by Steve Perry
“I was a hundred parsecs away when it happened, the Zimawali Police Action. It took me more than two weeks to get there.
“I didn’t know what had happened when I arrived, only that there had been an accident. A fall. Radé hit his head.”
He paused.
“There was nothing I could do. Radé had been recycled; Melinne had vanished. I thought she was probably afraid of what I might do to her.
“The local authorities ruled it an accident. Terrible, but no one at fault.
“I started to poke around. It turned out that Melinne’s lover had a temper and he thumped her when he got irritated. She decided it wasn’t so bad a trade, so she stayed.
“There were no direct witnesses to the event, except for Melinne and her lover, and I later came to believe that he—his name was Mandiba—paid her handsomely to go away and keep her mouth shut.
“So there was the official story. But Mandiba had servants. None of them had seen it happen, but they knew. They talked to each other. There were recordings of the man slapping around Melinne on other occasions, and servants who had seen him do it to other women. Somebody heard the child yelling at the man, and his response. There were doctors, emergency-med techs, coroners, recycle techs. A piece here, a bit there, I puzzled it together.
“What I figured out was, six months into their relationship, Melinne’s lover was high on some kind of chem and he started beating her. Our boy was eight. He stepped in and tried to stop it. The man backhanded Radé. It knocked him into a marble table, and the edge caught him in the back of the head. Brain hemorrhage. He died the next day.
“The man who killed my son was still there, going on about his business.”
Jo shook her head.
“The rules are different for rich men,” he said. “Always have been.”
He paused again, remembering.
“I felt guilty. I should have been there for my son, somehow.
“Three months later, Mandiba had a freak accident. He was inspecting some property he wanted to buy and he stepped on an old AP mine left over from a local bush war forty years earlier. Blew both his legs off, he died before medical help got there.”
She looked at him. “What a shame.”
“The local police examined the site carefully. The mine was the right age and kind used in the dustup, and the area known to have been sown with the things. People thought they had all been cleared. Apparently, the sweepers missed one.”
Jo said, “And the police figured that it would be hard to find a forty-year-old mine of a certain kind that still worked and plant it in the right place at the right time to make it anything other than an accident?”
“Apparently they did,” he said.
“And you never heard from Melinne again?”
“No. I considered hunting for her. She was a loose cannon, she put my son into a situation that got him killed. She would have left a trail of broken relationships behind her. Easy to find.”
“But you didn’t look.”
“No. I figured she would cause herself plenty of grief on her own. And I wondered if I was blaming her for something I hadn’t done.”
“And here she is all these years later, on the same world.” Jo looked at the holographic image. “Still a drop-dead gorgeous woman.”
“That she is. She worked at it. She’s thirty-eight, going on twenty-two. Exercise, diet, surgery, chem, she takes care of the package.”
“You don’t think she is here by accident.”
“No. If she were living with the richest guy on the planet, it would still be this planet, and it’s too parochial for her.”
“Maybe she’s passing through.”
“Maybe.”
“You think she is here because you are here.” Again, it was a statement and not a question.
“If I had to bet on it, yeah.”
“Why?”
“That’s the question I don’t know the answer to. How would she know where I was? Why would she care?”
“Maybe she’s tired of looking over her shoulder, worrying you’ll show up someday.”
“Maybe. And there are too many ‘maybes’ to suit me.”
“Whatever I can do to help.”
“She will contact me. And then we’ll see.”
A priority incoming call bleeped at that moment.
He felt a lurch in his chest . . .
But: No, it was not Melinne—it was Corporate; Alvarez, in OuterZone Operations, leapfrogged from HQ at least three or four links away, but close enough now for a real-time exchange. The miracle of n-space tachyon communications. There was solid science that explained how it worked, but it might as well be magic as far as he was able to follow it. He put the call on the speaker.
“Cutter.”
“Colonel. We have a response from Corporate regarding your message about the situation there.”
“And . . . ?”
“You are empowered to make an offer.”
“How much?”
Alvarez named a figure. More than Cutter would have guessed. He glanced over at Jo.
She shrugged.
“I understand. Terms and conditions?”
“The usual. They pack up and go away, don’t come back.”
“Masbülc will probably send somebody else. Maybe they’ll be better.”
“Probably both, but the current crop will likely be in before they get set up, you are already on-site, and we deal with that if it happens.”
Never one to take the long view, TotalMart Corporate. Maybe an asteroid would wipe the world out by next growing cycle. Why risk money you didn’t have to spend?
“All right. I’ll make the offer.”
“If they refuse, Corporate would be pleased to see them, ah, negated, soonest.”
“I understand.”
“Out.”
Cutter waved his connection off.
“Well, I guess we better run down an enemy commander and have a chat with him,” Cutter said.
_ _ _ _ _ _
Wink had to use his translator; the fem to whom Kay was speaking either didn’t speak Basic or chose not to, and because she assumed he couldn’t understand her, he had to keep himself from showing his teeth in a big smile.
