by Paul McAuley
She said, ‘You’d let me keep the reward? All of it?’
‘It seems a fair price for letting me go.’
‘And how do I explain that you got away?’
‘I’m a big strong husky. I overpowered you.’
‘Try it.’
‘I don’t mean I could. Or that I want to. I mean that’s what you’ll tell the feds.’
‘She’s trying to trick you,’ the girl said. ‘If you let me call my father right now I’ll make sure you get a reward. I swear I will.’
The woman said to me, ‘Says on that badge your name is Austral Morales Ferrado.’
‘That’s because it is my name.’
‘Your parents – were they ecopoets?’
‘I’m a husky. What do you think?’
‘You wouldn’t happen to be related to Isabella Schilling Morales?’
‘She was my grandmother. You know of her?’
‘I know and admire her work. I was a biologist, once. A botanist. I surveyed this whole area, years back. I was working for the feds then. First and last time.’
‘And you liked the place so much you decided to stay on.’
‘Something like that. How well did you know her, your grandmother?’
‘I’ve been told that I met her, but I was too young to remember it. I know some stories about her, though. Good ones.’
‘I heard a rumour that she’s hiding out somewhere on the mainland.’
‘I’ve heard that story too.’
‘Is it true?’
‘Why don’t I brew up some tea? I have a little food, too. I’ll be happy to share it with you while I tell you what I know about Isabella, and discuss how to fix our little problem.’
‘We’ll go to my place,’ the woman said. ‘It’ll be cosier there.’
10
Her name was Mayra Iturriaga. She told me that the mine had closed more than twenty years ago, after its shale-hosted copper deposits had been exhausted. Explained that she’d been using edited strains of bacteria to extract residual copper and tagalong metals, mostly zinc and silver, a touch of rhenium, from its spoil heaps. The mine’s former owners had already processed the spoil, but her strains, developed from one my grandmother had developed to liberate phosphate from bedrock, were more efficient than anyone else’s.
I played along with her claims to be my grandmother’s number one fan and rightful inheritor, hoping that flattery would make her careless, but didn’t tell her that the girl and I were related thanks to Isabella’s relationship with Eddie Toomy – it would have made things way more complicated than they already were. Luckily the girl stayed quiet, warily watching as Mayra and I pretended to be the best of pals, not yet realising how dangerous our situation really was.
We were sitting cross-legged on a filthy carpet in one half of a square hut tucked behind the ruin of a big sectional garage and lined out with silvery insulation. There was a cot, a stove not much bigger than the one I carried, a plastic chair with a broken leg bandaged by black tape. Clothes and an assortment of tools and gadgets hung from pegs that jutted between the seams of the insulation. Much of the kit was brand new. Expensive. A hunting bow that looked as if it had been constructed from the bones of some exotic critter and probably cost more than a year’s pay. A spear with a shaft shaped from a smoothed length of tree branch, a flaked stone point bound to it with rawhide laces. Three hand-sized drones. A neat little food printer that could convert almost any kind of fresh organic material into trail biscuits. A spotting scope and several pairs of field glasses. A rifle bipod. Behind the flimsy partition that divided the hut in two was a workbench, a tiny sink and a chemical toilet, and a two-seater skimmer, kept in the warmth like all back-country people’s vehicles.
It was a comfortable ten degrees Celsius in the hut and smelled strongly of Mayra Iturriaga, who sat solid as Buddha in filthy much-patched wool shirt and trousers, her coarse grey hair braided into a rope that hung to the small of her back. She told me that she’d pulled all the metal that could be pulled from the spoil heaps, now worked as a hunting guide during the big game season and spent the rest of her time searching for seams of ore that mining company geologists had overlooked. She studied satellite maps and had learned how to dowse. She hadn’t had much luck so far, the land hereabouts was a bitch that hid her secrets well, but it was only a matter of time …
Like all people who lived alone, once she got started talking about herself it was hard to stop her, and although I was vibrating with nerves I did my best to simulate interest. Mayra was playing the good back-country host, but she’d taken possession of my cutlery, her rifle rested within easy reach, and as soon as I’d seen all that gear pegged like trophies to the walls I knew that I’d let myself and the girl walk into a trap. All I could do was pretend that I was taken in by Mayra’s act, drink tea with butter stirred into it, and wait for an opening, a moment of inattention or carelessness.
