God, fucking damn! This is a mistake.
Through squinted eyes, she made out the roof hatch, grabbed at her blast-savaged hair, and struggled forward at a low crouch. It was like trying to run while big old Step Allenovich was punching her with roundhouse blows from each side. All of her concentration went into keeping her feet while the oscillating blasts of hot air beat her back and forth. Then came a blow from the rear, sent her tumbling.
Somehow, she kept hold of her bag, scrambled on hands and knees.
All right, Kalico. Not your brightest choice ever.
But she made it. Grabbed the hatch, swung it open. Leaped inside . . . and it took all of her strength and weight to shove the thing closed. Heart hammering, breath coming in gasps, she let the adrenaline drain from her quivering muscles. She’d be damned if she’d ever do that again.
In the relative silence, she accessed her com, saying, “Juri? I’m in. See you in a couple of days.”
“Roger that, Supervisor. We’re headed for the barn.”
The roar of the thrusters changed; the Pod trembled under the blast, vibrating and rattling. Then it lessened, softened, and began to fade as the shuttle cleared the structure and lifted.
“Shit on a shoe,” she whispered to herself. Fought to pull the tangle of her hair into some kind of order. Gave it up for a lost cause.
Once upon a time, she’d have rather died than made a disheveled entrance. Since her landing at the Port Authority shuttle field that first time, those pretensions had slowly given way to the realization that a hand on her holstered pistol, the scars on her face and hands, and her steely laser-blue glare carried a lot more authority than any sartorial perfection.
Michaela Hailwood was waiting at the bottom of the steps with Lee Shinwua and Kel Carruthers in tow. Hailwood had an amazed look on her face. “We were watching on the monitors. We thought you were going to be blown away at any second. Can’t believe you just did that.”
“Yeah, hell of a way to arrive,” Kalico told them, fingers still combing out her hair. “That’s the last time ever that anyone is going to try that trick.”
“It was a bit interesting in here, too, ma’am.” Hailwood told her. “Perhaps we can find a less exciting means of transport back and forth to the mainland. But in the meantime, welcome to Maritime Research. We’re delighted and honored to have you, Supervisor.”
“It’s our distinct pleasure having you aboard,” Shinwua added. “Can we get you anything after your flight?”
“Let me take your bag,” Kel said.
The way they were looking at her, she must have made quite the sight with her wind-blasted hair, quetzal-hide cape and boots, and, under her suit jacket, the claw-shrub-fiber shirt that Yvette Dushane had embroidered with colorful tooth flowers and crest images. Her scars always grabbed their attention. And then there was her utility belt with the aforementioned pistol, large knife, survival pouch, and various tools.
Kalico indicated the hallway that led to the women’s locker room. “Give me five. Then I’ll meet you in the cafeteria. A cup of hot mint tea will be fine.” God, she wanted a whiskey.
Kalico found the facilities to be immaculate, still so new the duraplast walls gleamed. Stepping inside, she dropped her bag on the floor, stumbled over, and braced her arms on the sink. Her heart was still racing, pulse pounding in her ears.
“Damn it, woman,” she told her tousled image in the mirror. “You came within a millimeter of getting yourself killed out there.”
Once she got her racing blood and adrenaline under control, she took stock. That last mad scramble had taken its toll. One elbow and the left knee were torn out of her natty black suit. Her last formal dress. Not to mention that her hair looked like something out of a horror holovid.
“You’d think I never learn,” she muttered to herself.
Well, hell, after an arrival like this, nothing the Maritime Unit could throw at her would come as a challenge.
11
Shinwua, standing in the Pod hall, gave Michaela a measuring sidelong glance. “Did we really see what we just saw? I mean the Board Supervisor just jumped out of a hovering shuttle. The woman was knocked off her feet. She crawled, made it to the landing pad access by fricking luck.” He shook his head in disbelief. “That’s the Board Supervisor? I expected . . .”
“What?” Michaela asked when he couldn’t finish.
