“You’d think,” Torgussen agreed, his eyes on the magnified dot of light. Watched it vanish as it was eclipsed behind Cap III’s bulk.
“Who in hell uses radio?” Ho wondered. “I mean, that’s right up there with smoke signals. We’re talking ancient.”
Torgussen shot a glance at Benteen. “My advice, Advisor, is that we monitor the situation. Get closer. See if it responds to our radio hail. If it is Corporate, it will recognize our code. If it’s really an alien ship, chances are it will pass our ping off as noise.”
Dortmund glanced at Shanteel Jones, his pulse beginning to race. “So, Doctor, we came to catalog a higher order of life, and perhaps we’re to be the ones to meet the first spacefaring race we’ve ever encountered?”
She swallowed hard. “Leaves you half creep-freaked, doesn’t it, Dort?”
Benteen turned, his cold eyes curiously amused. “Don’t leap where angels fear to tread, Doctor. Alien means just that. They might greet us with open arms, maybe they’ll ignore us completely, or they might shoot a nuke and blow us right out of space.”
“What makes you so suspicious?” Dortmund asked sourly.
“Just who I am, Doc. Just who I am.”
9
No one slept. The implications of the ship orbiting Capella III were overwhelming. It didn’t matter that its locator—or what they assumed to be its locator—was in Corporate code and appeared to be a registration number. Fact was, Vixen had a record of every Corporate registration going back one hundred and fifty years. No such ID had ever been recorded. Nor could a ship of that size have been built, say, by a station, and spaced here. Solar System was too highly regulated. The Corporation controlled everything. Someone would have known.
Since the vessel couldn’t be of human manufacture, the only other viable hypothesis was that it was alien. Humanity had been searching the heavens for centuries in search of another spacefaring culture. Had listened, looked, and tried different detection technologies, and found nothing.
A flurry of hope had built as life was discovered in pockets around the solar system and on several of the planets visited by exploration vessels like Tempest and Vixen. But none had the kind of higher organisms that Tempest had recorded on Donovan. None of the life-forms discovered to date built anything, let alone space ships.
And now a ship orbited that very planet.
Could it be Donovanian? Had Tempest somehow missed the culture that had produced it? Perhaps an underground civilization or something in the seas?
Tamarland Benteen sat back in his chair in the conference room and listened to the science team as they kicked different hypotheses around. All of this was fine, exciting as hell—and if it turned into a first contact with alien spacers, it was sure to gain so much notoriety it would get him killed upon his return to Solar System.
“Might have come from one of the outer planets in the Capella system,” Kobi Sax suggested. “Maybe they noticed Tempest was at Cap III and came to investigate.”
“The outer planets? They’re rocks,” Lea Shimodi responded. “Nothing that could support a spacefaring civilization. Cold, frozen, metal balls. Note the cold and frozen part. Think methane and CO2 snow. That sort of cold.”
“The kind that couldn’t support any kind of life as we currently understand it,” Shanteel Jones countered.
Dr. Weisbacher had been staring pensively at the image of the shining dot where it remained projected on the back wall. “If it does turn out to be alien, we must be very careful. Our own planet’s history is full of cautionary stories of disasters precipitated from a clumsy or arrogant first contact, and that was among fellow humans. Not to mention the diseases.”
“Assuming we have anything in common with them.” Shanteel Jones, like Dortmund, had her eyes on the dot. “We’re making a lot of assumptions that they’ll react like primates. That they’ll be curious. Could be that they’ll react like a hive of bees or a colony of ants. Ignore us completely unless we do something to force them to take notice. We might not even register as meaningful in their realm of perception.”
“That’s hard to swallow.” Lea Shimodi flipped her shoulder-length blond hair back. “Hello! Space ship here! Different beings aboard. Hard to ignore.”
“Again, you’re assuming terrestrial mammalian curiosity,” Jones shot back. “Hive mentality, fish mentality, or bacteria for that matter, perceives the world in an entirely different manner than mammals. Is it food, or not food? Is it dangerous, or not dangerous? If the answer is no on either count, it’s meaningless.”
