Abandoned, p.18
Abandoned, page 18
part #2 of Donovan Series
“Got it before it divided,” Raya told her, looking up from the notes she was jotting and then handing them to Felicity.
“Terry,” Talina called, “you getting careless, or what?”
Mishka made a face. “Careless. Sasha warned me about having a hole in my boot. It’s been so long since I’ve seen a slug out there, and I knew better than to be standing in one place down in the bog. Thing is, I just wasn’t paying attention.”
“Yeah, well, at least you’re not ending up a one-legged farmer,” Felicity told him with a smile.
Sasha Mishka, Terry’s wife, burst through the hospital’s front doors, a grim set to her wide, sun-browned face. Her worn clothing still muddy from the field, she came pounding down the hall.
“How’s Terry?” she called, urgency in her voice.
“Fine,” Raya said, stepping out. “By the time I got to it, I think the slug had figured out it had made a mistake. After chewing on flesh as tough and gamy as Terry’s, it practically jumped out of the incision on its own.”
Raya gave Sasha a wink, adding, “Felicity can fill you in.” To Tal, she said, “Got a minute?”
“Yeah. I got your message. What’s up?”
Raya beckoned with a finger, leading Talina to her office. “Have a seat.”
Talina dropped into the chair across from Raya’s. The tall Siberian cocked her head, dark eyes pensive as she settled behind her desk. “Since finding the TriNA in your system, I’ve been going back. Been running tests on blood samples I’ve been taking over the last couple of years. The results are interesting.”
She slipped a data sheet across to Talina.
Tal ran her eyes down the names, most of them locals from Port Authority, but interspersed were Wild Ones. About twenty of them. Behind each name either a + or - sign had been written. Most of the plus signs were listed behind Wild Ones. For example, she noted that the entire Briggs family were pluses.
At the end was her own name, with a prominent plus behind it.
“What am I looking at?”
“The number of people who have TriNA in their blood or tissues,” Raya told her thoughtfully. “Incidentally, I checked your old samples from a couple of years back. You were negative. I think we can conclusively say that the day you killed the quetzal in the canyon is when you were infected.”
“Mostly Wild Ones,” Talina noted, going down the list again.
“Notice something else?” Raya asked. “Briggs, Shu Wans, Philos, the Andanis, and the rest? The really successful and self-sufficient families that have carved out farmsteads and outlying claims?”
“They’re all positive.” Talina tapped her chin with an index finger.
“And, with a few exceptions, people from town are negatives. Including folks like Tosi Damitiri. People who might work outside the fence—even have a place within an easy travel radius—but who don’t spend that much time in the bush.”
“So people who live the life, so to speak, are going to be infected?”
Raya nodded. “That’s the hypothesis. I’ve had Mgumbe running tests on the specific markers, the discrete sections of TriNA that mark its origin. It’s time-consuming, delicate work, and we’re doing it during the off hours, but it appears that most of the local TriNA infections around Port Authority come from chamois or crest. Not a big surprise given that they are most often food animals.”
“And the Wild Ones? Like the Briggs boy, Flip?” She pointed at one of the larger plus signs.
“Quetzal.”
“Maybe the one that French-kissed me that day?” Talina remembered her encounter with the quetzal outside the Briggs farmstead. The one that Flip had told her “just hangs around sometimes.”
In answer to her question, Raya just shrugged.
“But you haven’t seen any sign that having Donovanian TriNA in a person’s system is detrimental?”
“Not so far, but, Talina, we’re at the beginning of this. If not for you, we wouldn’t even have recognized it. Who knows what the long-term effects are going to be?”
Talina felt the quetzal wiggle around behind her liver. The thing always seemed to know when it was the topic of conversation.
“You figured out how it talks to me yet?”
“Haven’t a clue beyond the fact that it’s some sort of molecular stimulus that triggers synapses, which trigger neural microcircuits, that activate the right dendritic trees, and fire the right neurons in the speech centers of your brain. But what makes that so fascinating is that your quetzal TriNA is utilizing what neurologists call your prior knowledge.
“What boggles Mgumbe, Cheng, and me is that somehow the quetzal TriNA molecules know their agenda, are organized to learn your neurology, can figure out how to manipulate it, and can achieve the desired end. By that, I mean they employ an input signal to gain a desired response through the language center of your brain. Do you realize how sophisticated that is?”
“I realize how creepy it is.”
