The feeling was surreal. After all that Derek had been through, it had to be the way a convict felt: Like his sentence was finally over. That he’d served his time.
He looked around the small sialon room that had been his cell. The once-stately quarters—with a bed, desk, the separate toilet and shower—had been a most remarkable luxury. Almost sixteen square meters of living space. At times this had been a refuge, and at others a confinement. A place of soul-numbing fear, endless hunger, and desperate hope.
He laid a hand on the wall, feeling the ship’s vibrations through the hard material. “Ashanti, access please.”
“Hello, Dek,” the ship’s com said. “What can I do for you?”
“Nothing. Just wanted to say thanks for keeping us alive and getting us here.”
“You are welcome. Safe travels.”
It was said with feeling, but then the AI was programmed that way. When all was said and done, the ship’s intelligence was incapable of emotion, but still smart enough to evaluate a human’s behavior and tone, then respond accordingly.
Dek took a final look at the room, thinking, Maybe I’m not so different from the Unreconciled. Maybe I was gestated within these walls just to be born as someone different.
He cracked a parting smile, lifted his two bags and gun case, and stepped out into the familiar corridor. It struck him that he, a Taglioni, was carrying his own luggage—all that remained of the two large trunks of fine clothing, special foods, entertainments, expensive jewelry, and the ornate plates, pitchers, and engraved silverware. Even his family tea service had been traded away to different members of the crew during the long years.
Beyond that he hadn’t frittered away the two shipping containers in cargo. One contained his airplane—the one he had intended to use traveling between his holdings. The other had various recreational gadgets, exercise equipment, a home VR theater, interactive furniture, sports equipment for his leisure time, and other indulgences suitable to a Taglioni.
Given what he now knew about Donovan, he was wondering what exactly the use of a squash ball might be, or the value of his self-aware drink caddy.
In his two bags were his com equipment, a couple pair of worn coveralls, a set of utilitarian tools, and a few keepsakes he couldn’t abide to part with. The gun case contained his hunting rifle, pistol, bullets, and powerpacks. He was wearing his last, best, formal wear. Shabby as it was.
Walking down the corridor for the last time, filled him with a curious remorse. Ashanti had brought them through. Carried them across thirty light-years of interstellar space from Solar System. The error that had almost killed them hadn’t been the ship’s fault. It had been in the math hidden down in the quantum qubit computers in the ship’s core. Something that someone back in Solar System had programmed into the complicated statistics that governed inverted symmetry.
When Ashanti had popped back inside the universe a half light-year away from her target, she’d still managed to get them to Capella III.
A man couldn’t help but have a fondness for a ship like that.
He took the lift down to Deck Four, made his way to the shuttle deck, and stepped into the Number Six hatch area. Passing through the decompression doors, he found Captain Galluzzi at the airlock in conversation with Michaela Hailwood.
“We the first ones here?” Derek asked. “It’s not even 15:00 hours.”
“Hardly,” Michaela told him. “The entire Marine Unit’s already aboard, buckled in. Kids included. Have been for the last fifteen minutes. And that’s after they’d been waiting nearly an hour at the airlock. You’d think they were in a hurry to get off.”
“Just waiting on you, Dek,” Galluzzi told him with a smile.
“Thought there’d be a riot to get on the first shuttle.” Derek glanced around at the empty hallway.
“Funny thing,” Galluzzi told him. “Yeah, we got some real anxious sorts who can’t wait to shuttle down. Set foot on dirt again. But the closer we got, the more people began to waver. It’s like they’re suddenly unsure. It’s a bit intimidating to leave what’s comfortable, you know what I mean?”
“Guess I do.”
Galluzzi waved toward the lock. “Welcome aboard. Soon as you’re strapped in, Ensign Naftali can dog the hatch, uncouple, and see if the shuttle still works.”
“What if it doesn’t?” Michaela asked, her dark eyes thoughtful.
“Another reason a lot of us aren’t in a hurry to leave.” Galluzzi gave her a wide grin. “If you explode and burn up on reentry, we’ll know to stay aboard.”
“Cute,” Derek told him. Dropped his bags. Took Galluzzi’s hand in a hard shake. Pus and blood, the look in the man’s eyes was like that of a suffering martyr. “See you dirtside, Captain.”
“Yeah. You, too.”
Derek followed Michaela through the lock and into the main shuttle cabin.
“You and I get to ride on the command deck,” Michaela told him as he handed over his luggage. “Benefits of status.”
He let Tech Third Class Raptu stow his bags and followed Michaela through the hatch into the command deck. He got the right-hand seat in the row of three behind Naftali and copilot Windman’s command chairs. Begay, the old, familiar, pensive “don’t disturb me” look on his face, was in the left seat. The Advisor might have been meditating given the lines of concentration.