“More decorum.” Shin stared thoughtfully at the women’s locker room door. “Listen, I’ve only met her a couple of times. So, like, she didn’t strike me as the kind who’d let herself be blown off her feet and walk in the door looking like she’d been dropped out of a rock tumbler. You know her, spent time with her in Port Authority. Is she mentally deficient to pull a stunt like that, or what?”
Michaela glanced down the level one hall and back toward the cafeteria where everyone was waiting. Like Shin, they would have been watching on com. Seen the Supervisor’s most undignified arrival. If there was anything that would lead her people to question Kalico Aguila’s leadership, that hellacious first impression might be it. She’d looked more like a demented buffoon than a self-possessed and dignified Corporate Board Supervisor.
Michaela considered her words. “The woman I spent time with in Port Authority struck me as a no-bullshit, tough-as-nails, jack-me-around-and-I’ll-kill-you hard-ass.”
“That’s not what I saw scrambling for the hatch.” Shin crossed his arms, expression skeptical. “And the scars, they creep-freaked me the first time I ever saw them. Makes her look like some kind of monster, all crisscrossing her face and hands. I mean, the woman’s a Board Supervisor, for God’s sake. Why doesn’t she have them fixed? Or does she keep them just for effect? You know, to scare people. Maybe because she needs all the help she can get?”
A pause. Then he added, “Like that big pistol on her hip? Come on! What’s she need that gun for? Here? On the Pod? We’re a bunch of scientists for God’s sake. What’s she expect? To get jumped by monsters in the cafeteria? Who’s she trying to scare, anyway? And what’s it say about her that she thinks she has to?”
Michaela pursed her lips. Let the thought run around in her head. Granted, she’d only spent a half day with the Supervisor, mostly in a debriefing about the situation on Ashanti, discussion about the Unreconciled, and planning for the Maritime Unit’s disposition and placement. The meeting had been focused on who, what, and how. Michaela had done most of the talking; Supervisor Aguila had listened, offering only occasional questions, asking for clarification. Pretty much a nuts-and-bolts meeting. Hardly a social situation, and the scars and pistol had been a distraction the entire time. Shin had a point there.
She said, “I don’t know what to think. Never met a Board Supervisor before I met Aguila. She comes across as a tough woman, has from that first communication from Ashanti’s AC. But you’re right. Watching her being blown around the landing pad didn’t inspire confidence. Her reputation is as a really tough and hard-bitten leader. As to the pistol? I heard that she’s shot people who didn’t measure up to her standards. That said, her crew at Corporate Mine worships her. The people in Port Authority respect the hell out of her.”
“Maybe they’ve been left out here for so long they’ve forgotten what it means to be a Board Supervisor? When she came through that access just now, she looked like something tossed out the back door of a Hong Kong bar.”
Michaela bit off a reply before she could agree. Made herself say, “Don’t rush to judgement, Shin. It’s a whole new world and a new set of rules. My advice, and what I want you to share with the others? Let’s keep an open mind until we have a better feel for the woman.”
Shin, cocked an eyebrow, his longtime way of saying, “All right, but I’ll wait to be convinced.”
She grinned, slapped him on the shoulder, and said, “Go get Bill Martin to make the Supervisor a cup of tea. I’m going to go in and make sure she’
s got everything she needs. All she has is that one bag.”
“Got it. While I’m at it, everyone’s in the cafeteria so I’ll get a feel for the general mood. See if the great Supervisor Aguila with all of her tales of monsters under the bed has them trembling in awe.”
“Shin? Whatever else she is, or thinks she is, the woman is still a Corporate Board Supervisor. Make sure the rest of the team greets her accordingly.” She watched him go. Wondered what she’d do without him and turned for the locker room door. Pushing it open, she stepped inside and stopped short, gaping. Kalico Aguila had just pulled off her black suit and was fingering the hole in the knee.
It wasn’t the sight of the woman, half naked, but the scars. Kalico Aguila had the kind of body only the elite could buy: lithe, muscular, and perfectly formed. Call her statuesque. She would have been a beauty in anyone’s book—but for the horror of the scars running across her stomach, hips, along the outsides of her thighs, on her back and arms. To Michaela’s dismay, the ones on the woman’s hands and face were hardly worth mention compared to those disfiguring the rest of her body.