Raya didn’t take the bait. Instead she leaned forward. “Talina, how often does the quetzal stimulate the wrong word from your language center? By that, I mean, make a mistake? For example, it means to communicate the word ‘fear’ but instead you hear ‘feat.’ A very similar word phonetically and structurally.”
“It’s always been on the money.” That Raya was taking this so seriously made her feel unsettled. “You want to cut down to the bones of the matter?”
“Think of it this way”—Raya clasped her hands together as she leaned across the desk—“You are an alien creature. From a completely different biology and cultural system, using a completely foreign neurology, anatomy, and vocabulary, and somehow mere molecules have mastered the difficult task of interfacing with some of your most complicated mental and emotional functions. It has done this associatively and with reinforcement and demonstrates a knowledge and goal, learning strategy, and evaluation of performance. In short, your quetzal molecules are what we’d call intelligent actors.”
“You’re looking really grim about this, Raya.”
“Yeah. I’m thinking we’ve completely misread Donovanian life. We’ve always thought of the quetzal in terrestrial terms. An organism. Like a shark or man-eating tiger.” She paused. “I’m wondering now if a quetzal isn’t just the vehicle—the packaging. What if the TriNA is the actual heart, soul, and essence of the creature?”
“I don’t get it.”
“You ever heard the old axiom that a human being is just a DNA molecule’s way of propagating and disseminating more DNA? What if a quetzal is just TriNA’s way of getting around, experiencing its world, and expanding its horizons?”
“And now you think it’s moving into humans?” Talina swallowed hard. “Into me?”
Raya once again gave her one of those enigmatic shrugs. “Hey, like I said, we’re just at the beginning here. The takeaway is that your quetzal shouldn’t be able to talk to you. Shouldn’t be able to stimulate physical pain, fear, and all those other emotions. You shouldn’t be able to ‘feel’ it. And most of all, you said you can frighten it in return? That’s a two-way feedback. Your ability to trigger neurons, which in turn send a signal that affects an emotional reaction in the quetzal molecules, shouldn’t be possible either.”
“So, what does that mean?”
“If you really think about it? It means true first contact with an alien intelligence.”
“Intelligence? Isn’t that a bit far out?”
“Tal, I don’t know what to think at this stage of the game. One of the problems is that your quetzal didn’t meet Donovan at the landing site and say ‘Take me to your leader.’ This is alien life. Alien intelligence. Trying to fit it into any kind of a human framework for the understanding of intelligence? That might pan out to be an absolutely ludicrous exercise in futility.”
“Holy shit,” Talina whispered, aware of Raya’s dark-eyed stare.
“Yeah, whole new world, isn’t it?” Raya said uncertainly.
And a lot more threatening. The sudden queasy feeling didn’t make Talina feel any better.
27
If there were any feeling that absolutely annoyed Kalico Perez, it was the sensation of being trapped. She’d felt that way on Turalon. Now she felt it again as she tramped down the main avenue. As if there were no options but capitulation.
Behind her, Privates Finnegan and Tompzen followed along through the morning, nodding at the locals they passed, returning greetings.
Kalico kept her frosty gaze ahead, not that she needed to keep her expression severe. The damned hangover saw to that.
She shot an evil, narrow-eyed glance at Inga’s as she passed, asking herself, What the hell was I thinking last night?
But she knew full well why she’d done it. She’d gone and taken Perez’s stool, knowing that no one would bother her there. That she could just sit and listen to people being happy, sharing fellowship. From her isolated stool, she could imagine herself part of the crowd, share the companionship, if only vicariously through the whiskey.
“My God, I can be a blinking idiot on occasion, can’t I?” she growled under her breath.
What if Perez hadn’t shown up? What if she’d climbed down off that stool, done something really stupid? Tried to make herself one with the rabble? Stumbled, slurred her words. Thrown up on herself or someone else?
“You are a Supervisor, you stupid bitch,” she muttered under her breath.
Worse, she owed Perez now. Bad as that was, the woman had saved Kalico from herself. That could not be allowed to happen again. One more mistake, and Kalico could lose it all.
As could happen with the shuttle at any instant.
What the hell had she been thinking?
She pushed open the door to the admin dome and started down the hall. Finnegan and Tompzen tromped along behind her, looking tough in their dress uniforms, combat rifles slung over their shoulders.
