The Catalyst (Targon Tales) (5 page)

"I could do something rebellious, if you’re looking for clarity."

"Why are you mocking me? When did you get so turned around? You used to be Union as much as I am."

He shrugged and picked up his tea cup. "I've been on ground level for a while. That's when you see the results of the fire you sky jockeys lay down. It's not always the enemy that gives it up for you."

"I'm aware of that. I just got off Bellac Tau. That peace came at a massive price, but it is peace now. Bellac is free of rebels."

"It's not free of rebels but if being owned by the Union now means peace then I suppose peace it is. The collateral damage doesn't bother you?"

"Whether it bothers me or not doesn't make the win any less important. And it's an alliance. We don't own planets." She pushed the tray away. "Sorry, that just looks too much like mud. I'll take my chances on Aikhor."

"Hey, want to fly the Dutchman?" he said blithely.

She brightened considerably. "Do you have to ask?" She followed him into the cockpit.

"Not as automatic as the cruisers you've probably been flying. You might want to use the interface." He pointed at the headset hung above the co-pilot's chair. It would only take a few minutes for the ship to recognize the neural link module embedded in her temple and, with his clearance, create a program for her.

"You have no faith," she said, impatient to get under way. "Watch and learn."

He rolled his eyes and engaged his own interface. "Just in case," he said. The lights on the control board came to life, indicating a connection between the ship's central processors and his neocortex via the implant at his temples. "Orbit break ready."

She studied the flight plan he had already laid in. Their destination was a town near one of Aikhor's many oceans and they'd approach from there. "Too easy," she said.

"Just remember the pogs," he said, his mind on the sensors. "And keep an eye on the weather. It's a stormy place. I'll compensate, if that's all right with you."

"Stop worrying. And if you think you’ve distracted me from my question, you are very much mistaken." She began their descent into Aikhor's atmosphere, feeling the plane shudder and balk at the rough treatment. Seth had been right; the entry required her full concentration. The Dutchman's performance made it a stallion among cart horses but equally temperamental. She laughed when they approached the planet and she leveled out into the promised turbulence.

Dense clouds hovered along the coast, obscuring much of the town although they saw lights here and there in the fog. Without any useful visibility, she finally relinquished control of the ship to him and watched while he brought the Dutchman into a vertical descent above an airfield using only his thoughts to direct the ship to its destination. His touch was deft; they felt the plane contact the tarmac with barely a wobble.

He opened his eyes to see her watching him. "Was I snoring?"

"Admit it. You were impressed by that entry."

He climbed out of the pilot bench and went into the cabin to pull a coat and a poncho out of a bin. "I was checking the weather. It's raining outside, mostly water. And it’s cold. Atmospheric conditions are fine; we won't need any special gear. Gravity is a bit heavy."

"I noticed." She took the poncho from him and then held out her hand.

He pretended to consider. "Promise you won't shoot me?"

"No."

He sighed and moved past her to open the overhead bin above the sleeper. She whistled in appreciation when she saw his arsenal of long guns and side arms. “Take your pick. Just make sure it's concealed. Their laws a little restrictive here."

She chose a projectile pistol in consideration of the weather and attached it to her belt under the poncho.

Outside the Dutchman Seth fell into a brief conversation with a technician that had strolled out from the main building, apparently not bothered by the rain. Nova huddled under her cloak, listening to heavy drops fall onto her hood and thinking that even the dead emptiness of space was a lot more comfortable than the weather on most planets she had visited.

 The rain tapered off even before they had reached the fog-swathed perimeter of the small airfield. The outskirts of the harbor town were little more than slums where few of the structures seemed built solidly enough to withstand the damp and wind. Gradually, the twisting roads widened and the buildings appeared more substantial, turning shantytown into city.

The natives were pale-skinned and hairless and Nova studied them with interest. Large oval heads topped barely clad, thin bodies. Most of them moved on both hands and feet that looked more or less alike. Nova and Seth hardly caused the raising of a single eyebrow, were such a thing available here. Off-worlders were not an uncommon sight on Aikhor.

