by Tammy Salyer
The crew’s been too busy to discuss who’ll go with La Mer, but I’ve already decided to put in my ticket. Karl has moved around the ship like a ghost since our last encounter, confirming my grim fear that anything we had is over. I’m certain Vitruzzi will want him to stay with Venus and be her backup, and getting as far away from him as I can is the only way I can cope with his anger and my own feelings of betrayal. I can still aid the settlers and give him what he wants by taking the trip to Obal 10. Everyone wins.
The cargo hold ramp lowers and the rest of the crew disembarks while I hang back to gather a few extra magazines and clips for my carbine and ’Bad. As I pry the lid off a case of ammunition, David walks up behind me.
“You’re going with Rob.” He doesn’t have to ask.
I acknowledge the statement with a quick nod and shove as many magazines for my AK-80 into my duffel as it can hold. He watches me quietly for a minute and then sighs. “All right, me too then.”
I pause, feeling both relieved and touched—and slightly embarrassed about it. “You don’t have to do that.”
“Yeah I do, Twig.”
There’s a familiar vibration in the air. I zip up the duffel and we step out into the shifting sand-colored haze of the R’Kadian evening to watch the Horizon settle onto a flat plateau above the mine’s entrance. Everyone else has already gone underground, but David and I wait for Rob. He, Baker, and Montoya drive sandbikes down a narrow trail that twines its way into the canyon between boulders and spires, finally reaching us at the base within a few short minutes.
Rob stops beside us and David asks, “You ready for this?”
Apprehension ripples across Rob’s face for a second, then it’s gone. “Ready for anything, brother. Just another job. Maybe a tiny bit more, uh, interesting.”
He smiles and asks Baker and Montoya to double-up on one bike so David and I can take the other. As our group enters the mine tunnel, the bikes’ low-watt headlights are barely powerful enough to illuminate our path. The mine has been out of commission for a long time, and none of the original fixtures mounted along the tunnel’s high ceiling still work. There’s a dry, desiccated smell to the air as if nothing has lived inside for years. As we approach the central cavern, a dull yellow glow creeps along the walls toward us. At least one generator must be running, but the air is so full of floating dust and dirt from the Rover and sandbikes that it’s hard to just make out the tunnel corridor, much less gauge distance.
We reach the end and the walls rise at precise right angles ten meters above our heads to the ceiling. Sitting on one side and filling half the cave is the Temptation, safely docked under millions of tons of rock and earth where no Corps scanning system can detect it. As soon as I see it, my guts do a nauseating flip-flop and my palms grow slick as a combustible mix of fury and revulsion begin seeping from my pores in a feral sweat—a poisonous biochemical reminder of my hate for the Admin and what they’d taken from us and for Rajcik for what he’d nearly taken from me. We made the wrong decision, I know it. I feel it in the way my stomach clenches and my skin leaks a layer of oily dampness. Counting on Rajcik to help us is a mistake, the biggest mistake any of us will ever make. And if Venus is right, none of us will get a chance to make another one.
Dismounting the bike, David catches me staring at the ship and nudges me forward with his elbow. “Hey, they’re over there. Come on.”
It takes an effort to pull my eyes from the Temptation. “David,” I warn, “this can’t end well.”
“It will. We just have to stay together, little sis.” He gives me a smile that’s supposed to be reassuring, and we move to catch up with the others.
Everyone is gathered in a circle near the freight elevator. The hole Desto had punched with grenades into the nearby wall during my first visit to this rock has a fresh scar of blocks and mortar plugging it, but it’s the man standing next to it that draws my stare. The vulpine, brown-stubbled face of Fuller Thompson evokes as much disgust in me now as it always has. He stares back at me, our mutual animosity eliciting the same reaction in both. He’s grown thinner, as has Rajcik, but neither are any less menacing, like a pair of sharpened axes dangling over us by the thinnest of threads.