Now she was telling me that according to word on the skywave net most of the prisoners who’d escaped during the riot had been caught.
‘For a while I was worried they might come this way. An old woman living alone, what could I do against desperate convicts? Luckily, it seems that most of them had the same thought, head north towards what they call civilisation. Which is why they were caught so easily. I expect that the rest will turn up soon. Dead, most likely. Hard to survive out here if you don’t know what you’re doing.’
‘Did they catch a man named Keever Bishop?’
‘I didn’t pay attention to names.’
‘He’s the man who started the riot.’
‘And he’s important to you,’ Mayra said, and for a moment the thing she really was could be seen in her gaze.
‘He’s more dangerous than most. Like I said, the ringleader.’
‘This is your second jailbreak, I believe. If the story that you and your mother escaped from prison is true.’
‘It wasn’t exactly prison. Where did you hear about it?’
‘It’s one of those tales people tell around campfires. I suppose they put you right back in prison after you were caught.’
‘They put me in an orphanage.’
‘Oh, that’s right. Your mother died.’
I didn’t rise to that. You can bet I wanted to punch her square in the mouth, but I knew I had to get her to drop her guard, catch her unawares.
‘And then you took a job in a work camp,’ she said. ‘I would have thought you’d had enough of that kind of thing.’
‘A person has to earn a crust somehow. And the prison service thought my previous experience would be useful.’
‘I’ve seen how huskies are treated in the cities. I guess you hoped it would be better out here.’
No point rising to that, either.
‘But it wasn’t, was it?’ Mayra said. ‘Which is why you took off. Why you’re here.’
‘We’re here because she kidnapped me,’ the girl said, but with no real force. She had realised that this crazy woman wasn’t going to help her.
‘If she rescued you from that riot, sweetie, you should show more gratitude,’ Mayra said.
‘She’s anxious to go home,’ I said.
‘You’ve picked up city habits,’ Mayra said. ‘Working in a prison. Helping to build that goddamned railway … What makes you think you could survive out here?’
‘I’ve managed so far.’
‘You know how I caught you?’
I shrugged. Pretending that it was no big deal. ‘Either you tracked us, or you have some kind of alarm system.’
‘I have cameras fixed up in the old wind farm. Watching the road, letting me know if any kind of trouble is on the way. And I knew exactly when to drop in on you because I have cameras inside Young Old’s cabin, too. What do you think of that?’
I pretended to admire her cleverness, told her it was a neat set-up.
‘I like to know about any visitors before they know about me,’ she said. ‘A person living out here on her own can’
t be too careful.’
‘You seem to be getting along pretty well.’
‘I like my own company and I can mostly live off the land,’ Mayra said. ‘Or I could, until that railway came along, and you people started shooting or scaring off most of the game hereabouts. I’m giving serious thought to moving south. There are plenty of old mines in the Eternity Range, I know I can squeeze metals out of their spoil. All kinds of opportunities out here for a person sharp enough to know how to take advantage.’
‘When we came along you must have thought you’d hit the jackpot.’
‘Oh, I wouldn’t exactly say that.’
‘I don’t know what else you’d call the easy money you’re going to get for returning this girl to her father.’
‘Mm-hmm,’ Mayra said, pretending to think about that for a couple of moments, then changing the subject. ‘I see that you noticed the bow. First thing you looked at when you came in. I’d offer to sell it to you, if you had any money. Or anything to barter.’
Her tone was no longer playful and her gaze had chilled. So much for trying to lull her with flattery. I could feel what was coming like a change in the weather, said as casually as I could, ‘I don’t have much need for a bow. Your skimmer, though, that I could use.’
‘I bet you could.’
A sly little smile lifted one corner of Mayra’s mouth and I felt the full weight of her attention. I knew she was getting ready to make her move and she knew I was getting ready to make mine, but the girl surprised both of us. Bouncing to her feet, declaring that she’d had enough of our stupid games. She crossed the little space in two quick steps, grabbed the rifle. Mayra could have snatched her legs from under her, but all she did was shift very slightly, watching as the girl propped the heavy rifle on her hip and aimed it at me.
