Unreconciled

by W. Michael Gear

  “They’re going to have heard that,” Briah Muldare said as she turned, staring up the steep slope that rose behind them. They had to be at the bottom of the Tyson escarpment, though nothing could be made out at the top a couple hundred meters above them.

  So had PA sent in the cavalry?

  Muldare indicated the bullet-severed chain that had secured the duraplast door. “Makes you wonder what used to live in that tunnel that they’d have brought a door down here and chained it shut.”

  Talbot slammed the portal, fiddled with the broken chain, and gave it up as a bad idea. He rolled an angular chunk of basalt over and used it to prop the door closed.

  They all looked disheveled, hair in tangles, clothes filthy, smudged, stained, and scuffed. Kalico assumed that her face, too, was smeared with, well, who knew what that greasy-looking stuff might be? Invertebrate shit?

  Her mocking internal voice chided: You look like you’ve been locked in a cave for a day.

  Kalico took in the surroundings. The lava tube had opened onto a flat that stuck out on the west side of the Tyson escarpment. Sheer basalt, tumbled boulders, and the aforementioned trees that could find enough soil to cling to rose to the rim where it loomed above them.

  From the angle of the sun, partially hidden by trees, and according to her wrist unit, they’d emerged in late afternoon. Crap. Night would be falling in a couple of hours; they were all suffering from thirst and hunger. And they were heading out into the forest without a lick of shelter in any direction.

  Talbot pulled his radio from its belt pouch. “I’m resetting the broadcast frequency so the Unreconciled won’t monitor us.” He hit the mic, and said, “Port Authority, this is Mark Talbot. Do you copy?”

  The only answer was static.

  “They have to know we’re overdue,” Muldare groused as she fingered her rifle.

  Talbot asked, “Does anyone read? Hello. Can anyone hear me?”

  Kalico tried her personal com, knowing it would only link as far as the airtruck, assuming it was still up top. “This is Supervisor Aguila. Does anyone copy?”

  Nothing.

  Muldare was trying her own radio.

  “Sure wish Vixen was still in orbit,” Kalico groused. “With their survey array, they’d have a chance of picking up our signal.”

  “Too far out for the handhelds,” Talbot agreed, reholstering the unit on his belt. “Where the hell are our people? Two Spot should have half the town here to look for us.”

  “What now?” Muldare asked.

  Around them lay nothing but forest. A flock of scarlet fliers had appeared, perhaps drawn by the unusual sound of gunfire. The chime was rising and falling, adapting in the invertebrates’ eternal quest for a symphony.

  “Whatever we do, we’ve got to move,” Talbot warned, his eyes on the roots and ferngrass they’d walked out onto. Several of the sucking shrub plants were swiveling branches in their direction.

  Kalico turned her attention to the escarpment. The cracked basalt, much of it columnar, would be an impossible climb. “Where are the trails up?”

  “Back to the north,” Talbot told her. “And another one down on the point at the southern end. We going back up? They’ll be waiting if we do. It’s easy to monitor those trails. Lay an ambush.”

  Kalico squinted. “The airtruck is up there. We’ve got two service rifles, three pistols. Assuming they got Carson, they’ve got his rifle with forty rounds and his pistol with twelve.”

  Dya arched an eyebrow. “You want to go to war with the Unreconciled? You’re going to have to shoot down a lot of people to get that airtruck. Thought that avoiding that scenario was why we took to the tunnel in the first place.”

  “We’re overdue by a whole day,” Talbot reminded. “What the hell is wrong? Where’s Step, Talina, and the posse?”

  “And what kind of reception will they be flying into?” Muldare wondered as she fingered her rifle.

  “Batuhan had fifty-seven adults to start with,” Kalico mused. “Mark shot three. Carson might have taken one down with that gunshot. Given the number of children it’s killed, Donovan might have taken out a couple of adults by now, maybe more.”

  Dya stuffed her fingers in her back pockets as she eased her weight off the shifting roots. “The radio and the airtruck are up top. That’s where rescue is going to head first. That’s where we’ve got to be.”

  “And that’s where Batuhan and his cannibals are going to expect us.” Muldare, too, was staring up at the high rim, as if expecting to see people staring down from above.

