Outer Bounds: Fortune's Rising (9 page)

She turned to dart sideways
across the vegetable rows, but Milar snapped out an arm and caught her by the
back of her jumpsuit.  “My brother told you to take the vegetable, honey.”  He
jerked her backwards to face the tiny egger, who hadn’t moved a centimeter since
first offering his prize to her.  Stumbling off balance, Tatiana hit Patrick in
the hip, grinding the pistol into her backbone.

“Ow!”  Rubbing her spine, she
glared up at Milar.

He glared back.  “Take.  It.” 
His hand tightened on her arm and shoved it towards the egger.  She could see
the black and red dragon snaking up his forearm tense as his muscles flexed
beneath the skin, holding her there.  He looked dead serious.

Looking back at the crazy little
egger and his mangled squash, Tatiana got the strange sensation she had just blundered
down the rabbit hole.  The frail old man gave his prize an insistent shake,
spraying more vegetable particles on the ground between them. 

This whole planet is insane,
Tatiana decided.  She wondered if it was something in the water.  Yet, knowing
Milar would probably go through the motions of
making
her grab the
zucchini if she didn’t cooperate, Tatiana tentatively reached out and took the
vegetable from the crazy man.

The moment Tatiana’s fingers
touched the nicked and mangled surface, she opened her mouth to say something
sarcastic.

She immediately forgot what it
had been she wanted to say.

The loose particles of zucchini
skin had begun to wiggle and twist; pressing, mashing, bending.  The color
began to change.  The yellow rind became darker, almost a silver-gray, and the
white flesh grew pink.  Lines formed in the mess, then swirled inward, becoming
dots.

Eyes,
Tatiana’s mind
registered.  She knew she should have been undergoing some sort of shock, but
the drug still hadn’t worn off completely—it was the only explanation she had
for not feeling the urge to throw the possessed zucchini across the yard and
emptying her lungs in a scream.

Instead, she took it gently with
her other hand and brought it closer to her eyes, peering deeper into the image
that was forming, focusing with every ounce of attention she had, willing the
shapes to form properly.

Like beetles crawling outward,
silver-gray nubs wormed their way out of the pink flesh.  The zucchini became a
face.

Her
face.  There was no
mistaking her ultraviolet eyes, as her father had aptly named them.  So blue
they looked purple.

The gray nubs were perfect
replicas of the metal nodes and nexuses that even now protruded from her skin,
but for one exception.  It had an extra one, right between her eyes.

What is
that
used for?
 Tatiana
had never even heard of such a thing.

Frowning, Tatiana tentatively
touched the metal bulb in her brow.

It vanished.

She found herself staring dumbly
at a mangled zucchini, her jaw hanging open, her lungs burning from holding her
breath, her eyes stinging from being open too long.

She dropped the zucchini.

The crazed egger didn’t seem to
notice—he had already picked a new one from his wide array of squash—the
villagers kept him well-stocked, it seemed—and was busy cutting on a glossy
black round one.  Rind fragments fell to the soil bunched up around his feet as
he carefully dragged the knife across the vegetable in no particular order.

Patrick bent down and picked up
the zucchini.  Immediately, his face went slack and his eyes went wide.  Too
wide.

Tatiana glanced at the crazy
little egger and then back to Patrick.  Her skin erupted with goosebumps at the
similarities.

“What did you see?” Milar asked
her.

What did I…see?
  Tatiana
glanced at Patrick.  “What do you mean?”

Milar whirled her around, his
face set in a scowl.  “You didn’t see anything?”

“See what?”  She forced her face
to stay calm.  “It was a hacked-up zucchini.”

“It’s another one of her,”
Patrick breathed.  His eyes were still fixed on the dirty, ripped-up
vegetable.  “Before the accident.”

Before the accident?
 
Tatiana didn’t like the sound of that.  The crazy forehead-nexus that she
didn’t have was bad enough, but now these guys were really beginning to creep
her out.  What had they done to her?  Played with her brainwaves?  Given her
some weird hallucinogen?  “Okay, so we saw this charming little creep and his
squash patch.  I’m ready to leave.”

