Pariah

by W. Michael Gear

  He savored his reflection, how the coat hung over his suit. He almost cut too good a figure. One that came across as foppish given the realities of Port Authority. But it would have to do. With a wry glance at the bed, he enjoyed a moment’s replay from his morning’s frolic with Allison.

  Clever girl, she’d given him full measure. To his surprise, she’d managed to play her role beyond his expectations. But for his years of experience, he might actually have believed that she’d taken his side against Wirth. Back in Solar System, with a little training, she might have made a fairly effective agent. She had more than enough native intelligence, and she certainly had the looks.

  “And that, my beauty, makes you valuable.” He winked at his reflection.

  Opening the door, he strode out, hearing the midday chatter that indicated an average afternoon in The Jewel. Ten men and one woman occupied the tables, some peering at cards, others drinking as they watched one of the Wild One prospectors cry out in anguish at the craps table. A ruby the size of a robin’s egg seemed to be the stakes for that particular throw.

  The casual treatment of what the locals referred to as “plunder” still amazed him. Call it the measure of Donovan’s wealth that itinerant prospectors living out in the bush in practical squalor showed up in their homemade hide clothing, dropped a sack full of precious stones, ingots of gold, or chunks of palladium, on food, drink, sex, and gambling, and then retired back to the bush. The kind of psychology that made that existence in any way appealing completely eluded him.

  “What a waste of productivity,” he muttered under his breath as he stepped out into the midmorning. Capella burned down through a partly cloudy sky, the faint sound of the chime coming from here and there.

  It would be a hot one today, muggy. Not the sort of weather he wanted to be out in for long, dressed as he was.

  Best to get on with the day’s business. He strode rapidly down the avenue, taking in the electronics shop, the tannery, the glassblower’s, the gunsmith’s, and the assay office. Then passed Inga’s tavern. Hard to believe these places were the beating economic heart of his new world. From the foundry came the clang of a hammer on iron.

  Really? Had he just stepped back into the early nineteenth century?

  Only to have the illusion shattered as one of the big haulers came whining and roaring down the main avenue, headed for the shuttle port with a load of clay. The behemoth forced Tam to step to the side. As the big wheels churned past, they coated his immaculate black coat with a fine layer of dust.

  In the wake of the big machine, he brushed himself off and grimaced. As soon as he had control of the place, one of his first orders of business was going to be the construction of a new haul road outside the fence. It might be a longer way around since it would have to skirt the greenhouses and some of the cornfields, but at least he could walk the streets in peace.

  At the double doors leading into the admin building he resettled his Talon and ensured it rested easily in its holster. Not that he expected trouble, but one could never be too sure.

  Then he stepped inside. Of course, the first person he encountered was Trish Monagan. The young woman started, eyes widening in both surprise and distaste.

  “I’m here to see Shig Mosadek and Yvette Dushane. I hear there’s a conference room. Bring them to me. Now.”

  “But they’re—”

  “Is there something about the word now that you don’t understand? Get them, or I’ll take that pistol off your hip and use it to hammer a little respect into that ignorant head of yours.”

  He watched her swallow hard, chin trembling. Saw the tensing of her right arm and shoulder. Said, “Go ahead. Reach for that pistol. Then, when I kill you, it’s self-defense, right?”

  He saw it in her eyes, that moment of defeat.

  Then she nodded and left at a run.

  Good. Hopefully the young woman would transmit her dismay to the others.

  He wondered how many of them he’d have to kill today.

  55

  What the hell was it about that man? Trish ground her teeth, on the verge of tears. After all the promises she’d made her herself, he’d done it to her again!

  It was that cold promise behind his flat and emotionless eyes. Trish would never have believed that a human being could radiate such an intense malignancy and threat. Problem was, she’d known she was outclassed. If she’d tried to draw, Benteen meant every bit of what he said. No bluster. No bluff. He’d have beaten her with her own gun at best, killed her at worst.

