Pariah

by W. Michael Gear

  “You sure you want to do this?” the big man asked.

  Seeing the man’s face, Tam recognized Step Allenovich’s thick features. The other woman? Yeah, had to be Dina Michegan. One of Aguila’s marines.

  “Who . . . who are . . . ?” He was still battling for breath. Trying to win the struggle against his jangling nerves.

  “Head of security. Talina Perez. Nice to make your acquaintance, you toilet-sucking piece of shit.”

  85

  Kalico stared at the ruined section of fence where a crane was lifting bent and twisted chain-link as each piece was cut free of the tangle. Not to say that the fence had ever been a thing of beauty. It had, after all, been patched together out of ten-foot-tall rolls, five high, lifted and affixed to poles. The heights were additionally fortified by a hot wire that ran to the solar cells and the battery farm.

  Without the hot wire, it would never have stopped a quetzal, especially a young one. The fact that it was guarded day and night meant that anything trying to climb it would be discovered and could be dispatched before it reached the top.

  Bems, skewers, spikes, and sidewinders wouldn’t have had a chance.

  Shig stood beside Kalico, his hands and forearms tucked into his sleeves. A thoughtful look possessed his face as Lawson and his crew cut damaged sections loose with long-handled cutters and wrestled the bent mess over to where Montoya was trying to fashion a sort of roller that would re-flatten the wire into something they could once again piece together into some sort of barrier.

  “I think I could have my people build a wire extruder.” Kalico fingered the scar running along her jaw. “It’s not like we’re shy of the raw materials.”

  “Wire’s way beyond the foundry’s capability,” Shig agreed.

  “Chain-link can’t be that hard; they’ve been making it for a couple of centuries.”

  “It’s just getting the time to manufacture the machines.”

  “Any luck finding the two escaped quetzals?” Kalico asked.

  “Took too long to come to grips with the chaos here. Not only did we need to run Benteen down, figure a trap, and contain him, but there were so many casualties. Funerals to attend. It’s a shock, Kalico. It’s been years since Port Authority has suffered a catastrophe like this. Trish was dead, Step needed to keep security together here. Look at the size of this hole. Our only protection until we get this fixed is an armed human presence. And Talina . . . well, she’s hurting.”

  “What do you make of her now?”

  “Something new. Both frightening and exciting at the same time. She represents an entirely new Tao. I can’t wait to hear the whole story, all about her journey to Xibalba.”

  “I thought she was insane to head out into the darkness to hunt those quetzals like that.”

  “Everyone in Port Authority knows that she saved lives. Killed one, wounded Whitey. I suspect we’re just at the beginning of understanding when it comes to Tal.”

  She studied him with a thoughtful sidelong glance. “So, tell me. Was it worth it? Benteen’s short reign cost you thirteen people killed. Your fence is gone, the raiding quetzals with it. Benteen might be paying for his sins, but it all could have been avoided if you’d just shot the bastard the moment he stepped down off that ramp.”

  Shig’s lips bent into that benign smile. “For as clever a human being as his reputation would have led you to believe, Tamarland Benteen really wasn’t very smart, was he? That day when I met him at the shuttle, I told him everything he needed to know to survive.”

  “There’re times, Shig, when I wonder if talking to you isn’t just an excuse to hear my jaws flapping. I thought I asked you a question.”

  Shig gave her that maddening and knowing look. “Benteen was the price of freedom. It has to be paid every time a strong man, a pathological leader, or a messiah comes along. Port Authority is achingly aware of this again. So are you, Supervisor. It’s a curious question though, isn’t it?”

  “Which question? We have a series on the table at this point.”

  “Whether the thirteen people killed by the quetzals were a smaller price to pay than if the people had marched on Benteen. But we shall never know. The universe is at heart random and chaotic.”

  “You’re assuming I wouldn’t have moved on him before he could kill innocent people. I was contemplating just that when news came of the quetzals.”

  Shig was now beaming that irritating smile. “And what, my good friend, makes you think that all the lessons learned were only by Benteen and the people of Port Authority?”

