by Stefon Mears
But Jacobs knew that on Mars, the spells adapting the planet for human life had begun adapting humans to Mars. Anyone could see it in the red pigmentation humans developed when they spent enough time on Mars, a permanent condition for the natives. He wondered how, over time, Venus would make its own marks on the humans who had chosen it for their home.
But no one would know that for years to come yet. Settlements on Venus were too recent.
Burke flew the Horizon Cusp in through the barrier, where the sky around them changed from a barely discernable yellow to the blue of home. He touched the ship down in a lit circle, one of perhaps thirty in the bare dirt field. Only two others were occupied.
The ship had landed on Venus. Now all Jacobs had to do was get rid of those troublesome passengers.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Jacobs sat at his office desk and wiped the exhaustion from his eyes. Tunold, Goldberg and Machado had just left. Their reports had been thorough, and complete, and covered the sort of infighting and bullshit that Jacobs wished landlubbers would keep to themselves.
Why couldn’t they try to kill and control each other on their own time? Why did they have to come aboard his ship to do it?
In any event, to all reports, Tai Shi was under control and would remain in her charmed cell until she could be dumped on the proper authorities back on Earth. Tunold had wanted her off the ship as soon as possible, but he should have known better. Venus had little law, much less proper authorities. Dumping her here would have been the same as letting her go.
Machado had, he said, freed Mancuso from Tai Shi’s control. He offered details, but Jacobs had declined them, told him to save them for Earth.
Cuthbert appeared to have come through the encounter scathed but intact.
Poor kid probably has a broken heart, but that’ll mend. It’s not like they were married with a kid of their own...
Jacobs distracted himself before he got lost in thoughts of Rhonda and Carl.
The other passengers complained about the voyage’s troubles, and the hardship of the times they had spent confined to their spacious, ridiculously comfortable suites. Jacobs felt no sadness for their plight.
Their impatience to disembark was another matter.
The Horizon Cusp had sat on the ground of Venus for six hours now with no one leaving, which had been enough to even get the port on the link again to see if Jacobs needed any help.
The answer, of course, was no. But Jacobs refused to let anyone disembark until Machado had cleared Mancuso and his assistants. Jacobs wanted to make sure no other little details popped up in the process, anything that might have pointed an accusing finger at another passenger.
But no, as far as Machado had been able to tell, Tai Shi acted alone. At least, on that level.
And now Mancuso had asked for a meeting before disembarking, and the man was taking his sweet time in showing—
Jacobs heard the precise knock of Kelly.
“Come,” he called.
Kelly opened the door just enough to allow him to lean in at a thirty degree angle. “Mr. Mancuso is here to see you, Sir.”
“Let’s get this over with,” Jacobs said with a sigh. “Send him in.”
Mancuso entered the room with slow, precise steps. A far enough cry from the whirlwind Jacobs was used to that he felt an inquisitive eyebrow raise. Despite himself, he gestured with one hand to offer Mancuso a chair.
“Thank you,” said Mancuso, with something like his normal tone, if his voice had been slowed down a hair. “Not feeling quite myself yet. Though your ship’s mage tells me I’ll need some counseling to sort out what’s me and what isn’t.”
Then his voice grew faster and some of his normal presumption returned to his tone. “Though I can’t see why I’d need someone else to tell me what’s me and what isn’t. Not like there’ll be a better expert on the subject than I am.”
Jacobs said nothing. He merely sat, thinking longingly of the bottle of Brigid’s Own Irish Whisky in his desk drawer.
“But that’s enough of that,” said Mancuso, waving one hand as though dismissing a servant. “Need to talk to you. Partner to partner.” The man actually had the gall to smile, though the smile would have worked as well on a shark. “Yes, I know that word rankles you. Especially coming from me. Last time I’ll need to use it. I promise. Got an offer for you.”
He pulled a tri-folded piece of paper from the inner pocket of his expensive dark blue suit. He slid the paper across the desk to Jacobs, waited while Jacobs read it. Jacobs would have sworn he had managed to keep his expression flat, but Mancuso smiled again.
“That’s right. It’s about four times what you’re expecting, plus the retirement package we talked about, plus free premium passage on any Starchaser Spacelines flight for the rest of your life.”
Mancuso fiddled with his cufflinks, then looked back at Jacobs and Jacobs saw in the man’s eye the one thing he never expected: gratitude. “You and your people have saved my life time and again. And this time your mage cleared my head from a problem I would never have known was there. I never forget my friends, and I never forget those who help me.” He stood. “Take time to think about it if you like, but I think you should take the deal. Retire. Live a little. And if you need anything else, let me know.”
Mancuso left the room, closing the door after him, and Jacobs spent several minutes just staring at the door and the offer.
◊
Donal stood beside Fionn near the comfortable seats lining the pale gold and sandstone-colored waiting area. At the far end sat the hippogriff shuttle in its nest-like dock. Soon they would board and Donal would set foot on Venus, ready to deliver the package that had almost gotten the ship attacked by mercenaries. Mercenaries Donal had killed defending the ship.
