The Vastalimi Gambit (10 page)

“Shan was born to wealth, he takes it for granted, and the source of his fortune was come by illegally. We have a saying, ‘If you are looking for justice, look for it on the Other Side.’”

Wink nodded. “We have a similar sentiment.”

She opened the cart’s door and alighted; Wink exited the other door.

“So it is true!” Shan called out. “You have a human who accompanies you! Is he expensive? My human whores cost a fortune!”

“If I’m supposed to be your dog, maybe I’ll bite him,” Wink said.

“I would let you, save he would kill you if you tried. He has been training under master fighters since he came back from
Seoba
, in late cubhood. Only a few years, but even so, he is, according to my sources, passing adept.”

“Good as Vial?”

“Certainly not, but no doubt he believes that he is. You can smell it on him.”

“Maybe I’ll shoot him from here.”

“Kill him before we get our answers?”

Wink laughed.

They moved closer.

“Come in, come in, I have been looking forward to this,” Shan said. “Is it true that you bested Vial using some sneaky Terran technique? Somebody supposedly has a recording of it, but I haven’t been able to find it.” He spoke excellent Basic.

Since it was obvious he knew who they were, Wink didn’t wait for an introduction, he said, “All Terran techniques are sneaky, didn’t you know? Best you never take your eyes off us.”

Shan flicked a glance his way. “Really?” He hesitated a moment, then said, “Ah, you pull my fur! I didn’t know Terrans had senses of humor! Excellent, excellent, come in, come in, I’ll have a flagon of tirgwine decanted, and we can talk!”

He was like a kid with a new toy; Wink thought he might start bouncing up and down he seemed so full of himself.

Well. You were allowed to be young and stupid, when you were young and stupid, and if it didn’t do you in, you might get older and wiser. Wink found himself kind of liking this Vastalimi.

_ _ _ _ _ _

Em attacked just as Kay had done when first they had started sparring, straight ahead, powering in with speed and agility. That had worked the first couple of times Jo had danced with Kay because even as augmented as she was, Vastalimi were still faster. But the biggest part of fighting was not speed, nor power, but position. Being in the right spot and the right moment, with the right stance, those were worth more. A tiny step took less time than a big step. Faster to get set than to attack.

Em’s leap was the product of millions of years of evolution, her personal experience, and Jo meant to short-circuit both by advancing her timing and taking the right spot before Em could get there. A strong stance in position was an advantage.

Jo wasn’t your run-of-the-norm human, plus she had experience in hand-to-hand combat with a trained Vastalimi.

Em was in for a big surprise—

—but even as she thought this, and Em flew toward her, Jo’s brain calculated the trajectory and speed and she realized she had made a mistake—if Jo took the ground she wanted, she would get there too late. Em had advanced her own timing with a quicker, lower leap—

Jo dived away, the fastest way to clear herself. Hit the ground, rolled, came up, and spun as Em landed and skidded to a stop.

Eight meters apart, they faced each other.

“Good,” Em said. “I didn’t expect that.”

Abruptly, Jo realized what she had thought was her biggest advantage wasn’t so. It had been a mistake to assume so.

“You have danced with trained humans before,” she said.

“Yes, and I realize that Kluth has done the same with you. Which makes it yet more interesting. Was Kluth a better teacher to you than my human was to me?”

“That’s how I’d bet,” Jo said.

Em whickered. “Am I an ovum?”

Jo felt herself grinning. “Can’t blame a fem for trying.”

They circled carefully to the left, edging closer.

When she was at the limit of her step-and-a-half range, Jo charged. This time, she retarded her timing, offering a move that made it appear she was moving faster than she was, but actually slowing down her approach—

—Em reacted, stepping in to intercept but arriving too fast. Before she could correct, Jo dropped and snapped out a kick, adding range by the lowering of her stance—

Her right heel smacked into Em’s leg, a little higher than her aim. Instead of the knee, it hit her thigh. It was not a crippling strike, but hard enough to knock Em into a half-assed turn. That gave Jo enough time to come up and spin for a back kick with her other foot, aimed at Em’s low ribs. Something else Vastalimi didn’t like to do, show their backs, so the move was again unexpected—

Em dropped, turned slightly, took the heel on her shoulder, and again, it was enough to knock her off-balance, but not a telling blow—

Em dived away and came up, covering before Jo could follow through.

