Pariah

by W. Michael Gear

  Trish growled, “I’ll download your brain. I’m going to take a survival knife. Chop it out of your skull. Put it in a bottle in Cheng’s lab with a label on the outside that says ‘idiot.’”

  Nevertheless Trish headed for the door, adding over her shoulder, “Watch the pressure you put on that trigger, Doc. It goes off at four pounds.”

  Dortmund was vaguely aware that Kylee was following cautiously behind, her alien-blue eyes taking in every move.

  “Of course you wouldn’t understand,” he elaborated as they walked through the main room. “The reason downloading is so important? It’s because I have a grasp of the larger context. I built the department of planetology at Tubingen. I first proved the Masterson hypothesis. Laid the groundwork for planetary exploration protocol, which Radcek—may he rot in hell—totally disregarded. The reason why my reports and observations matter is because of the intellectual framework I put them in. How they will fit into the research paradigm for the future.”

  They were outside now. The drizzle had slowed to a fine mist. The sky was lightening.

  Trish stopped in front of the aircar, pointing up at the sky. “You really want to fly in that?”

  “I do.”

  “What about Talina?”

  “What about her?”

  “Raya wanted us to wait until morning. This will break in an hour or two. Then we can load her.”

  “We go now.”

  “You’re a real piece of work, aren’t you, Doc?” And with that, Trish spread her arms. “So, go ahead. Shoot.”

  “What? Don’t you see this pistol?”

  “Yeah.” An amused challenge lay behind the woman’s green eyes. “But there’s only two people here who can fly an aircar. Me and Talina. Tal’s out of it. Which leaves me.”

  No wonder she’d walked out so easily. He couldn’t threaten Talina anymore. It was just him and her in a battle of wills.

  “You’d let me shoot you rather than fly?”

  “Hey, I had to belly crawl for Benteen because it was that or he’d kill me, and I’ve been hating myself since. But you? I’m calling your bluff. You shoot me? Sure, I’m dead. But then what? Yvette or Shig will kill you for killing me. And then where’s that sacred brain of yours? It’s blown out of your skull in little tiny bits by a bullet. Unless, of course, you kill Shig and Yvette first. Which leaves you right where you started with Tal comatose and Kylee there to keep you company.”

  “Don’t push me!” He gestured with the pistol in what he hoped was a threatening manner.

  “For such a supposedly smart guy, Doc, you’re really stupid.”

  Some part of his awareness cued up on the swelling stone on the backside of the aircar. It took a conscious effort to switch his attention from Monagan to the impossibility of flowing bedrock. For a moment his stunned mind couldn’t process what he was seeing as the rock bunched and rose into a mound. Elongated. Impossible as it seemed, the living stone took on the shape of a quetzal. Three black eyes gleamed atop a towering, wedge-shaped head. The variegated sandstone patterns shaded into a bright crimson, the beast’s collar flaring out in a dazzling sheet.

  Dortmund gaped, felt his heart skip. Only the aircar separated it from Trish’s back.

  “What?” Trish asked, amused. “You look like you just stuck your finger in an electrical outlet. You’re out of your league, professor. Now hand me the—”

  He saw Trish’s eyes widen as he shoved the pistol out and yanked on the trigger.

  The thunderous bang, the way the gun bucked in his hand, absolutely terrified him. Almost made him drop the wicked thing. Eyes clamped tight, he jerked the trigger. Again. And again. Over and over. Like a thing alive, the pistol kept trying to leap out of his hand with each discharge. His ears rang from the thunder.

  He continued to shoot until the gun clicked. Only then did he open his eyes, aware that Trish had dropped to the ground. To his amazement, the quetzal just stood there, having taken round after round.

  In a fantastically fast blur, the alien beast turned and ran. Like nothing Dortmund had ever seen, it sped off across the sandstone, headed for the safety of the drainage. As it did it turned a glowing white, the legs seeming to vanish in their speed.

  All Dortmund could do was stand there, panting for breath, knees locked, his hands trembling as they gripped the pistol. He couldn’t swallow, felt like throwing up.