Amused, Nova watched two children ride along on a parent's bent back. They were young; their eyes had not yet opened. "Twins and triplets are more common here than single births," Seth explained. "Infant mortality is pretty high."

They continued on toward the center of the town. The crowd of fleet-footed natives was now heavily interspersed with foreigners and Nova, rarely with enough time or funds to indulge in travel, watched them all with wide-eyed amazement. She did not notice that someone had barred their way until she nearly bumped into him.

The being's skin was of a faded yellow, much like a Caspian’s, but bristled with coarse gray hair. She gathered that it was speaking to her as it emitted a series of sighs and wheezes through some of its apertures. It wore no clothing and, by Nova's standards, it was quite obviously male.

He raised a fibrous limb and wrapped two digits around her wrist.

"Hey!" She wrenched her hand free.

Seth stepped closer to her. He gestured in a few halting movements. Nova tried to follow the incomprehensible body language as the creature answered. The exchange continued for a while until Seth gave a final wave and nudged her to continue walking.

Once at a safe distance, he reached into his coat to switch his gun back to its safety position. "You're worth a lot of money here."

"What?"

"He wanted to buy you. Or rent you for a while. As a sort of decorative object, I think."

"So where does he keep his money?" Nova shuddered.

He laughed. "Over there is an inn of sorts. It’s run by a couple of Centauri. Not all bad, considering where we are. Rent us some rooms, will you?” He handed her a wrapper with some currency. “Don’t use your Union credit here, although they’ll take it if they have to. I'll be along in a while and don't you worry about me running off to my rebel friends."

"Where are you going?" Nova said, immediately suspicious.

"Miss me already, honey?" He patted her rump.

"Stop that!  Can't we sleep on the ship?"

"Too noisy, with the repairs going on." He wandered away without further explanation.

Nova went into the hostel and sniffed disapprovingly when she walked into the chilly reception hall. The smell of age and must clung to this place like a wet blanket. Two elderly females were engaged in rolling up a large, knotted carpet, possibly the source of the mold, its patterns indiscernible beneath a layer of mud. The crones gaped at Nova and then fell to whispering.

 Belatedly, Nova rearranged her poncho to drape over her sidearm. She approached an obese Centauri by the desk, apparently asleep. His faded uniform bearing the inn's name was very clean in stark contrast to the mildewing hall. "Good day," Nova said, assuming that this was still daytime. "Two rooms, please, the best you got, clean if possible."

 The guardian of the lobby wheeled his chair closer to her. Although she wore a set of Seth's nondescript clothes instead of a uniform, he took time to study her carefully. The Union mainvoice she used was clipped and much abbreviated, a dialect used mainly by the military. But she did not look like one of those meddlesome Union patrols sent here at regular intervals to look for rebels and then paid off by Tharron to overlook them.  Not for hire, that one. The gun she had flashed cost more than he earned in a month. Perhaps she was Union military, perhaps not. A woman traveling alone was well advised to be armed in these parts.  Right now she looked a little lost. At length the fat man shrugged; her origin was of no concern to him.

"We got rooms. Clean ones."

"I need to send a message. Tight band."

"Where to?"

"I asked for a tight band, didn't I?"

"We don't often get big secrets 'round here. Take your chances with what we’ve got."

Nova paid him for the rooms and followed his directions to the video booths in the rear of the lobby. There, she carefully entered the delivery instructions, addressing her commander. Once complete, the recording would be sent by a relay through the jumpsite they had just used to the one near Zera and on from there to her base.

Someone rattled the handle to her booth, shouted something and moved on to the next. Nova leaned her back against the door.

The light beside the camera window came on. "Major," she began brightly. "I just wanted to check in to let you know how much I appreciate the shore leave you granted. As you can see, I am in good health even after the trip from Pelion. I am sorry that we were not able to complete our assignment. I will pick up a transport from Magra back to Targon and will await orders there. Please send a message to my father, if within protocol at this time, to let him know that I’m fine. Whiteside out."

