Even in her drug-addled state she was alert to the danger lurking behind the question. She managed to shake her head. “Dropped me off . . .”
“But they’ll come back for you, yes?”
She didn’t know what answer would keep her safe, so she said nothing.
The man stood. The others kept their distance from him, she noticed. Out of respect, or fear? There was something about him that made her skin crawl. “We bring her back with us,” he announced.
“But Ivar.” It was a woman’s voice. “If she’s one of them—”
“We bring her back.” He glared for a moment to see if there would be any further protest, then nodded toward Ru. “Rollo, you carry her. Be careful. She has value.”
Value, Ru thought numbly. I have value. Someone pulled her up from the ground, but her legs were a million miles away. Maybe today is not my time to die.
Then darkness swept that final thought away, and all was silence.
We are the beasts in the night, stalking the Terran campfire. We are the voices in the darkness, whispering things no Terran wants to hear. We are the eternal Other, feared and reviled, and no flowery words or diplomatic platitudes will ever change that.
(Excerpt from a propaganda ’cast of the Hausman League. Author unknown.)
HARMONY NODE
TRIDAC STATION
BEHOLD THE outworlds, Khatry thought, as he gazed out into the galactic darkness. No sun blazing in the heavens, to provide warmth and light. No planet or moon within view. No band of orbiting habitats, so densely clustered that one could barely catch sight of the Earth between them. Just the blackness of space, punctuated by space stations so distant that their external lighting could barely be seen from his observation deck.
Emptiness was good, Khatry mused. Emptiness had potential. Space with nothing in it was space that a man could develop however he liked.
There were times when the CEO of Tridac Enterprises (Harmony Division) missed Earth. But there were more times when he didn’t—times when he gazed out upon the vast expanse of unclaimed space and felt a sense of primal awe. His ancestors had experienced that same awe, gazing up at the night sky from the plains of Africa. They had assigned names to the darkness, and made offerings to it. To them the stars were spirits, guides in the night, whose favor must be courted and whose wrath must be feared. Little did they know that someday the heavens would lose their magic, as a multitude of man-made satellites brightened the night sky, outshining distant suns.
The ancient spirits were dead now. Their temples had been claimed by more modern gods, whose prophecies were voiced as Terms and Conditions. He, Victor Khatry, Earthborn, was their priest.
A soft chime alerted him to an incoming message. “Receive,” he commanded.
A holo of his personal secretary appeared in the center of the room. Through its translucent substance he could still see the stars. “Jack Grimm is here to see you, sir.”
He nodded. “Send him in.” As the image of the secretary faded, he said, “End display.” The stars surrounding him vanished, the room brightened, and the features of his office became visible once more. In its center was a sleek wooden desk he’d had shipped in from Earth, back when he first arrived, and everything else was designed around it. The desk was made of real wood, not a synthetic. Never mind that it had cost him a small fortune to bribe the Terran authorities to allow native wood to leave the home system, and a second small fortune to ship it here. Ancient kings had thrones made of gold and silver; Division CEOs had desks made of real wood. The message was the same.
Grimm looked like one would expect a man with that name to look, harsh and dour. Khatry disliked him, but he knew he was good at what he did and would keep quiet about the things that mattered. “You have something to report?”
“Just wanted to tell you, Bello’s done with. Killed by security bots from Shenshido. He triggered them himself, so none of my people had to get involved. No one will be able to trace this back to us. Or to Tridac.”
“So he took the bait.”
Grimm snorted. “Fled like the boogeyman was after him.” He grinned crookedly. “Which it was, in a manner of speaking.”
“You’ve seen the body.”
The grin faded. “There’s no body. Ship’s converter overloaded during the attack, the whole thing blew—anything as fragile as human flesh, I figure was vaporized.”
“You figure.” Khatry’s tone was chill. “I prefer certainty.”
“The spiders scanned for life support after the explosion, found nothing. No human could survive out there without it. He won’t be troubling you again.”
He never troubled me before, Khatry thought. He was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. A fatted calf who wandered too close to the altar. “And the evidence?”
“The spiders delivered all the debris to me, but a lot was lost in the explosion. What do you want done with the stuff we’ve got?”
“Make sure all identifying marks are gone, then deliver it to our scav contact.”
He nodded. “And the message on the gift card should be . . . ?”
He considered. “Tell him I would be pleased if his people stayed clear of Shenshido for a while.”
The crooked grin returned. “I doubt he’s planning a return trip. Their last visit didn’t go so well.”
“Feel free to remind them of that.” When Grimm didn’t move he said, “Is there something else?”
“Sir . . . this may be above my pay grade . . . but what’s up with Shenshido? Shouldn’t someone be repairing it? Or dismantling it? Or . . . something? I got a look at the place while I was out there. It’s a fucking wreck.”
There was a moment of silence. Then: “That is indeed above your pay grade.”
Grimm’s jaw tightened, but he bowed his head in assent. “As you wish.”
“Any other questions?”
“No. I’ll see the wreckage is disposed of properly.” He bowed his head again, managing to convey both respect and arrogance. What a piece of work he is, Khatry thought as he watched Grimm swagger out. But a useful one. For now.
“Resume display,” he commanded, and the stars returned.
In truth, he had no idea why Shenshido was being handled this way. Someone at the top of the Tridac hierarchy had decided that the station should not be dismantled, repaired, or allowed to fall into the hands of a rival company, and had sent Khatry instructions to that effect. While orders direct from Earth were something no CEO in the field dared ignore, it seemed a criminal waste of resources to him. He’d inspected Shenshido right after the big scav attack—to assess the damage—and thought the place still had potential. Certainly it should be used for something. But the triple-encrypted, no-reply orders made it clear his superiors thought otherwise, and didn’t want to discuss the matter with him. Hear and obey, he thought bitterly. But that was price you paid when you served a megacorp. At least until you rose high enough in the company’s hierarchy to earn a seat on the Terran Board.