“Wish I was, too.”
26
Her name was Sharascina, one of the most coveted and desired talents in the Hetaira guild of courtesans on Transluna. Some said she was the most beautiful woman who had ever lived. To have Sharascina perched on one’s arm for the evening brought a man instant notice—made as much a statement about his position, wealth, and power as any clothing, accoutrements, or number of personal retainers.
Sharascina usually restricted her companionship to Boardmembers like Pierre Terblanch, Vioil Radcek, or Xian Chan. That she arrived at the Tiboronne on Derek Taglioni’s arm made an even more powerful statement. As Dek stepped from the limousine and Sharascina unfolded from the vehicle like some elegant flower, every eye was centered on the two of them.
Walking through the great platinum double doors and into the restaurant’s elegance, they were the definition of a spectacle. Dek could hear the stilling in the room, the hush of conversation, and the cessation of clinking silverware on fine china. And as quickly, the pause faded, people whispering, “Of course, he is a Taglioni” and, “Perhaps his star is rising?” But more importantly each and every one of them were asking themselves if they should rethink who and what Derek Taglioni was.
For the evening, Sharascina wore a semi-translucent gown of laser-fiber and microneon that shifted in glowing shades of sunset red, gold, vermillion, and cadmium yellow; the colors flowed with each step of her overly long legs. The exquisite angles of her face reflected the stunning hues projected by the dress’s high and flaring collar, while the wealth of her golden, silvered, and glacial-blue hair shimmered with its own radiance.
God alone knew, she was costing him enough. But then, what good was a family fortune if not to squander it in the name of personal advancement?
Besides, trolling Sharascina through the Tiboronne to one of the exclusive elevated tables in the upper level was about as flagrant a statement of wealth and prestige as a human could make.
Dek studiously avoided the covetous and disbelieving eyes, fixed all of his attention on Sharascina. He laughed, reveled, and enjoyed her famous wit, the intelligent sparkle in her designer-violet eyes with their vertical pupils. Pretending that the crowded room didn’t exist was the true art of the game, after all. And, of course, Sharascina played it with perfect pitch. That’s what the best courtesans did. They made their companions look good. And Sharascina was the best of the best.
“Truly, Dek,” she told him in that marvelous contralto of hers, “if Contrachedo’s Concerto in D Minor were ever to be played by a master, it was by Gutiea. His understanding of the violin’s role in the second movement might have been as if the very fingers of God were on the bow. You have never heard such a pathos wrung from the strings. Or, perhaps you have, come to think of it. You had Gutiea play Bach at your ascension, as I recall. That night is still talked about. Word was that Fantu was never the same after you bested him in aeropolo during the games that followed the concert.”
“Actually, he wasn’t all that good. Implants. Father made sure his were jammed. Poor beast, he had to play without them.”
Her melodic laughter carried just the right volume to communicate true amusement, the sparkle in her eye conspiratorial. “Amplified heterodyne with multipod microdirectional tracking?”
He almost hesitated, which would have let her catch him off guard, which in turn would have been humiliating. “Ah, used it yourself, have you?”
She gave his arm a conspiratorial squeeze. “You think my life is all about implants and training? Sometimes you just have to admire an elegant solution to what seems an impossible problem.” The intimate look was for him alone. “I cheat.”
The way she said it stoked his laughter, genuine and unforced.
God, she was good.
They were at the foot of the escalator—the velvet ribbon winding up toward the higher levels—when, to Dek’s dismay, Dan Wirth came strolling down from above, that boyish grin bending his lips.
“Fucking nice piece of ass you got there, Dek. I tell you, she’s one hell of a fuck. Thought my head was going to explode. Considered putting her on the floor at The Jewel. You know, sort of a replacement for Allison now that she’s gotten all high and mighty.”
Beside him, Sharascina’s violet eyes had widened, the slitted black pupils going round in astonishment.
“Friend of yours?” she asked with venom in her voice.
“Get the hell out of the way, Dan.” Dek unslung the rifle from his shoulder. Never even gave a thought to where it had come from. Never leave your rifle out of hand while you’re in the bush. He brought it around.
