Unreconciled

by W. Michael Gear

  “What do you think?” Kalico asked, her gaze uncertain.

  “Reminds me of an anthropology video from the twentieth century, like some sort of long-lost tribe discovered on an isolated island or deep in the jungle.”

  “Does, doesn’t it?”

  Talina crossed her arms, feeling herself growing weightless as Makarov changed attitude. At the I’m-falling tickle down in her stomach, Demon, like usual, panicked. The quetzal sent filaments of anxiety through her limbic system. Tried to paralyze her with fear.

  Failed.

  On her shoulder, Rocket chittered softly.

  Back in the main cabin, people who hadn’t followed the instructions to buckle in, especially the children, screamed and yipped. Some floated up from their seats. As Makarov applied thrust, acceleration returned to a reassuring 1 g and a concurrent resettling of half-panicked bodies in the back.

  “They are not us,” Kalico mused. “They have become something other. Different. Alien.”

  “I wouldn’t have believed it. Not after just seven and a half years.”

  “That can be an eternity, Tal,” Kalico noted. “We’re off the map. First Freelander and then Ashanti. The patterns are similar. The crew does their best to save the ship, but in the case of Freelander it’s the crew who develop the weird death cult. In Ashanti, the crew and the maritime unit stay sane, and it’s the transportees who become . . . well, this.”

  Talina’s frown incised her forehead. “I think The Corporation needs to rethink deep-space travel. That, or don’t pack as many people into the ships. It always comes down to food. Essentially being stuck in a can and making the choice as to who lives and who dies as the hydroponics break down and begin to fail.”

  Makarov, taking extra care—given the mess of unsecured humans and their luggage—eased them into the atmosphere and juggled the stick as the shuttle hit turbulence.

  “Be happy to get this load off,” he growled just loud enough for Talina to hear.

  “That’s a unanimous decision.”

  Down in her belly, Demon shifted, still teetering on the verge of panic.

  To make his point, Makarov took the fast way down, pulling as much as 1.5 gs as he used atmosphere to brake their descent. Then, roaring in a tight circle, he dropped down toward the endless mat of green, blue, and turquoise forest that covered the land west of the Wind Mountains.

  With a howling whine, he settled the shuttle over the pad at Tyson Station and eased the big A-7 down onto its landing struts.

  “Welcome to Tyson Station,” he said into the com, adding with irony: “Please remain seated while we spool down.”

  “All right, let’s get this circus unloaded,” Kalico stood, palming the hatch.

  Talina followed her out to see a cowed and almost silent crowd. Some of the children were crying, clinging to their ashen-faced mothers. Others looked like they were on the verge of throwing up. But puking what? Raw red meat from the scavenged skeletons back in the women’s locker room on Deck Three?

  In his seat immediately in front of her, Batuhan was doing his best to appear aloof, but the tension in his face was bunching his scars into an unpleasant grimace. Face to face with the guy, his missing nose, the scars, the weird fake blue eye in the middle of his forehead, it sent creepy crawlies through her bones.

  “I’m Security Officer Talina Perez,” she told them. “I’m responsible for your introduction and orientation to Tyson Station. You will disembark, one by one, through the hatch and down the stairs. At the bottom you will proceed to the admin dome. There you will be processed by medical personnel before assembling in the cafeteria. We’ve got a hot meal prepared the likes of which you haven’t had in years. After that, I will tell you what you need to know to survive. Now, Batuhan, if you will follow me.”

  She turned, not caring if he did or didn’t. At the hatch, the ramp lowered and she stepped out into Capella’s bright light. Privates Sean Finnegan and Paco Anderssoni, dressed in combat armor, had stretched lines of plastic ribbon to create a lane that led to the doorway of the admin dome.

  Talina started down the route, hoping that Batuhan would follow. Not that it mattered in the end. Once the Irredenta were off the shuttle and the hatch was buttoned up, they could run wild all over the place. The marines would evacuate Raya Turnienko, Dya Simonov, and the kitchen staff. Kalico’s A-7 would take them back to Port Authority.