  Talbot re-slung his rifle. “Doesn’t matter. We’ve got to move. I’ve got point. Dya, second. Supervisor, you’re third, and Muldare, you’ve got the six. Walk carefully, people. Try not to disturb the roots.”

  “Which way?” Kalico asked.

  “West off this point, then north through the forest, skirting the base of the basalt to where the slope isn’t as steep and rocky,” Talbot said. “Even if we can’t take the trails, there should be an easier climb leading up into the high ground. We can circle and come around from the north. But be careful, this kind of terrain is just made for bems and skewers. And God alone knows what else might live in the cracks and crevices. Things we’ve never seen.”

  When it came to wilderness, Kalico did as she was told. No one—except maybe Talina and Kylee Simonov—knew the backcountry better than Talbot. If there was a chance they could make it, it would be because of his and Dya’s forest skills.

  Assuming this section of forest had the same threats and followed the same rules they were familiar with.

  Dya’s skills had been honed in the south, outside Mundo Base. As had Talbot’s. That was nearly a thousand kilometers away, in a different ecosystem. Who knew what sorts of deadly creatures lurked in these forests? Especially given that of the last five occupants of Tyson Station, only three had been found, and they’d been skeletonized.

  Kalico fell into step behind Dya. The change in the woman was like night to day. A literal analogy. Dya Simonov was once again herself: calm, in control, capable. As if stepping out from that black hole, she’d shed her mind-numbing fear like an old coat.

  Well, everyone had his or her weakness.

  “There’s your bluelinda,” Talbot noted, pointing with his rifle as he entered the trees. The thing was indeed beautiful; the little berries, like a string of royal-blue glass pearls, hung from the undersides of the branches where the plant climbed up the side of an aquajade.

  The aquajade here were smaller, more widely spaced. Biteya bush, thorncactus, and sucking shrub hung on as understory, and the numerous gotcha vines reminded her of spiderwebs strung between the trees.

  Talbot led the way carefully, rifle up, eyes scanning.

  Overhead, tree clingers—the first Kalico had ever seen in the flesh—leaped from branch to branch, staring down with their three curious eyes.

  The chime seemed to change as they walked farther out onto the point.

  “Hold up,” Dya called. “Got a bem. Smell it?”

  Talbot sniffed, trying to sample the morning breeze. “Your nose is always better than mine. But, yeah. It’s there.”

  Kalico realized the roots were reaching for her feet.

  Step by step, she followed Dya forward until Talbot called, “Got it. On the right. About ten meters ahead. By the base of that aquajade.”

  Kalico followed where he pointed, seeing what looked like a tumbled basalt boulder. Scenting the breeze herself, she thought she picked up the slightest scent of vinegar. Took a long gander at the bem. “Damn, they’re good. Even knowing what to look for, I’d have thought it was a rock.”

  Talbot cut wide, leaving plenty of distance between them. Bems weren’t fast, depended on their perfect camouflage for success in hunting.

  They had reached the edge of the flat, the ground dropping away on either side i
nto deeper forest. Kalico was wishing she had eyes in the back of her head, trying to see everything in this deadly world of greens and blue. The leaves were all either moving on their own accord or stirred by the slight breeze.

  The chime covered any forest sound. Movement on the branches was caused by the vines, invertebrates, or the shifting of the trees.

  She almost ran into Dya’s back, so quickly did the woman stop.

  “Damn,” Talbot, up in the lead, cursed.

  Kalico craned her neck, looking around Dya to see a body. Well, okay, most of a body. Naked, obviously male, the thing was suspended a good two meters off the ground, having been wrapped up in dark green vines that wound around the legs, the torso, and single remaining arm. Other vines were woven into the chabacho and neighboring aquajade to support both plant and victim.

  The main stem of the plant looked as thick as a man’s thigh, the upper part engorged. Two stalks ending in . . . well, hard to call them flowers, were expanding and contracting, taking slow bites out of what remained of one shoulder and the bloody neck. Didn’t matter that an arm and the head had already been devoured; the scar patterns identified the remains as one of the Unreconciled.