Derek buckled in. Aware of Michaela’s curious appraisal as she snapped her harness tight.
“What?”
“Just thinking. About all we’ve been through. You and me. All of us.”
He arched an eyebrow. “Ten years in that bucket of air is a long time, Micky.” He called her his old affectionate name from one of the two periods when they’d been lovers. “I haven’t a clue about what awaits us down-planet. Whatever it is, if you need me, let me know.”
She glanced away. “It’s not like there’re many secrets left after all this.” A beat. “I’m sorry for the way I . . . Well, I could have been more diplomatic that last time.”
“I just wish that things would have worked out better between you and Turner.”
“All right, people,” Naftali’s voice carried from the command chair. “Let’s go see a new world.”
Thumps could be felt through the deck. Servos whined and hydraulics moaned.
“Hatch is sealed and secure.” Raptu’s voice announced through the com.
“Begin undocking sequence.” Windman’s voice couldn’t mask the excitement.
A bigger thump shivered the shuttle. “Locking latches free.”
Looking through the right-side window, Derek watched the shuttle rise, clear Ashanti’s hull, and Capella’s bright light spilled through the transparency. As they rose, Derek got a good look at the ship. Could see the occasional pits in the sialon hull, and then they were above it.
Ashanti seemed to glow in Capella’s light, radiant. Part of the ship’s hull lay in shadow. And behind it the wash of the Milky Way—in a billion stars—gave it a special sort of beauty.
Then the shuttle changed attitude, banked, and the stars—masked by a pattern of black nebulae—took the ship’s place.
“I can’t believe this is happening,” Michaela whispered. “It’s really over. We’ve made it. There were times when I almost gave up.”
Derek chewed his lips, the surreal sensation increasing as acceleration pushed him into the seat. As it did, they passed Freelander where it hung in orbit. Unlike Ashanti, the big ship’s hull was dark behind the terminator line. Dek had read the reports, seen the images of the temple of human bones in the cafeteria.
There, but for the grace of God, go I.
The ghost ship seemed to hold his gaze as it cried out to his sense of tragedy and horror. People had committed mass murder, died of old age, gone mad. Now, studying the dark vessel, something wasn’t right. The light, it didn’t reflect. The sensation was like looking at one of those 50% mirrors that passed half the photons. Which was clap-trapping crazy, of course.
But something about the derelict sent a shiver up his bones.
As if Freelander took the trials and tribulations that Ashanti endured and magnified the horror tenfold.
With a sense of relief, he felt the first turbulence of atmosphere, watched the reddish haze trace its way across the wings and past his window. A faint roaring filled the cabin, the shuttle bouncing down out of the sky.
They shot over the terminator, looking down on an eerily dark planet. He could barely make out the continents, the seas, and islands.
Dark.
How odd after Earth, Moon, and Mars, all of which were stitched with patterns of light while in their nighttime phases.
As they shot into the sunlight, dropping down, Derek picked out the signature outline of the giant meteor impact crater. The sight of it reminded him of a bite taken out of the continent. Knew it marked the location of the human settlements on Capella III.
G-force threw him into his seat as the shuttle banked out over the ocean, leaving him a view of a sky that seemed to have a deeper blue than Earth’s.
The shuttle’s nose lifted. The roar grew louder. The ground seemed to rise, as if to smack them. Only to have the shuttle flatten out, almost skimming over the blue waters. Patches of white cloud flashed past the window.
They were over land now, a reddish soil dotted with what looked like trees. And nowhere, to Derek’s amazement, could even a speck of civilization be seen.
I belong here.
The planet might have been a magnet, drawing him. A thrill, like a vibration in his bones, had him staring down at the terrain flashing below. The feeling was . . . mystical!
And then they were down, the shuttle dropping on its landing struts. Dust blew out to curl before a wall of stacked shipping containers.
Dust?
“Welcome to Donovan,” Naftali called. “If you’d keep your seats until we spool down, we’ll have you off as soon as possible.”
Derek could hear whistles and cheers coming from the main cabin.
It’s real. I’m actually here.
He could feel the gravity. Stronger than on the ship.
As he stepped back into the main cabin, it was to see people in tears. They were hugging each other, crying, smiling. These were mostly the Maritime Unit people and their families. But a few of the crew had managed to snag some of the open seats.
Raptu got the all clear. The crafty tech opened the hatch, lowered the stairs, and raced to the bottom, ostensibly to offer people assistance, thereby getting to claim that he’d been the first from Ashanti to set foot on Cap III.
A decade ago, Derek might have had the guy’s head. Now he just chuckled as he grabbed up his bags and took the stairs to the ground. At the first contact, the electric thrill in his bones intensified. Could have been his body turning into a tuning fork.