  The impossibility of what he’d just survived, just done, left him rattled down to his bones. If he hadn’t seen the sandstone turn into a quetzal, he’d never have believed it. The thing had been huge. How had it hidden like that behind the aircar?

  And it had been about to grab Trish. The mouth had been opening, the thing had been on the verge of killing her. Would have eaten her alive before his eyes.

  Trish’s “Oh, fuck” brought him back to the here and now. He glanced down, realized she was sprawled, her left leg at an odd angle.

  She tried to rise, flopped back down on the sandstone. Her hair was hanging around her face; something about her posture looked broken.

  His reeling mind finally fixed on the blood leaking out of her bent left thigh. How the hell had she broken her leg?

  Some part of him heard the shouts as Shig and Yvette came running from the dormitory. The rain was picking up, washing Trish’s blood from the leg of her coverall to stain the sandstone.

  Then he lowered the pistol, stared at the weapon in disbelief, and the real horror began to set in.

  68

  Dan Wirth hurried down the main avenue toward Inga’s. At the same time, he was trying to process what he’d just seen. Young Smit Hazen, Benteen’s supposed head of security. Shot down in front of the admin building door. Benteen had just walked the guy out, Shankar Tallisvilli at his side. Allison had been standing in the doorway behind them.

  “I will not countenance disobedience,” Benteen had declared before the small crowd that had gathered in the street. “When I give an order, it will be obeyed. Promptly and to the letter.”

  His arm a blur, the scorpion had drawn, shot poor Hazen in the back of the head. The guy had dropped like a bag of bones. “Chief Officer Tallisvilli. You will immediately bring these people to my office.” Benteen had handed the guy a list.

  Tallisvilli—looking like he’d just swallowed a moldy prune—had gestured to four of the remaining security guys. All of them Turalon transportees. Weapons in their hands, they’d trotted off down the avenue.

  Dan had watched Benteen smile as he turned to Allison, and dropping an arm around her waist, he’d led her back into the building.

  So what am I going to do about it?

  Damn it, it wasn’t over between him and Benteen. Not by a long shot. But he needed more time, a chance to figure out how to take out that deadly son of a bitch without getting any more of his people killed.

  The problem was, Benteen moved too fast, was always a couple of steps ahead. Every time Dan began to grasp how to deal with the wily scorpion, his adversary changed the game.

  Dan’s mood fit the weather: The day was overcast, clouds hanging low and threatening drizzle. The people he met on the street were subdued. Everyone was waiting, like the calm before the storm.

  Dan had felt the like before, most notably in Hong Kong before the ’46 riots. And whereas in those times Dan had prepared himself to exploit the chaos to his advantage, he was now on the other side. If Port Authority erupted into a war zone, it was going to play hell with his businesses. Might mean some of his best marks could end up dead in the violence.

  He glanced around at the familiar sites as he passed the assay office and glassworks. In the last year it had hit home to him just how fragile life at Port Authority was. Everyone had their part to play, including the toilet-sucking family types like those three slits from Hell he had to deal with while building the damned school.

  Who the fuck was
Tamarland Benteen to come screw it all up by taking names, threatening livelihoods, driving Mosadek and Dushane—who at least had common sense—out into exile? Not to mention Dan’s humiliation. It infuriated him. No one could just waltz into his life, take over, steal his woman, kill his best goon, and all the while Dan had to lick the fucker’s ass and like it.

  Intolerable.

  Dan smiled in a failed attempt to humor himself. In this case survival meant creating new alliances. This would cost him. But better to slide into bed with an enemy you knew and could negotiate with if it meant taking Benteen down.

  Vik Schemenski reported that he had seen the Supervisor enter the tavern. Dan loathed—absolutely loathed—having to do this. But he was nothing if not pragmatic—especially if this is what it took to win.

  Call it the cap to a really shitty day. Dan hated waking up alone, and that ratfucker Benteen had sent one of his security guys after Allison the night before. She’d accompanied the guy to the admin building, probably shared Benteen’s bed, and was by his side for the execution. Willing ally? Cunning survivor? Or desperately afraid for her life?

  What was it about him and women these days?

