Mark Talbot couldn’t believe it. It hadn’t been twenty-four hours and he was on his way back to Tyson Station. All he’d had in between was a pleasant evening with his family—a rare night when his two wives, Dya and Su, along with the kids, had been home at the same time. After dealing with the Unreconciled, the evening had been a reminder of the blessings that had befallen him. To be part of a family, to have women who loved him, children to be proud of.
Sure, they had suffered tragedy enough on Donovan, but with the exception of Kylee, they’d come through it. Adjusted. Dya’s skills had earned her a valued position as one of the preeminent researchers on Donovan. Her insight into the biology was going to revolutionize humanity’s chances for success on the planet. Su was reworking the PA computer systems, her coding abilities allowing for increased data manipulation in the town’s single quantum cubit computer.
The kids had finally integrated into the local academy, a transition made somehow easier because Dan Wirth had built a new school. As though everyone moving into the new building had leveled the playing field, hadn’t left the Mundo kids feeling as much like outsiders.
Talbot had sprawled on the couch, watching as Damien, Sullee, Tuska, and Taung had led the rest of the children in a game of snap. He’d had one arm around Dya, the other tucking Su close.
This, he had thought, is the meaning of existence.
That lingering knowledge had made his lovemaking with Su even more tender and fulfilling than usual—though he had slept that night with nightmares of the Unreconciled, recoiling from tortured dreams in which they stalked his children from the shadows, their eyes burning red in intricately scarred faces.
And what do I wake up to this morning?
Two Spot had called on the com. “Mark? We’ve got a plea from Tyson. Something’s wrong with the solar generators out there. They’re losing their electricity. Kalico wondered if you could take Sheyela Smith out with a squad of armored marines and see what’s wrong?”
So here he was, at the wheel of one of the new airtrucks, scooting along some thousand feet above the rumpled and mounded carpet of forest. Tyson Station was just ahead, a flat mesa jutting out from the broken and tumbled hills that marked the old volcano. He could see the white dots of the domes, the paler green of the agricultural fields to their south. And there, on the point, were the culprit solar collectors.
“All right, people, gear up.”
Behind him, privates, Paco Anderssoni, Dina Michegan, Wan Xi, Russ Tanner, and Briah Muldare strapped into their combat armor. The sound of the armor clicking into place was like music to Talbot’s ears. He could hear the hum of the servos as his former team checked their systems. The slick-slick of weapons check meant that rounds were being chambered.
In the rear, Sheyela Smith, a woman in her thirties, called, “Whatever you do, don’t let the freaks eat me.”
“You’re our electrical guru,” Dina Michegan told her. “Didn’t even need to hear it from the Supervisor. We’ll level that shit-sucking station before we let them harm a hair on your head.”
“Indispensable,” Wan Xi agreed, a smile on his mobber-scarred face.
“Yeah,” Muldare agreed. “Second only to Inga, but that’s only ’cause while you can keep electrical shit running, you can’t brew a keg of IPA that wouldn’t gag a slug.”
“Hey, guys,” Talbot warned, “Kalico wants us to go in, fix the solar, and get the hell out without an incident. Job one is to keep Sheyela safe. Job two is to fix the electricity. Job three is to get out without an incident. In armor, with non-lethal tech, that shouldn’t be an impossible mission.”
“Yeah, Mark,” Anderssoni replied. “Who do you think you’re talking to? After all the shit we been through, you’re not going to find a tighter squad in the Corps.”
Mark turned, grinned, and slapped hands with Anderssoni. Donovan had honed them, shaped them, and compressed them. Cap Taggart, Deb Spiro, and Kalen Tompzen had torn them apart and Donovan glued them back together. What was left of the original twenty marines were closer than family.
God help the Unreconciled if this were a trap.
Mark wheeled the airtruck around, wishing he had the A-7 with Makarov at the helm, but the big bird was in orbit, tied to Ashanti for a refit.
He cocked his head, seeing people as he circled the compound. They were all outside, clustered before the domes, waving.
“Looks friendly enough,” Muldare noted as she peered down.
“Don’t see any weapons,” Wan Xi agreed. “Hell, they’re half dressed.”
“Let’s go down and see,” Mark told them. “Helmets on, kiddies. Sheyela, the marines will jump down first, form a box. You and I will climb down after them. They’ll proceed in a diamond formation to the solar collectors. You and I stay in the middle while the marines use their tech to keep eyes on the man-eaters. Russ?”
“Yo!”
“You’re in charge of the airtruck. Keep it secure. We might have to beat feet out of here, so do what you have to. And, Russ, as soon as we hit the dirt, get some drones in the air to keep an eye on things.”
“Roger that, Mark.”
Talbot set them down on the landing pad, powered down the fans, and asked, “Ready?”
“Yut yut!” came the call from the marines as they opened the door and began dropping to the ground outside.
Talbot climbed down, took Sheyela’s toolbox, and helped her to the ground. The Unreconciled were crowding around just beyond the marines, waving, calling excitedly.
“It’s just women and kids,” Anderssoni muttered.
“Fuck me,” Michegan growled uneasily. “I’ll never get over those scars. Who’d do that to themselves?”
