The Vastalimi Gambit (3 page)

More than a few of those on foot were running, loping along at a good pace.

The air felt, smelled, even tasted exotic to him. Every world had its own feel that way.

It was all quite fascinating.

_ _ _ _ _ _

Cutter looked up from his desk. “Any problems?”

“We lost three drones; other than that, nothing,” Jo said.

“Three drones? Do you know how much those cost?”

“Actually, I do, since I signed the purchase order for them. Hardware gets used up in a battle, that’s what it’s for.”

“No, it’s there to be used if you
need
it.”

“We needed it. We took out the attackers, including a couple of APCs that cost the other side way more than the drones cost us. They got some pawns, we got a bishop and a couple of knights. They’ll think twice about trying something that stupid next time.”

He nodded. He bitched about money all the time, but the truth was, if he kept his people safe, he was willing to spend whatever it took. “Maybe that’s not to our advantage, helping our enemy evolve his smarts.”

“More fun that way. Set ’em up, knock ’em down, that gets boring.”

“
You
would get bored falling off a tall building.”

“Depends on how long it took to get down.”

“What’s next on your agenda?”

“We have troops watching the trucks. We are thinking about taking a run to the farming community where they grow these purple rootnips, and seeing if we can figure out things from that end. What are you gonna do?”

“I’m going to visit the manager of the TotalMart store and see what other intel his ops have developed.”

“I could do that, and you could go talk to the farmers.”

“Nah. Nice cool monster-mart with good restaurants and a couple of hundred shops sounds like more my kind of thing than stepping around the ruminant-ungulate pies steaming in the pastures.”

“I’ll wear my old boots,” she said.

“Wouldn’t it be easier just to avoid stepping in it?”

“Never seems to work out that way. And funny, coming from you.”

He laughed.

_ _ _ _ _ _

Kay nodded at her elder brother. They exchanged greetings, ritual face licks. She noted that he seemed happy to see her, and probably not just because he needed her help.

Well. It had been years. And some major things had happened.

“Our parents and siblings?”

“They died well,” he said.

She nodded. She had already grieved, but it was still a shock. Death came for all, and it was never a matter of “if,” only “when.”

The way of it. Nothing to be done.

She and Droc had been close when she had lived here. He had urged her to stay, offering his full support. Brave of him, and she had appreciated it.

Kay introduced Wink Doctor.

The two males gave each other nods of acknowledgment. Humans did not lick, they gripped and shook hands on such occasions; Vastalimi did not. The clasping of hands was supposed to show, according to what she had learned, that the humans were giving up a measure of lethality. It stemmed, so the story went, from the days when humans carried knives or swords, and demonstrated that the dominant hand—usually the right one—was empty. And with the dominant hands thus occupied, the ability to draw a weapon was also hindered.

Vastalimi had killing claws on hands and feet, were generally ambidextrous, and there was no ritualistic greeting that would convince anybody they were unarmed or incapable of a killing response—because both assumptions were demonstrably false. If you knew somebody well enough for face-licks, you trusted them, and usually that meant family.

Family was different. There was seldom danger from family.

“My sibling speaks well of your abilities, Doctor Wink.” He spoke Basic.

“Good of her to do so.”

“Would you like to see some of our afflicted? We have several in various stages of the malady.”

“Of course,” Kay said.

“This way.”

He turned and walked away. They followed.

When they walked into the room, Kay had a visceral reaction to the feel of death in the air. It had been a while since she had been around dying Vastalimi, and the three strapped to the beds here were certainly close to expiration. There was the smell, of course, but something else, something . . . wrong about them she couldn’t quite pin down.

She had been a skilled Healer, but it was
intuicija
that had set her apart from most other Healers; that sudden, unexplained, in-the-blink-of-an-eye knowledge, a certainty of what was wrong with a patient. Some Healers had it when they entered the profession; some achieved it along the way; some never had nor got it.

It was, she had learned, both blessing and curse . . .

She had never been able to control it, to summon it. It happened, and there seemed no reason in particular why it did or did not. Of a moment, when it occurred, she simply looked at a patient and knew what their problem was. Over the years, it had come to her hundreds of times.

And when it happened, it had never been wrong.

Her brother knew that, and he looked at her, waiting. Hoping.

She shook her head. “Not for sure. But there is
some
thing . . . It seems . . . unnatural.”

“How so?”

“I cannot say for certain. Whatever the cause, it feels wrong. Not like any disease I know.”

“Ah.”

Wink said, “May I examine one of the patients?”