At Yvette’s office, she found the woman in conversation with two farmers. The man and woman couldn’t have been more obvious if they’d had signs across their chests, given their chamois shirts, pants, and wide floppy sun hats.
“I need to see you and Shig,” Kalico called in the door. “Five minutes, conference room. Have coffee sent.”
Without waiting for confirmation, Kalico let herself into the conference room, ordering Tompzen and Finnegan. “I only want Shig and Yvette in there. No one else is to disturb us.”
Both of her marines snapped out perfect salutes, taking position on either side of the door, grounding their rifles as they stood at attention.
Kalico walked back to the farthest chair and pulled it out. An unwelcome tickle in her gut made her pull a trash can close. Not that she’d need it—but better to be safe than hurl her breakfast all over the floor.
For long moments she sat, her headache down to a dull throb after the aspirin Perez had given her.
She went over her proposal. Trying to work through the fading whiskey fog to the most advantageous terms.
What am I missing?
Or, should she try and blast out more mountain to create a bigger landing field and keep the second shuttle there?
On the verge of making that decision, Shig and Yvette entered, each smiling.
“Good morning, Supervisor,” Shig greeted, that eternal and enigmatic smile plastered across his face. “How can we be of service this morning?” He seated himself across from her.
Yvette had a sardonic look on her face as she dropped into a chair, saying, “Oh, no problem at all, Supervisor. You didn’t interrupt a thing. In fact, Ollie was just saying, ‘Wouldn’t it be nice if the Supervisor ducked in this morning and disrupted our meeting? That would be uncommonly kind of her.’”
Kalico blinked. “Excuse me? Who is Ollie? And why on Earth would he be—”
“They call that sarcasm, Supervisor,” Yvette told her. “Never mind. It’s not important. Now that we’re here, and coffee is ordered, what can we do for you?”
As Yvette spoke, Shig’s bushy black eyebrow had lifted in subtle amusement. He now sat with this hands steepled, fingertips pressed together.
“I have a proposition.” Kalico ordered her thoughts. “To date, our relationship has proven fruitful for both sides. I have been pleased with the cooperation that you’ve shown me and my people. I would like to expand on that relationship.”
“Very well,” Shig said mildly. “What did you have in mind?”
“You will remember that we came to an agreement over the Turalon food rations. It has come to my attention that my people are finding the rations somewhat, shall we say, monotonous.”
“Not to mention about to run out,” Yvette said dryly.
“I would like to expand the choices available to my cafeteria. I am also aware that a good many transportees, finding their contracts untenable, have allowed you to expand your agricultural production. Rather than make demands that would be upsetting to your agriculturalists, I will be happy to leave the transportees to labor for your farmers. In return I would like the ability to purchase their produce at fair market value.”
“Done,” Shig said easily.
Kalico saw Yvette’s slight smile. Ignored it. Plunged on. “Recently it has become apparent that my medical facilities, not to mention my med tech at Corporate Mine, are not up to the challenge of caring for my people. Our original agreement has been that Felicity Strazinsky has flown down to Corporate Mine to work in my clinic three times a week. Instead, I would like to initiate an air ambulance to immediately lift my sick and injured to the Port Authority hospital.”
“Of course,” Yvette told her. “You can call in the nature of the emergency while you’re in the air. Raya will have everything prepared upon arrival.”
Kalico shifted, the first fingers of suspicion slipping past her fuzzy brain. Not a single dissent?
“In our initial agreement, we laid out lines of separation between your people and mine.”
“We did,” Shig agreed.
“I would like the ability to offer employment to your people on a case-by-case basis.”
Shig smiled and nodded. “Granted.”
“Why aren’t you at least counteroffering?”
“We are libertarians, Kalico,” Yvette said softly. “In our original contract, we stated that your people would stick to Corporate Mine. That if they came to Port Authority without authorization, we’d send your people back. If you go back to the paperwork, the only stipulation you made was that you would deny entry to any of our people at your discretion. Our people are welcome to do anything, make any deal they wish. It is not our responsibility to tell them they can’t.”
“So I can hire anyone I want?”
Shig spread his hands. “Hire away.”
What the hell else had she misread about Port Authority? Damn it, there had to be a trap here somewhere.
“So you will grant me free rein in Port Authority to do as I wish?”
“Within reason,” Yvette told her. “If you come in and start impressing people, seizing their belongings, infringing on their private property rights and denying them free will . . . Well, unless of course, it is their free will and choice to deny themselves such freedoms. We really don’t care.”
