Unreconciled

by W. Michael Gear

  “No matter what the cost,” I mumble through gritted teeth, “I will see them dead.”

  Nothing else is acceptable.

  44

  Night had fallen. The roar of the waterfall generated its own music—a kind of background that made sitting out on the Briggses’ deck in the warm damp air, drink in hand, a most special event. Overhead, in the narrow band of sky visible from the canyon, the Milky Way painted the Donovanian heavens in glowing swirls of light.

  Talina sat in the back, having surrendered the seats closest to the crackling fire to Dek and Chaco. Chaco had built the blaze in his homemade steel fireplace. It perched atop its tripod out on the corner of the deck. The smell of burning aquajade and chabacho lent the air a familiar and reassuring perfume. One Talina had never quite been able to get enough of.

  Kylee, who’d appeared just at sunset, sat off to the side, partially obscured by the night. She’d shared that special hug with Talina, given her a knowing look from those almost sagacious and oversized blue eyes. Definitely not the eyes a thirteen-year-old girl should have.

  “Kip and Flute are keeping an eye on the rogue,” she said. “I think he’s got the message. No new opportunities here. Looked like he was moving on.”

  Which meant the Briggs quetzals wouldn’t be hunting it down and killing it for invading their territory. Maybe. One never really knew with quetzals.

  Kylee had been circumspect during her introduction to Dek Taglioni; she had been the minimum of polite and very much wild-thing suspicious. Now Kylee sat back in the shadows beside the railing, listening to the conversation as Chaco and Dek drank their beer.

  The irony of it fascinated Talina: Derek Taglioni—one of the most privileged scions in The Corporation—side-by-side with Chaco Briggs, the ultimate do-it-yourself stand-on-your-own-two-feet self-made man.

  Briggs was one of the original Wild Ones. He’d fled here after killing a man who’d had the ill grace to pester Madison with his attentions when, clearly, she wasn’t interested. Briggs had come from nothing in Argentina. But to listen to him and Derek swapping thoughts about the pump they’d fixed, about the work it had taken to get the water system back to perfect, Talina was witness to the ultimate in male bonding.

  Talina tossed off the last of her beer, rose silently, and stepped into the house. At the crude tap, she refilled her glass with home-brew amber ale. Madison had Maria and Skip industriously employed at the sink, finishing the last of the supper dishes.

  “How they doing out there?” Madison asked, glancing up.

  “You’d think they’d been replacing pumps and getting sprayed by broken water pipes their entire lives. Prince and pauper, a match made in heaven. Who’d have thought?”

  “Chaco had one of the best days he’s had in years.” Madison dried her hands with a towel as she walked over. “Pour me one. I’m ready.” To the kids she said, “You two get them dishes put away, and it’s off to bed.”

  “But there’s a fire,” Maria complained with a little girl’s pique at cosmic injustice.

  “Bed.” Madison accented her will with a pointed finger.

  As the kids shuffled off, Talina grinned and poured Madison’s beer.

  The tall woman lifted it to her lips, sipped, and sighed. “I needed that.” Then she gave Talina a thoughtful look. “So, what’s with Taglioni? Really?”

  “Shig’s taken with him. Hell, half the town is.”

  “And you?”

  “Me?”

  “He watches you with the eyes of a man who knows what he wants in a woman. For the time being, he’s learning, figuring out what it will take to get it.”

  “And you think I’m ‘it?’” Talina leaned her butt back against the counter beside the sink. “He’s soft meat, Madison. And me, I’m not sure I want his kind of trouble.”

  “It’s almost four years since Cap died. Three now that you’ve been learning to live with the quetzals inside. What are you saving yourself for? To be a holy relic in the name of chastity?”

  “I don’t know. Guess I’m a little scared. I’m not sure that I’m not part crazy. I don’t have clue if I could carry on an intimate relationship with anyone. I sure as hell don’t know if Dek Taglioni, of all people, would be that man.”

  “You watch him with a woman’s eyes.”

  “Most people think my eyes are too filled with quetzal.”

