Pariah

by W. Michael Gear

  Pus in a bucket, but I’m tired of feeling fragmented.

  If she could only put herself together again. She reached under the dash in the aircar and retrieved her bottle. It felt like that kind of a night.

  Turning, she made her way to the dome and stepped inside, taking a moment for her eyes to adjust after the darkness.

  At the table, Weisbacher sat, head in his hands. The guy looked like all the stuffing had been kicked out of him. Talina locked the door, racked her rifle, and shrugged out of her poncho.

  Padding back, she checked to see that Kylee was asleep. They’d rolled out their bedrolls on the stripped beds. Weisbacher was relegated to the dormitory out back. They’d found clean bedding and assigned him to a bunk before Talina made a supper of dried peppers, beans, and cabbage. Hardly epicurean, but better than empty bellies.

  Kylee had done the dishes.

  Taking down a glass and pulling out a chair, Talina settled herself across from Weisbacher. “You drink?”

  He looked up, brown eyes dull. They sharpened at sight of the bottle. “Where’d you find that?”

  “My special stock. One of Inga’s better barrels. Get your own glass.”

  Weisbacher moved with unusual alacrity to retrieve a tumbler, watched her pour. “Am I going to regret this?” He lifted the amber liquid, holding it up to stare skeptically at it in the overhead light.

  “Probably. But that’s the way with most things in life.” She clinked his glass and took a swig. “Shit on a shoe, I needed that.”

  Weisbacher carefully sipped, worked his mouth, and said, “Not at all like I expected.”

  “Are you always so pessimistic?” Talina leaned back in her chair, pulled up her leg, and propped her foot on a second chair.

  The man’s lips pursed, gaze seeing into a distance beyond the battered table and his glass of whiskey. “I just keep reeling. Wondering what the next blow is going to be. How this could have happened to me, of all people?”

  “Ah, there it is: You, of all people? It’s always refreshing to know that the universe reserves special treatment for an elite few like yourself. Too bad the rest of us didn’t make the grade.”

  “I meant as a conservationist and a professor.”

  “Right. Silly of me to have missed that. So, tell me. I’m a little hazy on this whole conservationist, evolutionist thing. That was settled before my time. But as I recall, each of the re-wilded areas, they were supposed to be like living museums, right? Areas kept pristine like they were before humanity showed up on the scene and screwed it all up.”

  “It was the best way to save the planet. The climate just kept deteriorating. Sure, atmospheric carbon scrubbing was showing ever greater promise, and solar shielding was lowering the amount of energy trapped by the greenhouse gasses, but we had to heal the biosphere. Reestablished biomes had a better chance of rebuilding soils, generating O2. And there was the wealth of animal life, the remarkable variability. Tell me that wasn’t worth fighting for.”

  “If memory serves, it didn’t take more than a decade after Vixen vanished before they were declared failures. Either they required too many resources and too much labor—to the point that everything was being managed down to the soil organisms—or there just wasn’t any way to keep the systems going. Life just kept adapting, hybridizing. In the end, even most of the conservationists threw up their hands.”

  “Really? Or is that just official propaganda? Radcek’s? A justification for the rape and exploitation of those areas?”

  “I haven’t a clue. Not my battleground. The consensus when I went to school, and what I saw of the re-wilded areas in Central America, was that adaptation was taking its own path. Mom took me to Georgia and Tennessee once. We were there to see the parrots and macaws that were living in the Appalachians. Just so we could know what they were like a millennia ago when the Maya kept them for their feathers. Extinct in Chiapas, thriving in eastern Tennessee.”

  “But not everything made it?”

  “No. It was the diseases more than anything. I remember that rinderpest and hoof-and-mouth really hit the North American Great Plains reserves. All the public herds of sacred ‘genetically pure’ bison, elk, and deer, along with the cloned mammoths, sloths, and camels, were wiped out. They spent billions of SDRs trying to figure out how to vaccinate all those bison. Couldn’t do it fast enough. Skeletons everywhere. So the grass and invasive weeds grew, and then it all caught fire and burned. It’s back to commercial property now.”

  “That makes no sense.”

