How Dark the World Becomes

by Frank Chadwick

  “Sasha,” she finally said, “do you ever miss those other cigars?”

  I thought about that for a while, really thought about it, because the truth was, I had never considered it before. Finally, I had to shake my head.

  “No,” I said, a little surprised at the answer. “Not really.”

  She smiled that soft, lopsided smile, and gave an elegant shrug.

  “Well, then,” she said.

  THIRTY

  There is something surreal about falling through silent star-speckled space, falling in love, and all the time knowing the world is falling apart around you. Some worlds deserve to fall apart; maybe this was one of them. But deserve it or not, it was crumbling, that much was sure.

  It’s not as if there hadn’t ever been shots fired in anger before in the Cottohazz, but this was different. All the stuff before was low-level fighting between different countries over borders, water, minerals—the usual stuff. That’s how a lot of Human mercenary units made their living, fighting these little brushfire wars on the peripheries. But this was a full-scale war between two of the most powerful Varoki nations, and they weren’t just fighting it out on the colonies with surrogates—they were using their own armed forces and taking it into space—even shooting at the forces of other Cottohazz members if they got in the way.

  We got both sides of the story over the course of the next couple days. The uZmataanki Marines had the parole of the living spaces, and they were more willing to talk to us—and to the uHoko—than to the uBakai military personnel. Once the uZmataanki talked to us, the uBakai wanted to as well. Everybody wanted to tell us their side. All of their stories were bullshit—not that they knew it. They just repeated what they’d been told, what they believed, but it was all bullshit.

  I don’t know that I’d have figured it out on my own, or that Marr would have, or Ping, but the three of us together—that was different. We’d seen this world from three different perspectives—seen its gears turning, its wheels going round and round—and seen the different machinery from up close: law, crime, finance, trade—home worlds, colonies, deep space—rich, poor, and everything in between.

  And it stunk.

  Pretty much everyone knew that all the sputtering little brushfire wars were struggles between the major powers but by proxy. This colonial administration, that guerrilla group, the trade union over there—all were masks of one sort or another for one of the principal Varoki nations. But somewhere along the line, even the Varoki national governments had become masks—masks for money.

  Peezgtaan had been an uZmataanki colony. After all the trouble on Nishtaaka, Peezgtaan had gotten its independence, and its own legislators. And who had elected them? Simki-Traak money. That was the real political shift—not from colony status to independence, but from AZ Kagataan—the money behind the legislative majority in the uZmataanki national territory—to AZ Simki-Traak, a lot of whose board members were “closely associated” with the uBakai senior executive. Different puppets, same show.

  And down in the basement of the puppet theater, which Shadow Brotherhoods were plotting to gain control of AZ Simki-Traak? And for what?

  Maybe it didn’t really matter. The big money was fighting again, and they’d stepped the violence up another notch. I didn’t figure the Cottohazz was strong enough to hang together through all of this, and whoever ended up controlling the floor of the Wat might find it deserted except for discarded masks. Why?

  Because there really wasn’t anything else to it.

  It was all masks, all proxies, all smoke and mirrors and greed, and it was probably all coming down. Everybody was used to having it around, but nobody loved it—not the way you need to love something to lay your life down for it. Nobody was willing to die for somebody else’s greed.

  Unless you fool them, of course, and make them think they’re dying for uBakaa, or uZmataan, or some other flag. Of course, when they figure out they’re fighting for AZ Kagataan’s bottom line instead, they’ll be really pissed. A lot of them never will figure it out—not because they’re stupid, but because they’ll lose someone they love, and they love them so much they’ll never be able to accept the possibility that they lost them for nothing.

  But a lot of them will figure it out, because greed is arrogant and cocksure. Greed can’t keep a secret—can’t help bragging about who it screwed and how. There’s no such thing as “enough” for greed, so it will never step away from the table. It will just keep rolling those dice, double or nothing, until it busts.

  Greed is stupid.

  We always forget that. We put greed in charge of the farm, because greed says it will run it more efficiently, and then greed cuts open all the geese to get the eggs quicker.