Michaela gasped. Horrified. Her stomach went queasy, and she instinctively placed a hand to her throat.
Aguila glanced up, blue gaze startled, only to be followed by a knowing smile. “Sorry. Had to change into something without holes. Pisses me off, really.” She wiggled a finger through the hole in the knee of her suit. “My last good ‘official’ dress outfit. Maybe I can have Pietre Strazinsky figure out a becoming way of patching this. That, or it’s a whole new claw-shrub-fiber outfit. Some of the weave they’re making now is coming pretty close to a quality fabric.”
“Those were mobbers?” Michaela couldn’t take her gaze from the tracery of scars. “I just didn’t . . . I mean, I never . . .”
“Saw the like?” Aguila’s smile thinned, her laser-blue gaze cooling. “Donovan plays, for keeps, Director. So take a good look and don’t forget. Your next question is, ‘You’re a Board Supervisor, why don’t you undergo the cosmetic surgery to repair them?’ The answer is: ‘If I were back in Solar System, I would. But here, on Donovan, that kind of cosmetic surgery is outside of Raya Turnienko’s expertise. Her specialty is keeping you alive, and she’s pretty good at it.’”
“So you live with them?” Michaela wondered, her skin crawling at the disfigurement.
Aguila reached for her bag, removed a set of utilitarian coveralls, and pulled them on; her scarred hands zipped the fasteners closed. Then she attacked the rat’s nest her hair had been blown into. As she did, she said, “Director, even after the orientation we gave you in Port Authority, and despite everything I’ve tried to tell you about Donovan, I have a pretty good idea where you’re coming from. What your expectations are for the Maritime Unit and how you expect life to line out for you and your people. Now that you’ve finally made it here, you think it’s all going to be nice and cozy science filled with wonders. Oh, you’ll get plenty of wonders, not all of them pleasant.”
Michaela couldn’t get the scars out of her memory. Now, here was her Board Supervisor, dressed in utilitarian coveralls, pulling the knots out of her long black hair like she was a schoolgirl after gym class. Who the hell was Kalico Aguila, anyway?
“We were expecting . . .” What? Michaela remained at a loss for words. Everything about the Supervisor’s arrival had her off balance.
“Forget your expectations.” Aguila tossed her glossy black hair over her shoulder, dropped her brush into the bag, and snapped it closed over the black suit. “I’ve tried to beat this into you from the beginning: All you need to know about your expectations is that they are wrong.”
“But, we’ve read all the—”
“Forget it all,” Kalico slung her pistol belt around her hips, picked up her bag. “Everything you think you know from the reports is in error. You’re about to run headlong into Donovan.”
Michaela kept herself from bristling. “I have the best team The Corporation could assemble, with some of the finest minds and young scholars in Solar System. After what I and my people have been through, I think we’re even better prepared to tackle our mission as a cohesive and flexible unit. All that time in Ashanti knit us together in a way I’ve never seen before. I can’t think of a more adaptive and self-reliant team than what we have here.”
Aguila’s slight smile bent the scar along the line of her jaw. “Director, if all it took was a bunch of scars to have you creep-freaked, what are you going to do when you face a real disaster?”
“Oh, I wouldn’t say that I was—”
“Come on,” Aguila headed for the door. “After that spectacle of an arrival, it’s time to go see if the damage to my image is as easy to repair as the holes in my good black suit.”
As Michaela followed, she wondered: So, is Kalico Aguila the monster her scars suggest, or just simply mad?
12
With her hair in order and most of the damage repaired, Kalico sauntered her way down the hallway. Director Hailwood followed a half step behind. The woman remained unsettled. The fact that she’d been so affected by the sight of the scars set Kalico’s nerves on end. Hailwood had been repulsed. Almost to the point of being ill. If a mazework of healed scars was enough to make Michaela Hailwood want to spew her breakfast, how would she handle a real emergency?
Time to find out just what the Maritime Unit is made of.
