The mine gate on the north end of town was a huge square opening in the fifty-foot-high monstrosity of fence. The size was large enough to pass the haulers coming down from the clay pit. The gate itself rolled on large wheels and cammed into place when closed. Truly a remarkable piece of engineering.
Unlike so many of Dek’s kin, he’d spent time during his youth in many of the re-wilded areas on Earth. He had enjoyed the open air, hunted—as only a Taglioni could—and come to relish the out of doors.
Maybe that’s why Donovan called to him. He’d been ten years stuck in the confines of Ashanti’s few decks. When a person is removed from nature for any length of time, coming back into contact with it is an almost mystical experience.
He extended a hand—a futile attempt to touch the ethereal. Closing his eyes, he let the breeze caress his outstretched fingers.
Better than nothing.
Dek laughed at his folly and raised his face to the partly cloudy sky. He let his gaze rest longingly on the dusty haul road where it vanished into the scrubby trees. The curious scent that he equated with cardamom and a hint of cinnamon tinged with the lightest touch of saffron teased his nostrils.
The sound of the place was just as enchanting with its melodic rising and falling of harmony. Something similar to a symphony that was on the verge of finding the perfect musical score. But each time it was almost there, it would drift off into an atonal direction and have to start all over again. He’d been told that those were the invertebrates—a series of species of winged, shelled, and legged creatures that made up one of the lower trophic levels of Donovan’s biome.
“Kind of a treat, huh?” the guard asked. He was a red-haired, brown-skinned man with a large triangular nose and knowing black eyes that stared out from under a shelf of brow ridge.
“I could listen to it for days on end. There’s a magic here. Something that echoes in my soul,” Dek told the man. Then offered his hand. “Derek Taglioni.”
“Wejee Tolland. I’m part of the security detail. I like being posted at the mine gate the best. You see, that’s the bush out there. Right close and personal. The other gates, they all let out on farms, the aircar field, the shuttle field. But that’s pure Donovan running right up to the fence.”
Dek took a long step, planting it firmly beyond the high wire enclosure.
“Uh, sir? I gotta ask you to step back inside.”
Dek retreated, asking, “Is there a problem?”
Wejee gave an offhand shrug. “Orders are that we’re not supposed to let you—and especially you—get eaten. Of all the gates, the quetzals try this one the most often. Whitey brought two others of his lineage right through here last time we had a major incursion. And that’s not counting the bems, spikes, sidewinders, and skewers. Cheng’s slug poison is working pretty well, and dry as it is, slugs aren’t a major threat. At least not today. But I wouldn’t trust it to be out with those soft town shoes of yours, sir. You’d be a heap better off in boots.”
A man had to appreciate orders that said he wasn’t to be eaten. “Can’t set foot outside the gate, huh? Those are Kalico’s orders?”
“No, sir. She don’t give orders here. That comes from Tal. And if Talina Perez asks me to wrestle a quetzal bare-naked, shoot a hole in the moon, and toss Freelander out of orbit with one hand, I’m going to do it.”
“I guess you and I see Talina Perez in the same light. Where you from, Wejee?”
“North of Alice Springs in the red center of Australia. Mother made the trip out from the city so I’d be born on the ancestral lands. Family’s lived in Sydney for a couple of generations. I’m the first to qualify for deep space. I came here on the seventh ship. Never wanted to go back.”
“Worked for Talina the entire time?”
“Yes, sir.”
“I’d rather you called me Dek. I wasted too much of my life being called ‘sir.’” He turned his gaze out to the bush. What the hell was it? This incredible longing, as though some unseen thing was beckoning him from just beyond that line of trees. After ten years in Ashanti, he really wanted to go wander, smell the land. “Who do I talk to about going out there?”
“Talina Perez.”
“What is it about her? I’m not sure yet, but she may be the most amazing woman I’ve ever known.”
Wejee’s grin wrinkled the brown skin around his mouth. “Don’t go getting a thing for her, Dek. Half the men in this town cast covetous eyes at Tal. Problem is, she’s got quetzals inside her. That, and she’d break any man in two if he riled her the wrong way.”
“So, she doesn’t have a man in her life?”
“Here’s the thing about Tal: I’d die for that woman, and she’s saved my skinny Aboriginal ass more than a couple of times. But she’s had her share of heartache. Buried her first man, Mitch, when he died from an infection. Cap, the second, got broken up by a quetzal, crippled, and somebody overdosed him. Then there was Trish. As close as Tal was going to come to a daughter. Trish’s in a grave up at the cemetery after some soft-meat piece of shit shot her by accident. That was a couple of years back. Since then Tal’s been different. Aloof.”