“What else did you want to discuss?” Shig asked amiably.
“I have only one shuttle on the planet, but ten berthed aboard Freelander.”
“That is correct,” Shig told her as coffee was brought in. Conversation stopped while cups were dispensed and filled.
Over a steaming cup of black coffee, Kalico said, “I need space to park another. I don’t have room at Corporate Mine. You have a shuttle field. If something happens to my A7, I’d be planet-bound. Unable to ascend to orbit to recover a replacement.”
“That would indeed be the case.” Yvette’s lips quirked slightly.
“If you would allow me to park my spare shuttle in your landing field, I would allow you to use it on occasion, with my approval.”
“That would be very kind of you,” Shig told her. “Of course you may park as many shuttles as you would like at Port Authority. In return for the use of one at our discretion, we will accept the responsibility for its maintenance and upkeep.”
Still feeling as if she were missing something, Kalico said, “Well then . . . I guess we have a deal.”
Shig and Yvette locked eyes, some silent communication passing between them as Yvette said, “Yes, I guess we do.”
28
Talbot was working atop the dome roof with Damien and Kylee, scrubbing out one of the rainwater collectors where a slimy green algae of terrestrial origin—if that meant anything—had taken root in the tanks and piping.
For two weeks now, he had been grappling with the fact that Dya was pregnant. And then, that morning, came the startling revelation that Su had conceived. Apparently as a result of their first coupling.
He was still trying to get his head around the implications. Coming, as he did, from a rural section of England, he’d been raised in a rather traditional family, in a culture where a woman who wanted to have a baby had to first pass certain genetics tests, obtain a license, and then undergo a strictly observed Corporate-monitored pregnancy. The entire process was managed and controlled by The Corporation.
Until he’d walked out of the forest, nothing in his mental template could have entertained the notion of “pragmatic copulation,” as Dya phrased it.
Hell, he was still stumbling over the complexities of polygamy. It wasn’t anything like he’d imagined. But then, dealing with his three wives was challenging enough. Each had her own little peculiarities, and essentially he was the newcomer in their house, their territory. But ultimately, the looming reality that there was only the four of them—literally the only adults in their world—acted as the final arbitrator in their relationship. That knowledge tempered all of their interactions.
“Terry,” Talina called, “you getting careless, or what?”
Mishka made a face. “Careless. Sasha warned me about having a hole in my boot. It’s been so long since I’ve seen a slug out there, and I knew better than to be standing in one place down in the bog. Thing is, I just wasn’t paying attention.”
“Yeah, well, at least you’re not ending up a one-legged farmer,” Felicity told him with a smile.
Sasha Mishka, Terry’s wife, burst through the hospital’s front doors, a grim set to her wide, sun-browned face. Her worn clothing still muddy from the field, she came pounding down the hall.
“How’s Terry?” she called, urgency in her voice.
“Fine,” Raya said, stepping out. “By the time I got to it, I think the slug had figured out it had made a mistake. After chewing on flesh as tough and gamy as Terry’s, it practically jumped out of the incision on its own.”
Raya gave Sasha a wink, adding, “Felicity can fill you in.” To Tal, she said, “Got a minute?”
“Yeah. I got your message. What’s up?”
Raya beckoned with a finger, leading Talina to her office. “Have a seat.”
Talina dropped into the chair across from Raya’s. The tall Siberian cocked her head, dark eyes pensive as she settled behind her desk. “Since finding the TriNA in your system, I’ve been going back. Been running tests on blood samples I’ve been taking over the last couple of years. The results are interesting.”
She slipped a data sheet across to Talina.
Tal ran her eyes down the names, most of them locals from Port Authority, but interspersed were Wild Ones. About twenty of them. Behind each name either a + or - sign had been written. Most of the plus signs were listed behind Wild Ones. For example, she noted that the entire Briggs family were pluses.
At the end was her own name, with a prominent plus behind it.
“What am I looking at?”
“The number of people who have TriNA in their blood or tissues,” Raya told her thoughtfully. “Incidentally, I checked your old samples from a couple of years back. You were negative. I think we can conclusively say that the day you killed the quetzal in the canyon is when you were infected.”
“Mostly Wild Ones,” Talina noted, going down the list again.
“Notice something else?” Raya asked. “Briggs, Shu Wans, Philos, the Andanis, and the rest? The really successful and self-sufficient families that have carved out farmsteads and outlying claims?”