  “I was taught that as the number of species in an unmanaged area increases, then the management protocol and possibility for unintended consequences rises exponentially.” She sipped again. “Something about life always looks for a new way to express itself. Just like our constant battle against diseases. They are constantly adapting in ways you either didn’t expect, or didn’t want them to.”

  “Evolutionists were relying on that tired argument even when I was crushing them under my feet with real data.”

  “No ego there, huh, Doc?”

  “You’re what? A security officer? An official head-breaker and enforcer?”

  “Don’t pull that appeal-to-authority shit. Not here. Not with me. ’Cause here’s how I read it: You shipped off to Donovan, all set to make a conservationist haven. But, damn, you got here fifty years too late. Now, here you are, adrift in the Donovanian bush, and you blush when you have to pee outside.”

  “Don’t take that condescending tone with me. I had my first PhD by the time I was twenty.”

  She snapped her fingers, causing him to start. “Wake up. That’s right. Listen, soft meat. Hear what I have to say, and hammer it into that crap-filled head of yours. The evolutionists were right. It’s about survival, and you’re up to your ass in the real world. We’re not winning here. Donovan is.”

  “Winning how?”

  “Kylee and me? We’re out here because we’re full of quetzal TriNA. The reason this base is abandoned? It’s because too many people out here in the bush were eaten. Donovan isn’t the victim you think it is in your morality play about humanity, Doc. It’s fighting back, so maybe you’d better get an updated playlist and figure out that your PhDs and conservationist crusade aren’t worth shit out here.”

  His stare grew more distant, and he licked his lips. “Just don’t want to see us ruin another world.”

  “Maybe we didn’t ruin Earth. Maybe the evolutionists are right, and humans were generated by and remain part of the ecology even as they change it. It’s just another phase of evolution. But here’s the thing: We need to figure out what it means to have Donovanian TriNA in our systems, what it’s doing to our brains.”

  He smiled for the first time, took another sip of his whiskey. “If that’s true, Donovan might make my argument for me. Keep away. Get too close, and you’re infected.”

  “Too late.”

  “What do you mean, too late?”

  “Turalon spaced back with no less than thirty people testing positive for Donovanian molecules in their blood and tissues, and there’s no telling how many were infected that returned to Solar System long before that.”

  She gave him a deadly smile. “So, Doc. The milk is spilt, the bullet is fired, and the eggs are broken. And that tells me that the evolutionists were right all along: it’s all about organisms adapting to new environments and the devil take the hindmost.”

  He studied her thoughtfully. “You have no idea how much I’d like to have you back in Transluna. I’d lock you and that little urchin into a quarantine facility and take you apart molecule by molecule as proof of Radcek’s crimes against humanity and nature.”

  48

  Dan Wirth made a face as he stepped through Inga’s double doors and stopped at the top of the landing. Fact was he would just as soon never set foot in this place. It had been the site of too many of his mos
t ignominious moments. Like the time the three Turalon deserters had humiliated him over the Damitiri scandal, only to have that slit Aguila very publicly swipe them from under his nose.

  Shit like that caused men like him to have to build schools to keep the locals at least slightly on his side.

  Today Inga’s was moderately full, people trickling in as their work day was coming to a close. Most of the “decent folk,” of course, were headed home to cook their suppers and share family time. Others were headed for Millie’s cafeteria, though a substantial part of her business was now flocking to Inga’s for more adventurous fare and the chance to drink something alcoholic with their meal.

  All in all, maybe fifty or sixty people were clustered around the tables or placing orders at the bar or kitchen.

  And yes, there he was. Sitting at the right end of the bar, back to Dan. There was no mistaking the stature, let alone the wild mop of unruly black hair, the sides tinged with gray.

  Dan descended the stairs, adopting the old arrogant swing of his feet, thumbs tucked in the side of his belt with his pistol stuck through in a jaunty angle near the buckle. He kept his expression hard, eyes narrowed, jaw out. After all, presentation was everything. Besides, he was still raging over burying Art.

  He ignored the looks he got along with the occasional greeting called by one of his regulars and made his way straight to the spot beside Shig Mosadek.

