Inside, and down the stairs, Shig led the way to the right side of the bar, propped himself up on one of the stools, and indicated the second from the end for Miguel, saying, “We keep that last one for Tal. Not that we’re much for status and ceremony around here, but she’s earned it the hard way.”
“That woman, Allison. She’s a partner in The Jewel? I mean, I’ve heard rather unsavory things about it.” He couldn’t shake the image of her. Figured she’d be haunting his dreams for a while.
“Owns forty-nine percent of The Jewel; and she’s branched out into various real estate, mining, and development ventures. Let’s just say that her start was a little rocky. Various tragedies left her ill-used and wounded. A fact that she realized and corrected. Once she took the bit in her teeth, she’s made a rather impressive turnaround.”
“I see.” Wasn’t the place also a brothel?
Shig lifted his hand in Inga’s direction, asking, “What will you have?”
“I would kill for a cup of coffee or hot chocolate.”
“Wouldn’t we all? The coffee trees are supposed to produce beans this year. Meanwhile, we have a variety of teas, all of which, to our horror, are herbal and without caffeine.”
“The amber ale was good.”
After Inga had taken the order, Shig asked, “So, what are your plans? How can we be of service here?”
Galluzzi turned, looked over his shoulder at the people trickling down the stairs and into the tavern, water shining on their cloaks. “I haven’t a clue.” He laughed. “It’s odd to admit, but I figured after what I’d done to the transportees—and if I ever lived long enough to make it here—I’d be arrested, tried, and executed.” A beat. “Looked forward to it, actually.”
“Might have happened that way, once upon a time,” Shig agreed. “Freelander, up there in orbit, however, has taught us all an interesting moral lesson: Sometimes the universe leaves us with nothing but bad decisions.”
“Sounds remarkably like situational ethics.”
“Welcome to Donovan.”
IMPOTENCE
Two people are missing. Mauree Baktihar and Shaka Mantu. Third Will Tikal has been out searching with his team. Shaka told one of the women that he was going for a walk last night. Tikal said he tried to track him. That there wasn’t even a scuff in the dirt.
Mauree Baktihar, mother of two, was last seen on the south end of the garden. The young men working in the field with her said that one minute she was there, the next she was gone. They wondered if maybe she’d stepped into the bushes to relieve herself.
Again, not a sign can be found.
As if my people would know what to look for.
I don’t know what to do. Call everyone into the admin dome? Bar the doors? Tell my people that we’re going to have to live like we did on Deck Three? Locked away? And that if we travel outside, we must do so in large parties for mutual protection?
Around me, the cafeteria is silent but for a humming from the air system and the rattling of the refrigeration back in the kitchen. On their tables, the Prophets are still for the most part. Occasionally one of them will twitch, jerk a leg, or utter a rasping snore. I envy them their peace as they fall ever deeper into the universe.
As for me, I cannot sleep, cannot rest.
I think I have been played by Kalico Aguila. Led here to a sort of trap. Vartan, however, has found something in his search of the sheds. Something that, if we play it right, will give me Kalico Aguila. Assuming I can allay her suspicion and lure her back here, I look forward to adding her to my collection. I want to feel her soul as it winds its way toward immortality.
That might turn out to be my lone victory.
Vartan—who knows these things—also tells me that Tyson Station might not have walls, fences, or cell blocks, but that we’re as incarcerated here as we were on Deck Three. He told me that privately, just before retiring for bed. I suspect he’s with Svetlana tonight. They seem to favor each other.
I find myself somewhat jealous.
Instead of wrapping myself in a woman’s arms and celebrating the act of procreation, I sit here, alone, and in fear.
What can the universe’s purpose be? What are we supposed to learn here? Am I too stupid to figure it out? Am I so blind with my three eyes that I cannot see?
The universe might not make mistakes.
But humans do.