“They’re all positive.” Talina tapped her chin with an index finger.
“And, with a few exceptions, people from town are negatives. Including folks like Tosi Damitiri. People who might work outside the fence—even have a place within an easy travel radius—but who don’t spend that much time in the bush.”
“So people who live the life, so to speak, are going to be infected?”
Raya nodded. “That’s the hypothesis. I’ve had Mgumbe running tests on the specific markers, the discrete sections of TriNA that mark its origin. It’s time-consuming, delicate work, and we’re doing it during the off hours, but it appears that most of the local TriNA infections around Port Authority come from chamois or crest. Not a big surprise given that they are most often food animals.”
“And the Wild Ones? Like the Briggs boy, Flip?” She pointed at one of the larger plus signs.
“Quetzal.”
“Maybe the one that French-kissed me that day?” Talina remembered her encounter with the quetzal outside the Briggs farmstead. The one that Flip had told her “just hangs around sometimes.”
In answer to her question, Raya just shrugged.
“But you haven’t seen any sign that having Donovanian TriNA in a person’s system is detrimental?”
“Not so far, but, Talina, we’re at the beginning of this. If not for you, we wouldn’t even have recognized it. Who knows what the long-term effects are going to be?”
Talina felt the quetzal wiggle around behind her liver. The thing always seemed to know when it was the topic of conversation.
“You figured out how it talks to me yet?”
“Haven’t a clue beyond the fact that it’s some sort of molecular stimulus that triggers synapses, which trigger neural microcircuits, that activate the right dendritic trees, and fire the right neurons in the speech centers of your brain. But what makes that so fascinating is that your quetzal TriNA is utilizing what neurologists call your prior knowledge.
“What boggles Mgumbe, Cheng, and me is that somehow the quetzal TriNA molecules know their agenda, are organized to learn your neurology, can figure out how to manipulate it, and can achieve the desired end. By that, I mean they employ an input signal to gain a desired response through the language center of your brain. Do you realize how sophisticated that is?”
“I realize how creepy it is.”
Raya didn’t take the bait. Instead she leaned forward. “Talina, how often does the quetzal stimulate the wrong word from your language center? By that, I mean, make a mistake? For example, it means to communicate the word ‘fear’ but instead you hear ‘feat.’ A very similar word phonetically and structurally.”
“It’s always been on the money.” That Raya was taking this so seriously made her feel unsettled. “You want to cut down to the bones of the matter?”
“Think of it this way”—Raya clasped her hands together as she leaned across the desk—“You are an alien creature. From a completely different biology and cultural system, using a completely foreign neurology, anatomy, and vocabulary, and somehow mere molecules have mastered the difficult task of interfacing with some of your most complicated mental and emotional functions. It has done this associatively and with reinforcement and demonstrates a knowledge and goal, learning strategy, and evaluation of performance. In short, your quetzal molecules are what we’d call intelligent actors.”
“You’re looking really grim about this, Raya.”
“Yeah. I’m thinking we’ve completely misread Donovanian life. We’ve always thought of the quetzal in terrestrial terms. An organism. Like a shark or man-eating tiger.” She paused. “I’m wondering now if a quetzal isn’t just the vehicle—the packaging. What if the TriNA is the actual heart, soul, and essence of the creature?”
“I don’t get it.”
“You ever heard the old axiom that a human being is just a DNA molecule’s way of propagating and disseminating more DNA? What if a quetzal is just TriNA’s way of getting around, experiencing its world, and expanding its horizons?”
“And now you think it’s moving into humans?” Talina swallowed hard. “Into me?”
Raya once again gave her one of those enigmatic shrugs. “Hey, like I said, we’re just at the beginning here. The takeaway is that your quetzal shouldn’t be able to talk to you. Shouldn’t be able to stimulate physical pain, fear, and all those other emotions. You shouldn’t be able to ‘feel’ it. And most of all, you said you can frighten it in return? That’s a two-way feedback. Your ability to trigger neurons, which in turn send a signal that affects an emotional reaction in the quetzal molecules, shouldn’t be possible either.”
“So, what does that mean?”
“If you really think about it? It means true first contact with an alien intelligence.”
“Intelligence? Isn’t that a bit far out?”