  If the Irredenta played by the rules, they’d get what help PA and Corporate Mine could give them.

  She glanced back, seeing Batuhan plodding along behind her, almost hobbling on his bare feet. Donovan’s gravity was having its effect, and the guy didn’t look healthy at all. His white-powdered makeup looked even more bizarre given the scars and his kohl-black eyes and lips. She could see into his severed nose to where the turbinate bones were visible.

  “Whatever you’re planning,” he told her through heavy breaths, “it won’t work.”

  “We’re not planning anything except to give you a fighting chance.”

  “We are the universe’s chosen.”

  “Good for you. So, here’s the deal: You and your people are malnourished, unaccustomed to the gravity. It’ll take you about a month to adapt. We’ll help you through that, but if you threaten any of our people, hurt anyone, or try to eat them, we’re out of here. You’re on your own. No second chances. Get my message?”

  “You are only a vehicle,” he said. “The universe’s way of opening our path to the stars.”

  “Yeah, right. Well, Donovan’s going to have some say about that. In the meantime, those are the ground rules.”

  He chuckled under his breath. “Of course. We only need to bide our time. In the end the universe will ensure our triumph. Until then, we will only become stronger, more numerous.”

  “Whatever.”

  “You don’t understand, Security Officer Perez. As time passes, there are going to be more and more of us, all preserved in these bodies, passing through time, existing, being consumed, and continuing along.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “When you look at me, you see a body that once belonged to Batuhan, but on the inside there are a couple hundred of us. Interred in this flesh. Waiting. All those souls, all those bodies. And the day will come when we break free in purity and light.”

  She kept her expression under control.

  He followed her into the dome, and she was able to look back and see his poor acolytes staggering under the weight of the carved duraplast chair. In the light of day, she got a good look at it. The seat had been made out of a desk. Someone had spent a huge amount of time shortening the legs, carving remarkable bas-reliefs that depicted human corpses, skeletons, various bones, phalluses in full erection on the verge of penetrating gaping vulvas, all mixed with spirals, mazes, and geometric designs. The intricately rendered chair back had been carved into artistically intertwined skeletons and might have once been a part of a wall that had been carefully mortised into the chair’s frame.

  The four manhandled it through the doorway and down the hall in pursuit of Talina and Batuhan.

  Not my parade. And thankfully so.

  At the end of the hall, Raya Turnienko had set up her station. The lanky Siberian waited on the other side of a table. The woman was tall, slender, with almond eyes in a severe round face.

  She greeted Batuhan, saying, “I’m Dr. Turnienko. If you’d extend your hand, this will only take a second.”

  Batuhan stared at her. Raya stared back, clearly fascinated by his mutilations.

  “Just do it,” Talina growled. “That, or we’re out of here. It’s nothing more than a medical sample to see if there’s anything we can do to help you and your people.”

  Batuhan warily extended his ridge-scarred hand. Raya efficiently ran a U-shaped device around the web of his thumb. It snapped and Batuhan jerked his hand back.

  T
alina said, “After what you’ve done to yourself, that had to be like a soft scratch. Come on. Let’s go feed you.”

  She led the man into the cafeteria, the place smelling of broccoli, chili, chamois steaks, and freshly baked bread all backed with the scent of mint tea.

  Batuhan might have considered himself a walking living graveyard, and the soft part of his nose might be missing, but his ruined face betrayed a deep anticipation as he inhaled. Nor did he waste any time stepping to the table and eagerly accepting the plate that Millicent Graves handed him.

  Batuhan missed the horrified look on the woman’s face as she gaped at his mutilated face and the rest of his scars. He was too busy staring in disbelief at the food. Seemed to stagger to a table, sinking down to begin shoveling morsels into his mouth.

  The bunch with the throne had made it through Raya’s blockade, the duraplast chair intact.

  Talina gestured to the side of the room. “Set it there. No one here’s going to steal the thing.”