“You are not worried about contracting the condition?”

“Have you determined that it is contagious?”

“No. We have no idea what it is. We haven’t seen a vector pattern.”

“Well, even if it is contagious among Vastalimi, chances of interspecies jumping to humans are small.”

“Small might still be fatal,” Droc said.

“Everybody dies, Healer. A comet might fall on us tomorrow.”

Droc glanced at Kay, and gave her the barest hint of a smile.
I like this human,
the expression said.

Kay nodded and ghosted the smile back.
They have their moments.

Droc held one hand up to indicate the nearest patient.

Kay followed Wink to where the ill male lay.

Even if you knew little about Vastalimi physiology, it would have been easy to see that the male was distressed. Wink Doctor had experience with a number of aliens, including Kay herself. He would bring a fresh and objective viewpoint. Maybe that would help.

Kay would examine the ill, too, but she suspected that the cause would not be found that way. Maybe something she had learned in her time among humans would help. And maybe Wink Doctor would have some ideas, for he was one of the best medics among them in her experience.

Jo and Gunny and Gramps went to see the head of the farm co-op that focused on the
difrui
crop. It wasn’t too far from where CFI had set up camp, a few minutes by hopper.

They had PPS direction and sat imagery, so Jo wasn’t expecting to find an adobe hut at the end of a dirt road, but even so, it looked more impressive than the images had suggested.

The place was probably four or five thousand square meters under a dura-tile roof, ferrofoam construction, with twenty-five-meter-tall evergreen trees, flowering shrubs with red and blue and purple blossoms, a reflecting pond, and neatly trimmed short-grass lawns.

Hardly an animal pasture full of old turds, this.

TotalMart had paved the way for CFI, too, so the people were all smiles and nice-to-see-you when they arrived.

They were ushered into a conference room with a waxed, flame-grained hardwood table, deep reds and oranges, one wall of clear plastic looking out at the reflecting pool. Painting on the opposite wall, a meter-tall metal sculpture of a harvesting machine in one corner. Everything about the place said quality, and nothing looked cheap.

“Must be good money in purple roots,” Gunny said.

“Else we wouldn’t be here,” Gramps said.

Before Jo could say anything, a tall man with short gray hair and teeth that practically glowed they were so white, arrived. He looked fit, wore a gray silk unitard that hung perfectly on his frame, with matching leather slippers that looked sprayed on. Maybe forty-five, and he seemed comfortable in his skin.

“I’m Director Kreega,” he said, and flashed his perfect teeth at them. “Everybody calls me ‘Chet.’”

Jo returned the smile. With a twitch that was almost reflexive, she lit her Stress Analyzer aug. “Chet. I’m Jo Sims, this is Megan Sayeed and Roy Demonde.”

“Please, sit. How can I best help you, fem?”

“I expect you have been briefed on the recent encounter with the, ah, bandits and the convoy?”

“I have. Excellent work. TM Corporate assured us that Cutter Force Initiative was a first-rate organization, and I am happy to see that so quickly demonstrated.”

Jo shrugged that off. Protecting some big trucks from some half-assed hijackers? No big deal.

“The attack was only a symptom, sir, and while we can treat those, we are more interested in curing the cause of the disease.”

“Of course. That would be Masbülc,” he said, his smile fading.

“Probably true, if our intel is correct. However, the more we know about the situation here, the quicker we can remedy it. We have, of course, seen your reports, but if you wouldn’t mind telling it to us again?”

“Of course.” He leaned forward slightly. “Some months ago, we were approached by a buyer who represented Masbülc. He made an offer for our next crop, which was in the beginning states of first harvest. As I am sure you know,
difrui
grows year-round in this climate, and in a good year, we will get three harvests.”

Jo nodded. So far, nothing to tweak her Stress Analyzer, nor did she expect any such.

“The man—I believe his name was Proderic”—he pronounced it “prod-er-ick”—“offered a premium, twenty percent higher than the going market price. Of course, we turned him down.”

“Why didn’t you take it?”

He leaned back slightly, gifted her with the smile. “We have a long-term relationship with TotalMart. Our contract with them had yet to be renewed, but we expected them to make an offer. Masbülc is a fine company, but . . .”

“You didn’t want to piss off the big dog?” Gunny said.

He chuckled. “Just so, Gunny. We might be a short-rocket planet out here, but we aren’t brushing alfalfa seeds from our hair. The couple million extra we’d have made taking Masbülc’s offer isn’t much compared to what TotalMart could send our way in the next decade.”