  Below where the body hung, a flock of invertebrates scuttled around and through the man’s scanty clothing as they snapped up any bits and drops that fell from above.

  “What the hell?” Muldare asked through a horrified exhale.

  “Tooth flower,” Dya said woodenly. “One of the biggest I’ve ever seen.”

  “It’s eating . . .” Kalico couldn’t finish. Could only stare.

  “Come on,” Talbot almost barked the command. “Poor bastard was probably searching for us. Keep an eye out, and let’s get the hell off this point.”

  “To where?” Dya wondered. “It’s going to be dark long before we can work out any trail back to the top.”

  “Don’t know,” Talbot said, cutting wide around the tooth flower and its feast. “Rock outcrop? Maybe a low crotch of a tree if we can find a chabacho big enough and without any of the carnivorous vines.”

  Kalico swallowed hard, wishing again that she had something to drink. Wishing she were away, back in Corporate Mine. Wishing she were anywhere but out here in the forest.

  As she passed, she could hear one of the tooth flowers contracting; the sound was accompanied by the snapping of human bones as the teeth sheared through the man’s clavicle, upper ribs, and vertebrae.

  Dya whispered, “Judging from that poor bastard back there, I guess the Unreconciled aren’t as pure in the eyes of the universe as Batuhan thought.”

  “Yeah,” Muldare said in a tight voice. “Maybe the universe found Batuhan’s methods wanting and decided to improve upon the process.”

  53

  Talina watched the airtruck drop toward the Briggs pad to land beside her aircar. Dust swirled up, blowing out in curling clouds to dissipate as the vehicle settled onto its skids.

  Capella’s harsh light gleamed on the sialon and metal sides, glinted from the windshield up front. Airtrucks weren’t masterpieces of elegance, being built strictly for utilitarian function.

  As the fans spun down, a thin woman opened the door, climbed wearily down. She was naked but for a wrap around her waist; her ratty brown hair was confined with a tie at the back of her neck. Talina could see the lines of scars crisscrossing her pale flesh. Some sort of spirals—centered on the nipples—covered each of her small breasts.

  “Pus-sucking hell,” Chaco whispered where he stood beside Talina. “So that’s a cannibal?”

  A rail-thin man appeared in the door behind the woman and stepped carefully to the ground. He, too, only wore a breechcloth; his bare feet, like the woman’s, looked so incongruous on the raw dirt. No one went barefoot on Donovan. At least not if they wanted to avoid a most hideous death as slugs slithered around their insides, eating their guts and muscles. The man was dark-skinned and the scars stood out—lines of them running down his torso, arms and legs, and around his face. They’d been patterned like triangles to accent his broad nose.

  “Hello,” the woman called, starting forward, a hand shielding her eyes from Capella’s strong light. “I’m Shyanne Veda, and this is Tamil Kattan. Thank you for the beacon. We didn’t know what to do.”

  Talina stepped forward, hand on her pistol, wary eyes on the airtruck. The thing could carry up to fifteen, maybe twenty people if they didn’t mind being packed in like sardines. “How many of you are there?”

  “We’re all that’s left. We started with six. Batuhan’s First Will got the other four. Tamil, here, he was the important one, he could fly the airtruck.”

  “Where’s Supervisor Aguila, Dr. Simonov, Talbot and the marines?”

  Shyanne had a panicked look on her face. Her lips parted, and she was panting. From the heat? From exertion? Or fear? “One of the marines, the one they left to guard the airtruck, he’s dead. The others got away. At least I think they did. The Messiah had people searching everywhere. Even sent teams down into the forest. Batuhan sent so many after them, it gave me and Tamil our chance to break away. But damn him, he knew. Tried to stop us. We shook Hakil and Svetlana off as we were climbing from Tyson.”

  “Who are Hakil and Svetlana?” Talina asked.

  “They’re some of the Messiahs’ ‘Will.’ That’s what he calls them. Police. Enforcers. The ritual executioners. They ensure that what he wills is done.”

  Chaco made a wait-a-moment gesture with his hands. “Hey, I’m Chaco Briggs. This is my place. So relax, huh? Start at the beginning. You’re not making a lick of sense.”