“Compensating for a limp dick, there, Dekkie boy?” Dan asked, removing a toothpick from his lips. “No wonder Ali couldn’t get you into her bed. Hell, even Talina ran. Figured as hot and heavy as that kiss was, she should have melted right around any normal man’s prick. Then, just as you get hard as stone, she runs right out of the house.”
“You’re over the line, Dan.”
Wirth gestured to Sharascina, giving her a ribald wink. “Maybe you and me, we’ll slip back into Ali’s room. ’Bout time you had the kind of fucking a man who doesn’t give a rat’s ass could give you. Bet you’re tired of having to fake it for the powdered-and-fopped pretty boys.”
Sharascina’s eyes had sharpened, her lips parted, her breathing now deep as a flush crept up her cheeks. She started as Dan grabbed her hand, pulled her close.
“Let her go, Dan.”
The whole of the Tiboronne had gone still. People gaped, stunned, forks stopped in midair, glasses frozen in their hands.
“Let. Her. Go.” Dek repeated, aware of the scintillating colors in Sharascina’s dress as they shimmered like a dancing rainbow, turning a brilliant crimson red, patterns of black shifting and flowing over the conforming fabric in a communication of threat and violence. His lips parted, a long sibilant hiss sounding deep inside.
The surge of instant rage burned through Dek’s core, turned maddening as Wirth gave him that infuriating grin. Quick as a snake, the psychopath reached up, grabbed hold of the front of Sharascina’s dress and ripped downward.
At the tearing of the fabric, Dek shoved the rifle’s muzzle into Wirth’s belly . . .
Only to have the ornate Holland & Holland ripped away. Dek staggered, fought for balance as the world spun. Tiboronne’s lights flashed in a blur, torn away into darkness and night that dropped around him like a blanket.
Sharascina—glowing in a thousand laser-bright colors—stared down at him through three eyes, her collar flared in crimson and black, mouth opening into a triangular . . .
“Dek! Damn it!”
The slap blasted light and pain through his head. He hit the ground hard, the impact slamming up through his spine, bursting more lights through his skull.
He blinked, Tiboronne, with its crystal chandeliers, gleaming floors and transparent walls, the music, and finely dressed diners, was gone.
No Sharascina.
No raging quetzal.
No Dan Wirth.
Only the dark stretch of Port Authority’s main avenue.
Dek’s rage withered away into confused nothingness. As it did, his butt began to hurt; so did the gravel eating into his hands. Up the street, a couple of streetlights shed lonely cones of white onto The Jewel and Sheyela Smith’s electronic shop. Despite the darkness—which should have been absolute given the cloud cover—he could plainly see the new school. The front door was no more than a meter in front of him.
“What the fuck were you doing?” Talina snapped as she bent down to stare into his eyes. His Holland & Holland was held low, crosswise before her. “You were talking to Dan Wirth? And you said, let her go? Let go of whom?”
“Sharascina,” he whispered. “She turned into a quetzal at the last instant.”
He wiped at his eyes, aware of rainbows at the edges. Shouldn�
��t be seeing rainbows in the darkness.
“Don’t listen,” a reptilian voice hissed in his ears. “She ran from your bed.”
“Oh, go eat shit.”
“What did Demon just tell you?”
“That you ran from my bed. Why am I here? What happened to me?”
Quetzal laughter seemed to explode in Dek’s brain, making him wince. His stomach tensed. Revulsion—a disgusting feeling of self-loathing—rose from his core. Made him bend sideways, the nausea so thick in his belly, he ached to dry heave.
“Dek,” Talina was bent down to peer into his eyes. “Stay with me now. Pay attention. Demon is playing with your head. He’s using transfer and memory RNA to tap your cerebellum. Pulling up things from your past. He’s trying to control you, to make you do his bidding.”
“How did I get to the school? I was . . . I was . . .” He rubbed his face. “Wait. Your bedroom. I was in your bedroom.”
“I got home. You were gone.”