“So we’re sure it’s her?” Milar
demanded.

“Yeah.”  Patrick handed him the
zucchini.

Milar took it, but his face
didn’t go slack.  He simply grunted and stuffed the vegetable under his belt.

“Too bad she didn’t see
anything,” Patrick said softly.  “We could’ve used another one.”

“Would’ve taken some of the
burden off you,” Milar said to Patrick.  His eyes, though, were fixed on
Tatiana. 

Patrick glanced at his twin and
laughed—a nervous laugh.  “Yeah.  It’s…tiring me out.” 

“It’s going to give you the
Wide,” Milar muttered.

Patrick ducked his head and
didn’t answer that.  “I’m not the best artist—I rarely do it justice.”  Then he
sighed.  His shoulders slumped and he looked tired.  Deflated.  “After all the
times he’s made her image, you would’ve thought it’d be her.”

“Yeah,” Milar said, watching
Tatiana too closely.  “You would’ve thought.”

Tatiana tried not to squirm under
Milar’s gaze.  She began picking at the scabs that were forming on her wrists,
then winced when she saw blood.

“So what now?” Patrick said. 
“What do we do with her?”

Milar patted the zucchini.  “I’m
taking this and putting it with the others.  You go get her drugged up for the
return trip.”  He gave Tatiana one more long look, then slapped his shades back
over his face and abruptly turned to trudge out through the rows, his long
leather duster catching against broccoli plants as he departed.

Patrick glanced at Tatiana, then
sighed and ran his hands through his hair, still watching her.  “I was so
sure.”  His eyes were filled with a deep-rooted agony.  “Damn.”

“Sure about what?” she asked.

“You didn’t see
anything
when you held it?”  He sounded upset.  Desperate, even.  “Nothing at all?”

“No.  What was he trying to make
it look like?” Tatiana said, trying not to let her face burn.  She actually
felt bad lying to him, which completely blew her mind, considering he had
captured her, injured her, threatened her, and then drugged her. 
Must be
the drugs,
she thought. 
Some sort of truth serum?
  She shrugged
lazily and went back to picking at her scab.  “Because it looked like some kid
had gone after it with a cheese grater.”

Patrick sighed again.  “It’s not
the physical layers he changes…”  He shook his head.  “Never mind.  You’re not
the one we’ve been looking for.  It must take someone else.”

“
What
must take someone
else?” Tatiana asked, tingles of unease tracing up her spine.  “What are you
talking about?”

Then, a tiny part of her said,
You
know damn well what he’s talking about.  That wasn’t a hallucinogen.  That damn
zucchini came to
life
and you’re just gonna pretend—

Cutting off her irritating inner
self, Tatiana said, “Listen, that little froggish creep is staring at me
again.  Can we get out of his patch before he stabs one of us?”

In truth, she wanted to get away
from this whole place.  Now that the echoes of the zucchini were fading, it
seemed like the guy was…crawling…with something.  It was constantly nagging
her, and whenever she turned her head, it was as if she could see it, just at
the edge of her vision.

“Sure,” Patrick said.  He grabbed
her arm and started tugging her out of the garden. 

Loudly, behind them, the crazed
egger called, “Shoelaces, Patty.”  Then he cackled like he’d told a joke.

Pat, however, stopped dead in his
tracks.  He turned, looking pale.  “What did you say, Joe?”

“Shoes!”  The tiny man giggled. 
Then he jabbed his knife in Tatiana’s direction.  “She likes shoes.”

Tatiana frowned.  “No I don’t.” 
She hated shoes-shopping.  None of them ever fit properly over the nodes in her
feet.

Patrick glanced at her, then
sighed.  “All right, let’s go.”

On their way back to the house,
they passed a path cut through the brush.  Through the gap, Tatiana glimpsed a
few small huts on the other side.  “Is this that Deaddrunk Mine place you were
telling me about?”

“Yep,” Patrick said immediately. 
Then he paused and grinned at her sheepishly.  “Maybe.”