  “I mean a woman’s eyes. The ones she uses when she’s interested in a man. He keeps doing the right things, doesn’t he? And he’s not half bad to look at. He’s been tested, this one. And better, he knows he is ignorant, that there are things he has to learn, but he is not afraid to take chances learning them.”

  “He’s also got another side. The guy crossed swords with Kalico back in Solar System. When I asked her about it, she said, that when they met that last time in Transluna, Dek was scuzzier than toilet water.”

  “Maybe he was.” Madison took a swig of her beer, bracing her butt next to Talina’s. “That was how many years ago? We all have heard how close Ashanti came to being another Freelander. People change when they are living with the knowledge that each breath might be their last.” A beat. “You still the same woman who spaced from Transluna all them years ago?”

  “Well, I guess he’s got your vote.”

  Madison gave an offhanded shrug. “If he were still a spoiled Corporate candy ass, he’d have quit the first time a seal failed, and he and Chaco got drenched. He stuck it out. Stood there with a wrench on that fitting. Not only that, the guy not only enjoyed it, but he knew his shit. Pointed out a couple of things Chaco had never thought of. And more to the point, Chaco doesn’t take to many men. Finds that most of them don’t measure up. Don’t have what it takes. And there he is, drinking beer like he’s with a kindred soul.”

  “Okay, so the guy walks on water.” Seeking to change the subject, Talina said, “If I were you, I’d be more worried about Tip not coming home. He’s out there in the dark hunting a rogue quetzal. That would have my undershorts in a lot tighter knot than Dek Taglioni could ever tie them in.”

  Madison’s expression strained the least bit. “Yeah, I worry. We’ve lost too many kids to Donovan over the years. Every time Tip and Kylee don’t make it back for supper, the trepidation’s there. Is this the time they don’t come home? Is my child out there hurt and in agony? Maybe dying, and I can’t do a thing about it? That’s the worst. The not knowing.”

  “So?”

  “So, it’s who Tip and Kylee are going to be, Tal. That’s the price I pay as a mother out here. Living is a dangerous—and often too-short—business. So you get on with it.”

  “Yeah, I guess.”

  She heard the laughter as Dek and Chaco shared some story out by the fire.

  Madison gave her a pat on the shoulder. “You and Dek are in the back rooms. Neither you nor he are ready yet, but there’s a connecting door should the day ever come.”

  Talina was giving Madison a “no way” look when Dek stepped in, a grin accenting the dimple in his chin. He had an empty glass in his hand.

  “Chaco’s out of beer. The good news: Kylee’s taking me hunting in the morning. Chaco talked her into it.”

  Talina pointed with a no-nonsense finger. “I can’t stop you, but if that girl gives you an order, even if it sounds crazy, you do what she tells you!”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Dek told her as he gave her a two-finger salute. “Way ahead of you.”

  He paused only long enough to refill the glass, give Madison a winning smile, and vanish back onto the deck, where the talk promptly turned to where chamois might be found in the morning.

  Talina took a deep breath to still the sudden tension in her chest. Anything could happen out there. “I hope this isn’t a mistake,” she murmured.

  Madison had a sliver of smile on her lips. “Yep. It’s back.”

  “What is?”r />
  “The way you look at him with a woman’s eyes.”

  45

  Every muscle and joint in Vartan’s body ached; his brain had that fevered feeling of fatigue. His thoughts had gone muzzy in a head that felt stuffed with wool. When he blinked, the lids seemed to scrape over his eyeballs. The ability to carry a thought to its conclusion had congealed. He’d forgotten how much he hated exhaustion and fatigue. All he wanted to do was sleep.

  The cave had been terrifying. Draining. First the descent filled with mind-numbing fear of being shot from the blackness, then the sapping ascent back to the door. Climbing the stairs from the basement took every bit of his concentration. His muscles screamed, his lower back ached under the weight of the rifle. Just those fifteen stairs—not to mention Donovan’s gravity—had him winded by the time he reached the ground-level hallway.