  Two Spot Smith—on a rare break from the radio room—perched on the stool next to Shig and raised startled brows as Dan tapped him on the shoulder. “Hope you don’t mind. Got business with Shig. Have a nice day and don’t let the door hit you in the ass on the way out.”

  Two Spot nodded, Adam’s apple lurching up and down in his skinny throat as he piled off the chair and beat a hasty retreat.

  Dan clambered up, stared down the bar at Inga, and flicked his fingers at the whiskey keg. She nodded, something smoldering behind her hard blue eyes.

  “You do amaze me sometimes,” Shig told him mildly, fingers wrapped around his half-glass of wine. “That gentle diplomatic approach you have toward other human beings forever impresses me as a model of eloquence.”

  “I’m not in the mood for eloquence. This is more of a hit-them-in-the-head-with-a-keen-bitted-ax kind of day. Which means I’m coming right to the point: Benteen’s got you and Yvette in his sights. He thinks he just put me in my place—not that he has by a damn sight—and he’s figuring to take out you two next.”

  “I see.”

  “Good. You’re warned.” Dan tossed a ten-SDR coin onto the bar and made a “keep the change” gesture with his fingers. Inga was another person he had to have on his side. She was the only source of good alcohol on the planet. Lots of the locals made their own hooch in tubs, buckets, and jugs, but Inga’s was quality.

  “I was sorry to hear about Art.” Shig gave a lift of his shoulders. “Not that he was necessarily one of the community’s shining assets, but because of the implications. Which leads me to ask: What is Benteen’s intent toward your businesses?”

  “He says he’s not interested, that I can keep doing what I’m doing. Knowing the slimy Corporate kind of creature that he is, that tells me he figures that after he takes over, I work for him. I think he refers to me as a menial.”

  “I see.” Shig toyed with his wineglass, eyes distant.

  “You don’t seem to be getting what I’m telling you.”

  “Of course I do. And it’s a mark of your concern that you came to warn me. Not concern for my person, but rather for the nature of the threat Mr. Benteen presents to Port Authority. I’m not used to seeing you rattled in this manner.”

  “You didn’t see him with Art yesterday. Never seen anyone move like that. Well, maybe Perez the day she shot Deb Spiro. One second Art’s standing, ready to show the guy the door. The next Benteen’s cold-cocked Art with a pistol. And Art’s out of it. Quicker than I can snap my fingers.”

  “Implants. Must be.”

  “That would explain last night. Listen, Art had a beef. Benteen made him look small. So Art hangs out in The Jewel, catches Benteen coming out of the john. Allison and the girls say it was like Benteen was playacting. Ducks every swing. Doesn’t even seem to be trying. And then Benteen kills Art. Neat, quick, no muss or fuss.”

  “Implants,” Shig repeated. “He was, after all, a Corporate assassin in cahoots with one of the most bloodthirsty Boardmembers in history. The only reason Artollia Shayne was defeated was because Radcek was even more ruthless.”

  “Hello! Shig? You in there? You hearing what you’re saying? Bloodthirsty? Ruthless? Right here in Port Authority? And didn’t I mention something about you and Yvette being next?”

  The guy seemed to miss the guts of the message, noting instead, “I thought you wanted to take over eventually as the big dog. Step into the spotlight as the central figure. Assume the mantle of leadership.”

  “You and Yvette do fine.”

  Shig turned a curious glance Dan’s way and arched a questioning eyebrow.

  Dan laughed. “Whoever said a psychopath couldn’t be smart? Yeah, I’m building a fucking school for the carpet crawlers. Do you think I like doing that shit? How about sweating the small details of contracts like Yvette spends her days doing? Filing papers? Dealing with the likes of Friga Dushku on a daily basis? Filling orders for Corporate Mine?”

  Dan shook his head. “Fuck that. Here’s the thing: I’m where I want to be. Nothing happens here that I’m not part of. Got a nice operation. Nicer than that shithead Benteen could guess. I’ve got the refinery, an interest in half the local mining claims, and I’m carrying loans for a bunch of people. Do I want to muck that all up by having to go to work herding a bunch of the local folk?”