“I don’t remember . . .” She was right. He had been at her place. Remembered going to sleep despite the prickle of healing in his leg.
“So,” Talina mused, straightening, “who is Sharascina? What was Dan Wirth doing with her?”
“She’s . . . perfect. Famous. The most sought-after courtesan in the Hetaira guild. We were at Tiboronne.” He shook his head. “Dan Wirth came down the escalator, was going to rip her dress off. And then I had my rifle . . .”
“And you were going to blow a hole through Dan Wirth’s brand-new school.” She thoughtfully fingered his Holland & Holland and dialed down the charge. “Had it set to maximum. Not only would the charge have blown a hole clear through the building, the recoil would have broken both of your arms. And, I don’t want to put this any too mildly, but from the direction the bullet would have taken, it would have shot clear through to the dormitory in the back. Be just my luck that you’d have hit a kid.”
Quetzal voices echoed hollowly in his head as he dropped it into his hands. Flashes of Transluna . . . people he knew . . . Miko laughing at him . . . anger . . . disgust . . . “I want this shit to end.”
“Won’t happen, Bucko.” She turned, looking down the dark street toward the south. “Shig’s right.”
“Isn’t he always?”
Talina slung his rifle, reached down, and pulled Dek to his feet. His leg hurt, and he winced as it took his weight.
“Yeah, sorry about that,” Talina told him. “But then, guess it didn’t bother you to walk from my place to here.”
“Where are we going?”
“Back to my dome. Then, tomorrow, after I put a pack together, we’re headed out to Two Falls Gap.”
“What’s there?”
“A place where you can’t take anyone with you on your way to hell.”
“Hell?”
“You don’t know it yet, but it’s the only way back to sanity. Just hope your version of it isn’t as terrifying as mine.”
“How do you know?”
“Because I’ve been there, and hell sucks.”
27
Jaim Elvridge was in her late thirties, had ash-blond hair and gray eyes. The woman topped out at five foot nine, with the thin frame so common to the recovering survivors of Ashanti’s long journey. Kalico sat to the side and studied the woman as she leaned over the schematics displayed on the light panel. On the screen were the technical readouts for the two submarines. Jaim, Kel Carruthers, and Michaela Hailwood were poring over the diagrams in search of a way to add to their security.
The HVAC system booted up, circulating cool air through the work bay. This was a water-level storage and repair area adjacent to the seatruck dock where both water and aircraft could be serviced and stored. One of the bright-yellow Seascape Model 15 submarines had been transitioned from the Underwater Bay, winched up on tracks, and now gleamed under the shop’s bright lights.
To Kalico’s eyes, the thing looked like an oversized propane tank covered with ungainly blisters. Four large fins on the thing’s rear ended in gimbled-and-caged propellers that gave the machine maneuverability. They were supplemented by jets positioned laterally and forward that allowed fine adjustments to the craft’s position. Ballast tanks were positioned radially around the hull, and lights, com pod, and cameras added to the thing’s alien look. So did the two retractable arms with their finger-like extensions that allowed the operator to manipulate various tools, including scoops, cutters, shovels, and saws. These were for the collection of geological and biological samples. The only thing that marred the alien look was the transparent nose made of vacuum-baked clear ceramic. Through it, Kalico could see the piggyback operator’s and observer’s chairs with their manual and pedal controls, the heads-up display, and rows of monitors and computers on the solid walls behind the transparency. The hatch was located on the top.
The topic was how to protect the Seascape from something as potentially dangerous as Kevina’s BMT. If the creature truly had a twenty-meter-wide mouth, it could potentially swallow the fifteen-meter-long submarine in one gulp.
“It can’t chew the sub.” Jaim tapped a finger on the schematic. “The hull can take five hundred atmospheres. Nothing organic has the musculature or mechanical advantage to compromise that.”
“No,” Michaela agreed. She in turn tapped on the blisters and light pods. “But something big could sure mangle the external hardware. Maybe even bend up the fins and thrusters. No telling what kind of stresses jaws and teeth that size might impart.”