“Excellent! My human has not shown me this! I’ll remember it and—
jebati!
”

Jo heard the sound of voices at the same moment and thought the same thing in Basic:
Fuck!

“Go,” Em said. “Hurry!”

Jo stared at her.

“We need to finish this without interference,” she said. “If they see and catch you, they might damage you or kill you, and that would be wrong. I will divert them. We’ll meet another time.” She grinned.

Jo nodded and smiled back. “Yes. Another time.”

She grabbed the suit—Rags would kick her ass if she left that expensive piece of hardware behind—and ran for the fence.

_ _ _ _ _ _

The wine Shan provided was excellent, the best Kay had ever had, and he was a convivial host.

“So, you are keeping the Vial-killer move to yourself?”

“Wouldn’t you?”

“Yeah, sure. From what I hear, you’ll probably need it again. Sooner or later, though, somebody will figure it out.”

“Sooner or later, we are all plant fertilizer.”

He whickered loudly. “So I hear, but I intend to live forever.”

She noticed Wink smiling, and she could tell he found this youngling amusing. Well, he was not without a certain charm.

“So back to business. Your uncle’s death came as a surprise?”

“Yes and no. On the one talon, Uncle Teb had a
tzit
load of enemies, so somebody’s spiking him was always a possibility. But he was careful. He never went to the shitter without a couple of armed guards who’d check the hole for hidden bombs before he squatted. Food was checked, visitors screened, he never went anywhere without a tactical team scouting and securing. I think there were five or six assassination attempts in the last couple of years. He didn’t get a scratch in any of them.

“Old Teb was clawproof; even the Shadows couldn’t get anything illegal to stick to his fur, not after thirty years of trying.

“So in theory, somebody could have killed him if they spent enough money and tried hard enough, but they’d have to be rich and really good.

“On the other claw, catching some disease and rotting away in a few days? Never saw that one hiding in the short grass. Teb was a health fiend, he ate
prey
-food, didn’t drink enough to stone a flea, no drugs, and even the
ruta
he stuck his
stidnik
into was certified disease-free. He was never sick a day in his life I knew about.”

“Who stood to gain by his death?”

“Other than me, you mean?”

“Yes.”

“Some of the people in business with him.”

“And that’s not you?”

“Oh, no, no way! I never stepped a
ruta
hair into Teb’s world. He didn’t want that, neither did I. He had clean money—at least as far as anybody who looked at it can tell, including the
Sena
—and that’s all I have ever touched. I party, but it’s all legal, my whores are registered, and if I don’t starting buying towns and moons and
tzit
, I’ll have enough legal money to stay rich for, like, forever.”

“And the names of those who were in business with your uncle who might benefit from his passage?”

“Ffuf! Ask the Shadows. I’m not saying
any
thing about
any
body when it comes to that. I don’t talk about them, they leave me alone.”

“What if they think you did talk about them?”

“They won’t. This conversation is being recorded, time-stamped, and sealed in a particular vault. It’s available to Uncle Teb’s business associates anytime they want to have a look and listen.” He smiled. “Transparency is my best defense. I have no reason to cause my dear departed uncle’s friends any grief, nor will I. I mind my business, keep my claws out of theirs. Live and let live.”

When they got back into the vehicle, Wink said, “Kid is smarter than he looks.”

She nodded. “Yes. But he did tell us something of value.”

Wink said, “That his uncle was a health fiend and very careful.”

“Yes. Alone it might not mean anything, but it seems unlikely that Teb was out tramping in the high grass where he caught some esoteric and hitherto unknown disease.”

“What next?”

“Teb was third to die. We need to speak to the families of those who were first and second, then fourth and fifth. We need to find the connection among them.”

“So, they have a Vastalimi?” Cutter said. “That’s too bad.”

