a glance at Talina Perez to know it did more than that. The woman’s eyes were striking, larger, darker, peculiarly shaped. Then came the planes of her face, the cheekbones sharper, the jawline pointed at the chin. Her muscles were faster, stronger than any human Talbot had ever known, and she moved with fluid grace that reminded him of a prowling lioness.
She scared hell out of half of Port Authority. The other half treated her with a wary respect—even if they were unsure of who and what she’d become.
“What’s up, Mark? You’re looking at me like I’m some sort of lab specimen.”
How did she do that? He thought he’d been circumspect. “You’re quiet today. Not even a single growl under your breath. Demon hasn’t been making a pest of himself?”
“This whole Ashanti thing. That’s got me thinking of ships. Which reminds me of Vixen. Which makes me think of Weisbacher. Kalico was up there. I noticed that she artfully didn’t mention if she’d seen the good doctor.”
“Which made you think of Trish,” he finished. Mark turned, squinted out at the forest. Here and there he could pick out more turquoise patches in the various shades of green. Some sort of unknown aquajade species? They passed the first of the curious ping pong paddle trees in their circular clearings. “It’s been over two years, Tal.”
Talina frowned. “Seems like yesterday. Still don’t know what I’d do if I walked around a corner in PA and came face to face with him.” A pause. “Think I’m responsible enough to keep from blowing a hole through his sorry hide?”
“Kylee still calls him Dortmund Short Mind. Says he’s the biggest waste of skin she’s ever known.” Talbot gestured amusement. “Of course, her total exposure to humanity can be numbered in the low tens.” He paused. “I’m sorry Trish isn’t here. I know what she meant to you.”
“Six of one, half dozen of the other, Mark. The kid had that innate sense of place that comes from growing up here. She was rock-solid when it came to a tight situation in the bush. A dead shot with a rifle. If she had a fault, it was that she was young. Made the kind of dumb mistakes young people make. Still needed to completely find her feet. Hated herself for letting Benteen scare her.”
“Benteen would have killed her.”
“Yeah. Maybe. The thing is, she always figured she’d die in the bush. Quetzal, bem, some skewer, or maybe mobbers.”
“Odd that you’d say that. I was just thinking about the way life on Donovan changes in an instant.”
She shot him an evaluative glance from the corner of her eye. “You’re as good as Trish, you know.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“Better in a lot of ways. You know more about the bush. More mature. Tougher down in your core. Like Trish, I know you’ve got my back. You proved that when you shot Chavez. You don’t have that gut-level handle on Port Authority yet, but you’re learning.”
“Trish grew up with those people. To most I’m still a stranger, and as the town’s only polygamist, something of a curiosity.”
“You were Wild Ones, you get more leeway.”
Talbot grinned. He hadn’t been in Port Authority for more than a couple of months before he became fully cognizant of the fact that he was comfortable in his own skin. Funny thing, that. Knowing exactly who and what you were meant that other people’s opinions didn’t have nearly the weight they once had.
“What’s the story behind this Tyson Station we’re going to?”
Talina rested her hand on the wheel, her alien-dark eyes scanning the forest ahead of them. “Tyson’s colony was fifth ship. The research base was established on a mesa top way out west. The idea was that, like Mundo down south, it would be a stepping stone for the exploration of the continent. The site was chosen since it had a different ecology, was considered somewhat defensible from wildlife, and could be easily expanded as the population grew. The big dome, with full basement, contained the cafeteria and kitchen, communications, admin offices, storage, and meeting rooms. Separate domes for the barracks, science labs, shops, and support staff. Last we knew, they had about five acres in farmland. Like everywhere, the bems, brown caps, chokeya, and slugs began to take a toll. There were rumors of other creatures, different from what we know back east.
“Clemenceau demanded that the base be held no matter what. After learning of his much-too-delayed departure, most of the people loaded up and flew back to PA. Five stayed behind, trying to finish up a few last projects.”