  “Once again, Dan, you leave me speechless, if not a little amused.”

  “Yeah, well, happy to be entertaining, but Benteen’s for real. Heard he terrified Trish today.”

  Shig lifted his wine. Dan wasn’t certain if he took a tiny sip or just let it touch his lips.

  Shig replaced the glass on the bar and asked, “I thought you didn’t approve of Officer Monagan.”

  “Damn straight. She’s a fricking pain.” Dan used his index finger to emphasize the point. “Here’s the thing: In her eyes, I’m not shit on her shoe. We’re locked in a game, her and me. She just knows she’s gonna bust my ass for something. I know I’m smart enough that the kid doesn’t stand a chance. A fact that entertains me to no end. That doesn’t mean that Benteen can go around treating her like he did.”

  Shig chuckled under his breath, a twinkle of disbelief in his brown eyes.

  “What?” Dan demanded.

  “Understanding is such a rare gift.”

  “Yeah, and I wish you’d get some. Calling Benteen the scorpion isn’t a joke. It’s a statement of fucking fact. He paid for that moniker with other people’s pain and sorrow. So how about you and Yvette and me putting our heads together, we can come up with something.”

  “What would you suggest?”

  “Ambush. Trish is supposed to be the best shot on the planet. Maybe post her on top of one of the buildings along the avenue. Then you send a message to The Jewel. Something about ‘We give up. PA’s yours. Come at noon and we’ll hand it over.’ Then as he walks past, Bam!”

  “That would indeed be pragmatic.”

  “Tell me you’re not thinking of something more complicated. You gotta trust me on this. He’s not the kind you can try and out-game. I get the feeling he’s two jumps ahead before you’ve even thought it.”

  “Most likely.” Shig rocked his glass thoughtfully on its base, eyes on the wine coating the inside of the glass. “He didn’t rise to become Shayne’s lover and partner without having the necessary skill set that made him competitive in one of the most Byzantine political arenas ever.”

  “I don’t believe this. You’re discussing
this guy like he’s a history lesson. Maybe you ought to accompany me down to my place and sit face-to-face with the fucker for a while. Have a chance to really scare the shit out of yourself.”

  “I did actually. When he stepped off the shuttle. I told him everything he needed to know to survive.”

  Dan blinked, rubbed his eyes. “Why do I think I could get better results by beating myself in the head with a brick? Shig, we don’t need the guy to survive. We need him dead.”

  “I suspect he didn’t hear a word I said that day,” Shig said easily. “Too bad. He was warned.”

  “And people think I have a psychiatric disorder? Did you just hear yourself? You, me, and Yvette, we don’t always see eye-to-eye. I need you to help me take him out. If you guys go down, we lose everything. He takes over, and you watch. It’s going to be all about him.”

  “Actually, that’s what I’m hoping.” This time actually Shig took a drink of the wine.

  “You’ve got a reputation for not making any sense with all your Eastern philosophy crap. You know that, don’t you?”

  “What you fail to understand is that underlying this entire discussion is faith.”

  “Oh, fuck.” Dan winced, raised his whiskey, and took a bracing gulp. “That’s it. I’m screwed.”

  “If you are, then everything we built here was for nothing,” Shig said absently. “It’s a matter of principle, you see. Most aren’t willing to test it.”

  “How about Talina?” Dan straightened. “I mean, she went nuts, right? Thought she was shooting Sian Hmong in the middle of the street?” He paused thoughtfully. “Not that I blame her. You ever actually had to work with that slit? Half my problems building that fucking school would have been solved if Perez really had shot that woman. All my problems if she’d taken Oshanti and Dushku down with Hmong.”

  “According to Kalico, Tal is out at Rork Springs.” Shig fingered his chin. “Actually, that might not be a bad choice.”

  “Now you’re talking!” Dan grinned, took another sip of the whiskey. “I wanted the good security officer dead after she shot Spiro. God, I miss Spiro. Now there was a vicious bitch I could control. I mean, that was the thing about Spiro. I could point her. Say, ‘Deb, blow a hole in his brains,’ and bam! End of problem.”