“—smells funny,” the fem said. “Is that him, or do they all have that odor?”
“They all do. You get used to it,” Kay said.
“Odd-looking, too, up close. First one I’ve seen in the flesh. How do you tell them apart if they are downwind?”
“It’s a trick you learn.”
“I don’t understand why you are here. I have been over this with the other Healers.”
“We are looking for something we might have missed. It might help save others.”
The fem shrugged. “All right. My mate Cedom came home from work on fourday—he was employed at the Duonde Slaughterhouse, Moon-shift. He complained of a headache and was slightly feverish. He didn’t feel too bad. We ate, retired, and he woke up at dawn vomiting blood. The Healers sent a conveyance, he was taken to the South Wall bolnica. They gave him medicines, and on sixday, he died.
“Neither I nor our litter—we had just the one, three fems, two males, four seasons old—have shown any signs of any sickness since, and it has been more than two months since Cedom left to hunt on the Other Side. I have his death stipend, and we have family. We get by.”
“Did he say anything unusual had happened at his work just before he became ill?”
“No. His primary job was the chop-saw; now and then, he would fill in as a tool sharpener when somebody was off. He was a meat cutter. He showered after work before he left, and there was never a trace of blood or gore on him when he got here, he was always sure to make it so. Not everybody respects butchers, but for those who cannot hunt, they are necessar
y.”
“Certainly they are,” Kay said.
“As far as I know, there have been no other illnesses like my mate’s at Duonde.”
“This is true.”
“There is nothing new to say. He came home slightly sick, and two days later he was dead. He was the first to go from this plague, whatever it is. Maybe they’ll name it after him.”
Even the translator knew enough to shade that last comment with bitterness.
_ _ _ _ _ _
The restaurant had the high-class look, colorful and clean, only two dozen tables, and Gramps had allowed as how it was the best to be had for Swavi cuisine in Adit, probably on the whole planet. Cutter hadn’t come for the food. It was a neutral spot. He had Gramps and Gunny at a table nearby, with Jo and half a dozen troopers patrolling outside. Until the man arrived, Cutter amused himself by trying to figure out which of the other diners belonged to the opposition. He had narrowed it down to four—a hard-looking woman of forty or so across from a muscular, but petite fem, just to the left of the front entrance; and a pair of men who were dressed in softcollar business attire but looked somewhat uncomfortable in those clothes. One of them kept glancing around as if expecting somebody, but theirs was a two-person table.
The opposition’s representative arrived precisely on time.
“Colonel. I’m Proderic.”
Cutter gestured at the chair across from him. “Please. Just Proderic?”
The man said, “Yes. I hold no military rank, I’m a facilitator. My CO is a retired career army officer; he handles all the field operations.”
And not very well. Maybe he was a quartermaster or photon-pusher, but he hasn’t demonstrated much ability in the field, Cutter thought. He kept that to himself.
“That salt-and-pepper pair to the right,” Proderic said. “Those yours?”
Cutter grinned. So his field guy might be crappy on the ground, but Proderic here had sharp eyes. And that he wanted to play said something. Cutter considered his comments and decided to make a little leap: “And yours would be the two fems left of the door, and the two men to my left.”
He smiled. “Not bad, sah.”
The waiter came and poured wine into two glasses. It had been ordered before they’d arrived. It was a pale blue. The waiter set the bottle down and left.
Both men picked up their glasses and sipped the wine.
It was dry and crisp, a hint of citrus and legroberry, a Ferling, made locally. Gramps had picked it out.
“Nice choice, I’ll have to get a case of this. So, what’s Totomo’s offer?” Proderic asked.
“You’re sure that’s why I’m here?”
Proderic’s teeth were very white against his tan. “Absolutely. You are better than my guys—I didn’t expect TM to send anybody this fast, much less a first-class unit, so I cut corners. A calculated risk—I’ll upgrade my guys, if that’s what it comes down to. But if your employer wants to pay us enough to go away, we aren’t unreasonable.”
Cutter nodded. He wasn’t a haggler. Yes, he could pinch a tenth coin tight enough to make it squeal, but bargaining back and forth? Not his thing. He named the maximum figure TM had given him. It was going to be take it or leave it.
Proderic nodded. “Actually, it’s more than I expected.”
“But . . . ?”
“I’m afraid I have to decline.”
“You came prepared to do that no matter what I offered, didn’t you?”
“Well, you might have come up with a figure I’d have been unable to refuse, but I didn’t expect that.”
“You wanted to see how much effort TotalMart was willing to put into this.”
“Guilty of that, yes. And now I know.”
“As you say, it’s a fair offer.”
Proderic sipped more of the wine. “Yes. But my employer—”
“Masbülc,” Cutter cut in.
“I didn’t say that. My employer sees this as an opportunity for, um, growth. How about a counteroffer?”
Cutter looked at him.
“We give you, say, half again that much, and you melt your igloos and lift?”