  The three on the litters were brought through next. Their bearers, placed them reverently in a row on one of the tables before taking their turn in the chow line.

  As the Irredenta filed through, taking plates, attacking the food, often with fingers given their hurry, Millie asked, “Are they really cannibals?”

  “They are.” Talina told her. “And as soon as you’re finished dishing out plates here, one of the marines is going to hustle you right back onto the shuttle.”

  “Won’t be quick enough for me.”

  Seeing the last of the young men pass the door, followed by Raya’s high sign, Talina stepped to the center of the room.

  “Welcome to Donovan. This is Tyson Station. It will be your home from here on out. The term Irredenta means a culturally distinct people living under a foreign or culturally incompatible rule. You are no longer Irredenta. This is now yours. For you to rule as you see fit. Welcome home.”

  Scarred faces turned in her direction.

  “Everything you need to survive is here. A farm, water collection and cisterns, shelter. I know you consider yourselves newly born after leaving Ashanti. Hold onto that thought. In terms of Donovan, you are infants cast loose in a world you don’t understand and where everything will kill you.”

  She looked around the room, at the scarred faces, heard the crying of the infants. “First rule, no one sets foot outside barefoot. We tried to poison the slugs, but we can’t be sure that we got them all. They’ll burrow into your foot, divide, and eat you from the inside out.

  “Second rule: No one sets foot outside the compound. If you venture into the forest, you’ll be dead or dying within a half hour at most. We’ve left you fencing supplies out back behind the sheds. Until you put the fence up, quetzals, bems, skewers, sidewinders, and fifty other predators can wander in at will and eat you.”

  “How do we recognize these things?” one of the men who’d followed Batuhan asked.

  “We’re leaving you a holo.” Talina told him. “Study it. I mean that. Your lives will depend on it. In the meantime, we’ve provided you with a siren for an alarm when predators are inside the compound. You have to train yourselves to immediately find shelter when there’s a threat.

  “Third rule: And this is the hardest one. You are in mobber territory. These are flying predators who will strip a person down to a skeleton in less than a minute. Your only defense for the time being is to get under cover. Failing that, you must fall flat and don’t move. Mobbers may have killed the last people here more than a decade ago. Our hope is that they’ve forgotten that humans are prey since then.”

  “Just hold still?” someone called. “That’s the best we can do?”

  From the back of the room, Kalico called, “We can make you a couple of cannons at Corporate Mine. Provide you with shot shells. But that will take a while.”

  Talina was actually relieved. The questions were the sort she’d expect from a human audience. “I mean it. Stay close to the domes for the first week or so. Organize expeditions to the farm plot. Keep your eyes open. And wear your shoes. We’ve brought them from Ashanti.”

  “That was an offering to the ancestors!” one of the throne bearers cried, standing and raising a fist. “Symbolic of the fact that while the immortal could no longer walk on their own, we now walk for them!”

  Angry cries of assent filled the room.

  “Fine.” Talina threw her hands up. “Make your own damn shoes. Personally, I suggest boots.” She lifted her right foot up to show them the quetzal-leather that rose to the top of her calf.

  “Don’t! I repeat: don’t try to eat the local vegetation. It will just go through at best, but nine times out of ten, it will poison you dead. The plants here move. Stay away from them. Same with the roots, they will grab hold of you, and if they get a good grip, you’re going to regret it.”

  “The plants move?” someone asked.

  “We’re leaving you a radio with the frequencies marked for Corporate Mine and Port Authority. You can contact us any time if you have questions. Both Supervisor Aguila, and I and my people, will be happy to send you what advice we have.”

  “We have the Prophets,” a voice chimed up from the back. “They’ve brought us this far.”

  Grunts and mild applause came in response, and people turned to look at the three gaunt figures who rested on the litters. They were twitching, being spoonfed—without much success—by a couple of the younger women.

  Batuhan was looking pleased, his slight smile bending the maze-patterned scars on his cheeks.