Vitruzzi sees us approaching and says, “Now that we’re all here—”
Nobody expects the way Karl spins around and leaps at Rob, one fist balled and swinging through the air in a precise trajectory directly into Rob’s chin. It’s a sucker punch, and Rob is as surprised as everyone else. His head jerks backward, snapping to a stop as his neck catches, his body following. Staggering, he still somehow deflects a second blow coming from Karl, and by then everyone is jumping in to stop him. Desto and Mason race to Karl’s side, each of them taking hold of an arm as he strains forward, looking as if he wants to tear Rob’s heart out. To my surprise, both Baker and Montoya have drawn small handguns like my own Mini-Derg, aiming them directly at Karl’s chest, their mutual expressions of detached alertness almost an exact match.
“Karl!” I yell, but his attention stays on Rob, who quickly regains his footing.
Rubbing his bruised chin, Rob’s eyes contract into wounded, watering slits. He’s not badly hurt, and the fury radiating from him almost heats the air around us. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing, Strahan?”
Karl acts like hasn’t even heard him. He jerks against Desto and Mason, but the two men hold on like plow oxen, solid and unyielding.
Brady steps between them and leans toward Karl so their chins are centimeters apart. “Dammit, Karl, we don’t have time for this.”
Finally, Karl shifts his gaze to Brady, and a battle of wills is fought between their locked eyes. After a few more seconds, he relaxes his shoulders, letting his balled fists drop to his sides. Mason and Desto exchange a glance, then release Karl’s arms, but don’t move away in case he erupts again. The fire stanched for now, Brady turns away from Karl and abrades me with a look of exasperation and frustration. “The same goes for everyone here. Whatever petty bullshit you’re holding against each other, it doesn’t matter anymore. There are lives at stake, and not just the settlers’. Every one of us is in the Admin’s crosshairs. We’ve all lost people we care about, and it’s time to stop fucking around and start working together.”
His eyes land on me once again during his last statement, infuriating me, then he turns to Rob. “Cross?”
Rob’s attention is still on Karl, both wary and furious, but he waves a hand toward Baker and Montoya, who sheathe their pistols inside their jackets. I don’t like the way they reacted to the fight, like fixers who will clean up whatever mess inconveniences them. Rob I can, if not trust, at least understand, but his crew is another story. In the days ahead, something tells me I better pay close attention to them.
Rajcik clears his throat with a guttural flourish and says, “Are we ready to get on with business? Vitruzzi, I thought you had better control of your crew.” His callousness is typical—Rajcik isn’t concerned with making new friends.
Vitruzzi lets his statement slide, the familiar vein pulsing prominently between her eyebrows giving the only indication that she’s having to work to control her anger. Walking into the center of the group, she lays the plan out.
“This is how things will go down. Rajcik, you’ll fly with the crew on the Sphynx and take them to KL. La Mer, me, and…” She pauses, looking around to see who’s decided to go to Obal 10. I can’t look at Karl and witness the expression on his face as I step forward, David right next to me. Vitruzzi nods and continues, “Aly and David will go with Cross to Tunis City. We’ll contact La Mer’s sources and set up the security worm, then we’ll send a warning shot to T’Kai. The Sphynx will stay in a holding pattern, either within safe distance of KL or on the rock itself, until we confirm we’ve succeeded—”
Rajcik cuts her off, “And if you don’t succeed?”
“We still go after the settlers,” Brady answers.
“With your one ship? You people really are suicidal,” Thom
pson grunts.
Vitruzzi looks Rajcik and Thompson over, gauging their dubious commitment to this mission. Her eyes flick to Rob, then fix on Rajcik. “I’m sure it’s occurred to you that we may already have all we need to bargain with T’Kai for the settler’s freedom.”
I’m reminded of just how relentless, grim even, she can be, and my admiration for her swells again as she implies that we could exchange Rajcik for the settlers.
“The only thing I can’t figure out is why we haven’t already done it,” I blurt out.
Thompson’s hate-filled stare burns like two hot coins laid on the skin of my face.
Vitruzzi continues, ignoring my comment, “But we already have a deal, Rajcik. And we intend to uphold our end of it. As long as we think you’ll uphold yours.”
“I’m as trustworthy as you,” he says, and it’s my turn to grunt in disgust.
“Fine. How long do you expect it to take to reach KL?”
“No more than fifteen days, provided we avoid any patrols.”
“And Rob, it should take you approximately ten days to reach Obal 10. Is there any way you can shave that time?”