“Tell me about these quetzals inside her. I overheard her talking to herself this morning. Not that I don’t talk to myself, but this sounded like she was answering questions.”
“She say, ‘You piece of shit,’ on occasion?” At Dek’s nod, Wejee said, “Yeah, those are the Whitey quetzals. The ones she calls ‘Demon.’ Local lineage around here. They’ve got a blood vendetta against humans.”
“Hold on a second. How does she have these creatures inside her?”
“It’s the molecules, Dek. We humans got DNA: two strands of nucleic acid. Quetzals got what they call TriNA. Three strands. With three they can encode three times the information for a given length of molecule. I get a little hazy on this, but Cheng, Dya, and Dr. Turnienko, they figure the molecules are intelligent. That they think, or at least process information.”
“So Talina has smart molecules running around inside her? And they talk to her?”
“Talk is the wrong word. They communicate through transferRNA, just like in terrestrial cells. Hey, I’m a security guy. You want details? Take the microbiology up with Cheng and Dya Simonov.”
“The quetzal molecules don’t just interface with her brain, do they? Is that the difference in her eyes and face?”
“She can see into both the UV and IR spectra. Hears way better than any human should. And she may not look it, but she’s twice as strong as any man I ever knew.”
“How does she deal with it? Must be, well, unsettling at best.”
“She had a tough go of it a couple of years back during the Benteen excitement. Then, to lose Trish? That girl was like a daughter to her. Damn near broke her, but somehow, she put it all together, keeps the quetzal part of her separate.”
“Hell of a lady.”
“Yep.”
“Hey! There you are!” a voice called.
Dek turned to see Michaela Hailwood’s tall and slender form striding down the avenue; her long legs were clad in some dark fabric; an embroidered shirt was tucked in at the waist. She had one of the quetzal-hide capes over her shoulders.
“New wardrobe? Looks good on you.”
“Hell, yes,” she told him with a wide grin as she came to a stop; Capella’s harsh light glinted in her fuzz of short black hair. Sticking out a hand toward Wejee, she said, “Doctor Michaela Hamilton. Maritime unit. Glad to meet you.”
“Wejee Tolland,” he replied with a grin. “What’s a maritime unit?”
She gestured east, past the fence. “We’re supposed to establish the first research base for the study of Donovan’s oceans. We’ve got a submersible research module aboard Ashanti. I’ve spent all morning with the Supervisor and Dr. Shimodi about where to set up. Looks like it will be on a series of reefs five hundred kilometers out from the coast.”
Dek gave her a grin. “That’s the best news I’ve heard all day.”
She gave him a wan smile in return. “Hard to believe after all we’ve been through. But, yeah, we’re finally in business. They’ll start downloading cargo as soon as the Unreconciled are safely planetside.”
Dek made a face. “Glad I don’t have to be part of the team that has to clean up Deck Three. Something tells me it’s going to be a nightmare.”
“You and me both.” She looked out the gate. “So that’s the storied bush, huh?”
“It is,” Wejee told her. “The sound you hear is what we call the chime. It’s the invertebrates singing to each other. Not sure if it’s something they do to distract predators, or attract mates, or locate food. And since we’ve figured out about the intelligent molecules, it could even be language for all we know.”
“Bugs with language?” Dek wondered.
Wejee shot him a cautioning glance. “Now, Dek, don’t go making judgments based on Terrestrial life. On Donovan that can get you killed. Things don’t work the same here.”
To Michaela, he said, “And we haven’t even begun to look at the oceans and rivers. But if an old hand can give you any advice, Doctor Hailwood, you’ll live a lot longer out there if you’ll take for granted that everything on this planet is trying to kill you.”
“We’ll be taking care to make sure we don’t expose ourselves to any unnecessary risks.”
“Good. Take that care, and then take it twice more, if you get my meaning. Nobody has ever died of old age on Donovan.”
“I hear you, Wejee. We’ll be extra careful.”
“Good. But prepare yourself, Doctor. If I’m any kind of a guesser, you’re going to lose a couple of people in the first month.”
“Isn’t that a bit extreme?” Dek wondered.
Wejee’s knowing eyes had no give. “Just the opposite, Dek. That’s unbridled optimism on my part.”