Outer Bounds: Fortune's Rising

by King, Sara

  “Joe,” Patrick asked again. He sounded even more nervous now. “I’m sorry to bother you, Joe, but I think we found one of ‘em.”

  The miniature man swiveled in the dirt, drawing the zucchini to his chest with a skinny arm. With the other, he held out the knife.

  Pointed it at them, rather.

  “I’m sorry, Joe! We’re not here to take your carving,” Patrick babbled quickly, obviously very upset. He backed away several paces, his heels spraying rich black dirt over her ankles in his hasty attempt to get away from the tiny man with his paring knife. “We just want you to tell us if it’s her.” He flourished a hand at Tatiana. “Can you tell us if it’s her?”

  Then the sticklike man’s eyes fell on Tatiana and she swallowed hard. His eyes were too wide. Way too wide. “What’s wrong with him?” she whispered to Patrick.

  “Egger’s Wide,” Patrick whispered back. Then, louder, “Is it her, Joe?”

  “Is what me?” Tatiana demanded. “What the hell is going on?”

  When Patrick only tightened his grip on her arm, she frowned at the man with the zucchini. He had started to drool.

  He had also gone back to carving. The madman’s tongue slipped out of his mouth and he started to pant as he whittled away at the head of the zucchini.

  “This is ridiculous!” she snapped, wrenching her arm out of Patrick’s grip. “You carted me off to see an idiot with the Wide?” She turned—

  —And ran right into Milar.

  Milar sneered at her. “Going somewhere, sweetie? There’s a bed upstairs, if you feel like doing a little entertainin.”

  Tatiana backed up and scowled up at him. Yeah. Definitely naked.

  “Nah, I think I’ll pass,” Tatiana said. “Reptilian isn’t my style.”

  Milar’s face darkened and he stepped forward, making her stumble backwards again.

  Tatiana narrowed her eyes. “Don’t do that again.”

  “Or what?” Milar demanded. “You’ll pout?” He did it again. Tatiana had to catch herself on a garden stake to keep from falling over into a patch of cabbage.

  “Cut it out,” Patrick said, in a hushed whisper. “Can’t you see he’s working?” He hadn’t even looked in their direction.

  Milar gave Tatiana one last, lingering glare with his piss-brown eyes, then grunted and glanced back at the tiny crazy man. “He say anything about her?”

  “No,” Patrick said. “Just wait.”

  And then, to Tatiana’s amazement, two grown men stood up to their ankles in the soft soil of a vegetable patch, watching in awe as a madman finished carving his zucchini.

  When he was finished, the skinny egger scrambled forward in a crablike crawl and shoved the zucchini up at Tatiana, his eyes showing whites all around.

  The first thing Tatiana noticed was that the egger’s arm bore the double-planet symbol of the Fifteenth Carrier Squadron. The Fifteenth contained the specially trained pilots who ferried the Nephyrs, operators, and their soldiers back and forth through deep space. Seeing it here, on an egger, almost made Tatiana lose her breakfast. It was either somebody’s idea of a sick joke, or she might have worked with the guy…years ago.

  The wide-eyed egger jerked the zucchini and made a grunting sound. Tatiana’s eyes fell to his offering. The zucchini looked like someone had tried to feed it to a horse, then changed their mind after the animal had made it halfway through. The body had no discernible features of any kind and loose pieces fell off with regularity as it trembled under its maker’s white-knuckled grip.

  The egger grunted again. He stared at her, wide eyes boring into hers with the rapt attention only the truly insane could manage. Holding the knife the way he was, Tatiana instinctively got the idea he would stab her if she reached for it. She tried to back up, but ran into Milar.

  “Take it,” he said into her ear.

  “You take it,” she growled.

  “He’s offering it to you,” Patrick said. His voice sounded…odd. Like it was full of reverence. Reverence…for a skinny little cretin and his mangled zucchini.

  “Screw that!” Tatiana snapped. “He’s going to try to stab me. You collies are crazy.”

  She turned to dart sideways across the vegetable rows, but Milar snapped out an arm and caught her by the back of her jumpsuit. “My brother told you to take the vegetable, honey.” He jerked her backwards to face the tiny egger, who hadn’t moved a centimeter since first offering his prize to her. Stumbling off balance, Tatiana hit Patrick in the hip, grinding the pistol into her backbone.