The crowd parted, a man and woman walking through the press. The man was white-haired, a long ponytail hanging down his back. The scars gave his thin face a pinched look. The woman was tall, maybe late thirties, intricately scarred. Both were naked to the waist, and to Mark’s curious relief, they were both wearing shoes.
“I am First Will Petre Jordan,” the man introduced. Indicating the woman, he added, “This is Second Wife Svetlana Pushkin.”
“Call me Svetlana,” the woman added with a smile. “The formal titles really are a bit over the top. On behalf of the Messiah, we want to thank you for coming at such short notice.” She glanced askance at the marines in their gleaming armor, rifles at port arms. “The guns and soldiers won’t be needed. It’s just an electrical problem. Probably something simple. But we don’t have anyone left who can fix it.”
“The marines are just a formality,” Mark told her with a smile. “If you could tell us what the problem is?”
Again, it was Svetlana who extended an arm. “Something down at the collectors. If you’d come this way?”
To the people she added, “I know you all want to talk to the newcomers, and you have a thousand questions, but please, stay back. Maybe, when some of the suspicion has been allayed, we can truly welcome these people to our homes.”
Mark felt that warning bell go off. After Batuhan and the first impressions, this was just a little too good to be true.
Nevertheless, Svetlana and Petre started south, leading the way.
“Screw me with a skewer,” Sheyela whispered. “So that’s a cannibal?”
“Shhh.” Mark waved her down.
Svetlana had dropped back, seemed nonchalant as she matched Mark’s pace, apparently unconcerned about Muldare artfully staying between them. “So, you’re Mark Talbot, right?”
“Yeah. I’m security second for Port Authority.”
“I saw you when the Supervisor brought us down. We would have liked to have talked then, gotten to know you all, but you’ve got to understand, we were scared. After what had been done to us on that ship, we didn’t know what to expect.”
“Welcome to Donovan.”
“Yeah,” she shot him a grin. “This is like a paradise.”
“One that will kill you before you know you’re dead.”
“Oh, we’re taking precautions.”
“Half those women and kids following us are barefoot.”
“Mark, you’ve got to understand, we’re still trying to cope. Those kids have never had shoes. Didn’t need them in Deck Three. What we endured? Well, it’s going to take a while to come to terms with it. We’ve barely survived a holocaust. Probably be a while before we’re normal again.”
Amen to that. Aloud Mark said, “We’ll do whatever we can to help. Get you a start, at least. I lived on a station like this one down to the south. Everything you need is here. Use the radio. Call if you have questions.”
She indicated the marines who tromped along in their armor. “Listen, combat-ready soldiers don’t exactly send a reassuring message to our people. I know where the Supervisor is coming from, and I can only guess what that shit-sucker Galluzzi has told you. But if you’d give us a chance . . . well, maybe today can be a first step. You follow what I’m saying?”
“Sure. Just let us get your electricity fixed, and we’ll call it a win all the way around.”
She shot him a warm smile. “Then we’ll consider this the first step. What do you need from us? How can we help?”
“Just let us do our job.”
Svetlana crossed her arms under her small breasts and frowned as they passed the agricultural fields. “It won’t be easy for us. We’re not in the habit of trusting strangers. Any consideration you could show would be helpful.”
“One step at a time.” He knew the marines were monitoring their tech. Into his com, he asked, “Russ? What do your eyes in the skies see?”
“Not a thing, Mark. You’re definitely the center of attention, but it’s just a bunch of women and kids, most of the men are working in the fields, harvesting crops. Nothing that looks like a weapon anywhere. Looks to me like they’re good.”
It took Sheyela five minutes to bypass a fried circuit board. As she closed and latched the access door, she said, “Looks like, old as it is, it just couldn’t take the load. They’ll be good to go.”
As they started back, Mark’s com announced, “Mark? The men from the fields are headed in my direction bearing baskets.”
To Svetlana, he said, “My marine tells me that a bunch of the men are headed for the airtruck.”
“Good,” she answered. “It’s the only thing we could think of.”
“Think of what?”
“Fresh food. It may not be that noteworthy or valuable to you, but after years of ration, it’s the most valuable thing we have to offer as a way to express our appreciation for your kind help.”
Five minutes later, as he piloted the airtruck up from the landing pad, Talbot wondered what had just happened. Behind him, the marines crowded around baskets of green beans.
And yes, he understood the symbolic offering it represented.
So much for salivating cannibals.
Maybe they’d been overreacting to the threat from the beginning?
Vartan stepped up beside Svetlana and Petre as the airtruck sped its way eastward. The sound of its passing had long since faded. Now it was but a dot in the distance, barely visible against the clouds. Then it vanished.
“Well, what do you think?” Vartan asked.
Svetlana shrugged, rubbing nervous hands up and down the scars on her arms. “We could have been more convincing if the marines hadn’t been wearing that armor. Talbot was skeptical right up until we gave them those baskets of food.”
“That almost broke my heart,” Petre said with a sigh. “My mouth watered at the sight. I kept thinking what that lot would have tasted like broiled over a grill.”
“You did well,” Vartan told Svetlana. “Me, I’ve never been good at lying. Too much honesty in me, I guess.”
“It’s not like a lie, Vart,” Petre told him. “That’s the enemy. Deceivers. We owe them nothing but destruction.”