I am home. This is my place.
With the seared clay under his feet, he took a moment to get his bearings. Stacked cargo containers blocked the view in every direction except toward the town. But the scent! Perfumed, a sort of cardamom and sage with a trace of cinnamon. For a moment, he closed his eyes, filled his lungs. Pure bliss.
Benj and Michaela clumped down the stairs, and both sighed in unison as they stepped onto the ground.
As Derek turned his attention in the direction of town, the first thing that struck him was the fence. Fully fifty feet tall, composed of cobbled-together sections of woven, welded, and chain-link wire, it looked like something from a maximum-security prison.
Behind it he could see weathered duraplast domes, peaked roofs that looked somehow medieval, and a collection of people who crowded against the fence. They were calling, waving, obviously happy at the shuttle’s arrival.
From a gate came four people who . . .
Derek stared, wondered what he was seeing. Escapees from the circus? A sort of freak show? The notion of old-time pirates came to mind. They were dressed in gaudy, wide-brimmed hats and shimmering, rainbow-hued leather boots, vests, and cloaks. Each wore a shirt of some light fabric embroidered in colorful patterns. Okay, maybe Gypsy clown pirates.
It took him a moment, but Derek picked out the Supervisor, tall, raven-haired, with her scars. Hard to believe this was the same stately beauty he’d coveted in Transluna. The one who had once perched on Miko’s arm like an exotic ornament. She walked forward with a swinging stride and stood out only because she wore a black business suit beneath the dancing colors of her prism-colored cloak. Disconcerting was the holstered pistol upon which she rested her right hand.
She picked him out immediately, recognition flashing. And then distaste and barely masked loathing turned to puzzlement as she noticed he was carrying his bags and gun case. Good. Let her stew on that.
Shig Mosadek was the short one with the unruly hair, brown face, and amiable grin. Beside him strode a tall silver-blonde woman with piercing green eyes. She might have been in her fifties, or with the right med, even older. She had a curious, almost mocking smile on her lips.
And finally, the fourth woman was mesmerizing. Thirtyish, maybe five foot six, with long blue-black hair and angular cheekbones unlike anything Derek had ever seen. Then he fixed on her inhuman, almost alien-black eyes. She walked with the same innate grace and flow as a hunting panther. The military-grade rifle slung on her shoulder, the big knife and the use-worn pistol on her pouch-filled belt, added to her look of deadly competence.
Supervisor Aguila stepped ahead, offering her hand as she said, “Advisor/Observer Begay, I’m Supervisor Kalico Aguila of Corporate Mine. To my left is Shig Mosadek, Yvette Dushane, and Security First Talina Perez of Port Authority. Welcome to Donovan.”
That she’d deferred to the Advisor/Observer irritated something deep in Derek’s chest. Yes, Begay was the senior Corporate official. But to spurn a Taglioni? What was the woman trying to prove? What was her game? What percentage did she play by antagonizing him and throwing down the gauntlet . . .
Stop it. You’re not that guy anymore.
Derek fixed on Begay’s face, realized that the man looked stricken. On the verge of tears, Begay said, “Thank you, Supervisor. A lot of us, well, we thought we’d never see this day.”
Michaela, too, was looking shaken. Her mouth was working, a glitter of incipient tears behind her eyes. At the moment she seemed too overcome for words.
When Aguila finally looked his way, Dek stepped forward, dropped his bags, and offered his hand. “Derek Taglioni, Supervisor. Good to see you again. Allow me to introduce Michaela Hailwood, in charge of the Maritime Unit and our lead scientist.”
She ignored his hand, a mere quiver of distaste at the corner of her mouth. A thousand questions lay behind the look she gave him.
He tried not to be distracted by the tracery of scars across her face. Oh, yes. She remembered that last meeting. Her blue gaze seemed to shoot through him like lasers. “Welcome, sir. I hope the vicissitudes of your journey weren’t unbearable.”
Derek felt an old part of himself bristle at the reserve she tried to keep from her voice. She still loathed him. That brought him no little amusement. And yes, had he stepped down from the shuttle ten years ago . . .
Have I changed so much?
Aguila had shifted her attention to Michaela, saying, “Welcome to Donovan.” She had no trouble offering the woman her hand in a firm shake.
Mosadek—a beneficent smile on his lips—said, “I look forward to getting to know you all. Port Authority is delighted to welcome you.”
Dek could hear the buildup of people behind him as the Maritime Unit came flooding down the stairs. Children were crying, people wondering at the smell of the air, the feel of sunlight on their skin and ground underfoot. He could hear complaints about the gravity.
Grabbing up his luggage, he stepped off to the side, happy to be out of the limelight.
