Dya’s lips flattened into a line, sudden frost in her blue gaze. Talina fought the impulse to wince. Once, long ago, she’d shot Dya Simonov’s husband down just like that. On someone else’s orders. She’d tormented herself over it ever since.
Turnienko said, “Tal? We’ll keep an eye on you. We promise. Half the population tests positive for TriNA in the blood. We’re going to have to deal with this, figure out what it means.”
“I think what we’ve just seen is a big chunk of the puzzle.” Dya was still studying Tal through veiled eyes.
“And, by luck of the draw, you’re the guinea pig,” Cheng chirped happily. “I’ve got faith in you, Talina.”
But from the expression on Dya’s face, it sure wasn’t unanimous.
7
Inga’s tavern, officially named The Bloody Drink, served as the heart and social center of Port Authority. Originally it had been contained in a dome, but as the establishment needed space, and being on a mining planet, the room had been expanded underground. Now a section of the west wall was tarped off where another excavation was chunking out the heavy clay soil to create additional room for a kitchen. The canny Inga Lock was adding hot-cooked food to entice her patrons.
Not that it would put Millicent Graves and the cafeteria out of business, but it offered another option to the locals, and would certainly pay Inga for the time, effort, and cost of the expansion.
Talina wearily descended the wooden stairs that led to the stone-paved floor. She’d have her drink in hopes it would cleanse the bitter taste from her mouth. After that she was headed home to make up for the sleep she’d missed the night before.
Lines of chabacho-wood tables, benches, and chairs were occupied, showing that Inga was doing a booming business. But then the shuttle from Corporate Mine had landed no more than a half an hour previously and disgorged its crew to enjoy the benefits of four days in PA.
As Talina’s boots rapped out on the wooden steps, people turned. The hubbub in the room stilled, all eyes turning her way. She could feel the change in mood.
Shifting the rifle on her shoulder, she glanced at the familiar faces, not sure of the expressions. Some wary, others perplexed. More than one suspicious. Still others were almost hostile.
That latter sent a jolt through her, and her quetzal shivered against her backbone.
She nodded cautiously to the few who muttered a greeting or tipped a hat her way. And the unforgotten feeling returned to settle like a weight on her shoulders. She’d seen this, felt this lack of trust before. Back when she was Clemenceau’s enforcer.
The old familiar unease tickled along her spine as she strolled down the aisle, her eyes automatically scanning for threats. Her vision was sharpening, edging into the ultraviolet and infrared. Every sound came to her ears in crystalline clarity.
“. . . not the same anymore.”
“How the hell can we trust a woman that tight with a fucking quetzal?”
“The thing had its tongue in her mouth, for God’s sake.”
Heart pounding, Talina kept her expression flat as she reached the front of the room and turned toward her chair. Of course they didn’t understand. But, damn it, these were her people. The ones she’d fought and bled for. That they didn’t trust her? That was like an iced blade through the heart.
And she knew the moment it had happened. She’d protected Rocket—helped the little quetzal make his escape. And then she’d shot Deb Spiro down in the street. Not that Spiro was particularly beloved. People wanted her gone. It was the way Tal had done it. Like magic.
And worse, someone was sitting on her stool at the end of the bar. A wry smile came with recognition as she strode up.
She told the scarred woman in the black pantsuit, “Your ass is in my fucking chair.”
Corporate Supervisor Kalico Aguila pulled her thick black hair back. A tracery of pink scars crisscrossed the delicate skin on her hand as she did so. Then the woman shot Talina a sidelong glance through crystal-blue eyes. “So, who is it, exactly, that you fuck in this chair? Most of us reserve a bed for that.”
“You gonna move, or am I going to move you? It’s really not the right day for witty repartee.”
“So I’ve heard.” Kalico slipped out of the chair and into the next, pulling her glass of wine across the marred surface of the bar. Talina had made most of those dents, generally pounding on the chabacho wood with her pistol butt to get the room’s attention during some meeting.