  The way his feet kept tripping over themselves it was as if they had become disconnected from his brain. His legs had a loose and rubbery feel.

  Vartan plodded his weary way into the cafeteria where the Messiah slouched in his throne. The man sprawled more than sat, chin propped on his chest, dark eyes dully fixed on the wasted body lying prominently on the table just before the throne. The eye in the middle of The Messiah’s forehead seemed to stare at infinity.

  Vartan thankfully slipped the heavy rifle from his shoulders, let it clunk onto the nearest table. He pulled a chair out, slid it around, and dropped into it with a sigh.

  Irdan. That’s who lay upon the table.

  Off to the side, Callista and Guan Shi were each being sponged by a couple of the children. Not that either of them looked more than half past the shade of death.

  “What news, Second Will?” the Messiah asked softly.

  “We followed the tunnel as far as a drop off, Messiah. By then the hand lights were failing, getting too feeble to see into the depths. We turned back. Blocked the door with enough heavy items they can’t shoot their way back inside.

  “Meanwhile, Tamil has discovered a blueprint of the admin dome. The tunnel apparently has an outlet down in the forest. That’s where they’ll come out. The cliff is pretty sheer immediately above the lava tube. The trails they’ll need to climb back up are to the north and south. We have enough people to defend them if they try and return that way in an attempt to get the airtruck.”

  The Messiah kept his gaze fixed on Irdan’s corpse, as if momentarily expecting the dead Prophet to utter some startling revelation.

  “What of the armed drone?” The Messiah’s words were barely a whisper.

  “Petre has it on the charger again. It should have a full charge, or as much as it will take anyway, in another hour or two.”

  “Tell the First Will that my orders are as follows: He, you, and Tikal will each take a squad of fifteen people. He will descend the north trail. You and Tikal on the south. Once down the escarpment, you will have your teams fan out in three groups of five to comb the forest floor. You will sweep your way forward, closing on the vicinity of the cave exit. Where—”

  “Messiah, I don’t think—”

  “What you think doesn’t matter.” The Messiah shifted his gaze, eyes like cold black stones in his head. The hollow created by his missing nose whistled as he inhaled.

  The mad power of the Messiah’s gaze and the intensity of his anger sent a shiver through Vartan. The painted blue eye in the middle of the man’s forehead seemed to bore right through Vartan’s soul.

  Implacably, the Messiah said, “Each team of five will search. When they locate the Supervisor and her party, they will not engage. They will only alert you or Petre as to the Supervisor’s location. You will then use the drone. Fly it right into the middle of the Supervisor’s party. There, you will detonate the explosive. At that time, everyone will converge upon the location, recover the bodies, and bring them to me.”

  “Messiah, I—”

  “My orders are not up for negotiation, Second Will.”

  Vartan chewed his lips. Blinked in the glare cast from the cafeteria lights and jerked a short nod. It took all of his effort to push himself up from the chair. Took three steps before he remembered the rifle and plodded back to retrieve it.

  Ten years in Deck Three, doing nothing. Now he was planetside, malnourished, dealing with a heavier gravity. His physical endurance was spent.

  Outside, he glanced up at the starry sky, wondering when night had fallen.

  “You all right?” Shyanne asked as she appeared out of the dark.

  “I just want to sleep for a week. Lay in the sun and eat steak before sleeping again. He’s ordered us to put together teams, to go into the forest in search of the Supervisor.” He hesitated. “You heard about Fatima?”

  “She’s dead. And they never even let me see her. For that . . . Well, never mind. It’s all going to shit anyway.”

  “Be careful, Shyanne. I know how you’re—”

  “Vart, you don’t have the first fucking notion about how I’m feeling.” The anger and grief in her voice made him wince. To change the subject, she said, “You heard about the prions?”

  “Something.”

  “Vart, everything that happened? The Prophets? It’s a disease.” She hooked her fingers in quotation as she said, “Divine revelation? Hardly. It’s dementia from a physical source. From eating contaminated brain matter. We weren’t saving the dead. They were poisoning us.”

