Walking down Port Authority’s main avenue, through the darkness and rain, Trish couldn’t remember being in a worse mood. She was pissed off at the weather, it having started raining as she finished her last rounds. And then there was the festering gall of her spat with Talina. But most of all, she was irritated with herself.
From the moment Cap and Talina had walked out of the bush, things between Trish and Talina had been subtly different. Tal and Cap’s relationship had changed everything. First the fact that he’d moved in with Talina, and then the ramifications of his injuries after the fight with the quetzal.
Growing up on Donovan as she had, given the deaths of her own parents, Trish had a very different perspective on life as a cripple. Had considered what it would have cost Port Authority to have Talina forever saddled with the care of an invalid. Most of all, Trish had feared what it would do to Talina.
She loved Talina. Worshipped her as a mentor and friend. Would do anything for her. Had done them, in fact.
And now I’m wondering if Tal is still on our side. Or if that thing living inside her has turned her against us all.
Trish made a face, shook the water off of her slicker, and stared up at the slivers of rain slashing down through the cones of light outside Inga’s.
She took one last look around. Everyone had been at their posts for the night’s watch. The gates had been locked.
But this was still a quetzal night: the sort of darkness in which they preferred to hunt.
She tried to shake off the mad along with the moisture as she opened Inga’s door and stepped inside.
A raucous noise assaulted her ears. People having fun. Laughing. The banging and clinking of ceramic and glass mugs. The screech of wooden benches on stone cobbles.
She paused at the head of the stairs, taking in the room below. About a third full, the place felt antsy, as though primed for trouble.
Or was that just her? A reflection of her own dark thoughts about Talina? Cap? And the way he’d died that day?
She pulled her slicker back, slung her rifle, and descended the damp steps, already wet from previous patrons coming in from the rain.
She made her way down the central aisle, nodding to old friends, acknowledging the occasional called greeting.
At the bar, Shig sat in the stool next to Talina’s, his obligatory half glass of wine looking untouched before him.
A loud burst of laughter caused her to note Lieutenant Spiro and her two privates, Nashala and Chavez, where they sat with Pavel Tomashev and Boris Kashashvili. Sort of fringe Wild Ones, Tomashev and Kashashvili ran a sand pit that supplied the glass works, dug gravel when it was needed, did some hunting, and had a couple of claims that produced the occasional gemstone.
“Killed that little fucker dead!” Spiro announced to the world, lifting her glass high to the accompaniment of cheers from the two miners and Chavez. Private Nashala seemed more reserved, eyes wary as she fingered her half-full glass of ale and studied Spiro.
Something about the flush on Spiro’s face, the glitter in the woman’s eyes, triggered that sixth sense that warned Trish of trouble.
She pulled out Talina’s chair, figuring what the hell, and plopped her butt into it.
At Shig’s raised eyebrow, Trish said, “Tal’s down south with her quetzal, right? What would she care?” To Inga, she called, “Pale ale.”
“Coming up,” Inga called back, looking harried. The woman’s face shone with perspiration and a couple of locks had come loose from the bun at the back of her head.
“So, I saw the shuttle come in this afternoon.” Trish indicated Spiro and her two privates. “What are they doing here?”
Shig thoughtfully ran his fingers down the sides of his wineglass. “Said they’d resigned from the Supervisor’s service. Apparently they flew straight here from Mundo. My take is that something went wrong down there. Spiro’s not talking about it beyond bragging that she and the two with her quit. Oh, and about killing that little quetzal.”
Trish shot the lieutenant a glance as Inga placed a glass of golden ale on the bar. Inga hesitated, glanced uncertainly at Talina’s chair, and asked, “Cash or credit?”
Trish tossed her a two-SDR coin. “Put it toward my account.”
As Inga grabbed up the coin and headed to the other end of the bar where Step Allenovich was hollering for whiskey, Trish said, “Killed Rocket, huh? Bet that pissed Talina off.”
“There will be trouble over this.” Shig turned just enough to shoot a speculative glance Spiro’s way. The woman was laughing too loudly as she slapped Chavez on the shoulder.
Tomashev and Kashashvili were sharing uneasy glances as they joined in.
“So, tell me, Shig. Is it just me, or is Talina different since she got infected by that damn quetzal? Why’d she back that beast against the rest of us?”
“I’m not sure that she did.”
“Come on, Shig. She was ready to shoot the first person who stepped forward out there that night. I wasn’t sure she wouldn’t have shot one of the women. They were just worried about their kids. I mean, come on. I just made my rounds. Our gates are locked. We’re scanning the night. And for what? Quetzals. We’re at war with the things.”