Talina lowered her rifle to rest on the floor with the muzzle against the bar and seated herself, calling, “Inga! Whiskey backed by stout, please.”
“You got it, Tal!” the buxom blond bartender called back and reached for the blown-glass mug she reserved for Talina.
“So. Had an intimate encounter with a quetzal this morning, I hear.” Kalico glanced back at the room where conversation was slowly returning to normal. “Far be it from me to tell you how to run your affairs, Tal, but you’d have made a lot more people happy if you’d just shot the damn thing. Some are starting to wonder which side you’re on.”
“That’s too absurd to even dignify.” She took the glass and mug Inga handed her, asking, “How’s my credit?”
“You’re still up by ten and a half, Tal.” And, slapping a towel over her shoulder, Inga started back down the bar to where Hofer was bellowing for whiskey.
Talina took a big swig of the amber saint. Not one of Inga’s best barrels. In relief, she swished it back and forth around her mouth. Thought better of throwing her head back and gargling, and choked it down. Then she enjoyed her first sip of the rich black beer.
Kalico watched, amusement writ large, then added, “So what really happened today?”
“That quetzal, Whitey’s what they’re calling him, came for an exchange of molecules. Once he had it, he left. Apparently headed back to the deep bush. What he learned? What it all means? I don’t have a clue. Nor does Raya, Dya, and Cheng. What did happen was an encounter, in the bush, and nobody died. Call that a first.”
Kalico fingered one of the long scars running down the length of her jaw. “Lot of hatred for quetzals around here.”
“It’s a cliché to call it a big misunderstanding. To insist that when that first quetzal ate Donovan, it was a FUBARed attempt at first contact. That we’re going to make a breakthrough and discover that all this blood, death, and hatred was a mistake, that we can live side-by-side in peace and harmony.”
“You really buy that?”
“No pissing way. Too friggin’ simple. If—and I say it’s a big flipping if—we can ever figure out the molecular language, we’re going to be looking at layers upon layers of complexity. Think about how long it took us to figure how to talk to a bottle-nosed dolphin. Then throw individual motives, passion, and self-interest into the mix, and there’s going to be no singing ‘Coming Together Under the Bower’ moment of eternal human-quetzal brotherhood and bliss.”
Kalico laughed. “Please, control yourself. I can’t stand the starry-eyed optimism.”
Talina took another shot of the whiskey. Enjoyed it as it hit her stomach like a warm balm and momentarily displaced the dominating presence of her asshole quetzal. And thank God she wasn’t having flashbacks of that damned Mayan pot. That had been the worst day of her young life.
“So, how are things at Corporate Mine?”
Kalico smiled thinly, the action rearranging the pink scars on her cheeks. “Forest’s stopped for the time being. Farm’s producing. Mine’s operating at sixty percent efficiency. We could be pumping out more, but the smelter’s the bottleneck. If we had the power, we’d be running it twenty-five point five hours a day.”
“Notice that you’ve brokered a peace with Dan Wirth. You and he come to terms?”
“I think they coined the phrase way back in the twentieth century: mutually assured destruction. Like two tigers we circle each other, kn
owing if we ever went at it, that whoever survived, it wouldn’t be worth the mauling it would take to win.” Kalico made a face. “But he’s still got someone inside. Someone close to me and clever enough I haven’t figured out his or her identity.”
“I should have shot good ol’ Dan the day he stepped off the shuttle from Turalon.”
“That was then. This is now.”
Talina ran fingers down the sides of her whiskey glass, remembering the day Dan Wirth first set foot on Donovan, how Capella’s sunlight gleamed on his recently shaved scalp. “True. Smart bastard that he is, he’s funding public works. Hired a crew to demolish the old education dome and build a better academy for the kids. Says that after he builds a school, he wants to build a real courthouse, codify a legal system.”
Kalico gave a derisive snort. “One that he controls.”
“That’s the thing about corruption. He’s putting enough back into the community that he’s managed to build a fair amount of good will. Even Shig and Yvette are mollified for the moment.”