Again, Kalico cursed herself for the spectacle of her arrival. Not only had she scared the sucking snot out of herself, but who knew what that humiliating scramble across the landing pad had cost her in credibility. Not to mention putting holes in her good black suit, painful abrasions on her knee and elbow, and the loss of dignity.
She’d faced worse. Like the time Shig, Yvette, and Talina had humiliated her during their trial. In comparison to that calamity, this was a piece of fluff. She strode into the cafeteria as if she owned the place. Which, in a sense, was indeed the case.
As she did, someone announced, “Board Supervisor Kalico Aguila.”
The men, women, and children rose respectfully to their feet; many stood with lowered eyes and their hands held before them. All were silent, unmoving. The solemnity was only marred by one of the infants who made a “whaaaaa” sound.
The gesture of respect took Kalico by surprise. It amused her that she’d been on Donovan for so long that a display of Corporate protocol seemed alien. Made her uneasy.
But then, the Maritime Unit had only been in Port Authority for a few days before flying out to the Pod. Hardly enough time for the corrosive libertarian ethic of the place to dissolve their lifelong training. In addition, while they’d been in PA, they’d been boarded in the Corporate Mine barracks; their exposure to the rowdy locals had been limited and supervised.
“Thank you,” Kalico strode across to the head table where Hailwood and Shinwua stood to either side. “Please, be seated.”
As they lowered themselves into chairs, the parents shushed the children, tried to explain that they couldn’t talk, Kalico took her place. Standing behind the table—Hailwood and Shinwua seated themselves at either side—she said, “I apologize for taking so long to make the journey out here. Events on the mainland precluded any opportunity to get away.”
“We’ve heard,” Hailwood said soberly. “At least what we could garner through chatter on the radio. It is especially welcoming that you survived the Unreconciled. Had they all perished, none of us would have shed a tear. Nice to have you back in one piece from the forest and the man-eaters. Your safety was paramount in our thoughts.”
Good, the woman had recovered her poise.
“That’s Donovan for you,” she said wryly. “But I do thank you for your kind wishes.”
Kalico gestured to indicate the surrounding room. “You have done wonders here. I sincerely appreciate the hard work and dedication. The Pod is a remarkable piece of equipment, and it’s a delight to walk do
wn a hallway again where all the lights work. After my last years at Corporate Mine, and your long confinement aboard Ashanti, we can all rejoice in the words ‘clean’ and ‘functional’ coming together in the same sentence.”
She got laughter out of that. Could read their skepticism.
“Seriously, it’s nice to step back into the twenty-second century. Take good care of this place. It may be all that you’ve got for a long time to come.”
She let that hang, then said in a more sober tone. “You all went through orientation when you landed dirtside at PA. You know that The Corporation has lost six of the big cargo ships. Freelander’s crew and transportees met with disaster when they were in whatever universe they passed through. Your own ten-year passage on Ashanti was proof of the dangers involved in inverting symmetry and popping outside the universe. I’m serious when I tell you that you may be on your own for years without seeing another ship. The Pod is now your lifeboat, your haven, and your long-term hope for the future.”
Kalico stepped out around the table to better face the people. Could see that they were waiting to be convinced of her leadership. “There are only a thousand humans, give or take, on Donovan. Here is a list of our assets: We have Port Authority, Corporate Mine, some outlying research bases, and now we have the Maritime Unit. Everything on Donovan revolves around Port Authority. It’s the center of our social life, manufacturing and trade, food production, medical care, and our spaceport. For its part, Corporate Mine, with its smelter, is the heart of extraction and raw materials. In orbit, we have Freelander for limited free-fall manufacturing, but you’ve heard the stories. They’re true. Freelander is a spooky place to spend any time.
“The survey ship Vixen is compromised by a navigational error in its programming. Though the crew experienced an instantaneous transition to the Capella system on the outside, when they reversed the asymmetry and popped back in, fifty years had passed. So, though it remains our absolute last link to Solar System, any return trip may, and I stress may, be instantaneous to us, but Vixen will probably arrive off Neptune’s orbit fifty years in our future.”
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