  Pile all the creepy secret-society crap on top of the naked greed and the bad-to-the bone government corruption, and the one thing I knew for sure was that we—Humankind—had to get the hell out from underneath these guys’ thumbs.

  I wasn’t the only one who’d figured that out—Sarro e-Traak had as well, and he’d sure done his bit to make it a better world—for the Varoki, too, to my way of thinking, but obviously not everyone saw it that way. He’d at least purged the poison from his own blood, and given the two kids in the next room a shot at freedom from this madness as well. Maybe it would work for them. I’d come to love those two kids—Weasel Boy and the Dark Princess—and I hoped they could stay clear of this nightmare, but I’d done about all for them I could at this point. Pretty soon their family would be back in the picture, and God help them then.

  I wondered about Tahk Pashaada-ak, then. Had old Sarro e-Traak swung it so there was a Secret Brotherhood just watching out for his kids? What had Mr. Nobody called them? The Twin Diamonds? Maybe. But the brotherhood wanted to spill the beans on the whole K’Tok eco-form as well. What was the angle there? Were they part of Sarro’s bigger plan?

  The truth was, I’d probably never know. That’s the thing with secret societies: you can’t just call them up and ask what’s on their mind. And with Sarro gone, who knew who would take over—assuming he’d been kind of in charge anyway—and what they’d decide their real mission was now? No telling. After all, the Knights Templar had started off as a bunch of guys running a church or something.

  * * *

  We didn’t see much of Ping after we broke J-space in the Akaampta system. Once the naval brass on Akaampta got the decoded versions of the burst transmission from ABk-401, Ping and a couple senior officers from the transport had spent most of their waking hours answering questions over tight beam to Naval HQ. With Lieutenant Palaan dead back on K’Tok, Ping was the surviving go-to guy on the space battles. Late one night when he got back to the module, I’d asked him how the brass was taking it.

  “The tops of their little heads are coming off,” he’d answered.

  Yeah, I imagine so. Everything was sliding down the mountainside, and these were the guys who were supposed to stop it. I was glad I didn’t have their jobs, because they were going to fail, and they could see the train wreck coming, and they didn’t know how to stop it, or how to get out of the way. No matter what they did, it wasn’t going to be right, it wasn’t going to be enough, and they’d go to their graves thinking that a smarter guy, or a more determined guy, or a more ruthless guy might have prevented what came next—whatever the hell that turned out to be. Here’s the epitaph they’d write for themselves: A better man would have held back the night.

  “Don’t lose any sleep over them,” Ping advised that same evening after a couple stiff rums. “You have to remember . . . these Cottohazz admirals and flag captains are Navy guys who never fought a war, never even really saw a war. You know what sort of top leadership you get in the military when you go a generation without a war? Bureaucrats. Empty suits. Most of them are more concerned with covering their own asses than preventing a disaster—because they have no concept of disaster. They’ve never seen disaster, never been in disaster. Disaster is just a report that needs to be explained so they don�
�t get down-checked on their next performance review.”

  “Some of them, probably,” I agreed. “But there will be some who get it. They’ll try the hardest, and fall the hardest, probably.”

  “Stubborn bastards,” Ping said, and raised his glass of rum to them. He took a drink and then settled back in thought.

  “All my life,” he said, “I’ve seen some people try while others just go through the motions. What makes them different, do you suppose?”

  I shrugged. No clue.

  “I don’t think they’re smarter—the ones that try,” he said. “I don’t know that they’re better people, deep down inside. I don’t think they’re less frightened when things get tough.”

  I looked over at Marr, who was curled up on the couch and reading Adam Smith—again—and I smiled. What she’d done . . . I had no idea where she’d found the courage, and courage is exactly what it took, because she’d been absolutely terrified every step of the way. Terrified—but not petrified. She’d always taken that next step, no matter what. Where does that come from?

  I looked back at Ping, and he was looking at Marr, too. He looked at me, smiled, and nodded.

