Dan Wirth never ceased to amaze. Talina tucked her thumbs in her belt where she stood outside in the darkness and stared into The Jewel’s gaudily lit interior. Through the door, she could see most of the gaming tables, all crowded with men and women.
Liquor was flowing freely; Wirth’s waitstaff navigated their way through the crowd with drinks. Laughter rose and fell along with the excited calls of “Place your bets, ladies and gentlemen!”
Most surprising, though, was the band playing on a raised platform in the back. Wirth had sprung for the musicians. Not just recordings or synth, but the real thing. The last time she’d heard them, she and Cap . . .
No, let it go.
To her surprise, she found herself tapping her foot to the catchy tune. Old Orion, wasn’t it?
The night around her felt oddly warm for this time of year, and, in the dark of the moon, the sky above appeared as a black mat dusted with a billion stars. If she looked up in the northwest, she could see the dot of reflective light that was Freelander following its high orbit. The ghost ship with its legendary temple of human bones constructed from the ship’s dead, both murdered and naturally deceased.
“Number eight wins!” came the call from the craps table, followed by hollers of delight.
Talina shifted to see the back of the room where Wirth himself manned the cage, exchanging SDRs for chips to use at the tables. Allison’s absence meant that someone had managed to pony up the exorbitant price Wirth charged for her “special” sexual services.
Hard to believe she was the same woman Talina had once known. But then, she’d always been delicate of mind and spirit. Trish had called her a “china doll” once. That was the thing about dolls, they existed for others to play with, dress as they would, and use as they would.
“Another reason to put a bullet in Wirth’s head,” she whispered under her breath so that the marine standing in the shadows just beyond the door couldn’t hear.
In The Jewel someone whistled in surprised delight. Yells and clapping ensued.
“Everything look all right to you?” Abu Sassi asked as he emerged from the night and saluted the marine standing at the door.
“Looks fine, Corporal.”
“Threes over kings,” Step Allenovich whooped as he slapped cards on one of the poker tables. “Read ’em and weep, boys.”
To Talina’s practiced eye, Step looked to be moderately sober. But then, he knew the stakes. If any of this got out of hand, Kalico would shut it down in an instant.
“Corporal, keep an eye on that big guy in the back. That’s Art Maniken. He’s Dan Wirth’s doer of evil deeds, head-breaker, and arm-twister. He’s the one who will most likely give you a high sign if anyone starts to get out of hand.”
“Think that’s likely?”
“To my complete surprise, I don’t. My guess is that for the time being, all parties are going to be on their best behavior. Wirth’s making money, your people are hell and away from Corporate Mine, the rest of Port Authority is seeing new faces again. If there’s a maggot in the fruit, it’s going to be a loner. Maybe a Wild One come to town who doesn’t know the rules and thinks he’s still in the bush.”
“How will my people know?”
“Anyone you don’t recognize that starts trouble? Stun him or her, give us a call, and we’ll pick them up and handle it.”
“Thanks, Talina. Gotta tell you, I think we were all getting a bit stir crazy down there.”
“Stay frosty, Corporal.” She tapped him on the armor, took one last look, and walked the half block to Betty Able’s brothel.
Stepping in the door, Talina found the couches in the waiting room occupied by no less than six men and three women, all waiting for an opening with whichever man or woman they desired. Betty stood behind her bar, dispensing glasses of whatever libation a waiting customer might desire.
In one corner, Shin Wong played poker with a blond-haired man, a short stack of SDRs before him on the table.
Talina shot an inquiring look at Betty when the madam met her gaze. The buxom, middle-aged blonde gave her a slight shrug, and the flat-handed, “level sailing” gesture that indicated no problems.
Talina backed out and sighed.
Accessing com, she asked, “How we doing, Trish?”
“Nothing to report, Tal. Perimeter’s tight. No one has tried passing the gates. Not to say it isn’t early yet.”
“Yeah. I’ll drop by Inga’s.”
“Stay frosty.”
“You, too.”
Talina, wary from experience, kept her steps to the middle of the streets. Here and there—where the right design of light panels had been included either in Turalon or Freelander’s cargo—pools of light illuminated what had once been darkness. At least until they started to burn out in another five or ten years.
Didn’t matter, she’d take what she could get.
The quetzal inside snuggled warmly around her spleen.
“Bet you’d like a good fight, wouldn’t you?”
Yes, the soft voice in her mind said.
“Asshole.”
The quetzal didn’t reply.
She wondered if there was ever any way she could make peace with the beast.
Talina exchanged greetings with the occasional people she passed, some locals, others transportees. Not surprisingly, even Kalico’s people knew who she was and treated her with respect.
At Inga’s, the benches out front were filled, people enjoying the warm and sultry night. She acknowledged the greetings, nodded to the marine at the door, and stepped inside.
Here, too, the tables were mostly full, and a knot had formed on the south side of the bar where Inga and her helpers were filling cups and mugs.
A single figure sat in Talina’s chair on the north end, surrounded only by emptiness.
Talina trotted down the steps, acknowledging waves, nodding to people who called greetings.
Walking up beside the lone woman, she said, “You’re in my chair.”
“Thought you were working.”
“I am.”