  When Trish looked into his eyes, she wasn’t even a person—just a thing to either obey his orders or be disposed of.

  If only Stepan Allenovich would have been there, Step would have . . .

  She winced. No, don’t even think it. Step would have got his back up, got that old familiar squint in his eyes. That “boy, I’m gonna hammer you” smile would have crossed Step’s lips. And as soon as he started to make something of it, Benteen would have killed him.

  “What the hell have we gotten ourselves into?” she asked, sick to her stomach with worry and humiliation as she hurried down the hall and thrust her head into Shig’s office.

  He sat at his desk wearing a simple fabric shirt and chamois pants. Yvette was bent over his shoulder, one arm propped on the desktop as she studied something on Shig’s holo screen. Yvette’s fading blond hair was up, and she wore a casual smock that accented her tall body.

  “We got trouble,” Trish announced, her heart like a frantic machine in her breast. “Benteen’s here. Wants to see the two of you in the conference room. My advice is to bug out Shig’s back door. Maybe call a public meeting in Inga’s where you can unify the community.”

  Shig ducked his head to peer at Trish from under Yvette’s arm, his eyes thoughtful. “Conference room you say?”

  “Yes.”

  Yvette sighed as she straightened and turned thoughtful. “Any idea what he wants to talk about?”

  “He just said he wanted you to meet him in the conference room.”

  “It may be nothing.” Shig pushed his chair back. “Let us see what the man wants.”

  “And if it’s trouble?” Yvette asked.

  “We take the second option.”

  Second option? What the hell was that?

  Yvette pulled her dress straight, a resigned smile on her thin lips. “Shig, you sure you want to do it this way?”

  “Beliefs need to be tested, their validity periodically refreshed. If we’re not living what we profess, it would behoove us to find out.”

  Trish, one hand on her pistol, asked, “What are you talking about?”

  “Choices, Trish.” Shig stood and eased past Yvette to face her. The man’s round face bore a weary smile, a knowing sadness behind his eyes. “Whatever happens in there, I want you to say nothing. Even more importantly, I want you to do nothing. No silly heroics. Nothing that will get you injured. Just sit there and listen. Can you promise me that?”

  “I don’t know. He just threatened to whip me with my own pistol.”

  “Yvette and I have been giving this a lot of thought, and we’re going to ask you to trust us. Can you promise me that you have enough faith in us to follow whatever decision we think is best?”

  “Well, sure, but you better know that he’s—”

  “Capable of killing us all?” Yvette interrupted with an arched eyebrow. “We know. He might even be looking for an opportunity to do just that. Use one of us as an example to keep the others in line. And we don’t need you to make a martyr of yourself. Just promise us that you’ll let us handle it, and that you’ll back our decisions.”

  The floor under Trish’s feet had turned to shifting sand.

  “Okay. Yeah. Sure. I promise.”

  But it felt like she had just signed away her life. That something terrible was about to explode; and it would do so in a wa
y that would never be put back right again.

  Grimly she followed Shig and Yvette into the conference room where Tamarland Benteen had already seated himself at the far end of the table, his back to the wall. The way Benteen sat with his hands spread wide on the table, his black suit coat hanging down from his shoulders like devil’s wings, left no doubt as to his lethality. And, while Donovan had no scorpions, Trish had seen enough predators to recognize one when she saw it.

  Shig, however, seemed oblivious as he strolled in and seated himself in one of the mismatched chairs. Trish could see the tension in Yvette. It lay in the hard corners of the woman’s mouth, in her spring-tight body as she took a chair one down from Shig’s.

  Shig said amiably, “I’ve heard that you’ve managed to settle in without much issue. Seems as if you’ve made a place for yourself at The Jewel. Must be a nice improvement after bunking in Talina’s old ruined dome.”

  “I do hope the incident with Art Maniken didn’t cast the community in a bad light,” Yvette added in a voice that belied her attempt at a smile.