“History, Trish, is replete with stories about enemies becoming allies. Do all people believe the same things? Are all people fighting the same wars? Do we and Aguila see the world through the same eyes?”
“Of course not.”
“Then, perhaps, neither do quetzals.”
“They’re fucking animals, Shig. And one of them has infected Talina. Hell, even Raya and Cheng don’t have a clue.”
“Fucking animals?” Shig gave her that maddening mild smile of his. “Are they? Had you said creatures, I would have agreed. But the term animal, that specifically applies to a biological kingdom of terrestrial life. Quetzals are Donovanian creatures. And, having neither penises nor vaginas, even your illusion to fucking seems completely unfounded.”
Trish gripped her glass, tried to crush it, the tendons standing out on the backs of her hands. She was being petulant, and knew it. “Shig, there are times, I swear, when it’s all I can do to keep from strangling you.”
At that he chuckled, eyes alight. “Strangling me? Or strangling yourself? Anger is driven by either an infringement or injury from others, or by guilt. The two are often inextricable. In the end, Talina—by keeping the peace and buying time to remove the young quetzal—would seem to have acted properly and wisely. That leaves guilt as the source of your anger. Of what are you guilty, Trish?”
She closed her eyes, blocking out the growing shouts from Spiro’s table behind her.
Shig. If you only knew.
“Ah,” Shig said softly, almost drowned by the rising voices behind him. “Want to confess?”
“Not in this lifetime.” She thought back to that long-ago day. Eyes, pleading. Just the thought of them left her heart like a rock in her chest.
“You taking her side?” Spiro demanded hotly, breaking into Trish’s sudden misery.
“Not particularly,” Kashashvili’s voice rose. “Look, the lady’s not my favorite, all right? She sticks her nose into too many people’s business. Acts too damned high and mighty to suit me. Lot of people are scared of her. You should be, too, if you had any sense. But one thing Tal Perez is not, is a back shooter!”
“Bullshit!” Chavez burst out.
Trish turned just in time to see Chavez half rise, his face red, veins standing out from his neck as he glared hotly at Kashashvili.
The prospector, for his part, now rose to his full height, saying, “You damn Skulls come in here, think you’re tough? You don’t get it. Perez’s been in the bush. She’s a lot of things, but a coward isn’t one.”
“She’s a coward!” Spiro insisted, standing beside Chavez before pushing him back down in his seat. Spiro shot a calculating glance around the room, then bellowed at the top of her lungs, “Talina Perez doesn’t have the guts to face me. She wouldn’t even face me this morning. Hid behind a tractor with a rifle. Before that, she snuck up behind me with a pistol. I call her a coward!”
The room had gone deadly quiet, all eyes turning to Spiro. The lieutenant was grinning, face flushed, a weird glaze to her eyes.
Shig reached out, placed a hand on Trish’s arm as she slipped off the stool and reached for her pistol.
“And as for you?” Spiro told Kashashvili. “You couldn’t lick a marine’s ass if you were on your knees. And if you’re one of Perez’s sniveling backers, you’re a cunt, too.”
Spiro paused only long enough to knock Kashashvili’s beer over before she stepped over the bench and started to leave.
“You don’t call me that, you soft bitch!” Kashashvili grabbed for his pistol, pulled it.
Before Trish could break free of Shig’s restraining hand, the man fired. A bottle popped and shattered on the back bar, liquor and fragments erupting in a haze.
Spiro had ducked as the bullet hissed past her. She was turning when Kashashvili shot again.
The second shot went wide, smacking the bar itself and splintering wood.
Spiro’s hand moved in a blur. It might have been magic—as if the lieutenant’s pistol appeared in her hand. Three deafening bangs. Like God’s hammer cracking the world.
Kashashvili swayed, a stupid look on his face. His arm dropped. The man’s pistol fell from loose fingers to clatter on the stone floor. He tried to form words, mouth working, lips oddly flaccid. Then he collapsed like a rag doll, head banging on the edge of the barroom table with a melon-hollow thud.
Spiro stood, feet braced, pistol out. A silly grin on her lips, the flush in her large-boned face turned a deeper red. Her glance went to the stunned people, rising slowly from their seats, as she called, “Any of the rest of you want a piece of me?”
Stunned, no one said a word.
“You saw that!” Spiro pointed to where Tomashev and Nashala were bent over Kashashvili’s crumpled body. “That bastard shot first. At my back. At my fucking back! Just like Talina Perez. And just like him, Talina Perez is going to get hers, too!”