Sax arched an eyebrow. “Nor is it unreasonable that they see the universe as ‘Us’ and ‘Not Us.’ Anything ‘Not Us’ is no more interesting than a passing rock.”
“Hey, some of us think rocks are pretty damned interesting.” Shimodi crossed her arms and glared.
Tam noticed that Dortmund was absent-eyed, an almost glazed smile on his face. “Doctor? Mind sharing what you’re reviewing on your implants?”
The planetologist waved it off, his hand trembling with excitement. “Making sure we have a recording of everything said. This is one of the greatest moments in human history. We teeter on the verge of the monumental. Every aspect of what we do and say here is going to be studied for centuries.”
Dortmund’s eyes cleared. He looked around the table. “Think, people. Purport yourselves accordingly. Every movement, every thought, must be channeled to this single epic achievement.”
He paused, eyes going glassy again. “Remarkable. Absolutely humbling. Fate has chosen to place us, we few, at this hinge point of the human experience. From this moment forward, everything is going to be different.”
Tamarland fought to keep his expression blank. The fool sounded like he was having a religious epiphany. His face sure beamed the part.
What the hell? Does he think he’s some kind of messiah?
Oh the other hand, if that ship out there really were alien, the God-struck planetologist was right. If and when they ever made it back to Solar System, every tiny detail of this mission was going to be scrutinized with an atomic microscope—especially the people involved.
Oh, sure. Running to avoid having his brain dissected, and what happens? He has to be in the ship that stumbles upon some alien intelligence. Sure it was exciting. How could it not be? But why did it have to happen to him?
10
Dan Wirth stood in the middle of the avenue, thumbs tucked into his belt, feet braced, as he watched the crane lift the heavy chabacho-wood beam. One of Lawson’s crew was at the controls and carefully lowered it into place atop the sawed-stone walls. The workmen called to each other as they eased the ends of the square-hewn beam into the recesses.
The morning was remarkably bright and warm. Dan could smell Donovan’s unique perfumed air. In the distance the faint musical sound of the chime could be heard in the fields beyond the perimeter fence.
He’d slept alone last night. Allison, his woman, had spent the night in her room at The Jewel with a client. Wild One named Rand Kope. The guy had hit town the day before. In exchange for a walnut-sized ruby as red as petrified blood, he’d opted for a whole night.
These days Dan never slept well alone. Hard to say why. It wasn’t jealousy. He hoped that Allison was giving good old Kope the ride of his life. No, it was something about having a warm body beside his. But for a gem that size and quality? Damn straight, he’d deal with the occasional solitary and sleepless night.
And then there was Allison, something different about her. Something he’d started to note a while back. She’d cut back on the drugs, lost that dreamy-eyed ambivalence he’d taken for granted. The woman seemed harder now, more focused.
As long as she kept to her place and threw herself into the sex with that same old vigor, he could care less.
Atop the new building, the workers attacked the chabacho beam with drills. In the background he could hea
r the nail guns as the interior walls were framed.
“I fucking don’t believe it,” Dan whispered to himself. “I’m building a goddamned school. Oh, Father, if only you could see me now. What the hell would you think?”
“Talking to yourself?” a voice asked from behind. “That’s the first sign of a guilty conscience. Ah, but wait, we all know that you’re a murdering, back-stabbing son of a bitch.”
Wirth allowed himself a bitter smile, and turned. “Ah, Officer Trish Monagan. Out and about early, I see. Such dedication to duty. Just knowing that you’re making your rounds, keeping us all safe from ourselves, sends rays of joy beaming through my heart.”
She was giving him that look of absolute loathing that he so loved. Fact was: She had absolutely nothing that could be used as evidence against him, and it drove her clap-trapping crazy.
“What? No reciprocity for such a kind greeting? One would think that you might bear me ill will. And on such a glorious morning. Look at that golden light Capella is bestowing upon us. Such a marvelous day, though I do believe that the light cumulus might portend a shower or two this afternoon.”