  “You think that I was part of your little educational experiment? Sorry. I still think your libertarian crap is just that.”

  Shig gave a modest shrug as another section of broken fence was cut loose to fall with a crash. “Of course you do. But I will keep your secret. Now, how about we retreat to Inga’s? I’m having a terrible craving for a glass of her wine. I’ll even stand you to a whiskey, and we will talk political philosophy.”

  She propped a hand on her pistol. “What makes you think I want to bore myself to death with that nonsense?”

  “Because friendship is a most curious thing, isn’t it?”

  “Yeah, who’d have thought?” She chuckled as she turned and followed him back down the street. “What do you want to trade for a packet of coffee?”

  86

  “We’re on final approach,” Mick Wilson’s voice came through the radio speaker and filled the room at Rork Springs.

  The nightmare was coming to an end. Dortmund uttered a weary sigh of relief, rose from the chair, and limped his way across the floor to the front door. The pain in his leg continued to burn in excruciating agony. The calf had swollen to fill the confines of his pant leg.

  He’d abandoned the burden basket down where he’d had his encounter with the thorncactus. The agony had been disabling, a fiery searing that left him screaming and stunned. More than once on his stumbling way back to the Rork Springs dome, Dortmund had considered lying down on the bare rock and surrendering to inevitable death.

  But that hurt just as much as staggering along did.

  So he’d made his way to the dome. Collapsed onto the couch, heedless of Trish Monagan’s bloodstains, and let tears streak from his eyes.

  Some deep part of his brain remembered that the thorns should be pulled out. And, of course, there was no one there to pull them. No physician, no nurse or trauma specialist. Just him.

  He’d managed to wobble to his feet, searched drawers until he found pliers, and shrieked as he yanked each of the long, fire-laced thorns from his flesh.

  On the verge of throwing up, he had pulled the last one, and was gasping for breath when his watery gaze had fixed on the radio.

  Whimpering with anticipation, he’d staggered over, grabbed up the mic, and rejoiced when somebody named Two Spot had answered. He’d pleaded for rescue, only to be told that Port Authority had its own problems for the moment. And no, no one could be spared to fly out and get him.

  Some part of his brain had kicked in at that point. He’d asked for the frequency monitored by Vixen.

  “We’re reading you, Dr. Weisbacher,” Valencia Seguro’s voice had responded.

  “I need you to come and get me,” he’d pleaded. “Can you send the scientific shuttle? Can you follow this signal? Help! I’m abandoned down here!”

  “Roger that, Dr. Weisbacher. We’ve got the source of your transmissions pinpointed. We estimate four hours to ETA.”

  He’d talked to Seguro for twenty or thirty minutes, much of it babbling, explaining about his leg, demanding that they get him into the medical bay as soon as he was aboard. He was rambling on about quetzals when she informed him that Trish Monagan was dead. Of his gunshot.

  Stunned, Dortmund had reluctantly signed off. It hit him that in Port Authority, they’d blame him. Hold him responsible for her death. He
sat frozen, sick to his stomach with worry. Only to hobble for the door, desperate to await the shuttle.

  He’d stepped outside when he saw the quetzal sniffing around Trish Monagan’s bullet-riddled aircar. He stopped short, gaping in disbelief.

  “No! Go away! They’re coming to get me!”

  Flat-footed, the quetzal leaped over the aircar. Dortmund barely managed to slam the door and lock it before the beast hit the portal with an impact that shook the dome.

  Peering out the window, Dortmund stared eyeball to eyeballs with the creature. The most notable attribute was the single long bullet scar than ran along the huge wedge of skull right up to the ruined middle eye.

  Okay, nothing friendly about this one.

  Dortmund ran back to the radio, keyed the mic, and screamed, “I’ve got a quetzal at my front door!”

  Seguro told him there wasn’t a thing they could do about it until the shuttle arrived.

  So he waited, leg burning so painfully he thought his flesh was melting, frightened half out of his wits, until Mick Wilson’s voice assured him they were on final approach.