  “Ow!” Rubbing her spine, she glared up at Milar.

  He glared back. “Take. It.” His hand tightened on her arm and shoved it towards the egger. She could see the black and red dragon snaking up his forearm tense as his muscles flexed beneath the skin, holding her there. He looked dead serious.

  Looking back at the crazy little egger and his mangled squash, Tatiana got the strange sensation she had just blundered down the rabbit hole. The frail old man gave his prize an insistent shake, spraying more vegetable particles on the ground between them.

  This whole planet is insane, Tatiana decided. She wondered if it was something in the water. Yet, knowing Milar would probably go through the motions of making her grab the zucchini if she didn’t cooperate, Tatiana tentatively reached out and took the vegetable from the crazy man.

  The moment Tatiana’s fingers touched the nicked and mangled surface, she opened her mouth to say something sarcastic.

  She immediately forgot what it had been she wanted to say.

  The loose particles of zucchini skin had begun to wiggle and twist; pressing, mashing, bending. The color began to change. The yellow rind became darker, almost a silver-gray, and the white flesh grew pink. Lines formed in the mess, then swirled inward, becoming dots.

  Eyes, Tatiana’s mind registered. She knew she should have been undergoing some sort of shock, but the drug still hadn’t worn off completely—it was the only explanation she had for not feeling the urge to throw the possessed zucchini across the yard and emptying her lungs in a scream.

  Instead, she took it gently with her other hand and brought it closer to her eyes, peering deeper into the image that was forming, focusing with every ounce of attention she had, willing the shapes to form properly.

  Like beetles crawling outward, silver-gray nubs wormed their way out of the pink flesh. The zucchini became a face.

  Her face. There was no mistaking her ultraviolet eyes, as her father had aptly named them. So blue they looked purple.

  The gray nubs were perfect replicas of the metal nodes and nexuses that even now protruded from her skin, but for one exception. It had an extra one, right between her eyes.

  What is that used for? Tatiana had never even heard of such a thing.

  Frowning, Tatiana tentatively touched the metal bulb in her brow.

  It vanished.

  She found herself staring dumbly at a mangled zucchini, her jaw hanging open, her lungs burning from holding her breath, her eyes stinging from being open too long.

  She dropped the zucchini.

  The crazed egger didn’t seem to notice—he had already picked a new one from his wide array of squash—the villagers kept him well-stocked, it seemed—and was busy cutting on a glossy black round one. Rind fragments fell to the soil bunched up around his feet as he carefully dragged the knife across the vegetable in no particular order.

  Patrick bent down and picked up the zucchini. Immediately, his face went slack and his eyes went wide. Too wide.

  Tatiana glanced at the crazy little egger and then back to Patrick. Her skin erupted with goosebumps at the similarities.

  “What did you see?” Milar asked her.

  What did I…see? Tatiana glanced at Patrick. “What do you mean?”

  Milar whirled her around, his face set in a scowl. “You didn’t see anything?”

  “See what?” She forced her face to stay calm. “It was a hacked-up zucchini.”

  “It’s another one of her,�
� Patrick breathed. His eyes were still fixed on the dirty, ripped-up vegetable. “Before the accident.”

  Before the accident? Tatiana didn’t like the sound of that. The crazy forehead-nexus that she didn’t have was bad enough, but now these guys were really beginning to creep her out. What had they done to her? Played with her brainwaves? Given her some weird hallucinogen? “Okay, so we saw this charming little creep and his squash patch. I’m ready to leave.”

  “So we’re sure it’s her?” Milar demanded.

  “Yeah.” Patrick handed him the zucchini.

  Milar took it, but his face didn’t go slack. He simply grunted and stuffed the vegetable under his belt.

  “Too bad she didn’t see anything,” Patrick said softly. “We could’ve used another one.”

  “Would’ve taken some of the burden off you,” Milar said to Patrick. His eyes, though, were fixed on Tatiana.

  Patrick glanced at his twin and laughed—a nervous laugh. “Yeah. It’s…tiring me out.”

  “It’s going to give you the Wide,” Milar muttered.