“Doesn’t sound like a very loyal one,” Gramps said. “Otherwise, she wouldn’t have let you go.”

Jo shrugged. “If I had to guess, if somebody like me showed up and had the same conversation with Kay, she’d probably do it that way, too.”

“You reckon?” Gunny said.

“They look at the galaxy a little different than humans,” Jo said. “Hadn’t you noticed?”

“Well, that’s neither here nor there,” Cutter said. “We have a location on the enemy force, and we need to do something about them. I will channel a com to corporate and see if they want to spend or shoot, and we can go from there.”

“Seems like a good plan,” Jo said.

“All right. Go polish stuff and drill the troops, we’ll wait to hear from our employer.”

Cutter headed to his office. So far, so good. The exchanges they’d had with the opposition forces had mostly gone their way, and now that they knew about the Vastalimi, that would make them pay better attention. Moving along well.

In his office, he was running some scenarios, playing war games against his computer, when Jo stuck her head through the door.

“Rags.”

“Yeah?”

“We got a message from our spy at the port.”

“Yeah?”

“Seems a passenger got off one of the dropships a few minutes ago might concern us.”

“And . . . ?”

“Look at the image. She’s using the name ‘Melinne Cutter.’ You know her?”

He stared at her. “What?”

The projection in front of him swirled and coalesced.

No fucking way . . .

Cutter stared at the image. It was either her or somebody who looked enough like her to be a twin or a cloned sister, and he didn’t buy that one, either.

Yes, it was a small galaxy; now and then, you’d run into somebody you knew from another world and another time, but those were usually people in the same business, and if you were a soldier, you went where the wars were, so that wasn’t completely unexpected. He’d been in the Army for a long time, and not all those troopers had been killed off or retired yet. SoFs, the good ones, got around. You bumped into each other.

Sure, you walk into any gathering, there would be folks with matching birthdays: That would usually get a show of at least a couple–three hands. But if you asked about a particular day matching, the numbers went down. How many here born on this date?

What were the odds of meeting your ex-wife halfway across the galaxy on a backrocket planet that had nothing on it she would have come here looking for?

He didn’t believe it was a coincidence. And if it wasn’t, then what was it?

“Rags? What’s going on?”

Jo hadn’t known him when he and Melinne had been together. He’d never told her the story; hadn’t told anybody else all of it, either, though Gramps knew some of it.

It hadn’t come up, but Jo was family now. And it would be hard to shut this door and pretend she hadn’t seen it.

He had been carrying it for a long damn time. She was his CO, and his friend.

“I used to be married.” He paused. “That’s her.”

“Wow.”

“Come in, sit.”

She did.

“It’s a long story.”

“I don’t have any appointments. And you know I want to hear it.”

He paused, gathered his thoughts, considered where he should start. Or even if he should. It was such a shock.

Melinne . . .

“We met when I was posted in Johannesburg; she was eighteen and drop-dead gorgeous. Melinne was young, beautiful, smart, a blast in the sack. Came from poor stock in SoAf, got herself into trouble. She was engaged to a local, he gave her some expensive token of his affection, a bracelet, she ditched him and sold it, he was pissed off about it.

“I had a word with her suitor, he backed off. She and I fell in lust, connected, and had good times. After a time, getting linked seemed like a thing to do, so we did.

“I wasn’t the best spouse. I would be home for a few weeks, then I’d be posted to some rathole in the middle of nowhere for months before cycling back for leave, then off again. You know how it goes.”

She nodded.

“She didn’t like to travel all that much, at least not to battlefield accommodations, so she stayed home. What she did, who she saw when I was gone? I didn’t ask, she didn’t say, we were good with that. I had a wife, she had a life, it was a fair exchange.

“A couple of years after we connected, we had a son. But she got tired of what a major’s income could provide, and she began shopping for an upgrade. She found a general though he was just a stop along the road.

“Our son—Radé—was four when we divorced. We split fourteen years ago.”

“You have a son?”

“Had.” He paused. Gone this far, might as well spin the rest of it out. “I wasn’t much better a father than a spouse though I made an effort to see the boy when I was on-planet, but I wasn’t around much.