“The best we can do is about eight.” Since recovering from Karl’s attack, Rob hasn’t taken his eyes off of Rajcik. I’m sure he’s thinking the same thing Vitruzzi had threatened, and Vitruzzi’s glance a few seconds ago tells me she knows it. Rajcik is worth a lot of money to the Admin. The gamble is tremendous; all sides but ours have more to gain by following their own agenda instead of the one she’s laying out. For Rajcik, this operation is a plot to get even with T’Kai for reneging on their deal, and it’s only a matter of time before he does something unlooked for that could help him do that. Whatever it is, it’s certain to jeopardize the rest of us. For Rob, the only thing that’s stopping him from apprehending Rajcik, or at least leading a Corps security patrol to his doorstep, is a sense of loyalty to Vitruzzi and the crew, maybe even to me. The question is: What would it take for that loyalty to expire? The Red Horizon is a nice piece of machinery, advanced, expensive. Maybe all it would take for Rob to switch sides is money. How much is anyone’s guess.
It’s a dark thought, but the kind of thought that’s kept me alive this along. You’re just being paranoid, I tell myself. But looking at Montoya and Baker, I wonder if that’s true. They’ve been standoffish, even outright hostile, toward the crew since coming to the Beach. Even if Rob is on board with our plan, what’s going to keep them in check?
“When do we leave?” Rajcik wants to know.
“First thing in the morning. Pack your gear aboard the Sphynx tonight.”
He nods, then says, “One final thing, Vitruzzi. I have interests to protect. Thompson goes with you to Tunis.”
TWENTY
As if stage directions have been given, the group breaks up, everyone jumping onto their respective transportation and heading to the ships to prepare. I’m already packed and deliberate about staying behind to keep tabs on Rajcik and Thompson. If they have plans to jam us up, this is the best opportunity to put an end to them. I know as certainly as I know that I’ll never taste squash as good as Bodie’s again that they’re operating from an alternative agenda, and it will most likely come into play when it’s least looked for and most damaging. But Rajcik is much too shrewd to be caught off guard this early in the game. He and Thompson loiter around the cargo bins where we’d met, their nonchalance seeming to mock my paranoid hypervigilance, and reluctantly, I jump on the bike with David and follow the rest of the crew to the Sphynx.
Low clouds, tinted a sickly grayish-red like festering flesh, drape heavily over the landscape and along the horizon. Compared to the relatively clear and sunny atmosphere of Spectra 6, evening here is dim and oppressive, and I look forward to getting off this rock as soon as possible.
Hanging back outside the ship’s opened cargo bay ramp, I wait for David and Vitruzzi to collect their weapons, supplies, and sundries, and I have time to think over the plan we’ve discussed. We have enough food for the duration we expect to be on Obal 10—around a week, two at the most—and we’ll be relying on La Mer and Vitruzzi’s familiarity with Tunis City to find a place to hide and set up the security-override worm. Despite how direct and simple the plan is, a deep, foreboding gloom clings to me. I wonder if this will be the last time I ever see the Sphynx and the crew.
Squatting at the edge of one of the landing legs, I draw bored circles in the sand with my index finger, anxiously awaiting our mobilization. This is the hard part, the anticipation of what’s coming. The sound of a motor catches my attention, and I look up as Rajcik approaches on a bike. Knots of tension cinch tightly around my muscles as I jump to my feet, surprised that he’s arrived so quickly. The prospect of a one-on-one encounter with him makes me feel like an overpressurized oxygen tank next to a lit torch. Before I can do more than draw my Sinbad and glance down the sight in a reflexive check, he pulls up to an idle a short distance away, remaining astride the bike. Temptation to put a bullet through his forehead shakes my reason, but my gun hand remains steady and straight.
Letting the engine rumble in a synchronous thump, he stares at me. “We have some past business to put behind us.”
I let the words hang in the air for a few seconds, trying to get my snarl of emotions under control. Finally, I spit out, “Why would you help us, Rajcik? What are you planning to get out of this?”
“I have my reasons.” The words thrum from his tattooed throat like a slow-burning fuse.
“I know, and you better tell me what they are or I swear I’ll kill you where you stand.”
Laughing, he replies, “Maybe this is my idea of atonement for betraying you. What? You don’t think I’m capable of remorse?”