  “Disregard my advice if you will, but here’s the last and final rule: On Donovan, stupidity is a death sentence.”

  Around the room, she could see the skeptical expressions. Everyone was looking toward Batuhan or off to the side where the Prophets reposed on their litters.

  As if he could sense their reliance on his reaction, Batuhan stood, spread his arms as he faced the room.

  In a hollow voice he said, “The universe has brought us this far. It will not let us down now. We are the chosen, the possessors of the Revelation. We are the living dead. We are the ending and the beginning. We shall have no fear.”

  Whatever that meant.

  Talina took a deep breath. Turned to see that Millicent had indeed departed.

  Kalico stepped up beside her, saying, “I am Corporate Supervisor Kalico Aguila. I control all of Donovanian Corporate assets and—”

  “You are in control of nothing,” Batuhan thundered. “You are deceit, darkness, and corruption.”

  Applause sounded across the room.

  Talina couldn’t help but drop a hand to her pistol.

  “Do you need anything else from me?” Kalico asked the room. “Any concerns under contract that—”

  “No,” Batuhan told her. “You have served the universe’s purpose. For that we thank you.”

  Kalico’s soft laugh was filled with wry irony. “Then, I take it there are no contractual issues. But I need to hear it from the room. Any of the rest of you have a claim under contract?”

  “The Messiah speaks for us,” one of the women declared hotly.

  Kalico turned to Talina. “Then, I guess we’re done here.”

  Talina gave the room one last thoughtful appraisal. “Welcome to Donovan.”

  Then she turned, following on Kalico’s heels as the woman led the way from the room.

  23

  As Second Will, Vartan had command of the small detachment that watched the Supervisor’s shuttle vanish off to the east; a final gleam of silver flashed as its sound faded away.

  He turned, along with the rest, to stare warily around at the remarkable new world in which they found themselves. The hot sun felt like a miracle on his pale skin. How long had it been? Twenty years since he was last on Earth and had seen the sun? And then it had only been for a couple of hours total as he shuttle
d back and forth between classrooms. Most of his security training had been on Transluna given that his specialty was institutional security for factories, mines, processing plants, and the like.

  “Smell that,” Tamil Kattan said reverently. The man closed his eyes, head back, sniffing the warm air. “Never smelled nothing like that in my life.”

  “And listen to the sound. What is that? Like singing.” Wonder filled Shimal Kastakourias’s voice as the woman turned, staring out past the edge of the escarpment at the tops of the surrounding trees. Hands twitching with the early signs of prophecy, she shifted her feet, used her toes to scrape the loose dirt. “This is . . . a dream. The kind I never had before.”

  “What do you think, Vart?” Tamil asked. “This is, like, too good to be true. All these buildings. That farm down there. It’s our own town.”

  Vartan squinted around in the bright light, raised a hand to shield his eyes and take in the features of Tyson Station. The domes, the weathered sheds, the solar collectors down on the point.

  “It’s a prison,” he decided. Laughed self-derisively. “No fences, no guards, but it’s still a prison.”

  “The universe will provide,” Shimal told him. “The Prophets will guide us.”

  Tamil was giving him that sidelong look. “You were Corporate security. What did you make of that orientation? That sample the doctor took. All the things that Perez woman said? More Corporate lies?”

  Vartan shrugged. “They want tissue samples. Tells them who’s really here when they check it against the Ashanti records. As to Perez, she was telling the truth. There are dangers here. Why wouldn’t there be? It’s wilderness, yes? And we all know that guy, Donovan, was killed on this rock way back when.”

  “The universe will see us through.” Shimal repeated the familiar mantra. And, maybe it would. It had gotten them this far.

  Even as Vartan tried to absorb his surroundings, the doors from the admin dome opened to spew children, all of them whooping and running on their skinny little legs.

  They were staring around as they jumped, pointing up at the sun, shielding their eyes. Some were so recently Initiated that their preliminary scars were still pink lines. Pho was in the back, having just lost the last of his scabs.