  “Everyone has intentions—good and bad, noble and base,” he said. “Everyone wants to fight the good fight, but also wants to run away and hide and be safe. Everyone wants to stand out and wants to blend in. Everyone wants to lead, and wants to follow. Makes you wonder sometimes who we really are.”

  “We are what we choose,” I said.

  “Argh, I think you’re on to somethin’ there, matey.”

  * * *

  Five days after we broke J-space, we started our deceleration burn for orbit around the inner gas giant. We’d grab the shuttle in-bound from there—or at least Marr, the kids, and I would. Ping and a couple others were leaving by priority military shuttle. So that meant a good-bye.

  Tweezaa cried; Barraki almost did. They both kissed Boti-Joe, and Tweezaa gave him a long hug. He said his good-byes in aGavoosh to them, and then English to us.

  “Take good care of that lady of yours,” he said as he shook my hand.

  “Take care of yourself, Cap’n.”

  “Argh,” he said, nodding.

  And then he was gone, and it felt quiet, and odd. We’d become like a family, and now someone was missing.

  Like a family. But we weren’t a family.

  That evening, after the kids were in bed, I led Marr into my room. She was smiling—we’d been taking turns sleeping in each other’s rooms, whichever one we felt like when the urge struck us—which was usually right after the kids were down. But tonight I sat her down on my bed and pulled my black carryall out from the closet.

  “There’s something you need to see,” I said, and I opened the carryall. I still had our travel documents there, and my traveling cash, but there was something else. I took it out and handed it to her. She read it, then looked up, confused.

  “A return voucher? From Akaampta to Peezgtaan? I . . . I don’t understand.”

  “Once you and the kids are safe, I’m going back, Marr. Unfinished business.”

  “It’s because of Dr. Zhan, isn’t it?”

  “In a way, but . . . not that way. Look at the date on the voucher.”

  She looked down again.

  “You were always going back?”

  “Yes.”

  “To her?”

  I shook my head. She thought for a moment, then understood, her eyes growing wider in surprise.

  “Why . . . that was the plan all along, wasn’t it? Pretend to run, get the three of us away . . . and then go back.”

  “Yes.”

  She frowned in renewed confusion.

  “But why?”

  “Like I said—unfinished business. Not mine, Kolya’s. He won’t let this rest until it’s settled between the two of us. Killing June was just a start. He’ll destroy the clinic, the soup kitchen, the agency, everyone who worked for me, everyone who ever helped me, everyone I ever helped. He’ll do it slowly, as he gets around to it, when the mood strikes him, but he will do it. He’ll figure if he keeps at it long enough, eventually he’ll strike a nerve, make me want to come back and take my revenge.”

  “But you don’t kill people for revenge,” she said.

  “No.”

  “You kill people to keep them from doing things.”

  “Yes.”

  She sat there, staring at the wall, her expression bleak and hopeless in a way I’d never seen on her before. Then she shook her head.

  “But . . . you thought you’d have surprise, Sasha, that you’d go back before he started killing anyone, before he expected you. Mr. Washington would make peace, you’d be gone . . . then you’d come back. That was it, wasn’t it?”

  I nodded.

  “But you haven’t got surprise, Sasha, not now! He killed Dr. Zhan, and he’ll be expecting you—maybe not for the right reasons, but that doesn’t matter. He’ll be waiting for you.”

  “I know.”

  “Doesn’t that change anything?”

  “No, Marr. Unfinished business—that has to be finished, one way or another. And it has to be me. Nobody else.”

  “Why?” she asked, voice trembling.

  “I told you I ran with a bezzie pack when I was a kid. Kolya was part of it, too. I’m a few months older than him, and when we were kids, I was bigger, looked out for him, kept him alive a couple times.

  “There were other gangs, older kids—bad news. One day a half dozen of them caught Kolya and me foraging out of our normal run. We weren’t that afraid of them when we were close by our nests, since we knew all the small holes and narrow passages we could get though and they couldn’t, or would slow them down more than us. But out in unfamiliar streets . . . all we had was speed, and Kolya’s leg was banged up from a fall a couple days earlier.”