But Donal’s thoughts were not on the mercenaries, nor on Venus, nor even on the package tucked safely inside his messenger bag and concealed through Donal’s spells. No, his thoughts were on Mr. Mancuso and the strange conversation he had just had.
Donal half-wondered whether Mr. Mancuso would still fund Donal’s education, or whether that had been Li Hua’s influence. But Mr. Mancuso re-affirmed that 4M would pay for as much education and research as Donal wanted.
But Mr. Mancuso was not done.
He established a retirement fund for Donal’s parents.
Donal’s parents loved their woodworking, and when Donal was growing up they spoke as though they never expected to retire. But as Donal had grown older, he had come to realize they they did not think they could ever afford to retire.
Now Donal held in his zephyrpad evidence and written promises establishing a solid retirement plan for Robert and Colleen Cuthbert, along with a detailed explanation of why 4M was doing this and how Donal was to thank for it.
Donal’s throat refused to allow words out when he read that. His throat had all it could manage to allow air to pass. Bran had all the accolades, all the moments that would live on in the history texts, but Donal had been the son to make sure his parents were looked after in their old age. Donal had tried to think of a way to thank Mr. Mancuso for that, but his throat remained choked up.
But Donal continued to think about that, even after the call to disembark had sounded.
◊
Jacobs left Tunold to deal with the new port’s paperwork. Kris would make a good captain, and he would have to learn to deal with the bureaucracy sooner or later. Besides, Jacobs wanted to be the first person off the ship to set foot on Venus.
He took the shuttle down before the passengers had been alerted to gather at the gangplank. Just Jacobs and a pilot, and the pilot would have to get the shuttle back in place before the passengers started gathering. Wouldn’t do to let the privileged people know that a mere ship’s captain had beaten them to the surface.
Jacobs disembarked the shuttle and stood on the morning star for the first time, his eyes closed in reverence for the moment. The air was hot, dry. Almost too dry, like Jacobs remembered from
Arizona in August, decades ago. The air smelled fresh, though, as though cleaned recently by rain at a high elevation. Denver, maybe, not Arizona.
One more breath and he felt ready to perform his landing ritual for the first time on Venus. Perhaps for the only time.
Jacobs crouched with one knee on the Venusian ground as though he bowed before a king. He closed his eyes and picked up his customary handful of local dirt. He rubbed the thin soil through his fingers. He held it to his nose and smelled its tang, almost citrus. He opened his eyes at last and looked at the dirt. Pale. Yellow. Fine. Venus. He stood.
From where he stood, the main part of the spaceport looked little better than a shanty town: wood and luminescent stone structures built in cylinders and cones. Sealed, but with big windows.
With all the official work left in Tunold’s hands, Jacobs clapped his hands clean and set off to have a look around the last new spaceport he ever intended to see.
◊
The hot air of Venus smelled of lemons and clover, and carried so little moisture Donal’s shirt clung to itself. As he and Fionn moved through the dusty areas that passed for roads and streets in Gilgamesh, Donal found himself glad for their field work games. They gave him something to focus on so he would not get distracted by the strange, seemingly untamed magic of Venus. Donal could feel it in the air around him and in the ground beneath him: wild, yes, chaotic, yes, but power waiting for a magician to tap and channel it, to study it and learn its secrets.
Magic unlike anything he had touched on Earth or in the heavily organized sections that were all Donal had seen of Mars.
Venus did not feel like anything Donal knew, and the researcher in him badly wanted to stop and rubberneck like a child at an amusement park. Focusing on the field work game kept Donal present, paying attention to where he was and where he was going.
Of course, it would have helped if he had had more people to choose from for potential threats to watch. He barely saw a dozen people on his way through the empty, undecorated spaceport, and the “city” itself looked like little more than a temporary settlement. But the customs agent had recognized the delivery address as the Zanzibar. He had insisted that Donal would know it when he saw it, calling it the fanciest hotel in Gilgamesh. A superlative that meant increasingly less to Donal, the more he saw.
He recognized the conical buildings as alchemical products. The sort that were stored in meter-square cubes, and when the right reagents were added they grew into two or three story furnished buildings, some customized for housing, others for small businesses. They would last at least a decade, and the ones Donal saw widely spaced among the yellow-white grounds of the settlement looked to have more than half their lives left.
Donal did not recognize the cylinder shapes, but restraining himself to a glance left him speculating that they were of similar design, though for different purposes. Donal had seen at least two such buildings back in the port proper, but had not taken time to find out their purposes.
Despite these potential distractions, Donal kept himself oriented according to his directions and watched strangers on foot with mock suspicion. It might have become real suspicion, except that what few strangers he saw were on foot and all clearly going about their own business.
Even what passed for streets were quiet. So far Donal had spotted no more than a handful of horses — Arabians, which suited what Donal understood of the settlement, that the colonists had come primarily from the Middle East and India — and only three runners.
Perhaps twenty minutes after Donal and Fionn had made their way out of the spaceport, Donal set eyes on what had to have been the Zanzibar.
The sight almost made him fall to his knees. So much gold and marble, wrought into a fine four-story palace of the sort Donal had imagined when he read the tales of Scheherazade. Surrounded by fountains and gardens, it could have served as a palace to any of the great sultans from those stories.