Cutter grinned. “And now we know how much Masbülc values this operation.”
“I take that as a ‘No’?”
“My employer is a long-standing and valued client. The loss of that business would be major. And even if you came up with a number big enough to offset it? I couldn’t. We have a contract. I feel I must honor such. A personal quirk.”
“They buy, but they don’t sell in this situation, is that it?”
“I don’t make corporate policy.”
“Ah, well. It was good to meet you. Thanks for introducing me to this fine wine. I’d stay for dinner, but I have some pressing business. A new CO seems to be in order.”
“I’d wish you good luck with that, but . . .” Cutter gave him a palms-up shrug.
“I understand. Well, things might still work out, you never know. Colonel.”
He stood.
The two couples Cutter had marked as belonging to Proderic stood. He felt good about that—until two other single diners also arose: an older woman who looked like somebody’s granny and a dark-skinned man who appeared old enough to be granny’s father. Good disguises, those. And it made Proderic seem to be a man who crowed and zipped his jacket and was letting Cutter know that by revealing his backup team.
Maybe Jo had made them when they came in, or Gramps and Gunny had, but Cutter had missed them.
Interesting.
THIRTEEN
The second Vastalimi to die of the illness was a fighting teacher near the north edge of the Southern Reach. She’d had a place in a village nestled into the foothills, three hundred kilometers away from the slaughterhouse where Cedommasc had worked.
Nobody had been able to establish any connection between the two. There was no evidence they had ever met, and as best as anybody could track their movements in the weeks before they died, they hadn’t been any closer than the village and the city were to each other.
Neither of them could be linked in any way with Teb, the third to kick off.
The teacher, Tardfem, was older, had been a well-known local fighter in her prime, and had a dozen students in her skola. She was well liked by her neighbors and the village in general, fit for a fem her age, and had outlived all her enemies. Unmated, and she’d lived alone.
Nobody locally could recall anything unusual in Tard’s life in the days before she sickened. She taught classes, she nodded to people she passed, her place was quiet.
One morning, she didn’t show up for class. Students went to find her, and she was already deep in the grip of the malaise. She was transported to the local Healer’s but died en route. Must have been pretty tough to be that sick and not go for treatment on her own.
On the flight back from the village, Wink turned it over in his mind every way he could. The only possibility he could see that they could have caught the disease from the same source was that a carrier had been in the city and the village.
If you drew a three-hundred-kilometer circle around both victims, there were no Venn intersections at all.
Nobody seemed to keep records of travel that were particularly detailed. Vastalimi came and went a lot freer than humans tended to do on their planets. When you could just borrow a cart and leave it when you were done, that was loose enough; that there didn’t seem to be any carts taken from the village and left in the city, or vice versa in the week before the teacher died?
Had somebody made a round-trip to cause the infection? Maybe there were few enough people in the village to check them all; no way to do that for the bigger city . . .
“Not getting any easier,” Wink said.
Kay nodded. “Not yet.”
“We are missing something.”
“Obviously. B
ut the Sena will look, and there are no eyes sharper than theirs. What we missed? They will find.”
“You seem sure about that.”
“Nothing is certain, but if it is there, the Shadows will eventually uncover it.”
“Lot of people could die between now and ‘eventually.’”
She shrugged. “We can only do what we can.”
_ _ _ _ _ _
Cutter took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, trying to calm himself.
Across from his desk, Jo said, “She’s on her way in.”
Cutter nodded. He pulled his sidearm from its holster, pivoted it forward via the trigger guard around his finger, and gave it a half twist, so the butt was toward Jo.
She took the pistol. Raised an eyebrow.
“Yes, I know, I can kill her with my hands, but that would take a little more effort than just drawing and shooting.”
Jo shook her head. “You don’t have to do this at all. I could talk to her. Find out whatever.”
“No. I need to do this.”
_ _ _ _ _ _
He was behind his desk when Melinne came in.
She looked good. Even this close, she could still pass for her early twenties. She was fit, taut, full-breasted, with an athletic swing to her step. Her hair was cut in a buzz, maybe two centimeters long, dyed to a golden bronze that complemented the tone of the chem tan on her exposed, smooth skin. She wore a pearl gray, sleeveless tunic over a sleeveless black skintight, with ballet-style slippers that matched the tunic. No jewelry, no tattoos, nothing else necessary to gild the lily . . .
She sat in the chair facing the desk and crossed her legs.
“Hello, Cutty.”
He had thought about this moment more than a few times over the years; what he might say, how he might feel. He had gone back and forth in his imagination, which way he would go, icily cool, foaming rage—what his first words would be. Until he spoke, he wasn’t sure of what he was going to say.
“Why did you run?”
“Because I was afraid you would kill me. You thought about it, didn’t you?”
He nodded. “I considered it. What makes you think I won’t do it right now?”
“It’s been a decade. If you had wanted to find and kill me, you could have done it long ago. I know what happened to Mandiba.”