‘I want you to tie her up,’ she told Mayra. ‘We’ll wait until it’s light, and then you can take us back to the work camp, and you’ll get your reward.’
‘Will I?’
Mayra was still smiling that damn sly smile.
‘I give you my word.’
‘I’m sure that’s worth something where you come from, sweetie. But not out here.’
‘I have your gun,’ the girl said. ‘So you better do as I say.’
Mayra winked at me, told the girl, ‘Do you really think I’d leave a loaded rifle in reach of this mad bad husky?’
And then, just like that, she was on me. I saw the flash of a knife blade, grabbed her wrist to deflect the thrust, felt a sharp sting in my shoulder as I toppled under her weight. She was straddling my chest and my hands were locked around her wrists, the point of her knife quivering a bare centimetre from my throat as she strained to bring it down, teeth bared, gaze hot and dark and gleeful, and the girl swung the rifle like a club, striking her above the ear and sending her sprawling. I caught the rifle as it swung back at me, jerked it from the girl’s grasp. Mayra was pushing to her hands and knees, blood in her grey hair. Jittery with panic, I reversed the rifle and slammed its butt into the back of her head and she fell flat on her face.
‘I want to go home,’ the girl said, and burst into tears.
I bound Mayra Iturriaga’s wrists and ankles with cord I found in the garage space, tore a strip from a filthy towel and used it to gag her. She was beginning to come round, jerking and kicking, making muffled noises. When she tried to get to her feet I shoved her to the ground, showed her the hunting knife she’d tried to skewer me with, and told her that if she didn’t sit still I’d cut off her clothes and sling her outside. She stayed put, glaring at me as I snapped an orange bracelet around her wrist.
‘I don’t know what fone apps you have,’ I said. ‘And I’m pretty sure that calling the police is the last thing you want to do. But better safe than sorry.’
The knife cut in my shoulder was shallow but bleeding freely, and Mayra’s filthy talons had gouged bloody crescents in my wrists. I cleaned my wounds with handfuls of snow and tore another strip from the towel and had the girl tie it around my shoulder, telling her to make it as tight as she could.
‘You think I’m a monster,’ I said, as I carefully put on my jacket. ‘But I’m nothing compared to our friend here. The stuff on the walls. All that expensive field gear. Where do you think she got it? How do you think she gets by? She stripped all the metals from the spoil long ago, and no one would employ her as a guide, crazy as she is. She’s a hunter, all right, but not just of reindeer.’
The girl looked at the woman sat against the wall under her trophies, arms bound behind her back. ‘Are you saying she killed people?’
‘Some people like to hunt solo in the back country. Bow hunting, spear hunting. Tracking their prey on foot, no drones or heat sights or what have you. Every so often one of those hunters goes missing. Some of them fall into crevasses or are caught in blizzards or avalanches. But not all.’
‘I don’t think so,’ the girl said. ‘Not so close to the work camp.’
‘A year ago the work camp and the railway weren’t here. And I reckon our friend ranges south a fair way. Solo hunters track game in the deep back country, and she tracks them. She wouldn’t be the first. Years back there was a man who snatched several ecopoets from their summer camps. If we dug around, I bet we’d find Young Old’s body someplace,’ I said, meeting Mayra Iturriaga’s unblinking unreadable stare.
The girl said, ‘What happened to the man?’
‘The one who killed ecopoets? He was caught. Spent the rest of his life in prison. Back then, before independence, we didn’t have the death penalty.’
‘What about her?’
‘What about her?’
‘Shouldn’t we do something, if she is what you say she is?’
‘You want me to kill her, is that it? A citizen’s execution style of thing?’
‘Of course not. But you could tell the police where to find her. You could do it, you know, anonymously. So they wouldn’t know it was you.’
‘I could. Except she knows who I am, she knows who you are, and you’re hoping she’ll tell everything to the police. Nice try, but no deal.’
‘You can’t just leave her here.’
‘Of course I can. She’s tied up pretty good. We’ll be long gone by the time she gets free.’