  Giddy, almost dancing, he limped from window to window. Looking out, he could see no sight of the quetzal. But yes, there to the west—the setting sun gleaming from its hull—the shuttle could be seen banking around, losing altitude.

  “Oh, blessed stars,” Dortmund cried. “That’s the most beautiful sight I’ve ever seen!”

  And on it came, landing on the stone, thrusters sending heat waves to wrinkle the air. Then the ramp lowered and Security Officer Jace Ali stepped down, a rifle in his hands.

  Dortmund threw the door open, hobbling out for all he was worth. Still, he kept throwing glances over his shoulder, expecting at any instant to see the bullet-marked quetzal streaking down to get him.

  “Doctor? You all right?” Ali asked, taking him by the hand.

  “Just get me off this fucking rock.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  The man helped him up the ramp, got him into a seat, and Dortmund Weisbacher experienced sheer, gut-sparkling exultation as the shuttle lifted off. Nothing in his entire life had ever felt so good as the g-force shoving him back into his seat.

  “What now, sir?” Ali asked as they left atmosphere behind.

  “I am never setting foot off Vixen again.”

  Then came the magical moment when the shuttle docked, and in an instant, Dortmund’s implants all came back to life. He whooped in ecstasy.

  Seguro met him at the hatch along with the medical officer and a port-a-med.

  In the galley, after his leg had been treated, Torgussen appeared, drew a cup of coffee, and took a seat. Dortmund was shoveling a supper ration into his mouth, washing it down with draught after draught of ice tea.

  “Good to see you again, Doctor. Glad we could be of service. What are your future plans?”

  He studied the captain thoughtfully. “I think I’ll be in my room and in the office for the most part. I have a lot of writing to do. If I do my job correctly, no one ever again will commit the atrocity that Radcek did with Capella III. I am the ultimate record of this evolutionary disaster. How soon do we return to Solar System?”

  Torgussen gave him a flat stare. “We don’t.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Crew voted. No one wants to take the risk of returning to Solar System another fifty years into the future. None of the other planets, asteroids, or resources have been systematically surveyed. By then, hopefully, Solar System will have figured out the problem and sent a ship with the right math.”

  “Unacceptable. I have to get my report back. I demand—”

  “Is there something wrong with your hearing? Demand all you want. But, Doctor, you become too much of a pain in my ass? I’ll dump you right back at Port Authority.”

  A place to which Dortmund could never return. All they’d remember was that he’d shot Trish Monagan. That she’d died because of him.

  In that moment, his appetite died, his heart gone leaden in his chest.

  “What if another ship never comes?” he asked weakly.

  “There are worse places to be in the galaxy, Doc.”

  “In that, Captain, you are most certainly mistaken.”

  And with that, he rose and limped his way back to his personal quarters.

  87

  Talina wheeled the aircar around on approach to Rork Springs. Compared to the last flight Talina had made, this one was a joy. A perfect day for flying as she watched the remarkable landscapes and geology pass below. From the chaparral-like bush, to the Blood Hills, then the jagged immensity of the Wind Mountains, and now the remarkable greens and blues of the endless and dense forest.

  The Rork dome, buildings, and facilities seemed to be all right. No sign of Weisbacher or Kylee. And what was . . . ? Yes, that was a quetzal carcass a hundred yards down from Trish’s aircar. The thing had been stripped of most of the meat and organs. A flight of scarlet fliers burst from the bones, shrieking warnings and flapping off for the safety of the drainage.

  She banked to the right, dropped down from the sky, and onto the reddish rock beside Trish’s aircar. She set down without so much as a bump. Automatics couldn’t have done better.

  For a moment, all she could do was stare at the bullet-riddled vehicle beside hers. All the pain, grief, and disbelief broke out anew. She hated Dortmund Weisbacher, and now had to decide what to do about it. Her impulse was just to shoot him down on sight. At the thought, she made a face, thinking back to the day when she would have shot Sian down in the street. Fact was, from here on out, she had to ride herd on her first impulses.