“Trish?” someone called from a couple of tables back. “You going to deal with this?”
For an instant she froze, thoughts tumbling in her brain, confused.
Shig, however, stepped out, hands up, calling, “Nothing to deal with.” He sent a glance Spiro’s way, asking, “Might you perhaps reholster your weapon?”
Spiro—the idiotic grin still on her lips—fixed her unusually bright eyes on Shig, then back at the gawking people. As if against her will, she slipped the gun back into its holster, saying, “It can come out again. Just as fast.”
“It needn’t,” Shig soothed. Then he raised his voice. “We all saw it. The lieutenant was walking away. Boris shot twice. From behind. Lieutenant Spiro acted in self-defense.”
“You’re going to let her go?” Trish asked incredulously.
Shig fixed concerned brown eyes on hers. “Did you see something I did not?”
“She called him a liar and a . . . a . . .”
“And?” Shig asked reasonably. “She was in the process of walking away.”
“But what she said about Talina—”
“Is between her and Talina. Not our business. Not the community’s.”
Spiro, chuckling now, flicked her fingers at Trish, saying, “See you around.”
Trish accessed her com. “Two Spots? We’ve got a legal shooting in the tavern. It’s Boris Kashashvili. Send the cart around. We’ll bury him in the morning.”
“Roger that. Legal shooting. I’ve put it in the log.”
Chavez rose and hurried off in Spiro’s wake.
Trish stepped over to help extricate Kashashvili’s mortal remains from where they’d fallen under the table and bench. As she got hold of the man’s muscular arm and pulled, she asked Private Nashala, “You going with them?”
“Naw,” Nashala told her. “We all quit today. She came in here looking for a fight. Me, I just want to do something where I’m not getting in other people’s shit.”
Trish could see the wounds now. Three holes weeping blood into Kashashvili’s shirt. Right through the sternum and into the heart. No wonder there wasn’t much blood.
“You all quit, huh?” Tomashev asked, his face stricken as he helped to ease his partner’s legs out from under the table. He looked like he was searching frantically for something to talk about. Any distraction to lessen the shock.
“Spiro made it so that we can’t go back to Aguila. You been with him long?” Nashala asked Tomashev, empathetic enough to play along.
“’Bout five years. He was . . . was my friend.”
“Sorry,” Nashala added. To Trish, she said, “It’s all right. I’ll help get Kashashvili upstairs. From the looks of the crowd, you might have your hands full down here.”
Trish nodded, watched them as they carried Kashashvili’s corpse down the aisle and up the stairs. Around her, the talk was furtive, half angry, different people taking different sides as they periodically glanced her way. Obviously wondering what came next. What she’d do.
“All right!” Trish bellowed. “It’s over. Sit your asses back down, or call it a night and go home. If there’s a lesson here, it’s that you don’t shoot your mouth off.”
She swallowed hard, wishing her heart would finally settle down. Damn it, what had possessed Kashashvili? Sure, Spiro was poison, but to try to shoot her in the back?
“Some men go to the wilderness because they know better than to try and live with others.” Shig, reseated, told her as he fingered his wine glass.
“Excuse me?” Trish climbed back onto her own stool and sucked down a big draught of ale.
“Boris Kashashvili,” Shig said. “People irritated him. That’s why he turned to the bush in the first place. He and Pavel only came in today because they had to make a sand delivery to the glass works. They had a couple of nice rubies they wanted to convert to SDRs and buy parts for their hauler, too. Figured they’d stock up parts and cache them since it wasn’t likely that replacements were coming anytime soon.”
“Did you see that?” Trish asked, still unsettled. “I mean the way Spiro pulled that pistol and shot. Less than a blink of an eye. And all the while she was being shot at.” She shook her head. “How do you stay that cool?”
“Her guilt is overwhelming.”
Trish’s heart had finally returned to its normal beat, despite the images of Kashashvili’s shooting replaying over and over in her mind. “Guilt? Hey, I hate to break it to you, Shig, but that woman looked anything but guilty afterward.”
“It’s hard to hide an anger like hers. She doesn’t care if she lives or dies, which implies an incredible amount of guilt. Enough that she hates herself for every breath she takes.”
“Yeah, and what happens when Talina finally comes back to town?”
“Now is a very good time to get religion,” Shig admitted. “The Western kind where you can pray in hopes it will affect the quantum nature of the universe and save someone you love.”
And with that, Shig upended his glass and downed the whole thing.