  He’d seen Allison’s stunned and sick look when Benteen shot Hazen. A couple of years older, she’d still grown up with the guy. Clever as she was turning out to be at playing both sides, how was Dan to know that as Benteen’s power grew, she wouldn’t figure that life as the scorpion’s woman wasn’t a better bet than shilling at The Jewel? Especially in light of the fact that she’d changed over the last couple of months since she’d cut the drugs, like some switch had been thrown? He wasn’t sure who Allison was anymore.

  By the time he reached Inga’s front door, the rain started in earnest. He nodded to two of the clay miners who sat on the bench out front, stepped in, and walked to the head of the stairs leading down into the tavern.

  At the bar, Tompzen and Michegan, in full battle armor, but with helmets slung, stood at their places, guarding Aguila’s back. The woman, characteristically, sat in Talina Perez’s old chair.

  Canny slit that she was, Kalico had canceled her people’s R&R and sent them home along with the shuttle. Better to have them and the craft out of harm’s way. She’d retreated to her dormitory with ten of her marines. The building wasn’t the most defensible in Port Authority, but with tech her people could hold off a small army, and no one was going to mess with her.

  He stopped a couple of seats down the bar from Aguila, just close enough that he could hear what she was saying to Inga. In doing so, he caught Kalen Tompzen’s eye and gave the man a knowing nod. Tompzen was watching him warily, a trace of uncertainty rising behind his façade of an expression.

  “So, what do you hear?” Aguila asked as Inga headed her way with a full mug.

  The woman set the mug on the bar with a thunk. “Give that a try. As to what I hear? Benteen’s going to make a prison out of the repair shop out at the mine. Word is that he’s arrested two of the Wild Ones who came in to trade chamois hides and gold dust. Guess they’re in restraints and piled into the back of a storeroom in the admin building.”

  “I’ve seen his people wandering around. Heard they’re making lists.” Aguila tried the beer, smacked her lips. “Wow. That’s powerful.”

  “Yeah, I been saving that one for a time when people needed a little more punch to the gut. I think that’s now.” Inga rubbed the bar with her towel. “These lists, everyone’s talking about them.”

  “Census.” Aguila arched an eyebrow. “Can’t begin managing people until you know who they are, where they live, and what they own. Not so long ago it would have been one of the first things I would have done myself.”

  Inga mimicked the raised eyebrow.

  Aguila took another sip. “I wonder how accurate the census is. If I were a Donovanian, I’d be lying through my teeth.”

  “Yeah, well, word is that Hazen’s letting a lot of stuff slide. That he’s having second thoughts about being Chief Officer. Rumor is that Wejee Tolland, Cal Umunga, and Ko Lang slipped away in the night. Left word that they’d trust themselves to the bush before they’d be part of Benteen’s plans.”

  “That must have Benteen up in arms. His people are already dribbling away.” Kalico fingered her beer. “I can only talk to my marines on battle com. My town com’s been dead for hours now. Not a word. I thought at first that Benteen had my personal frequency cut off. So I had Tompzen test it. Radio’s down. No one’s seen Two Spot. Something tells me that Benteen pulled the plug on the public broadcast system.”

  That was news. Dan hadn’t heard about the radio.

  “Bet he’s monitoring it, though. Waiting to hear what the people say.”

  “Might be a psychological ploy. Keeping the tower down is going to seriously affect the Wild Ones.”

  Inga cocked a skeptical head. “I would have figured you’d have washed your hands of us, left us to sort it out. You could always come back and pick up the pieces.”

  “This goes to shit? It’s not just Port Authority going down. It’ll take Corporate Mine with it.”

  “So you could march in there with your marines and shoot Benteen’s ass at any moment.”

  “If it comes to that.” She paused. “But if I take PA, I won’t give it back.”

  Dan perked up at that. By God’s ugly ass, she was thinking the same way he was. All but the “not giving it back” part.

  And with that Inga headed his way, demanding, “What’ll you have?”

  “Beer. Whatever kind the Supervisor’s drinking.” He slapped a two-SDR gold coin on the bar.