  Patrick ducked his head and didn’t answer that. “I’m not the best artist—I rarely do it justice.” Then he sighed. His shoulders slumped and he looked tired. Deflated. “After all the times he’s made her image, you would’ve thought it’d be her.”

  “Yeah,” Milar said, watching Tatiana too closely. “You would’ve thought.”

  Tatiana tried not to squirm under Milar’s gaze. She began picking at the scabs that were forming on her wrists, then winced when she saw blood.

  “So what now?” Patrick said. “What do we do with her?”

  Milar patted the zucchini. “I’m taking this and putting it with the others. You go get her drugged up for the return trip.” He gave Tatiana one more long look, then slapped his shades back over his face and abruptly turned to trudge out through the rows, his long leather duster catching against broccoli plants as he departed.

  Patrick glanced at Tatiana, then sighed and ran his hands through his hair, still watching her. “I was so sure.” His eyes were filled with a deep-rooted agony. “Damn.”

  “Sure about what?” she asked.

  “You didn’t see anything when you held it?” He sounded upset. Desperate, even. “Nothing at all?”

  “No. What was he trying to make it look like?” Tatiana said, trying not to let her face burn. She actually felt bad lying to him, which completely blew her mind, considering he had captured her, injured her, threatened her, and then drugged her. Must be the drugs, she thought. Some sort of truth serum? She shrugged lazily and went back to picking at her scab. “Because it looked like some kid had gone after it with a cheese grater.”

  Patrick sighed again. “It’s not the physical layers he changes…” He shook his head. “Never mind. You’re not the one we’ve been looking for. It must take someone else.”

  “What must take someone else?” Tatiana asked, tingles of unease tracing up her spine. “What are you talking about?”

  Then, a tiny part of her said, You know damn well what he’s talking about. That wasn’t a hallucinogen. That damn zucchini came to life and you’re just gonna pretend—

  Cutting off her irritating inner self, Tatiana said, “Listen, that little froggish creep is staring at me again. Can we get out of his patch before he stabs one of us?”

  In truth, she wanted to get away from this whole place. Now that the echoes of the zucchini were fading, it seemed like the guy was…crawling…with something. It was constantly nagging her, and whenever she turned her head, it was as if she could see it, just at the edge of her vision.

  “Sure,” Patrick said. He grabbed her arm and started tugging her out of the garden.

  Loudly, behind them, the crazed egger called, “Shoelaces, Patty.” Then he cackled like he’d told a joke.

  Pat, however, stopped dead in his tracks. He turned, looking pale. “What did you say, Joe?”

  “Shoes!” The tiny man giggled. Then he jabbed his knife in Tatiana’s direction. “She likes shoes.”

  Tatiana frowned. “No I don’t.” She hated shoes-shopping. None of them ever fit properly over the nodes in her feet.

  Patrick glanced at her, then sighed. “All right, let’s go.”

  On their way back to the house, they passed a path cut through the brush. Through the gap, Tatiana glimpsed a few small huts on the other side. “Is this that Deaddrunk Mine place you were telling me about?”

  “Yep,” Patrick said immediately. Then he paused and grinned at her sheepishly. “Maybe.”

  Yeah, a real badass secret operative we’ve got here. Tatiana almost felt sorry for him. “Huh,” Tatiana said. “You know, that little bastard had a government tattoo on his arm. A pretty famous carrier squadron. They get charged with transporting the President, if he ever goes anywhere.”

  “Yeah,” Patrick said, his face darkening.

  “He was a pilot, then?”

  “Yep.” Patrick paused to re-tie a length of netting that had fallen down on one of the rows of peas.

  “So you two brothers and that old fart the only pilots in this damn place?”

  “Pilot.” Patrick snorted. “Joe can’t even feed himself anymore. You think we’d trust him with a three megaton machine?”

  “Guess not,” Tatiana said. “So how many people live around here?”

  “Let’s say forty,” Patrick said.

  “Oh yeah? Then I bet you and Milar are pretty big shots, eh?”

  “Why?” Patrick asked, finishing his knot and giving her a curious look.

  “You’re pilots.” She waved her hand disgustedly. “Everybody’s got this thing for pilots.”

  “Even you?” he asked, grinning slightly.