“You really leave me sick and disgusted, you piece of shit.”
“Me? Hey, I’m building a school, Officer Monagan. Last I heard, you were out in the bush, escorting your old friend and mentor Perez out to meet and socialize with a marauding quetzal. Why, you should hear the stories! Word is that not only did they have the most amicable of relations, but Perez shared more than a little tongue with the beast.”
He raised hands in mock surrender. “Not that I mind, you understand. My own girls share tongue with some of the most amazing partners. Of course, they charge for it. But then, perhaps Perez and her quetzal are still in the formative stages of their new relationship. It adds to the intrigue, saving more complex lingual explorations for a future date.”
To his absolute delight Monagan almost vibrated with rage. He liked the way her jaw muscles knotted under the smooth skin of her cheeks. Anger added to her complexion, accenting the dusting of freckles on her nose. The young woman’s eyes were now green slits.
“Talina was right. Should have shot you the day you landed.”
“Indeed, and where would Port Authority be today?” He fingered his chin. “Let’s see. Half the town would be out of work. Not just because of my new house, but there’s the addition on the rear of Betty Able’s. And wait, didn’t I loan Inga Lock the money to build her new cafeteria? Not to mention the Turalon exiles I hid. You know, the ones who’d have been rounded up and spaced back to Solar System and near certain death. Can we count the hours of entertainment I provide not just the locals, but those hardy souls who come for R&R from Corporate Mine? Oh, and there’s the prospectors I’ve grubstaked. The civic improvements I’ve covered out of my own pocket.”
He smiled, gestured grandly, and added, “And let’s not forget what rises before your eyes: a school. A real academy. Can’t believe Shig and Yvette let those poor kids attend class in that old leaky duraplast dome for as long as they did.”
Trish was shaking her head. “It’s a scam. All of it. Camouflage. You’re a predator, Wirth.”
He kept his winning smile in place, all the while wondering what it would feel like to place his hands around her firm young throat and squeeze. Watch those green eyes go wide. Feel her blood pulsing against his hands as he choked the life out of her. They always thrashed. That was part of the joy. Then the pupils would go wide, the gaze unfocused. The thrashing would weaken into twitches, and the lungs would stop pumping.
“What?” she asked suspiciously, obviously seeing something in his expression.
“Permutations of another time and space. Call it visions of an alternate reality. That’s the thing about the multiverse. We never know what’s limited only to this universe, and which fantasies might be playing out in a dimension parallel to this one.”
Her lips twitched. “Yeah. I’m enjoying fantasies of my own right now. Right in the center of my pistol sights as I gently press on the trigger.”
“Beware, Officer. Others have considered what you have just described. It might just be the curious laws of the universe, but I’m still here, and they are not.”
“Yeah, yeah,” she told him, hand resting suggestively on her pistol. “Just out of the goodness of my heart, I’ll tell you how it is: One of these days, I’m going to take you down. But when I do, it will be because I’ve got you dead to rights. Talina made me swear I had to do it that way after we rid ourselves of Clemenceau.”
“Police and their rules. Almost makes me pity you. Almost.” His plastic smile still in place, he gave her a salute. “Have a most pleasant day, Officer.”
He watched her walk off, back straight, the mad virtually leaking out of every pore.
“Everything okay, boss?” Art Maniken asked, appearing at Dan’s side as if by magic.
“Just a friendly chat with Officer Monagan. The officious little slit stopped by to share her hatred. I feel for her, got all that impotent rage bottled up on the inside and no way to let it out.”
“You watch her, boss. We get careless, and one of these days she’s gonna get something on us that’ll stick.”
“Maybe.” Dan waved at the school. “Moves and countermoves. That’s all that politics is. We’re past the tough part. The casino’s paying, we’ve got an interest in Betty Able’s, got liens on half the property in Port Authority, and interest in the oil wells and half the small mining claims.