  Tamil had stopped a couple of steps behind Shyanne, dark eyes glancing uneasily from Talina to Chaco and back. The guy kept licking his lips. Couldn’t quite figure out what to do with his hands, so he started wringing them.

  Shyanne fought down what looked like a surge of panic. Swallowed hard. “Listen. I’m a veterinary tech Level I. There were six of us. With scientific backgrounds . . . or maybe just the kind of people who didn’t buy the bullshit, you know? But it was survival. Who the hell wanted to have their throats cut and be eaten? The things we did to . . . to . . .”

  When she couldn’t finish, looked on the verge of breaking down, Talina snapped, “We know. What happened at Tyson?”

  Tamil told her, “Shyanne was listening from the kitchen. Hoping to get back to see her daughter. Understood the moment the Supervisor said it was a prion that was giving the Prophets their visions. Shyanne explained it to us. Not that we’d bought the clap-trapping holy prophet shit. We’d already figured that once we got dirtside, we’d get away. Figured that out clear back on Ashanti. Then, seeing where we were? Surrounded by wilderness? It was like being crushed.”

  “Then Aguila shows up with the science.” Shyanne had found her voice again. “There were six of us who thought we’d finally gotten our chance. Here was proof that would debunk the whole ‘we’re chosen by God and the universe’ thing.”

  Tamil added, “But Batuhan had members of the Will in place, waiting. Tricked the marine guarding the airtruck. Killed him. Closed the doors to the dome, figured he had the Supervisor trapped, right? But they pulled guns. Shot some of the First Chosen. Those are the ones who carry the throne and attend the Messiah. The Supervisor and her people managed to get down into the basement.”

  Shyanne said, “Stalemate. Batuhan can’t attack them head on. They’ve got enough firepower to kill everyone in that stairwell. Meanwhile, the rest of us, the disbelievers, we’re waiting for rescue. Someone’s going to come for the Supervisor. But it gets dark.

  “So we plan. Come morning, with Tamil at the wheel, we’ll fly out. Find help.”

  “But somehow Batuhan knows; he has the Will grab four of us.” Tamil chuckled in what was clearly gallows humor. “Cuts Jilliam’s and Cumber’s throats right there. Starts butchering them for feast. Don’t know what happened to Kleo and Troy
.”

  “We play the game.” Shyanne’s eyes had gone dull. “But we’re being watched. Then, at daybreak, there’s a cry. Turns out that the Supervisor and her people have found a way into some tunnel. It takes a while to figure out, but this tunnel goes down somewhere on the west side. So maybe they’ve escaped into the forest.”

  Kylee—a fastbreak over her shoulder—with the panting and sweating Dek Taglioni stumbling behind her, rounded the workshop and pulled up. The way Kylee fixed on Shyanne and Tamil was like a mongoose on a cobra. Talina gave her a hand signal to wait and listen.

  Shyanne might have been oblivious. “First thing this morning Batuhan sent search parties to hunt them down, and we made a break for the airtruck. Thought we had a chance. Barely got if off the ground. And that was with Hakil and Svetlana clinging to the side, swearing they’ll kill us.”

  Tamil spread his hands like a supplicant. “If you hadn’t heard us on the radio, sent us that beacon, we’d have never found this place.”

  “Get back to the Supervisor.” Talina stepped close. “She, Dya, Talbot, and one marine escaped into the forest, right? So, they’re still out there?”

  “As of when we left.” Shyanne nodded.

  “There’s about thirty of the chosen hunting them,” Tamil added. “More than enough to chase four people down.”

  “Shit on a shoe,” Chaco muttered.

  Kylee stepped close, shooting the scarred woman and man a scathing glare. “So my mother and father, Kalico, and some marine are out in the forest? Being hunted?”

  “Yeah, kid,” Talina said softly, the quetzals in her blood having quickened. In her mind she was seeing forest trails, smelling the scent of prey, vision going keen in the infrared and ultraviolet.

  “How much chance can they have?” Tamil asked, almost pleading. “There’s only four of them. With the airtruck gone, Batuhan has nothing to keep him from sending everyone in pursuit.”

  “It’s not the Unreconciled I’m worried about,” Talina said.