  Once again, she became aware of just how good it might feel to get Patrick in bed… Swallowing, she managed, “I wanna know who I can swindle to get me out of here.”

  “Oh,” he laughed. “Well, there’s Jeanne—she’s a hellcat on wings. Won’t do much good trying to swindle her, though. She’s half pirate. Literally. Her mother was hung for piracy when she was seven.” Patrick seemed to like talking about his pathetic little village. Tatiana found it quaint.

  Scrunching her nose, she said, “I hate pirates. Anybody else?”

  “Veera and Dave. That’s about it.” Then he winked at her. “Oh, and of course Milar and me.”

  “Yeah, well, we know how well that would work,” Tatiana said.

  He laughed. “Yeah.” Then he nodded at the house porch. “Come on. I’ll give you another dose and we’ll get back on the road.”

  Like hell you will, bastard. “To where?” Tatiana asked.

  “Oh,” Patrick said, looking a bit confused. “Don’t quite have that figured out yet, but—” He stopped, mid-sentence, when he realized the laces of his boot had come undone. He lifted his leg up and set his foot on the steps. As he tied his boot, he said, “—but I’m sure we’ll figure it out after we—”

  Tatiana slid the pistol from his belt and danced away from him. Lifting it up and levering it at his chest, she said, “Get on the ground. Now.”

  Patrick chuckled, turning. “That thing’s calibrated to my biometrics. You couldn’t get a shot off if—”

  She pulled the trigger and a hole appeared in the wooden step a centimeter in front of the toe of the boot he was re-lacing. “Now get on the ground,” she repeated. “Belly facing down, arms over your head.”

  Patrick seemed flabbergasted as he clumsily got on his knees. “But how—”

  “Remember all those little nanobots I mentioned?” Tatiana said. “Your gun has an AI mechanism and my little buddies just loooooove AI.” She hurriedly backed further into the squash patch. “Now lay down.”

  “Where are you going?” Patrick demanded into the dirt.

  “Getting a friend,” Tatiana said. She danced behind the little egger and dragged him to his feet. She tapped the man’s head with the laser pistol. “Drop the knife, grandpa.”

  Wideman Joe ignored he
r completely. He seemed perfectly content with continuing to carve his squash with her arm cinched around his throat, so, after a moment’s contemplation, she left it. Glancing back at Patrick, she realized he had gotten back up on his hands and knees and looked petrified—and about ready to sprint at her.

  “I will fry this demented little egger’s brain so hard you could eat it for breakfast,” she warned.

  “Breakfast!” Joe shrieked. Then he giggled.

  At that moment, Milar came trotting around the corner, looking like an excited puppy. “Did Joe just tal—” He froze upon seeing Tatiana and a dark look came over his face.

  “Oh good,” Tatiana said. “Go put those cuffs you like so much on your brother, if you will, sweetie.”

  “Screw you,” Milar said.

  Tatiana tapped Joe’s frizzy white scalp with the pistol. The egger giggled again and kept carving. “Now.”

  “Do it, Miles,” Patrick muttered.

  “Tightly, now,” Tatiana said. “If I don’t see blood, I’m gonna shoot this bastard.”

  Milar hesitated several moments, and the look he gave her left Tatiana with chills. Finally, he said, “Sure, sweetie,” his voice darker than his face. He went over, took Patrick’s wrists, and cinched them together with the silver bands.

  “You got another set?” Tatiana asked, once he was done.

  “No,” Milar said.

  “Get it out,” Tatiana ordered.

  For a long moment, Milar simply stood there, glaring at her. Then, slowly, he pulled another set of bands from his belt.

  “On your ankles,” she said. “One on yours and one on Patty’s over there.”

  Milar turned red. “That’s bullsh—”

  “Just do it, Milar,” Patrick said, glaring at her. “She’s not going far anyway.”

  Milar grimaced, then did as he was told.

  “You done? Good. Now take off your belt and throw it at me. Patty’s too.”

  The twins’ gazes could’ve set clay on fire. Milar, however, took off the belts and threw them at her. His red and black dragon tattoos stood out on his neck as he tensed his jaw and waited.

  “Now walk out that way,” Tatiana said, nodding at the gap in the brush. “You two are taking me to the ship.”