  “Kylee?” Talina called.

  To Talina’s surprise, the girl emerged from the dome, hair in tangles, her oversized coveralls scuffing as she trotted out.

  The girl called out, “Can you believe that Dortmund Short Mind ran off and didn’t even close the door behind him? What a dit.”

  “Tell me that dead quetzal out there got him.” Talina indicated the corpse with her rifle.

  “No such luck. That dead one? Tried to stir up the locals against us. Dortmund Short Mind grazed him with a bullet when he shot Trish. I acted as bait so the Rorkies could ambush him.”

  “Where is Weisbacher?”

  “Called a shuttle down and flew off. That’s when he left the door hanging wide open. I think it was a Vixen shuttle, had a picture on the side of what I think might have been a fox.”

  “Shuttle, huh?” Talina glanced up at the sky. “And where were you?”

  “Hiding out with the local quetzals. Mostly they’re nice. But different. Really curious. Half the time I was afraid they’d try and learn me the permanent way.”

  “Get in,” Talina told her. “Or do you want to spend the rest of your life wondering if you’re going to be swallowed just out of curiosity?”

  “If you’re talking Port Authority, I’ll stay and take my chances.”

  Talina laughed at that, climbing back into the aircar. “Nope. Taking you back to PA would be like putting a time bomb in the middle of the town. I’ve got another place in mind. One where I think you’re going to like them as much as they like you.”

  “What’s Dya say about it?”

  “Listen, kid. Dya puts on a brave face to the rest of the world. Because she’s your mother, she thinks what happened to you is somehow her fault. She wants you back. The whole family does. But she knows Port Authority isn’t the right place for you. I promised to put you someplace safe.”

  Kylee glanced away, seemed to blink back tears. “I can’t see her. Not after Rebecca and Shantaya. After what I did. What I said.”

  “Your heart was broken. Makes you want to blame the world. And when that fades, you only blame yourself.” Talina paused. “She knows that. And down in your bones, so do you.”

  The little girl started to climb i
n, hesitated. “It’s not back to the mine, is it?”

  “Nope. I mean it, I think it’s the only place on the planet that will understand who and what you are.”

  “And if I don’t like it?”

  “Then we’ll leave.”

  Seeing Kylee safely seated next to her, Talina powered up the aircar.

  As they rose from the ground, Kylee asked, “How’s Trish?”

  “Dead.”

  “Sorry.” The little girl frowned, pursed her lips into a scowl. “We going after Short Mind?”

  “Depends on what he says when I catch up with him.”

  “In that case you’ll shoot him the moment he opens his mouth.”

  They turned west again, sailing off over the endless forest.

  “Where are we going?” Kylee asked.

  “To the Briggses. Chaco and Madison’s. They’ve got kids. Including Tip. And they’ve got friendly quetzals.”

  “I’m tired of strangers.”

  “Yeah, well, see, the thing about strangers is that they’re only strangers until you get to know them.”

  “Why do adults say things like that?”

  “’Cause mostly it’s true.”

  88

  The way they had trussed Tam Benteen up, he might have been a mummy fit for one of the museums on Transluna. They’d allowed him to dress in coveralls before he was bound with his broken arm behind him. Hurt like a bastard, but while he tried to play up the injury, neither the hard-eyed marines nor Talina Perez seemed to care in the least. And that was before they immobilized him with a body restraint and strapped him to a wheeled dolly.

  That they’d paraded him out of the admin dome like a roll of carpet, through the fence and into the shuttle field, had given him hope. Word was that the town was all for standing him up against a wall and blowing his body apart with explosive rounds. He’d heard the shouts and calls for his death.

  “It’s not going to be that easy,” Talina Perez had told him, something cold and dangerous in her voice. “And, well, most of the folks around town are feeling sorry for me. You see, I promised Trish I wouldn’t just shoot you. You remember Trish? Perky young woman you threatened to pistol whip with her own weapon?”