Still no lies, but a blip, nonetheless. She filed it away and continued.

“So tell me about this Proderic. What was your sense of him?”

“Well. He was slick, sharp, smooth. Had that professional salesperson aspect about him, a good listener, smiled a lot, quick to answer any questions, and all the responses on tap. Hinted that Masbülc would be interested in a long-term relationship and willing to pay premium rates for a five-year contract.

“He was short, had a tan or faux that darkened his skin, indicating that he either spent a lot of time outdoors unprotected or wanted to convey that impression. His clothes were nice enough to impress but not so expensive so as to raise eyebrows in wonder. He arrived in a rented flitter with an assistant, a young woman who appeared to be chosen for her physical beauty, which was considerable. When he saw me look her over, he hinted that she might be willing to, ah, stay behind and work out details of the contract with me personally, no matter how long it might take.”

Jo nodded. No surprise there. Sex had sold stuff ever since stuff had been around.

“When I was adamant that we weren’t ready to accept his offer, he asked me if there was anything he could do to change my mind.” There came a short pause. “You have viewed the conversation?”

Jo nodded again. She had watched and listened to the recording as a matter of course. But how Chet felt about it? The vid couldn’t convey that.

“He asked me to reconsider before making a final decision, that he would get back in touch later. I didn’t hear any direct threat in his words, nothing that could be taken as such, but . . .”

“Go on.”

“. . . there was about the man in that moment a sudden sense of . . . menace. Nothing upon which I could put my finger, and say, ‘There! That!’ but a feeling. Rather like standing just outside the cage of a greatcat. Were it not for the fields between you and the beast, it would think nothing of swatting you dead with one clawed paw just because it felt like it.”

“Thank you,” Jo said. “I won’t take up any more of your time. We will keep you posted as to our investigation.”

Chet nodded. “Thank you, Captain.”

Outside, in the warm afternoon sunshine, the three entered the hopper and switched on the garble field as the engine cycled up.

Gramps said, “Interesting. He telling the truth?”

“Far as my aug could tell,” Jo said. “But there was something.”

Gunny and Gramps exchanged looks. “Go ahead, Chocolatte, you know you want to.”

“Age before beauty,” she said.

Gramps grinned and shook his head. “Well, as I recall—and for a man of my advanced age, memory is such a porous and transient thing—and please correct me if I am wrong, but when you introduced us, you didn’t mention any ranks, did you?”

Gunny nodded. “Amazing. You caught that.”

Jo headed off the exchange: “Nope, and yet Chet knew to call you ‘Gunny’ and me ‘Captain,’ and none of us are wearing anything that denotes rank.”

“Gramps here is sometimes pretty rank when he takes off his boots, but, yeah.”

“So he does his research,” Jo said. “Nothing wrong with that though it does make you wonder. Was he just showing off by letting us know he’d checked us out? Or did he screw up and let that slip by accident? And does it matter either way?”

“Another of the many questions we will undoubtedly address,” Gramps said. “Wheels within wheels . . .”

As the hopper spiraled up through a thousand meters toward cruising altitude, the Doppler on the tactical control panel pinged.

“Incoming attack,” the computer’s vox said.

“My, would you look at that,” Gramps said. “Somebody is shooting at us.”

The computer could do it and would in another half second, but Jo preferred manual. She hit the e-chaff spew and tapped the power control to full. The thrust shoved them back into the cushions as the hopper, one of theirs and unobtrusively rigged for combat, shot almost straight up, zipping through three gees in a couple of seconds.

“Take it easy! I had a big lunch!” Gramps said.

The missile, ground-to-air, had been fired from a couple of klicks out and was most of the way there, but the e-chaff spew caused it to slow and think about things. Jo’s finger hovered over the gat-control, in case the rocket was smarter than an IR or pulse-guide weapon.

Apparently, it was. Instead of following the chaff, the rocket changed course and headed for the hopper. Interesting.

Jo lit the gat.

The hopper slowed, gravity eased up, and the vessel veered a hair to port as the gat-port snapped open. The electric gun opened up, six barrels atwirl, eight thousand rounds a minute of 10mm EU caseless, laser-locked onto the incoming rocket. A two-second burst was more than enough. Way more.

Rags would probably give her shit about how the computer could have done it in one second, thus saving 133 rounds, but fuck it, better safe than sorry. If they got spiked? The computer wouldn’t care.

The heavy metal sleet tore the rocket to pieces five hundred meters out, shredding it into metal-and-plastic confetti. No boom, as the bits fluttered and fell in the warm afternoon.