36
As the supper crowd chattered on with raucous volume, the sound echoed off Inga’s high dome. To Miguel Galluzzi’s mind, it almost gave the place that hollow echo he’d heard in great cathedrals back on Earth. Above it all, the occasional bang of thunder and the soft pattering of rain made a most remarkable backdrop.
Now he placed a hand to his overstuffed stomach and shot Shig Mosadek a sidelong appraisal where the small man perched on his bar stool, the untouched half-glass of wine before him. “Is it always this loud?”
“New people in town. This is the first time some of your crew members have been here. We’re a curious bunch. And visitors, especially after three years, are a novelty. Not to mention the, shall we say, unique events you’ve survived getting here. Makes you and your people the center of attention.”
Galluzzi stared into his glass of beer. Fought the urge to belch. How long since he’d had a full belly? Let alone the enjoyment of tastes so long forgotten? He had forced himself to eat slowly, drink with moderation, and savor each bite. After what ration had become on Ashanti, he’d have sold his soul to the devil if it meant gustatory satisfaction the likes of which poured with such little fanfare from Inga’s kitchen.
Except that Satan already owns my soul.
“That was a rather rapid transition from a look of bliss to one of misery,” the observant Shig noted.
“You are a scholar of comparative religion?”
“I am.”
“Do you believe in damnation? In a form of higher justice? That we are condemned to be judged for our actions?”
Shig’s dark eyes fixed on his. “I do. But not in the way that concerns you at the moment. Parsing religious philosophies down to the grossest of blunt fundamentals, the Eastern traditions assume that existence is a struggle to rise out of the chaos of creation to attain the sublime state of nirvana. The essence of the Western traditions is that divine good and evil are in conflict, and the goal is to act in the service of good in such a manner whereby the soul is granted salvation.
“Your, torment, Captain, is whether your decision to save your ship and crew came at the expense of your humanity and soul.”
Galluzzi rolled his glass of beer on its base. “I thought by scouring out Deck Three, it would make it easier. I wish there was a way to scour the soul.”
“The Western faiths provide the penitent with paths to forgiveness, some as easy as simply declaring yourself to be a believer. In a single stroke—or a dunking—your sins are washed away. All is forgiven. In other traditions, it’s a little more difficult.”
“That sounds remarkably like a cheat.”
Shig chuckled to himself. Smiled. “Indulge me in a little experiment. A mind game. Looking back with the God-like clarity of hindsight, let’s put the ‘you’ of today—knowing what you do now—back in that place. In that terrible moment of decision, what would you change? What would you decide differently?”
“I don’t know, Shig. I chose my ship and crew, and in the process, condemned three hundred and forty-two people to starvation, murder, and madness. That was a crime against humanity. Those people were under my care, my responsibility. Given what they suffered? Well, someone has to pay.”
“Thought you’d be arrested upon arrival, didn’t you say?”
Galluzzi’s right hand began to twitch. “And here I sit, with a full stomach and a tasty beer. Where’s the justice in that? I feel . . . disgusted with myself.”
“You haven’t answered
my question: With the benefit of hindsight, what would you do differently?”
“That question tortures me every night. Lurks down under my every waking moment. Those were innocent, good, and amiable men, women, and children. They were decent human beings guilty of nothing. They were deserving of the best.”
“Having thought it all through, you still can’t find a better solution than the one you made?”
He shook his head, a leaden emptiness in his gut. “If there is justice, why am I still alive and so many of those good people dead? I turned the ones who survived into monsters. And in the process, became one myself. God, karma, the universe, even the quanta should see me blasted and burned for eternity.”
He tried to keep his voice from breaking. Damn it. He jammed his spastic right hand behind his belt.
Before Shig could reply, he said, “But if I’m not to be held responsible? If the Supervisor isn’t going to arrest me, try me, punish me? There’s part of me that urges me to walk down to the shuttle deck, key in the override, and cycle the lock. Let it blow my body out into vacuum.” Galluzzi smiled wistfully. “I find a certain solace in the notion that for the rest of eternity, my body will tumble through the frozen and empty black. Staring sightlessly, limbs fixed, the moment of horror caught forever on my face. That out there, like that, I can finally atone.”