  Of course Aguila would be thinking ahead. She had already delegated most of her marines—in full combat armor—to protect the critical assets. That included the hospital with its labs, the foundry, Sheyela Smith’s electronic shop, and the PA shuttle. She was right. Corporate Mine couldn’t survive without Port Authority’s technicians, medical staff, and artisans.

  But then Dan had only made the mistake of underestimating Aguila once.

  Accepting his beer, Dan raised it in salute to Inga, turned, and gave Tompzen a wink. “Private Tompzen. Good to see you looking so fit. I need to have a talk with the Supervisor.” He lifted his free hand high, as if in surrender. “I swear, I come only as an interested party to the proceedings, bearing no ill will.”

  “Ma’am?” Tompzen asked. In all the world, only Dan could appreciate the man’s uneasy dilemma.

  She turned, gave Dan a distasteful wrinkle of the nose, and nodded. “It’s all right, Kalen,” she told her marine, and gestured to the adjacent chair. “Fancy seeing you. I would have figured you were squirreled away somewhere filling out your census form.”

  Dan took the chair. “Thought you might like an update. Benteen just shot Smitty Hazen for lack of vigor in the prosecution of his duties. Shankar Tallisvilli, one of the Turalon guys, is now Chief Officer, whatever the hell that means. I guess Smitty had too much empathy for the locals. Tallisvilli, he’s more of a bootlicking follow-the-orders kind of guy. Not the sort to let any squeamish identification with the common folk jeopardize his safety and well-being.”

  “And what are you doing here? According to my sources, you’re already under Benteen’s thumb. Heard he even seduced your paramour.”

  “When you were cut up by mobbers, did I drop by to rub salt in the wounds?” Dan gave her a knowing glower. “We’ve had our differences, Supervisor. We worked it out. Mutual assured destruction. Masterfully played on your part, I might add. We both profit by not taking action against the other.”

  “And now?”

  “Not that we’d ever be friends, mind you, but we seem to have a common problem. Before all of this came down, I tried to warn Shig, and the guy just didn’t get it. Maybe you will.”

  The expression on her face might have been a reflection of some crawly feeling of distaste that was running across
her skin.

  She said, “I considered myself warned when I discovered the guy’s identity up on Freelander. But for Shig, I’d have had my people put a bullet in him. How’d you miss him, given your supposed expertise at analyzing a mark?”

  “Must be something about not having the historical implants, or maybe not being intimate with all the ugly facts when it comes to Corporate backstabbing. But let us not get too carried away with who knew what and when. We can cut each other’s throats after the scorpion is no longer stinging both of us in the ass.”

  He kept his gaze flat and unemotional. She gave him the benefit of a wary smile. “Very well, state your proposition. But know right off the bat, I’m not marching in with my marines and gunning the guy down in that office.”

  “Yet.” He filled in the word she’d throttled by the quirking of her lips.

  He caught the faintest flicker of acknowledgment behind her eyes, and said, “I’ll assume that your files are full of the guy’s history. History can be rather flat. For example: It’s one thing to read about the Hong Kong riots. Lots of dull statements of who did what and when. It’s another take entirely if you were on the street watching fifty thousand people being blown apart, the body parts scraped up with front-end loaders, and fire hoses blasting the blood and guts off the pavement.”

  “That wasn’t my jurisdiction.”

  “The point I’m making is that I’ve sat across the table from the guy. Not much scares me. Not even you, and believe me, with the possible exception of Perez, you might be the most dangerous woman I’ve ever met. Benteen? What kind of cucking frazy does he have to be to send a shiver down my spine?”

  “What’s your end game, Wirth?”

  “I want it back like it was. So much so that I’d spend the rest of my life letting those witches Hmong, Oshanti, and Dushku chew my ass about that damn school.”

  “They’re arrested,” a voice called.

  Dan turned in the chair to see Step Allenovich come tromping toward them. The big man was dressed in damp quetzal hide, his wide-brimmed hat slanted at an angle on his blocky head and dripping water. A rifle was slung from one shoulder; his rainbow-patterned jacket hung open, flashing colors. The man’s boots were streaked with red mud.