Kel considered, said, “All right, so the BMT bites the sub. Tries to chew it up and spits it out. If the sub’s thrusters are compromised, if you lose mobility, you can still blow ballast and surface.”
“What about the ballast tanks?” Kalico asked. “What happens if they get punctured?”
“Nothing biological is going to compromise those sialon pressure tanks. It would take a high-velocity bullet to get through that shell. No, the tanks are safe. If anything, they add to hull integrity.”
“And crush depth on the Seascape 15 is five hundred atmospheres,” Jaim told her. “That’s five thousand meters. Nothing around the Pod is that deep.”
“Can we weld a cage around the sub?” Michaela asked. “Like a big box larger than the BMT’s bite?”
“How much does it weigh?” Jaim asked, turning gray eyes on the Director. “We have to be able to generate equivalent buoyancy for every kilogram you add.”
“How big does the box have to be? Using tubing, we can do the math. Figure the tube diameter versus displacement and come up with neutral buoyancy.”
“Twenty meters by twenty meters?” Michaela suggested.
“That’s doable,” Kel told her with a nod. “Assuming we can come up with the tubes.” He turned. “Supervisor? Do you have anything like that at Corporate Mine?”
“Won’t fit in the Underwater Bay surrounded by a contraption like that,” Jaim noted. “Maybe if it was collapsible?”
Kalico stood, walked over to the sub where it rested on its cradle. The thing shone in the lights all new and pristine, the bright yellow paint splotched here and there with little smears of what looked like algae. She could see attachment points that might be used to bolt on the kind of frame Kel was talking about.
“I think we can fabricate something. The easiest would be steel. Hardest would be carbon fiber or ceramic.” She turned. “But you’re assuming a twenty-by-twenty-meter box will be sufficient.”
Jaim turned. “Why wouldn’t it?”
“What’s to say that your BMT is the biggest bad actor out there? We’ve got a fifty-meter predator living in the trees out beyond Tyson Station. Not that we’ve ever had a good look at it, but if something that big lives in the treetops, what’s to keep something even bigger from living in the oceans where its mass is supported by the water?”
In a half growl, Jaim said, “This just get
s better and better. What the hell kind of world is this, anyway?” She pointed at the sub. “That’s not food. It’s a big chunk of sialon, steel, and glass.”
“And sitting in the cafeteria is an Aquaceptor III that was almost destroyed by jellyfish.” Michaela rubbed her tired eyes. “And its mate is lying in pieces on the bottom.”
“So, what do we do?” Kel asked. “We’re working with Earth’s best technology. And suddenly we’re worried about creatures eating it? Seriously?”
“Seriously,” Kalico told him woodenly.
Jaim had her eyes slitted. “The scimitar backed off after it sheared the UUV into pieces. The sub’s a lot tougher piece of equipment. Maybe we need to . . . No. That takes us right back to getting the thrusters bent up and equipment broken.”
“Equipment that is almost impossible to fix,” Kel reminded. “We don’t have spare camera mounts or robot arms. Break it, and it’s gone for good.”
“Lower the submersibles from the surface? They’re on a cable, and we could pull them back if something tried to swallow them. Maybe troll them from the Supervisor’s A-7? That would certainly handle the weight.” Kel had a skeptical arch to his red eyebrow.
“Shit on a shoe, no!” Michaela shot an apologetic look Kalico’s way. “That’s a scheduling nightmare, as if we could just up and commandeer a shuttle. Not to mention that the A-7 can’t land on the Pod. People, we have to solve our own problems here.”
“Explosives,” Kalico said. “On some kind of delivery system. Maybe a torpedo. A kind of remote control mine. Something you could shoot at a predator if it got too close. A depth charge? You might not even have to hurt the beast. Just scare it. Discourage it.”
Kel gave her an incredulous look. “I can’t believe were talking about this. Back in Solar System, they’d think we’d lost our minds. We’re talking about possibly blowing up an animal that Kevina says she saw, that we don’t even have a photo of. A creature that we’re assuming is going to eat our submarine. Key word: assuming. It might be as inoffensive as a blue whale.”
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