Mayra Iturriaga made a noise that sounded like muffled laughter.
I looked at her, said, ‘Of course, it’ll be a different kind of game if she tries to come after us. Not that she’ll be able to catch up, because we’re taking her skimmer.’
11
If I really was a monster, as some people claim, I would have killed that old woman then and there. Shot her dead or dumped her bound and gagged in the snow and let her freeze to death while I snored in the cozy fug of her hut, untroubled by any pangs of conscience. Instead, because I didn’t want to spend a sleepless night keeping watch on Mayra Iturriaga and the girl in case one or the other tried something foolish, I decided it would be best to move on right away. Reach the refuge, regroup, sort out the girl’s ransom.
It seemed so simple.
I powered up the skimmer and checked its systems, spent a couple of minutes ransacking the hut, looking for anything I could use. Mayra Iturriaga watching me over her gag while I ripped her trophies from the walls, rifled through tools and junk in the little workshop. I found a good all-weather sleeping bag and stuffed the food printer and all the weapons I could find inside it, made a point of breaking the hunting spear over my knee. Childish, I know, but sue me, it felt good. One of the chunks of frozen reindeer meat that hung on the butcher’s gambrel outside the hut went into the sleeping bag too. Aside from tubs of dried beans, a couple of boxes of mouldy oats, a handful of withered onions, and a canister of loose tea and a gritty fist of sugar, there wasn’t much else in the way of food, but I was pretty sure I’d find supplies at the refuge.
I considered putting up a message for Alberto Toomy on the skywave net, but decided to wait until I had squared his daughter away someplace safe. The police would
stop chasing Keever Bishop and start chasing me as soon as I announced that I was the one who’d taken her, and I admit that I liked to imagine Alberto pacing up and down in a handsome office high above the bustling streets of Esperanza, helplessly fretting over what Keever might be planning. I may not have been a monster, but I wasn’t entirely lacking in malice.
Anyway, I stamped Mayra Iturriaga’s radio into shards and splinters, told her that she might want to look for another line of work, and walked the skimmer out of the hut. Shut the door behind me and swung into the saddle and with the girl leaning against my back and clinging to my waist took off into the night.
The skimmer was fairly new and fully charged, and the refuge was no more than fifteen kilometres from Mayra Iturriaga’s lair, but it took us half the night to get there. After following the mining road for a couple of klicks we turned north, heading up a long slope of ice and rock to the Detroit Plateau. The ice was wrinkled and ridged under its blanket of snow, slashed by crevasses. I stopped at the first that looked deep enough, gingerly stepped to the edge, and dumped Mayra’s cutlery into the void. I regretted that later of course, but at the time it seemed to make perfect sense. I was in bad enough trouble without being caught in possession of evidence of who knew how many murders, and it felt like an offering or payment for the good luck I knew I was going to need.
On we went. It would have been sensible to let the skimmer find a way across the treacherous terrain, but I was possessed by a terrible urgency and drove as fast as I dared, using the night-vision app of a pair of goggles synched to the skimmer’s controls. I’d managed to shut down the monotonous complaints of its AI, but several hazard warnings stubbornly blinked in a corner of my vision and the crevasse detector beeped with alarming frequency. I had to divert around all but the smallest fractures, so progress across the top of the plateau was a slow and erratic series of zigs and zags.
Clouds completely covered the night sky and it had begun to snow again, billows of dry pellets blown sideways by gusts sometimes strong enough to rock the skimmer as it roared through the dark. Its open-sided canopy wasn’t much protection from the knifing wind and I’d turned down the under-seat heating to save the batteries, in case there weren’t any viable charging points at our destination. I could feel the girl shivering against my back, but there wasn’t anything I could do about it. I was strung tight, worried that I might have misremembered the location of the refuge or passed way signs without spotting them, or that I’d been turned around by the endless diversions around crevasses and was heading into empty country, and I couldn’t help imagining that Mayra Iturriaga was coming after us on some kind of war steed she’d hidden in the mine, teeth bared to the gale, flourishing that broken spear. But at last I saw a pyramid of loose stones standing on a bare ridge and knew that I was on the right track. Or some kind of track, anyhow.