“Four years after we disconnected, Melinne found a new prospect she liked. Rich man, something to do with food futures, had property all over, a shitload of money. They moved into one of his mansions in Johannesburg.

“I wasn’t spying on her, but I had friends who would now and then mention stuff in passing. ‘Saw your ex at the opera. She’s zipped with a rich guy from Johannesburg,’ like that. Life goes on, I didn’t begrudge her that. Rich guy for a stepfather, could be worse for my son.

“I was occupied by my career. I let things slide.

“Six months later, I got a call from somebody: Radé was dead.

“I didn’t know any of the details. I dropped what I was doing and booked for Earth. I pulled in favors, caught military transports, spaced nonstop.

“I was a hundred parsecs away when it happened, the Zimawali Police Action. It took me more than two weeks to get there.

“I didn’t know what had happened when I arrived, only that there had been an accident. A fall. Radé hit his head.”

He paused.

“There was nothing I could do. Radé had been recycled; Melinne had vanished. I thought she was probably afraid of what I might do to her.

“The local authorities ruled it an accident. Terrible, but no one at fault.

“I started to poke around. It turned out that Melinne’s lover had a temper and he thumped her when he got irritated. She decided it wasn’t so bad a trade, so she stayed.

“There were no direct witnesses to the event, except for Melinne and her lover, and I later came to believe that he—his name was Mandiba—paid her handsomely to go away and keep her mouth shut.

“So there was the official story. But Mandiba had servants. None of them had seen it happen, but they knew. They talked to each other. There were recordings of the man slapping around Melinne on other occasions, and servants who had seen him do it to other women. Somebody heard the child yelling at the man, and his response. There were doctors, emergency-med techs, coroners, recycle techs. A piece here, a bit there, I puzzled it together.

“What I figured out was, six months into their relationship, Melinne’s lover was high on some kind of chem and he started beating her. Our boy was eight. He stepped in and tried to stop it. The man backhanded Radé. It knocked him into a marble table, and the edge caught him in the back of the head. Brain hemorrhage. He died the next day.

“The man who killed my son was still there, going on about his business.”

Jo shook her head.

“The rules are different for rich men,” he said. “Always have been.”

He paused again, remembering.

“I felt guilty. I should have been there for my son, somehow.

“Three months later, Mandiba had a freak accident. He was inspecting some property he wanted to buy and he stepped on an old AP mine left over from a local bush war forty years earlier. Blew both his legs off, he died before medical help got there.”

She looked at him. “What a shame.”

“The local police examined the site carefully. The mine was the right age and kind used in the dustup, and the area known to have been sown with the things. People thought they had all been cleared. Apparently, the sweepers missed one.”

Jo said, “And the police figured that it would be hard to find a forty-year-old mine of a certain kind that still worked and plant it in the right place at the right time to make it anything other than an accident?”

“Apparently they did,” he said.

“And you never heard from Melinne again?”

“No. I considered hunting for her. She was a loose cannon, she put my son into a situation that got him killed. She would have left a trail of broken relationships behind her. Easy to find.”

“But you didn’t look.”

“No. I figured she would cause herself plenty of grief on her own. And I wondered if I was blaming her for something I hadn’t done.”

“And here she is all these years later, on the same world.” Jo looked at the holographic image. “Still a drop-dead gorgeous woman.”

“That she is. She worked at it. She’s thirty-eight, going on twenty-two. Exercise, diet, surgery, chem, she takes care of the package.”

“You don’t think she is here by accident.”

“No. If she were living with the richest guy on the planet, it would still be
this
planet, and it’s too parochial for her.”

“Maybe she’s passing through.”

“Maybe.”

“You think she is here because you are here.” Again, it was a statement and not a question.

“If I had to bet on it, yeah.”

“Why?”

“That’s the question I don’t know the answer to. How would she know where I was? Why would she care?”

“Maybe she’s tired of looking over her shoulder, worrying you’ll show up someday.”

“Maybe. And there are too many ‘maybes’ to suit me.”