Kalico sipped her wine, gaze unfocused. “The cunning of the psychopath. He’s absolutely brilliant when it comes to playing the game. He knows just how far he can push your libertarian values and how to use them against you. Master that he is, he’s woven himself into the fabric of Port Authority. You’re the only person who could remove him.”
“I’d have to shoot him to do it.”
“That’s right. But if you’re going to, don’t take too long.” Kalico hooked a thumb in the direction of the other patrons. “They’re not behind you like they once were. Your purity has been tainted by quetzal. You might still be a legend, but you’ve become an unpredictable one. And all the things that make you great? All the stories and deeds? Walking out of the forest with Cap Taggart when you should have died? Sticking up for that little quetzal? Felicity’s death? Even shooting Deb Spiro when she had you dead to rights? Is that because you’re really a hero? Or did you sell your soul to the devil?”
“That’s nucking futz.”
“Is it? In another age, back on Earth, they’d have branded you a witch. Burned you at the stake. Called that quetzal in your guts ‘demonic possession.’”
Talina washed her distaste down with another swig from the whiskey as Kalico added, “It’s not the same world as it was the day when Turalon landed. A whole new social dynamic has evolved with the Turalon people. The population’s doubled. New folks, like Dan Wirth, have unbalanced the old status quo. New fears—especially after Freelander’s arrival—now prey on the peoples’ peace of mind. And into that mix, you declare that you’ve got a quetzal inside you, and then you start sticking up for the beasts instead of killing them.”
“So you think I’m turning into a social leper?”
“Not yet. But if I could give you a warning? Be careful.”
“Uh huh.” Talina squinted at her now-empty whiskey glass. “I was there at Mundo Base. Didn’t believe it at first, either, but that little quetzal, Rocket, was bonded to Kylee Simonov. And when Lieutenant Spiro shot it, she killed Kylee, too.”
“Thought Kylee was still alive down there, living in the forest with the quetzals.”
“Maybe. Not sure I’d want to make a serious wager about that. But alive or dead, Rocket’s death broke that little girl’s mind. Left her catatonic. Think it through. For all those years the people at Mundo lived peacefully without a single quetzal attack. The day they threw us out the quetzals ate two people. Kylee told Dya and me, ‘The experiment is over.’”
“Yeah, Dya told me the same thing. Did you know that every night when she leaves the hospital, she checks with Two Spot to ask if Kylee called in? She’s still convinced her kid’s going to walk out of the forest someday and call on that radio we left.”
“Poor woman almost breaks into tears at the mention of Mundo and quetzals. Blames herself. As if it were somehow her failure. But hey, I was there. The kid was broken. Nothing Dya could have done.”
Kalico shrugged. “The day Kylee calls on that radio, I’ll start believing in miracles again.”
Talina took a big swallow of her stout. The first soothing fingers of the alcohol were massaging her brain. What a day.
“They wouldn’t turn on me,” Talina muttered to herself. “As much as I’ve done for them? Hauled their asses outta the bush when they were hurt? Fought their fights for them?”
“People change,” Kalico said wryly. “A year ago would you have said that you and I could sit here over a friendly drink? Remember me? I’m the cold-assed bitch who was going to put you up against a wall and have you shot as a common criminal.”
People change.
Down in her gut, Talina’s quetzal curled and chattered in that irritating manner that indicated that the little demon was just biding his time.
8
The call had come in the middle of Dortmund’s sleep cycle. Just Captain Torgussen’s calmly worded announcement through the com: “Attention, please. Scientific personnel are requested to assemble in the conference room in fifteen minutes. We have an important development that requires your analysis.”
Dortmund stumbled out of his bunk, the lights blinding him as they illuminated the cramped room. At least he had it to himself. Little more than a closet, the quarters were anything but plush, and served only as sleeping space.
He pulled on coveralls, slipped his feet into shoes, and passed the hatch to the main corridor. Climbing up a deck, Dortmund struggled to pull his dream-scattered wits together.