“Tal, I don’t know what to think at this stage of the game. One of the problems is that your quetzal didn’t meet Donovan at the landing site and say ‘Take me to your leader.’ This is alien life. Alien intelligence. Trying to fit it into any kind of a human framework for the understanding of intelligence? That might pan out to be an absolutely ludicrous exercise in futility.”
“Holy shit,” Talina whispered, aware of Raya’s dark-eyed stare.
“Yeah, whole new world, isn’t it?” Raya said uncertainly.
And a lot more threatening. The sudden queasy feeling didn’t make Talina feel any better.
27
If there were any feeling that absolutely annoyed Kalico Perez, it was the sensation of being trapped. She’d felt that way on Turalon. Now she felt it again as she tramped down the main avenue. As if there were no options but capitulation.
Behind her, Privates Finnegan and Tompzen followed along through the morning, nodding at the locals they passed, returning greetings.
Kalico kept her frosty gaze ahead, not that she needed to keep her expression severe. The damned hangover saw to that.
She shot an evil, narrow-eyed glance at Inga’s as she passed, asking herself, What the hell was I thinking last night?
But she knew full well why she’d done it. She’d gone and taken Perez’s stool, knowing that no one would bother her there. That she could just sit and listen to people being happy, sharing fellowship. From her isolated stool, she could imagine herself part of the crowd, share the companionship, if only vicariously through the whiskey.
“My God, I can be a blinking idiot on occasion, can’t I?” she growled under her breath.
What if Perez hadn’t shown up? What if she’d climbed down off that stool, done something really stupid? Tried to make herself one with the rabble? Stumbled, slurred her words. Thrown up on herself or someone else?
“You are a Supervisor, you stupid bitch,” she muttered under her breath.
Worse, she owed Perez now. Bad as that was, the woman had saved Kalico from herself. That could not be allowed to happen again. One more mistake, and Kalico could lose it all.
As could happen with the shuttle at any instant.
What the hell had she been thinking?
She pushed open the door to the admin dome and started down the hall. Finnegan and Tompzen tromped along behind her, looking tough in their dress uniforms, combat rifles slung over their shoulders.
At Yvette’s office, she found the woman in conversation with two farmers. The man and woman couldn’t have been more obvious if they’d had signs across their chests, given their chamois shirts, pants, and wide floppy sun hats.
“I need to see you and Shig,” Kalico called in the door. “Five minutes, conference room. Have coffee sent.”
Without waiting for confirmation, Kalico let herself into the conference room, ordering Tompzen and Finnegan. “I only want Shig and Yvette in there. No one else is to disturb us.”
Both of her marines snapped out perfect salutes, taking position on either side of the door, grounding their rifles as they stood at attention.
Kalico walked back to the farthest chair and pulled it out. An unwelcome tickle in her gut made her pull a trash can close. Not that she’d need it—but better to be safe than hurl her breakfast all over the floor.
For long moments she sat, her headache down to a dull throb after the aspirin Perez had given her.
She went over her proposal. Trying to work through the fading whiskey fog to the most advantageous terms.
What am I missing?
Or, should she try and blast out more mountain to create a bigger landing field and keep the second shuttle there?
On the verge of making that decision, Shig and Yvette entered, each smiling.
“Good morning, Supervisor,” Shig greeted, that eternal and enigmatic smile plastered across his face. “How can we be of service this morning?” He seated himself across from her.
Yvette had a sardonic look on her face as she dropped into a chair, saying, “Oh, no problem at all, Supervisor. You didn’t interrupt a thing. In fact, Ollie was just saying, ‘Wouldn’t it be nice if the Supervisor ducked in this morning and disrupted our meeting? That would be uncommonly kind of her.’”
Kalico blinked. “Excuse me? Who is Ollie? And why on Earth would he be—”
“They call that sarcasm, Supervisor,” Yvette told her. “Never mind. It’s not important. Now that we’re here, and coffee is ordered, what can we do for you?”
As Yvette spoke, Shig’s bushy black eyebrow had lifted in subtle amusement. He now sat with this hands steepled, fingertips pressed together.
“I have a proposition.” Kalico ordered her thoughts. “To date, our relationship has proven fruitful for both sides. I have been pleased with the cooperation that you’ve shown me and my people. I would like to expand on that relationship.”
“Very well,” Shig said mildly. “What did you have in mind?”
“You will remember that we came to an agreement over the Turalon food rations. It has come to my attention that my people are finding the rations somewhat, shall we say, monotonous.”