  “Fair fight, we hear,” Shig agreed.

  Benteen cocked his head slightly, fingers flexing on the tabletop. “Yes. Too bad. Remarkably boorish. Attacking an unarmed man in a hallway as he’s leaving the lavatory? Smacks of the actions of a coward, don’t you think?”

  Trish felt herself go cold on the inside and bit her lip. She shot a sidelong glance at Shig and Yvette to see how they were taking it. Not that Art had ever been any favorite of hers. A thug was a thug. If anyone were to shed tears over his departure, it would be that weasel, Dan Wirth.

  Shig’s reply was accompanied by a shrug. “No government has ever been able to legislate morality. Ultimately freedom rests upon the shoulders of the free. Art was free to try what he would. Egregious as it was, it would appear that justice was served.”

  Benteen arched a mocking eyebrow. “Justice is a concern of yours?”

  “It preoccupies us,” Yvette said. “Justice and freedom, two very interlocked concepts that often seem at odds. Ultimately, neither can exist without the other, though governments often seek to redefine them for their own purposes.”

  “Sometimes they need to be redefined for the common good,” Benteen said pointedly. “It is the responsibility of those in power to care for the governed . . . and sometimes that requires certain changes be made in order that the people may prosper.”

  “For the common good?” Yvette chuckled softly. “Since when is good ever common? But we’ll drop that for now, as it’s an esoteric question that cannot be answered with any satisfaction. Especially since that’s another term for which governments have a sliding definition. Suffice it to say that for the foreseeable future, ‘the common good’ is whatever the people of Port Authority think it is.”

  “That’s ominous,” Benteen murmured, his hard gaze fixed on Shig and Yvette. “Government for the rabble and by the rabble? That’s the core of your beliefs, the heart of your libertarianism? If so it would appear that you’ve staked your future and prosperity on a foundation of chaos and the transient whim of popularity.”

  Shig pointed in the direction of the entrance. “Out there, beyond those doors, everyone in Port Authority is following his or her own path, master of his or her destiny. The goals of the individual interacting with those of the society as a whole. When a need develops, people pitch in to accommodate it.”

  “It helps that we’re still small,” Yvette added. “Port Authority has considerably more flexibility in that regard. The extent of a problem is easily discernible, and the appropriate people apply themselves to fixing it. After all, there are only about four hundred of us, including the Wild Ones, within a couple of days’ travel.”

  “You have a problem and just hope that someone will fix it?” Benteen leaned his head back and laughed.

  Trish’s gut hardened in rage, her hand on her pistol. Benteen hadn’t so much as glanced her way, but somehow she knew he was aware of every move she made.

  Benteen then asked, “Who put you in charge? How do you manage it? Elections?”

  Shig’s smile hinted at wistful benevolence. “No one put us in charge. No elections. As a result of circumstances we more or less inherited the job. Part of the reason we do it is because no one else really wants it.”

  “I suppose,” Yvette added, “that there’s a bit of respect involved. At least, we haven’t received any complaints.”

  “Who pays you?”

  “No one,” Shig said. “Yvette sells her crocheting, and people have developed the habit of leaving a couple of SDRs in return for her filing. Me, I sell vegetables from my garden, and Lawson saves me out a couple of the SDRs each time we run a new stamping of coins.”

  “Let me get this straight. You’re dipping out of the coinage? Taking a percentage?”

  “Just fifty siddars this last time,” Shig said easily. He pointed proudly at his shirt. “Pietre Strazinsky made this for me. He only asked thirty for it, but given his recent loss, I wanted to pay him fifty.”

  “He’s barely fifteen,” Yvette broke in. “Orphaned. A good kid. Raising his brothers and sisters. The whole community has adopted them.”

  “Unbelievable.” Benteen leaned forward, a gleam in his eyes. “Who would have imagined?”

  “Imagined what?” Shig asked.

  “No wonder this place looks like a misbegotten mishmash of medieval and modern. Are there any restrictions? Any rules?”