“Smart rockets don’t come cheap,” Jo said. “Looks like the opposition is ramping things up.”

“We need to go find it and have a look?” Gramps asked.

“No point. We’d find out it was a rocket and maybe backwalk where it came from, but the shooter will be long gone, if he was even there when it lit. Could have been a din running it.”

“Well, at least we won’t be bored on this op,” Gunny said.

“How could anybody be bored when you are around, Chocolatte?”

Jo shook her head. Sooner or later, somebody would tell them to get a fucking room and get to fucking. Be interesting to see what their reactions would be when it finally happened.

She waved at the com.

“Cutter here.”

“You check the feed from the hopper’s squirt?”

“Why would I do that? Don’t
you
know? Aren’t you there?”

“So far. But somebody doesn’t want us to be.”

There was a pause. He’d be calling up the telemetrics on the hopper. Before he could speak, she said, “And don’t even go there about overfiring the fucking Gatling gun, Rags.”

“I was only going to say, ‘Nice shooting.’”

“Bullshit you were.”

He laughed. “Come home. We need to sit down and think out loud about this.”

_ _ _ _ _ _

Kay didn’t expect her visit quite so soon, though it wasn’t a complete surprise. Wink was at the lab, talking to Luque, and it wasn’t as if Kay had all that much to do. She walked through the decontamination field, waved her hands back and forth to make sure they were completely bathed, and through the two positive-pressure chambers. Into the waiting area. Other than her own fur, she had nothing on that could carry germs. Not that they had found any such.

Leeth stood there, as if she were a statue, staring into infinity. It was well-known that the
Sena
could stand in a meditative trance for hours without moving, their minds hard at work on whatever they wanted to consider in detail. They seemed unaware of their surroundings at first look, but it would be a mistake to assume that.
Sena
slept aware.

Two seconds through the door, Leeth spoke to her: “Kluth.”

“Leeth.”

Her sister appeared much the same as Kay remembered. Trim, taut, with the bril-
hide
weapon belt of her trade slung low on her hips, pistol on one side, swand on the other, the com, recorder, and PPS snugged midway between. The official stain on her shoulders was an electric purple, freshly applied.

She was every centimeter the walking Rule of Law, and a subvocalized word into her com would bring a dozen more like her running if she needed them. Unlikely that she would
need
such help. To assault a Shadow was to die; if not in the moment, then soon afterward. Everybody knew that. It happened rarely. As far as she knew, there were no unsolved attacks on Shadows unless some had happened since she’d left.

Shadows were immune to Challenge while on duty. Any Challenge from anybody. Offer one, they could shoot you down without a second thought if they felt like it.

Even the military stepped wide of the
Sena
.

“I grieve for our parents and siblings,” Kay said.

“As do I. We have never been a particularly fortunate family.”

That was the extent of their expressed grief. People died. Some sooner, some later, that was the way of it. The dead moved to another country.

“You look sleek. Apparently soft, alien ways have not made you entirely fat and slow.”

“As being
Sena
has apparently done to you. Gained a kilo or two, Sister?”

Leeth whickered. The Shadows were among the most dedicated of Vastalimi. They trained to keep their minds and bodies as close to peak condition as could be maintained. There were no fat, dull
Sena
. A fitter group of The People was not to be found, everybody knew that, too.

Kay had always been able to make her sibling laugh; good to know she still could.

“I didn’t expect to see you in this life again.”

“Nor I you. I could hardly refuse our elder brother’s call in this case.”

“Agreed. Can you help?”

“It remains to be seen.”

“And what of your human
pas
?”

“He is not my pet, but a colleague. He has great skills as a medic, and he brings an unbiased perspective. As I am sure you already know in great detail.”

“Unbiased? As opposed to . . . ?”

Sleek, and her wit undimmed. Right to the pertinent comment.

Kay smiled. “Tell me, have politics ceased to function since I left? No more power-hungry, self-serving, ambitious Vastalimi to be found here?”

Leeth whickered again. “Would that it were so, Sister. But surely you don’t think somebody would use this illness to their advantage?”

They both whickered at that one.

“I take it you have not found such links.”

“Not as yet. How is life among the humans?”

“Better than many would expect. They have their own kind of honor, they can be brave and loyal. Slow and weak, generally, but they are matchless with small arms. You have heard, ‘Never shoot with a human’?”

Leeth said, “A teat-tale to frighten cubs, I always thought.”

“Not entirely. Two of my human team members can outshoot any Vastalimi I have ever known.”