“What happened to them?”
“When we finally got around to sending a car out a couple of months later, we found three skeletons. No trace of the other two. Not even a pile of quetzal crap.”
“And this is a place for Ashanti’s kooks?”
“You’ve got me, Mark. Hey, Shig’s the comparative religions teacher. He’s been reviewing all the stuff these Irredenta dropped on Ashanti’s crew. Shig’s worried.” A beat. “Worried? Shig? Those are two words I never thought would collide in a sentence. You know Shig. End of the world coming? Fine. Make a cup of tea, read the I Ching and a couple of the Vedas, then smile as sattva fills your last days.”
Talbot stared off to the right, caught sight of a flock of flying creatures. Pulling up his binoculars, he made sure they were scarlet fliers and not a deadly swarm of mobbers.
“There it is.” Talina pointed ahead.
Mark used his binoculars to inspect the mesa that rose above the forest. The thing reminded him of a fortress jutting out like an extended shoulder below what was obviously a volcanic peak. Amazing what he’d learned about geology since coming to Donovan. Even from here he could tell the sheer sides were either lava or basalt. A few trees clung precariously to the precipitous and rocky slopes. As they approached, he estimated the vertical relief at over two hundred meters. A substantial slow-moving river curled around beneath the southern end of the mesa, the waters a translucent green.
Talina climbed, crested the flat, and leveled out. She made a wide swing around the five domes that stood in a clearing on what looked like bedrock. Many of the early research bases had been established on bedrock. Not as many slugs. People could see the quetzals, bems, and sidewinders coming.
Sheds had been laid out in a row on the western side, the doors closed. A solar array consisting of five panels stood on the south. Three of the panels were still tracking Capella’s course across the sky. Between them and the landing field just this side of the domes, he could see the garden.
Talina dropped lower, slowing to a hover. As she used her quetzal vision to survey the place, Talbot relied on his binoculars. The base gave every appearance of being abandoned. Right down to the thin soil that was devoid of tracks. Pieces of equipment looked rusty and dusty; an old pair of coveralls lay wadded beside one of the doors, tattered and faded. Tarps were frayed by wind, torn loose from their bindings. They’d once protected corroding pieces of equipment that Talbot couldn’t identify.
“What do you think?” Talina asked.
She arched an eyebrow, then descended to the landing field on the south side of the domes. Talbot retrieved his rifle as she let the fans spin down.
“How’s the charge?” he asked.
“Twenty percent. Smart people would plug into the spare powerpack before stepping out of the aircar.”
“I like smart,” he suggested, watching her plug the auxiliary cable into the spare powerpack and then check as the indicator flashed back to eighty-nine percent. Nothing went to one hundred, given the age on the batteries.
He stepped out carefully, having had four years of Donovan’s hard lessons to keep him from acting irresponsibly. The plants here were terrestrial. Some sort of scrubby low weeds that didn’t writhe under his foot the way the native flora did.
Talbot kept his rifle up, safety off, finger on the rest just above the trigger. He cocked his head at the chime, different here. Deeper, with a bass rhythm unlike anything he’d heard before. The air, too, had a different odor, more of a saffron and sage than the more familiar cardamom and cinnamon scent around either Mundo or PA. The breeze had a muggy feel. The air heavier and hot.
Talina on his right, he started for the first dome, scenting the air for any hint of vinegar that would indicate a bem or skewer. Got nothing but the background of vegetation. A small herd of roos burst from behind one of the domes, fleeing like a shot across the flats.
At the first dome, Talina tried the latch, found it unlocked. She let the door swing in, swept the room with her rifle. Talbot followed, covering. Standard security room-clearing procedure. Nothing looked out of place, the chairs were upright, desks slightly dusty, but nothing suspicious. Room by room, they cleared the first dome, then moved on to the next. An hour later, with nothing but a single sidewinder and an infestation of invertebrates in the sheds, Tyson Station appeared to harbor no immediate terrors.
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