  Shig replied, “You know the rules. I told you everything you needed to know to succeed here and make your way.”

  “Charming. But I think I’ll choose another way.”

  “At your peril,” Yvette said. “Unlike Supervisor Aguila down at Corporate Mine, we have no mandate to keep you out. Port Authority is an open city. Anyone can come or go. There are no restrictions except during alerts and after dark when the gates are locked. Relationships are governed by contract and free market.”

  “I hope it doesn’t come as too much of a surprise, but as of today I’m going to change the rules, and you are going to help me.”

  Trish stiffened in shock, only to have Benteen’s warning glare flick her way. He gave the slightest shake of the head, the warning implicit enough to send a bolt of fear through her.

  Shig, attentive as usual, barely lifted his fingers in a restraining gesture. Trish took a breath.

  “From here on out, we’re going to do things differently,” Benteen explained in a precise voice. “Improve efficiency, reorganize the village into a more productive structure. Establish regular work hours, mandate production, and centralize authority.”

  Trish clenched her fists to keep from vibrating with anger.

  “Try what you like,” Yvette said. “We’ll have no part of it.”

  “Of course you will.” Benteen propped his elbows and leaned forward. “To use a historical perspective, this is a coup. A takeover of the government. A coup operates under a simple rule: You can take my orders and do your best to see that they are implemented, or you can be eliminated.”

  Trish caught herself before the gasp escaped her throat.

  She expected some outburst. A demonstration of outrage.

  Instead Shig and Yvette looked at each other, shrugged, and it was Shig who said, “Okay. It’s yours.”

  Benteen looked as if he’d expected anything but this.

  Trish started to rise, saw Shig’s calming fingers flick her direction. You’ve got to trust us.

  Right. They just handed Port Authority over to creep-freaking Benteen? The guy was a monster. She forced herself to settle back into the seat.

  Shig and Yvette were no one’s fools. They had to have seen this coming. Had to have some sort of plan.

  They’re going to take him from behind. Shoot him from ambush. Poison. Something he won’t be expecting.

  Benteen now smiled. “I i
magine you’re thinking that the next step is to quietly assassinate me. An attack from the shadows when I least expect it. That’s the smart move. However, I think you might want to reconsider. First, for the coming weeks, I don’t intend to be caught in a situation where I might be taken out by a sniper. Second, we’ll take our meals together here, in the admin dome. All of us, sharing everything lest something unhealthy be added to the food. I assume it will be no problem to have Millie deliver. I’ve heard that she’s done so in the past.”

  “She has,” Shig said amiably.

  “As to your duties, nothing changes. You still hold your positions and authority. The only difference is that you take orders from me. Think of it as the same old administration, just new leadership at the top.”

  “And what are your first orders?” Yvette asked.

  Benteen fixed on her, eyes glittering with excitement. “I need instant obedience. You will carry out my commands quickly, efficiently, and without fail. Any deviance, any sabotage, will result in immediate and painful punishment. My inclination is to make an example of Trish here.”

  Trish’s mouth had gone dry.

  “That won’t be necessary,” Yvette told him. “Your history is sufficiently full of examples of your talent when it comes to torture.”

  “It is?” Trish asked.

  Shig turned eyes her way. “Benteen, here, was a master at torture, extortion, murder, and blackmail. His talents stand out, even for the age in which he thrived. His implants gave him a thorough knowledge of neuro anatomy and of the history and various methodologies of torture, not to mention the innovations spurred by his own creativity.”

  “Cruel is an understatement,” Yvette added.

  “Then you do understand me.” Benteen glanced back and forth between them.

  “Of course,” Shig answered. “You were half of Boardmember Shayne’s success, she in the forefront, you in the shadows: ruthless, cunning, remarkably clever, and diabolical at your chosen profession.”

  “You sound as if you are leaving something out.” Benteen’s eyes narrowed.