“Now we’re building a school. And it’s defensible. The sweet kiddies can learn in a safe and secure environment. You see, it’s always the family types you gotta worry about. Those self-righteous, holier-than-thou housewives and their glassy-eyed creed of family before all. Those women? The ones like Sian Hmong? Amal Oshanti? Friga Dushku and Dya Simonov? They’re the really dangerous ones.”
“I’d put my money on Talina Perez, Supervisor Aguila, and Trish Monagan. They’ve proven that they’d kill you without looking sidelong at you first, boss. And you saw Perez take down Deb Spiro. You ask me, there ain’t a more deadly person on this planet.”
“Think, Art. You want to survive in this world, you’ve got to pay attention. Talina Perez was like a god. Everyone’s hero. The woman who shot Supervisor Clemenceau. The woman who saved countless lives and shot down how many quetzals? She faced down Aguila and survived for weeks lost in the bush. A walking, fucking saint.” He lifted a finger. “Right up until the moment she protected that half-pint quetzal in the hospital. She lost it all the moment she took on those housewives about getting rid of the freaky little beast.”
“Still, Perez and Aguila—”
“Bah! Them I can deal with. They know the game. When to act, and when to back off. No, it’s the housewives and that toilet-sucking dedication to their bratty little kids. They think there’s a threat to their happy little community? That some action is putting their precious families at risk? Threaten to harm a hair on their little rug-crawling darling’s head? That’s when they march down the street in righteous indignation, pick up the pitchforks, and goad their lazy husbands and the government into stringing a guy up by his balls.”
Dan shook his head in weary acceptance. “While we’re worrying about Perez, Aguila, and Monagan, those bitches are braiding a hangman’s noose and building a scaffold. Next thing you and me know? We’re swinging in the wind while they’re clapping the dust off their hands as a job well done.”
“But, boss—”
“Never, ever, threaten a mother’s children or her happy house. In that order of priority.” He gave Art a forced smile. “Which is why we’re building a fucking school. Puts us on a whole new footing with ‘the families.’”
“You really think this will work?”
“Well, if it doesn’t, I guess the next thing we’re building is a nursery. And if that doesn’t do it, what? A prenatal center?”
Maniken studied the dressed-stone walls. Atop them, Hofer was directing his workmen as they began screwing lag bolts into the heavy beam. “I heard you’re paying Hofer a fortune to build this thing.”
Dan chuckled, slapping his muscular enforcer on the shoulder and turning him toward The Jewel. “It’s not costing me a cent. That’s the thing about Hofer. I can pay him any damn thing I want to. He’s the horniest guy on the planet. And he’s so damn hard to deal with, the only women on Donovan who’ll put up with him are the whores. That means that every single SDR I put in his pocket is headed right back into mine, either from the gaming tables or what he pays the girls.”
“You’re a clever man, boss.”
“Damn straight.” And while he might have dismissed Talina Perez as a threat in Art’s presence, fact was, he’d had all of his people dropping bits of poison in the well.
And bless Perez for the fool she was, having that holovid of her letting that quetzal stick its tongue in her mouth was like sharpening the very knife he was going to use to slit her throat.
11
The damn dream possessed her. Back in her mother’s kitchen in Chiapas. Talina had been maybe five or six. She could still see the heavy kitchen table, the wood dark, worn with age. She could smell the odors of chili, recado, and cilantro. Red Saltillo tiles covered the floor.
And there had been the beautiful bowl. Freshly excavated from some Mayan lord’s ninth-century tomb. The ceramic vessel had been left by his head, its sides decorated with images that celebrated the resurrection of One-Hunahpu and the defeat of the Xibalban Lords of Death who had cut off his head and hung his skull in a calabash tree.
Beautiful. Priceless. A stunning find that her mother had taken home to better record prior to curation in the museum.
Talina could see it as clearly as she had that day she’d reached up, wanting to touch and hold the beautifully painted bowl. So light, the colors so brilliant. She could feel her fingers slipping along the smooth surface, feel the pot slide away from her grasp. Toppling off the end of the table, it fell . . .
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