Shig sat for a moment, head cocked, frown lines deepening on his forehead. “Tomorrow morning, will you take a ride with me? There’s something I want to show you.”
Galluzzi snorted his displeasure with himself. “What have I got to lose?”
37
Out on the aircar field, Talina Perez walked up and slapped a hand against the hull of Kalico’s heavy airtruck. The vehicle had been unloaded from Ashanti’s hold the day before. Had spent all night with its powerpack on charge from Port Authority’s grid.
Kalico had been living the high life back in Transluna when the last airtruck on Donovan had failed, stranding its cargo and passengers atop a ridge out in the Blood Mountains. The hull, stripped of anything useful, still sat there as a lonely beacon of dying dreams.
“You really think this is a good idea?” Talina asked, squinting in Capella’s reflected light where it beamed off the polished duraplast bodywork.
Kalico turned as a wagon was trundled up to the tailgate and Terry Miska began handing crates of produce up to his wife Sasha. They’d had a bumper crop of okra and broccoli. Not to mention that they’d managed a good harvest from the wheat and rye crop. All staples that didn’t grow at Tyson Station.
“They’re still technically Corporate,” Kalico told her. “Legally, they remain my responsibility.” She indicated the containers of wheat being loaded into the back of the airtruck. “After the food offering they gave us last time, maybe this will soften the blow. No telling how they’re going to react when I tell them that their prophets are victims of dementia.”
“Why don’t you wait? Give it a couple of days. At least until I get back. Then I’ll go along.”
“I’ll be fine. They didn’t even raise a finger last time Talbot was out there. If we have to eat another meal of Tyson green beans, I’m going to puke. Privates Carson and Muldare will be backup. They’ll handle security.”
“They going along in combat armor? With tech?”
“Thought about it. But after Talbot’s last trip, I think the Unreconciled have figured out how much they need us. Besides, I can handle it.” She tapped the butt of the pistol on her hip. “Compared to mobbers, Freelander, and Tam Benteen, what are some whacked-out cannibals?”
“It’s a cult.”
“They’re unarmed. Mostly malnourished women and children. It’s just a hop out to drop off a load of food and to let them know what we discovered about the prophets. Give them a heads up that the people susceptible to kuru, the ones who are infected? Well, there’s nothing we can do for them.”
“So, why can’t you do that with Carson and Muldare wearing armor?”
“Like that woman, Svetlana, told Talbot: Someone has to start treating them like human beings. By now it’s sinking in that they’re really going to make it, and they have to be asking questions: What’s the future? How are we going to be treated? Are we abandoned out here? Cut off like pariahs? Are we condemned to be monsters?”
“Uh, yeah.”
“Oh, come on, Tal. You, of all people, should know what it’s like when everyone is looking at you like you’re some sort of freak. Or have you forgotten why you ran off to Rork Springs?”
“My point is that they’re not going to break down and sob over the future if your marines are in armor.”
“Maybe, but it’s a symbol that they’re not trusted.”
“Damn straight.”
“If they were going to cause trouble, they’d have tried something with Talbot.”
“So why you taking this?” Talina thumbed the side of the airtruck. “I’d be a hell of a lot happier if you rode out there in the shuttle.”
“The A-7’s up in orbit for repairs. Makarov’s got the Ashanti shuttle techs doing a refit. Hell, we were only about four hundred hours overdue for maintenance on that bird. It’ll be about a week, and she’ll be back to as close to pristine as we can get without a space dock. This has the battery capacity to fly me out and back without a recharge.”
“So you’re placing your faith in an untested airtruck to meet with a bunch of cannibals, tell them their holy men are demented, and your marines aren’t wearing armor when you do it.”