“You’re no more capable of remorse than I am of believing you. I know you, Rajcik.” The words come out slowly, deliberately. “I find out whatever you’re hiding on my own, it’s not going to go half as well for you as you’re expecting.”
A dangerous look dances behind the dark sheen of his pupils. “I’d be more careful about making idle threats, Aly. You never know when someone will take you seriously.” Engaging the bike’s tripod, he slowly dismounts and steps into a more conversational range. He’s not wearing a jacket, and for the first time I notice a long, still-red and puffy scar emerging from the outside of his right sleeve and curving down to the back of his arm, nearly to his elbow. The depth of the gash is wicked, showing that whatever had caused it had bitten deep, probably to the bone. He’s lucky not to have lost the arm.
So, that’s what had made him desperate enough to call on Vitruzzi.
“But you want an answer, here it is. T’Kai fucked me. It’s time to pay him back. I know you, of all people, can understand that.” Coming even closer, he leans forward, carefully ensuring his hands remain visible. “You know what I’m talking about. You felt that bitter hatred worming its way through your guts when I betrayed you. Treachery, like a poison, working itself deep. And it will stay there, cooking you from inside until you have your revenge. That’s what you live for.” He draws back and looks at me candidly, holding my unwavering blue eyes with his cave-black ones, and the savagery lurking in them makes me almost pity T’Kai.
I finally look away, repelled by the intensity of his hate. “I’m just trying to help the settlers.” But is that true? The memory of my intention to kill the defeated soldiers at the Beach, and how Karl had had to stop me, bobs to the surface of my brain. That had been pure darkness, bloodlust. A demon of revenge, as insidious as Rajcik just described. Was the look in my eyes then the same as his now? No. I won’t believe that. “Whatever your sick reasons,” I say, trying to cover my unease, “just make sure you stick to the plan. You’ll get your chance, but we’re all in this together this time. If any one of us fucks up, we’re all going to die.”
“There are worse things than dying.”
“What do you mean—”
He turns away and begins untying a bag from his bike, cutting me off. “Aly,
you’re such an idealist. That’s what I used to find interesting about you. But you still haven’t learned that idealism means nothing unless you’re willing to take action. You and your brother were only content to run from the Admin, hide in a hole like scared rodents. You never had enough guts to do anything that mattered.”
His tone grates my nerve endings raw. I should turn around right now and walk back aboard the Sphynx before one of us does something that will endanger the mission. Instead, I counter, “You’re talking about conviction, János, and we have more than enough of that. We just knew better than to inflict our ‘idealism’ on innocent people. All you believe in is murdering for profit. You aren’t fooling me—you’re just as demented as T’Kai and people like him.”
As soon as the words leave my mouth, I realize they’re a mistake. He’s on me too quickly for my eyes to register, spinning me around and wrenching my right arm behind my back, forcing the Sinbad to fall uselessly into the sand. He slams me face down against the ramp, and I feel his weight come down on me, pinning me to the spot.
“Get off me!” I manage to grunt, immediately wishing I could get the air back as his heft compresses my lungs.
“Step the fuck back!” Desto yells, and two sets of booted feet run down the ramp toward us. Rajcik is off me instantly.
“Just discussing the plan,” he says, as if that truly is all that we’ve been doing.
I roll over, sucking in a deep breath. His face looms just above me, his expression calm and implacable, barely seeming to notice Desto and Mason. It’s almost as if Rajcik is somewhere else, the people around him not even present, and I realize that, in a way, he’s not here; his interests have nothing to do with me, with the settlers, or with the crew. For the first time, I’m really seeing who Rajcik is, what drives him. He’s not moved by petty feelings or interests the way normal people are. He doesn’t feel a sense of attachment or concern for the mundane humdrum of typical lives and can’t be distracted by things that don’t move him toward achieving his purpose, no matter how sociopathic and twisted that purpose is. Until he resolves his issue with T’Kai, nothing else will factor in. The realization that he feels nothing toward me or about what he did to me, one way or another, completely sucks away any satisfaction I might have had in getting even with him. What good is killing a ghost? He has no more interest in my selfish, vengeful hatred than he had in my loyalty.