Donal felt Fionn’s teeth lightly dent his hand, and recovered himself. He checked his surroundings but still saw no sign of threat. Probably nothing to worry about. The package already did its work when it let that other ship home in on us.
But then Donal noticed an eddy of power twist past like a fluke of the breeze, and double-checked the nearest strangers to keep from his mind on his business.
He covered the final few hundred meters to the Zanzibar, and noted that even the walkway leading up to it had been carved from marble and enchanted to keep the pervasive dust from soiling it. The trickles and splashes and gurgles of the fountains had a soothing quality. Not magic, just the reassuring presence of water in so dry a land. They also lent a cool feel to the air near them, and the nearby gardens smelled of rich blends of flowers with roses leading the way.
Donal half-expected giant eunuchs with scimitars guarding the front door, but instead found twin statues of dervishes, finely detailed, with swords still in their scabbards. Donal felt an itch between his eyebrows. He wanted to shift consciousness and really examine them, find out if they held any enchantments.
If he had designed this place, they would have.
But Donal steadied himself and stayed on his task. He reached for the fine bronze handle of what looked to be a double-door fashioned from teak, but before he could grasp it the doors opened inwards.
Cool air hit Donal’s face, saffron and lilies a bare undertone of a scent. The interior of the Zanzibar exceeded Donal’s expectations. A high domed ceiling, enchanted to trap echoes instead of sharing them. Creamy blends of rich colors everywhere his eye alit, from the ceiling to the fine stone tiles of the walls and flooring, from the polished woods of the reception desk and concierge to the broad, deep couches with their end tables and coffee tables. Art on the walls enhanced the beauty with its fine blend of history, legend and religion.
Once more Fionn’s teeth dented Donal’s wrist and brought him back to attention. Though he promised himself that he would take time to visit Venus properly. Between the mysteries of its magic and the puzzle of this amazing building among so many temporary structures, he had more questions than he had time to answer.
Donal approached the front desk, where a man about Donal’s own age stood behind the counter, wearing a pale suit, and a nametag that read, “Ahmed.”
Ahmed smiled and said, “Good day, Sir. Checking in?”
“I wish.” Donal reached into his bag for the package. “I’m an IIX courier with a delivery for R. A. M. in room two-oh-one.”
“Certainly, Sir. But I will need to confirm your employment.”
Donal reached into his pocket and slipped out a piece of enchanted silver shaped like the three letters of the IIX logo. He held it up for inspection. Ahmed picked up a silver-chased letter opener with “Zanzibar” engraved down it in fine script. He tapped the tip of the letter opener against the logo, and the logo flared green and chimed a sweet b-sharp note.
“Thank you, Sir. One moment, please.”
Ahmed reached under the counter and plucked a link. Donal recognized the type, common in hotels: voice only and tuned to allow for subvocalized communication. A few seconds later Ahmed smiled at Donal. “You may go up.” He pointed to the far corner of the room. “That stair will take you there.”
Donal began to turn away, but quickly turned back before Ahmed returned to his duties.
“I have to ask. Why such a fancy hotel among all these temporary buildings?”
Ahmed’s smile broadened and he said, “Allah grants...” Ahmed glanced left and right, then leaned in a little closer. “You are a courier, not a visitor, so I will tell you the truth. Leave the spaceport in any direction and you will find our true homes, our fine restaurants and parks and museums. But only if you know where to go. We do not want you to find them. We do not want tourists. We have come here to leave Earth behind, not bring it to us.”
“But everything about the Zanzibar—”
“Resembles Earth, yes. By design. A great glory to fill your eyes—”
“To keep u
s looking where you want, so we don’t see what you don’t want us to see. Like slight of hand.”
Ahmed smiled, as though pleased to have finally told someone, but hesitation entered his eyes. “But I have said more than I should. I hope I may trust your discretion.”
“Of course,” said Donal. Not that he could see why it mattered. After all, if most tourists were told that Venus did not want tourists, they would probably not bother to come. But he would hold his silence on the matter. “Thank you.”
Donal did turn away then, and as he crossed to the stairway he muttered to Fionn, “All this opulence and they make their patrons walk up flights of stairs?”
But the moment Donal’s foot touched the second stair, the stairwell began to move. The stairs themselves moved beneath him, carrying him up, around the bend, and depositing him on the second floor. Fionn actually chuckled, a disturbingly human sound from so canine a throat.
“You saw that coming?”
“I wasn’t staring at the art.”
“Fine. Then you get to lead us to two-oh-one.”
Donal began to look around the hallway, with its rich red carpeting and pale, almost delicate walls, but Fionn struck the mocking pose of a pointer, his nose clearly indicating a door a scant two meters away.
A door that had three digits engraved in its varnished oak surface: 201.
◊
Donal knocked on the door, and it opened before he could finish. Standing in the doorway, wearing a high-necked chiffon dress the color of cream, stood Rowan MacPherson. There, amid such opulence, she stood like a waking dream. Perhaps his mother’s dream. She would have killed to find Donal such a woman.
Donal felt as though he should have been surprised to see her there, but he was not. “What does the A. stand for?” he asked.
“Alanna.”