  “Best not say anything about that where any of the Will could hear. You’ll be sliced up, boiled, and put on the table next.”

  She chuckled humorlessly. “Look around. Okay, we’re off the ship. But we’re still on our own. And so what? Think back. Remember who we were when we first set foot on Ashanti? Remember those people? The things we believed in. The kind of human beings we were? We’ve given up so much of ourselves to madness. Justified . . . well, everything as the price of survival.”

  “Yeah.” He hung his head, rubbed the back of his sore neck. “Used to be human.”

  “You were a security officer. I was a vet tech.” She shook her head, curled her hands into desperate fists. “I look back to the woman I was, to the man I was in love with and married to, to all the dreams.”

  “Those were good days. Maybe . . .”

  “Maybe would be a lie. We’re monsters, Vart. That’s what Batuhan and his supposed Prophets have made us. Look at the scars.” She traced fingers along the lines that led to her breasts. “This is the mark of Cain. The visible proof that I participated in the sick murder of my friends, that I willingly seared their flesh and ate it. That I sold my humanity and self-respect to keep breathing, whored myself to that twisted Mongolian monster and his minions in order to bear their children. So I lived? To become . . . what kind of thing?”

  “Hey, Shyanne, don’t—”

  “Vart, wake up. We’d have been better off dead. You, me, all the rest of us. Now we’re, well . . . Let’s just say we’re a sort of human pollution.”

  The words stung. He’d loved her once. With all of his heart. Could remember how they’d delighted in each other. They’d been so young, so possessed of each other that they’d soared. Like two souls who’d fit like meshed gears . . . and lost it all.

  “I’ve got work to do.”

  “Vart. There’s a way, you know. An out. You know Batuhan’s batshit crazy. This whole living graves and immortality sham is a lie to justify the most heinous crimes human beings can commit. But just ’cause we played along to save our worthless lives doesn’t mean we still have to.”

  “Shyanne, don’t. If the wrong people hear you—”

  “You can fly the airtruck, can’t you? It’s a way out of the insanity. We can find a place. Somewhere—”

  “I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that. Now, Shy, take my advice: Don’t. Say. Another. Word. Not to anyone.”

  She stared at him in the dark. Nodded. Finally sa
id, “You take these search parties down into that forest, most of those people are not coming back.”

  “Oh? Think they’ll just wander off looking for Eden?”

  “I’ve read the reports. The ones Batuhan says are all lies. I’ve tried to treat the ones Donovan’s already claimed. You were a smart man once, be one again.”

  He yawned, wished the fatigue would let him clear his head. “Sorry, Shy, I’ve got to get ahead of this thing with the Supervisor.”

  “You really believe that Batuhan’s a divine messiah?”

  “You keep your head down, Shy. I know you’re hurting. And I’m so sorry about Fatima. But promise me you won’t do anything stupid, all right?”

  Her laughter sounded heartless. “Oh, you know me, Vart. I don’t have any stupid left in me.”

  He laid a gentle hand on her shoulder, took a deep breath, and forced his trembling and weary legs to leave her standing there as he plodded toward the dormitory to form his search parties.

  What he would have given for a short, quick nap.

  46

  Time vanished in the cold black of the lava tube. Was it only hours, or a day? Kalico Aguila wasn’t sure. And she had started to regret her once-flippant remarks that being in the tube was better than being eaten by Batuhan’s cannibals. She’d been in some dark places before, especially her mine. But nothing as dark, cramped, and terrifying as this.

  When Muldare had occasion to flip her light off, the blackness was complete. Total. Literally the stygian depths of the tomb.

  And worse, there were things. Invertebrates that scuttled around in the black recesses, always running from the light.

  “How you doing?” Talbot asked his wife.

  “There’s something in here. Watching us. Waiting,” Dya told him, shivering. “Mark, promise me. If something happens, if it looks like we’re trapped here, you’ll shoot me. You will, won’t you? You won’t leave me to die in the dark.”