“Not to mention about to run out,” Yvette said dryly.
“I would like to expand the choices available to my cafeteria. I am also aware that a good many transportees, finding their contracts untenable, have allowed you to expand your agricultural production. Rather than make demands that would be upsetting to your agriculturalists, I will be happy to leave the transportees to labor for your farmers. In return I would like the ability to purchase their produce at fair market value.”
“Done,” Shig said easily.
Kalico saw Yvette’s slight smile. Ignored it. Plunged on. “Recently it has become apparent that my medical facilities, not to mention my med tech at Corporate Mine, are not up to the challenge of caring for my people. Our original agreement has been that Felicity Strazinsky has flown down to Corporate Mine to work in my clinic three times a week. Instead, I would like to initiate an air ambulance to immediately lift my sick and injured to the Port Authority hospital.”
“Of course,” Yvette told her. “You can call in the nature of the emergency while you’re in the air. Raya will have everything prepared upon arrival.”
Kalico shifted, the first fingers of suspicion slipping past her fuzzy brain. Not a single dissent?
“In our initial agreement, we laid out lines of separation between your people and mine.”
“We did,” Shig agreed.
“I would like the ability to offer employment to your people on a case-by-case basis.”
Shig smiled and nodded. “Granted.”
“Why aren’t you at least counteroffering?”
“We are libertarians, Kalico,” Yvette said softly. “In our original contract, we stated that your people would stick to Corporate Mine. That if they came to Port Authority without authorization, we’d send your people back. If you go back to the paperwork, the only stipulation you made was that you would deny entry to any of our people at your discretion. Our people are welcome to do anything, make any deal they wish. It is not our responsibility to tell them they can’t.”
“So I can hire anyone I want?”
Shig spread his hands. “Hire away.”
What the hell else had she misread about Port Authority? Damn it, there had to be a trap here somewhere.
“So you will grant me free rein in Port Authority to do as I wish?”
“Within reason,” Yvette told her. “If you come in and start impressing people, seizing their belongings, infringing on their private property rights and denying them free will . . . Well, unless of course, it is their free will and choice to deny themselves such freedoms. We really don’t care.”
“What else did you want to discuss?” Shig asked amiably.
“I have only one shuttle on the planet, but ten berthed aboard Freelander.”
“That is correct,” Shig told her as coffee was brought in. Conversation stopped while cups were dispensed and filled.
Over a steaming cup of black coffee, Kalico said, “I need space to park another. I don’t have room at Corporate Mine. You have a shuttle field. If something happens to my A7, I’d be planet-bound. Unable to ascend to orbit to recover a replacement.”
“That would indeed be the case.” Yvette’s lips quirked slightly.
“If you would allow me to park my spare shuttle in your landing field, I would allow you to use it on occasion, with my approval.”
“That would be very kind of you,” Shig told her. “Of course you may park as many shuttles as you would like at Port Authority. In return for the use of one at our discretion, we will accept the responsibility for its maintenance and upkeep.”
Still feeling as if she were missing something, Kalico said, “Well then . . . I guess we have a deal.”
Shig and Yvette locked eyes, some silent communication passing between them as Yvette said, “Yes, I guess we do.”
28
Talbot was working atop the dome roof with Damien and Kylee, scrubbing out one of the rainwater collectors where a slimy green algae of terrestrial origin—if that meant anything—had taken root in the tanks and piping.
For two weeks now, he had been grappling with the fact that Dya was pregnant. And then, that morning, came the startling revelation that Su had conceived. Apparently as a result of their first coupling.
He was still trying to get his head around the implications. Coming, as he did, from a rural section of England, he’d been raised in a rather traditional family, in a culture where a woman who wanted to have a baby had to first pass certain genetics tests, obtain a license, and then undergo a strictly observed Corporate-monitored pregnancy. The entire process was managed and controlled by The Corporation.
Until he’d walked out of the forest, nothing in his mental template could have entertained the notion of “pragmatic copulation,” as Dya phrased it.
Hell, he was still stumbling over the complexities of polygamy. It wasn’t anything like he’d imagined. But then, dealing with his three wives was challenging enough. Each had her own little peculiarities, and essentially he was the newcomer in their house, their territory. But ultimately, the looming reality that there was only the four of them—literally the only adults in their world—acted as the final arbitrator in their relationship. That knowledge tempered all of their interactions.