Nova’s hand hovered over the command field to send the message packet to the relay. Should she advise them about Seth? She glanced up at the camera window to consult her blurred reflection. What would she say? What had she seen? He had hurt no one and he had saved her life. Should she implicate him from here, without evidence, without even the sort of information that her people would already have about the incident?

She slapped the console to dispatch the message as she had recorded it and left the booth without examining her decision. Her feet led her out of the inn where she wandered through the damp streets until she found a shop that sold clothing to species like hers. The clerk at the desk had probably noticed her accent and so she now switched to a passable Centauri dialect. She dealt impatiently with the difficult currency, spending too much of Seth's money on a few drab and unadorned articles, apparently in fashion on this drab and unadorned planet. She was glad to return to the malodorous inn, away from the dreary streets.

Seth had been correct in his assessment of the local fare but she forced herself to eat a bowl of stew whose ingredients likely wouldn’t have improved her appetite had she inquired about them. As far as she recalled, her immune boosters were up to date. But she felt drained, affected by the high gravity dragging her arms and legs to the floor. Having nothing better to do, she made her way to the upper floor of the inn to find sleep in her room.

Harsh sounds woke her in utter darkness and, for several panicked seconds, Nova was unable to remember where she was and why she was sleeping in some sort of sling. The room she had rented for Seth adjoined her own and she heard something crash to the floor in there, followed by a muffled curse. Then she heard the sound of a scuffle.

Her definition of ‘clean’ was not the same as the clerk's and she took care to slip into her boots directly below her hammock. She went to the other sling to search for the gun among her parcels.

In the hall, Nova sidled along the wall to the door of Seth's room. Feeling rather foolish, she stepped over another hotel guest who had apparently elected to sleep in the hall.  Looking closer, she saw that there were two of them.

Seth's door was ajar.

She peered inside. "Seth? Is that you?" she whispered, her gun ready. "Seth!"

He was leaning against a small table that had once supported a lamp now wearily blinking on the floor where it had fallen. A very small female of Bellac origin was holding him up. Her skin was deeply red except for a network of purplish veins around her neck. The hair was white; Nova could not tell if it was her own. She wore only a brief kilt that did not hide a white tail.

"It's all yours, darling," the Bellac warbled in an oddly inflecting accent. "I sure as rocks can't get any business out of that tonight."

Nova lowered her gun. "Get out."

"You're lucky I brought it back."

"Out!"

The girl's white-painted lips parted in a smile. Waving silvery nails at Nova, she stalked out with a saucy swish of her tail.

Seth moved to his hammock. "I am not well at all."

Nova bent to pull his boots off. Like her own, they were caked with gray mud. "Is that what you do in your spare time? Getting drunk and picking up hookers?"

"So?"

"She wasn't even Human."

He snarled. "Neither am I!"

She regarded him, amused. "You weren't really going to..."

"What if I was?"

She turned to leave.

"Nova," Seth waited until she turned back to him. "I wasn't going to. She followed me. I think she was planning to rob me or something."

She shrugged. "You don't have to explain your hobbies to me. You better get some sleep."

He held his hand out toward her. "Will you sleep with me?"

"No!"

"I thought we were friends."

"Were we? I wanted to be your friend, long ago. You left without a word. I don't want to be your friend any more."

"You don't mean that."

"Yeah, I do." She bent to the lamp on the floor and shut it off.

* * *

Seth met her in the inn's dining room in the morning. She looked up from the small screen attached to their table, ignoring the signs of his hangover. He was pale and there were dark smudges below his eyes. "Got some information about the attack on the
Dyona
from the tower on Pelion."

He sat down to squint at the screen. After a moment he gave up. "What does it say?"

"Apparently she self destructed before the rebel could board. Isn't that creative? All aboard presumed dead. No word about our cargo, of course." She pushed a bowl over to him. "They've got real food here."