  I stopped for a moment and closed my eyes, and I remembered the smell of old mold and garbage and cook fires, remembered the metallic taste of my own blood from the glancing blow one of them had landed on my cheek before we broke away and started our long, desperate run. I heard the echoes of their howling pursuit.

  Marr touched my arm, and I opened my eyes and looked at her, but the ghost images of the street remained all around us.

  “We made it a block before Kolya went down. His leg gave out. I stopped to help him up, but he yanked his arm away, just sat with his back against a trash can, and smiled up at me. ‘Run, you stupid fucker,’ he said. ‘I’ll hold them off.’

  “So I ran, because that’s how we survived. And they got Kolya. I think he must have figured he’d slow us and we’d both get caught, so he went down on purpose, to make me go on alone. Payback for the times I’d saved him.”

  “They beat him up?” Marr asked quietly. I laughed softly, probably not a very nice sound.

  “Some. Then they kept him for a couple weeks, passing him around as their group bitch.”

  “A little boy?” she asked quietly, horror in her voice.

  “Boy, girl, didn’t much matter. Whatever was handy. Ever watch young baboons?

  “Well . . . Kolya got a sharp piece of metal from somewhere. One day he used it on one of them when no one else was around. Cut his throat. I guess that was the second thing on him he cut. He got away, and we joined up again.”

  “At least he survived,” she said.

  “No he didn’t,” I said softly, and I felt like crying—crying for my old pal, trapped inside a nightmare all those years, until the only way he could go on living was to become the nightmare.

  “So . . . it’s between him and me,” I said. “I owe him that. I’m sorry, Marr. Believe me, I am so sorry. I thought maybe we . . .”

  Well, there was no point in finishing that thought. But she looked at me, and after a moment she just reached over and took my hand and held it to her cheek, and I felt the dampness of her tears.

  Take good care of your lady, Ping had said. Yeah. And the first thing I did was break her heart.

&nbs
p; * * *

  The next day the four of us got on the inbound shuttle and started the final stage of our journey together. What I didn’t know—couldn’t have known—was that only two of us would get off that shuttle alive. Some things you’re better off not knowing.

  THIRTY-ONE

  Four days inbound, Tweezaa and I were walking from our quarters around the big wheel to the club deck when I felt myself become a little heavier for a moment, then a little lighter, like being in an elevator when it starts up. Tweezaa felt it, too, and she giggled.

  I didn’t.

  If birds stop singing . . .

  Either I was nuts, or we’d just done a docking maneuver, way the hell out in the middle of nowhere. I tried to activate my comm link to find out where Marr and Barraki were, but all I got was a high-pitched screech. Somebody was jamming the comms. If they were jamming, they might be tracking, too, so I ordered my link to power down cold.

  “Tweezaa,” I said and knelt down so we’d be face-to-face. She looked at me and stopped smiling. I held up two fingers. “Gikaa-doe,” I told her—hiding place two. Her eyes were suddenly enormous with fright, but she nodded. She turned to go but then stopped, turned back, and put her arms around my neck and hugged me. I held her close for a second, then said, “Nktu!” Hurry!

  Then she was gone, running back up the wheel toward the quarters area.

  Good girl. There was a place near housekeeping where she could wriggle into a life-support feed trunk, get way the hell back, where they’d never see her. A bio-sniffer could find her, but this would at least buy us some time.

  The captain of the transport had made a point of giving me back the Hawker 10 when we left—he’d said he’d had particular orders from Commodore Gasiri to make sure I got it. I’d started carrying it again, and I was glad, but now I wished I’d given a little more thought to ammunition. I had ten in the grip and two more magazines in my pocket—that had seemed like a lot more this morning, when any threat was potential and abstract, not right here in my face. I could go back to quarters for more ammo, or I could look for Marr and Barraki. Not that tough a choice. I drew the Hawker as I started running toward the club deck.