In the conference room he found Captain Torgussen and First Officer Vacquillas, each standing with a cup of coffee in hand and staring across the table at a holo projection that covered the far wall.
“What have we got?” Dortmund asked as he yawned.
Before the captain could reply, Shimodi, Sax, and Jones came stumbling in, hair in disarray, robes tied around their bodies.
“We’ll wait for the Advisor,” Torgussen said, narrowed eyes on the holo. “No sense in telling this more than once.”
“Telling what?” Benteen asked as he appeared in the doorway.
To Dortmund’s disgust, the man was fully dressed, looked completely alert, not a hair out of place.
The Advisor stepped up beside Torgussen to stare at the holo. “What are we seeing?”
Torgussen reached out, using his finger to indicate an area that began to expand. A faint dot of light grew brighter, larger, and finally morphed into a planet, its circumference marked by the darker line of the terminator. To its right, a smaller dot, white, could be seen.
“That’s Cap III,” Torgussen began. “To the right is its moon. Now, watch.”
Again the image expanded in zoom. The faint outlines of continents, seas, white patches of clouds could be seen on the dayside. The moon finally zoomed out of frame. Another small dot, faint, gleaming, could be seen hanging just above the planet’s surface.
“Looks like a station,” Benteen said.
“Does, doesn’t it?” Torgussen agreed. “We’re at the extent of our optics, people.” He indicated the gleaming dot. “That’s not in Tempest’s report. Whatever it is it’s orbiting the planet. A station? Some sort of satellite? Hard to say. From the trig, we estimate it’s about five kilometers in diameter.”
“Any emissions?” Lea Shimodi asked.
“We tried a photonic hail,” Vacquillas told her. “No response. Ho thinks he’s getting a very weak radio signal; he’s retuning the survey array toward it as we speak.”
“Asteroid?” Shimodi wondered. “There’s a lot of junk in this system.”
“But it’s a couple more AUs out,” Torgussen reminded. “And what are the chances that Cap III could have captured an asteroid in a perfect orbit just in the short time since Tempest was here?”
“If you will excuse me,” Dortmund said. “As fascinating as an asteroid might be, I don’t see why, with
the exception of Doctor Shimodi, you needed to wake me from a—”
“Captain!” Wan Chung Ho’s face formed on the holo. The man’s eyes were gleaming with excitement, a curious smile on his small mouth. “I’ve got the whole array targeted on that satellite. Sir, it’s no satellite. It’s a ship!”
The implications were too stunning to believe.
“Whose?” Torgussen said, voice choked. “I mean, dear God, humans are the only spacefaring life we’ve ever . . .”
“You mean someone else is here? Another spacefaring race?” Vacquillas gaped at the image. “And we’re going to be the ones to make that first contact?”
In the holo, Ho’s expression displayed his sudden unease. “Look, I don’t know what the hell this means. I’ve got a locator beacon.”
“What do you mean, a location beacon?” Torgussen demanded. “Photonic?”
“No, sir. Not photonic. Not hyperlink or microgravity. It’s a radio frequency.”
“And?”
“And I’ve sent a query, sir.” Ho made a face. “It’s traveling speed of light, so it will be a couple of days before it pings the target and we get a reply.”
“I don’t understand,” Benteen snapped. “What’s this mean?”
Shimodi faced him. “Tempest didn’t record any ship in orbit. It’s not ours. If it’s not ours, not human, it has to belong to another spacefaring species. Some sort of life-forms that we’ve never encountered.”
“Um, Doctor Shimodi?” Ho interrupted. “That’s what doesn’t make sense.”
“Explain,” Benteen asked irritably.
“Well, we won’t know for a couple of days yet, but I think it’s from Solar System.” Ho looked uneasy.
“Why?” Torgussen asked.
“Well, if it’s aliens, they’re using the same kind of locator ID we do in Solar System. I mean, it reads the same as a Corporate ID, but, sir, there’s no such ship listed in the catalog.”
Vacquillas lifted a curious brow. “If it was Corporate, it would have responded to a photonic or hyperlink hail, wouldn’t it?”
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