“You make it sound insane.”
“No shit.”
At that junction Mark Talbot—pack and rifle slung over his shoulder—rounded the airtruck; his wife, Dya Simonov walked at his side. “We ready?”
Talina called, “Dya, tell me you’re not part of this insanity.”
“Hey, Tal. I’m the biologist and geneticist tagging along to answer any technical questions about the prion. Besides, they radioed in that they’ve got a couple of sick kids. I’m going to take a look at them. Decide if we need to bring them back to Raya for treatment.”
“And where are you headed to?” Kalico asked, obviously happy to change the direction of the conversation.
“Taking Taglioni out to the Briggs’ place. He wants to meet Wild Ones.”
“And you call me crazy? You know what’ll happen to you if that guy gets so much as a scratch? Let alone parasitized by a slug? Or worse, eaten?”
Talina arched a suggestive eyebrow. “The terrible Taglionis don’t worry me.”
“Well, they should.” Kalico gave her a humorless grin. “I was in bed with Miko. Literally. When I got here, discovered Ashanti was missing and Derek with it, I breathed a huge sigh of relief.”
“He may not be such a bad guy,” Talina said.
“The scum-sucker I met a couple of times back on Transluna? A real piece of work. Maybe he’s changed. Maybe, down under all that Taglioni cunning, he hasn’t. He’s a quetzal, Tal. And you think I’m crazy?” Kalico turned. “Come on, folks. Let’s saddle up, as they say. Carson? Muldare? You aboard?”
“Here, Supervisor!” Carson’s dark face appeared in the doorway.
A slam from the rear tailgate was accompanied by Terry Miska’s call, “You’re loaded, Supervisor. Thanks for the business.”
Kalico put a foot in the step and swung up to the cab. “See you when I get back.”
“Hey,” Talina slapped the airtruck again. “This thing starts giving you trouble, remember, the Briggs homestead is your closest refuge. If you’re down on charge, don’t even think of flying it all the way back here.”
“Got it.” Kalico took a place in the front where she could see.
As she waved at Tal, she reassured herself. It would just be out and back.
38
Beyond the shuttle view ports, Donovan’s sky darkened above the curved haze of atmosphere
. Capella hung low over the eastern horizon as the shuttle arched its way into the indigo reaches that gave way to star-frosted space.
Miguel Galluzzi glanced to the side where Shig sat at the window seat, his eyes wide, rapt at the sight as the planet seemed to drop away below them.
“I’d think you’d never spaced before,” Galluzzi noted.
“It remains a miracle, you know.” Shig’s voice was filled with awe. “This experience should never be commonplace. Should never be taken for granted.”
“It’s just a shuttle ride.”
“Is it?” Shig turned thoughtful eyes his way. “Think, Captain. For at least a couple of million years as human imagination evolved on Earth, endless generations of proto-humans and then humans dreamed of the ability to defy the bonds of gravity, first to fly, and then to tread among the stars. What we do today is magical, and I revel in it. Not just for myself, but for all those millions upon millions of dreamers who lived out their lives craving.”
“Never thought of it that way.”
“No. But then my hope for today is to open your mind. To expose you to a broader understanding. I want you to learn to see from outside yourself.”
“My eyes only see from one direction.”
“And that, my friend, is the root of the problem.”
Galluzzi laughed. But then, that was the thing about Shig. The little brown man said the most confusing things with such absolute surety.
And now, here he was. Headed, who knew where? Ashanti, Vixen, perhaps some view of Donovan from orbit? It seemed a bit extravagant. But Shig had been insistent.
The light patter of rain on the dome had brought Miguel Galluzzi awake at dawn. He had been lying on his side, in his underwear, on a much-too-hard mattress. A moment of terror had seized him. Gray light was pouring in a small square window to illuminate a desk, bookshelves filled with old-fashioned books, a small but neat room.
Unreconciled Page 23