“Whatever I can do to help.”

“She will contact me. And then we’ll see.”

A priority incoming call bleeped at that moment.

He felt a lurch in his chest . . .

But: No, it was not Melinne—it was Corporate; Alvarez, in OuterZone Operations, leapfrogged from HQ at least three or four links away, but close enough now for a real-time exchange. The miracle of n-space tachyon communications. There was solid science that explained how it worked, but it might as well be magic as far as he was able to follow it. He put the call on the speaker.

“Cutter.”

“Colonel. We have a response from Corporate regarding your message about the situation there.”

“And . . . ?”

“You are empowered to make an offer.”

“How much?”

Alvarez named a figure. More than Cutter would have guessed. He glanced over at Jo.

She shrugged.

“I understand. Terms and conditions?”

“The usual. They pack up and go away, don’t come back.”

“Masbülc will probably send somebody else. Maybe they’ll be better.”

“Probably both, but the current crop will likely be in before they get set up, you are already on-site, and we deal with that if it happens.”

Never one to take the long view, TotalMart Corporate. Maybe an asteroid would wipe the world out by next growing cycle. Why risk money you didn’t have to spend?

“All right. I’ll make the offer.”

“If they refuse, Corporate would be pleased to see them, ah, negated, soonest.”

“I understand.”

“Out.”

Cutter waved his connection off.

“Well, I guess we better run down an enemy commander and have a chat with him,” Cutter said.

_ _ _ _ _ _

Wink had to use his translator; the fem to whom Kay was speaking either didn’t speak Basic or chose not to, and because she assumed he couldn’t understand her, he had to keep himself from showing his teeth in a big smile.

“—smells funny,” the fem said. “Is that him, or do they all have that odor?”

“They all do. You get used to it,” Kay said.

“Odd-looking, too, up close. First one I’ve seen in the flesh. How do you tell them apart if they are downwind?”

“It’s a trick you learn.”

“I don’t understand why you are here. I have been over this with the other Healers.”

“We are looking for something we might have missed. It might help save others.”

The fem shrugged. “All right. My mate Cedom came home from work on fourday—he was employed at the Duonde Slaughterhouse, Moon-shift. He complained of a headache and was slightly feverish. He didn’t feel too bad. We ate, retired, and he woke up at dawn vomiting blood. The Healers sent a conveyance, he was taken to the South Wall
bolnica
. They gave him medicines, and on sixday, he died.

“Neither I nor our litter—we had just the one, three fems, two males, four seasons old—have shown any signs of any sickness since, and it has been more than two months since Cedom left to hunt on the Other Side. I have his death stipend, and we have family. We get by.”

“Did he say anything unusual had happened at his work just before he became ill?”

“No. His primary job was the chop-saw; now and then, he would fill in as a tool sharpener when somebody was off. He was a meat cutter. He showered after work before he left, and there was never a trace of blood or gore on him when he got here, he was always sure to make it so. Not everybody respects butchers, but for those who cannot hunt, they are necessary.”

“Certainly they are,” Kay said.

“As far as I know, there have been no other illnesses like my mate’s at Duonde.”

“This is true.”

“There is nothing new to say. He came home slightly sick, and two days later he was dead. He was the first to go from this plague, whatever it is. Maybe they’ll name it after him.”

Even the translator knew enough to shade that last comment with bitterness.

_ _ _ _ _ _

The restaurant had the high-class look, colorful and clean, only two dozen tables, and Gramps had allowed as how it was the best to be had for Swavi cuisine in Adit, probably on the whole planet. Cutter hadn’t come for the food. It was a neutral spot. He had Gramps and Gunny at a table nearby, with Jo and half a dozen troopers patrolling outside. Until the man arrived, Cutter amused himself by trying to figure out which of the other diners belonged to the opposition. He had narrowed it down to four—a hard-looking woman of forty or so across from a muscular, but petite fem, just to the left of the front entrance; and a pair of men who were dressed in softcollar business attire but looked somewhat uncomfortable in those clothes. One of them kept glancing around as if expecting somebody, but theirs was a two-person table.