In a loud voice, the alien-eyed Perez called, “Welcome to Donovan. I’m Security Officer Talina Perez. If you’ll all follow me, my associate, Corporal Abu Sassi, has a registration and orientation set up in the cafeteria.”
Aguila turned to the crowd. “Please stay close. We don’t want anyone to stray off on this side of the fence. Once you are in the cafeteria and have completed orientation, your Corporate status will be determined. Temporary housing will be assigned, and we’ll get you fed.” A beat. “With real food!”
That brought a round of happy cries and applause.
As Perez lined them out, Dek matched Aguila’s step, asking, “Is the fence to keep people in, or something out?”
“Out.” Aguila shot him a measuring glance. “Sir, forgive me for being blunt, but Donovan is not Solar System, and Port Authority is not Transluna. In the next few moments you are going to hear yourself referred to as ‘soft meat,’ a ‘Skull,’ and who knows what else? The terms are not disrespectful, but a reference to your having been aboard a ship. It’s a difficult request, but if you would be so kind as to grant the locals a bit of leeway, I would sincerely appreciate it.”
Derek tried to decipher the message she was sending him. Obviously, a warning, but not even Miko’s woman would dare hint to another Taglioni that he not behave like an ass.
They were nearing the gate, and behind the fence he could see the crowd, all dressed in insane costumes of leather, boots, worn coveralls, and looking like ruffians from a VR fantasy. The number of weapons alone should have sent prickles down his back. Would have, once upon a time. What kind of lunatic gave weapons to the common people? They couldn’t be trusted.
Is that what living two decks up from the Unreconciled for all these years has done? It’s left me numb to physical threat?
The gate was a big thing, ten meters wide, fifteen tall, but the smaller “man gate” was set into the side. His Donovanian escort led the way through, and Derek followed them into Port Authority proper.
He returned greetings called from the cheerful Donovanians and delighted in the fact that though they carried them, none were waving guns around. Gravel crunched under his feet. Gravel? Not paved?
The domes to either side appeared old, weathered, streaked with what looked like fungus. Here and there he could see pieces of cannibalized equipment, much of it sitting up on blocks. The sunlight seemed harsher, the sky a deep shade of turquoise that hinted of lapis.
Stopping before the double doors at the cafeteria dome, Aguila said, “Sir, rather than attend the orientation, how about you and I get some things straight on our own?”
“Listen, Supervisor, given our last meeting, I don’t blame you for the chilly reception. Just for the record, I’m not here to cause you any grief. Not after what I’ve been through.”
Skepticism filled her laser-blue eyes. “Actually, nothing would delight me more than to leave you on the other side of the fence. But I’ll tell you what you need to know to stay alive. Call it the Aguila crash course.”
“And where are we going to do that? Your office?”
“Hardly.” She barked a laugh. “Follow me. And don’t worry about the rest of your luggage. They’ll send it to a dome. Two Spot will tell me where.”
“This is it.” He raised his bags and gun case. “Well, there are a couple of containers in cargo. An airplane. Some other toys. But this is all I’ve got.”
“You’re kidding.”
“It’s all that’s left.”
For a long moment she tried to dissect him with her cutting gaze. “Whatever game you’re—”
“No game. I don’t have any left to play.”
He watched the others as they passed through the doors into the cafeteria dome. All those expectant faces, men and women, their children. People he’d known so intimately for all those horrifying years. And here and there a crewman. Including Koikosan, with whom he’d worked hydroponics. How had she managed to snag a seat downplanet?
“Long story, Supervisor. Call it a beautiful terror, a wondrous nightmare. A numbing epiphany.”
She was giving him that you’re-more-disgusting-than-shit-on-my-shoe look again. “Let’s just get this over with as painlessly as possible so I can be shut of you.”
She led the way down what looked like the main avenue. Domes were interspersed with stone-and-wood buildings of local manufacture. He saw signs proclaiming ASSAY OFFICE, GUNSMITH, GLASSWORKS, and FOUNDRY. The street was empty of traffic. The town’s entire population, it appeared, was back at the cafeteria and shuttle field.
“Not even a stray dog,” he mused.
“According to the records, dogs rarely lasted more than a couple of months before Donovan got them. The invertebrates took out the cats even faster.”
Derek had started to pant. His feet heavy, the two bags like sodden weights. He could feel the strain in his shoulders, wondered if they’d be pulled out of joint. When had he gotten so soft?
Fortunately she led him to a dome a block down. The place looked old; oddly matched benches sat in front of a double door. A faded sign proclaimed: THE BLOODY DRINK.
Derek glanced at it, then at the I’ll-take-no-shit-off-you Supervisor as she opened the door.
What the hell have I gotten myself into?