“The nice thing about your chair,” Kalico Aguila said, half turning to meet Talina’s eyes, “is that no one bothers anyone sitting in it. It’s like sacred private space.”
“I’ve broken a lot of heads over the years to keep it that way.” Talina tapped the wood with a hard finger. “You know, you’re the only person who’d dare to put her butt on my chair. Not sure what I ought to do about that.”
“If you decide to break my head”—Kalico seemed to stumble over the words—“Private Michegan will shoot you dead before my body hits the floor.”
The Supervisor lacked coordination when she tilted her head to indicate the combat-armored marine standing no more than ten paces away. Back to the wall, rifle in her hands, she was keeping track of every move Talina made.
Kalico blinked, eyes dull in a drunken stare. “You still irritated that I wanted to shoot you, Shig, and Yvette? Is that what’s always eating at you?”
Talina noticed that Kalico wasn’t drinking wine this evening, but had a glass of Inga’s whiskey on the bar before her.
“While that didn’t exactly endear you to me, I’d let it pass as reaction mass through the tubes.”
“Then what?” she snapped. Blinked. And her head wobbled. “What is with you, Talina? It’s like you’re always ready to fight. And what’s this hatred for Spiro? Granted, she’s a . . . well . . .”
“Sour, angry, constipated bitch in need of a smack to the side of the head and general psychological counseling?”
Kalico frowned, cocked her head. “Well, yes. That’s just what she is. Constipated in the soul. Angry. But she’s my angry bitch, understand?”
“Just between us, Supervisor, did you have your angry, constipated bitch kill Cap Taggart?” Talina asked mildly.
Kalico, drunk or not, flashed quick blue eyes Talina’s way. “Ah, I see.”
“See what? Cap’s killer popping into your mind? Was it you? Spiro? One of the other marines?”
Kalico stared at her as if trying to focus. “You had to be there. On Turalon. I was watching everything falling into chaos. And then Freelander appears like a fucking ghost. Cap was my strong right arm. I needed him. But when I needed him the most what’s he do? He strolls in from the dead and hands me his resignation to run off and be a Donovanian.” She smiled wistfully. “That was like having my guts pulled out.”
“So you ordered Spiro to kill him?”
Kalico shook her head. Blinked hard, as if to clear her vision. “I might have said, ‘I want that man dead,’ or something to the effect, but I never gave that specific order.”
Kalico squinted her eyes, as if looking back in time. “No. It wouldn’t have been because of me. If that were the case, Spiro would have saluted, said, ‘Yes, ma’am.’ and marched off to do it. Even Deb Spiro, as lacking in imagination as she is, and hating Cap as much as she did, would have made sure she was acting under a direct order.”
Talina watched carefully; Kalico struggled to form her words. “Spiro would have immediately implemented such an order. Cap would have been dead. That very day. And very publicly shot.”
“He had trouble with her down at the shuttle field fence. Maybe she waited until later, bided her time?”
Kalico lifted her whiskey, sipped it. “She’s cold enough to do it that way. Angry. Angry woman. But she worshipped that man. I say worshipped. Thought he walked on vacuum. When he left, well, as hard as I took it, that was nothing compared to Spiro. Like the universe betrayed her.”
“So, you didn’t order Cap’s death?”
“I did not. I’m a Supervisor. You know?” She blinked, struggling to focus. “I didn’t understand, you know? It’s this damned planet. What it does to a person. How it changes them. Like it pulls who you are out of you, and puts a new you back inside that you never expected yourself to be. Does that make sense?”
“Supervisor, you’re drunk.”
“No. I’ve only had . . . what? Four of these? Or is it five?”
As Kalico squinted at her glass, Talina stepped over to Michegan and quietly said, “Dina, I need your help.”
“Sorry, ma’am, but I don’t take—”
“Shut up. Kalico’s about to fall off that stool. Give Private Miso the high sign to come help you. I need you to quickly, efficiently, get the Supervisor off that stool. Tell her that something’s come up, whisk her through the door into Inga’s back room, and get her to her quarters.”
“Uh, quarters?”
“Isn’t she staying at the dormitory she built back of the assay office?”
“No. I, uh, assumed we’d take her back to the shuttle.”
“Gate’s locked.”
“Shit.”
“What’s wrong with the dormitory? Boot one of the hired hands and—”
“You don’t understand. That’s the Supervisor. It’d be my ass if she woke up in a bunk bed surrounded by eight other people.”
Talina gestured to Katsuro Miso across the room. The Private came slowly, trying to act casual, as if a combat-armored marine could.
“What’s up?” He glanced uneasily between Michegan and Talina.
“You know where my dome is?”
“Yeah. I was there that night you killed the quetzal.”
“Put Kalico in my bed. Sheets are even mostly clean. But you two stay with her. Remember, I’ve got a plastic-covered hole in my wall.”
“You got it, Tal.” Miso said, snapping off a salute, much to Michegan’s horror.
“And not a fucking word about this on the com. Just get her there, keep her safe, and keep your clap-trapping mouths shut, you hear me?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
As they started for Kalico, Talina called, “And be damned sure you lock Inga’s back door on the way out!”
The last thing she needed was to have Inga land on her because the supply room was left open and half the town found its way in to drink for free.