Yeah, a real badass secret
operative we’ve got here
.  Tatiana almost felt sorry for him.  “Huh,”
Tatiana said.  “You know, that little bastard had a government tattoo on his
arm.  A pretty famous carrier squadron.  They get charged with transporting the
President, if he ever goes anywhere.”

“Yeah,” Patrick said, his face
darkening.

“He was a pilot, then?”

“Yep.”  Patrick paused to re-tie
a length of netting that had fallen down on one of the rows of peas.

“So you two brothers and that old
fart the only pilots in this damn place?”

“Pilot.”  Patrick snorted.  “Joe
can’t even feed himself anymore.  You think we’d trust him with a three megaton
machine?”

“Guess not,” Tatiana said.  “So
how many people live around here?”

“Let’s say forty,” Patrick said.

“Oh yeah?  Then I bet you and
Milar are pretty big shots, eh?”

“Why?” Patrick asked, finishing
his knot and giving her a curious look.

“You’re pilots.”  She waved her
hand disgustedly.  “Everybody’s got this thing for pilots.”

“Even you?” he asked, grinning
slightly. 

Once again, she became aware of
just how good it might feel to get Patrick in bed…  Swallowing, she managed, “I
wanna know who I can swindle to get me out of here.”

“Oh,” he laughed.  “Well, there’s
Jeanne—she’s a hellcat on wings.  Won’t do much good trying to swindle her,
though.  She’s half pirate.  Literally.  Her mother was hung for piracy when
she was seven.”  Patrick seemed to like talking about his pathetic little
village.  Tatiana found it quaint.

Scrunching her nose, she said, “I
hate pirates.  Anybody else?”

“Veera and Dave.  That’s about
it.”  Then he winked at her.  “Oh, and of course Milar and me.”

“Yeah, well, we know how well
that
would work,” Tatiana said.

He laughed.  “Yeah.”  Then he
nodded at the house porch.  “Come on.  I’ll give you another dose and we’ll get
back on the road.”

Like hell you will, bastard.
 
“To where?” Tatiana asked.

“Oh,” Patrick said, looking a bit
confused.  “Don’t quite have that figured out yet, but—”  He stopped,
mid-sentence, when he realized the laces of his boot had come undone.  He
lifted his leg up and set his foot on the steps.  As he tied his boot, he said,
“—but I’m sure we’ll figure it out after we—”

Tatiana slid the pistol from his
belt and danced away from him.  Lifting it up and levering it at his chest, she
said, “Get on the ground.  Now.”

Patrick chuckled, turning.  “That
thing’s calibrated to my biometrics.  You couldn’t get a shot off if—”

She pulled the trigger and a hole
appeared in the wooden step a centimeter in front of the toe of the boot he was
re-lacing.  “Now get on the ground,” she repeated.  “Belly facing down, arms
over your head.”

Patrick seemed flabbergasted as
he clumsily got on his knees.  “But how—”

“Remember all those little
nanobots I mentioned?” Tatiana said.  “Your gun has an AI mechanism and my
little buddies just loooooove AI.”  She hurriedly backed further into the
squash patch.  “Now lay down.”

“Where are you going?” Patrick
demanded into the dirt.

“Getting a friend,” Tatiana
said.  She danced behind the little egger and dragged him to his feet.  She
tapped the man’s head with the laser pistol.  “Drop the knife, grandpa.” 

Wideman Joe ignored her
completely.  He seemed perfectly content with continuing to carve his squash
with her arm cinched around his throat, so, after a moment’s contemplation, she
left it.  Glancing back at Patrick, she realized he had gotten back up on his
hands and knees and looked petrified—and about ready to sprint at her.

“I will fry this demented little
egger’s brain so hard you could eat it for breakfast,” she warned.

“Breakfast!” Joe shrieked.  Then
he giggled.

At that moment, Milar came
trotting around the corner, looking like an excited puppy.  “Did Joe just
tal—”  He froze upon seeing Tatiana and a dark look came over his face. 

“Oh good,” Tatiana said.  “Go put
those cuffs you like so much on your brother, if you will, sweetie.”

“Screw you,” Milar said.

Tatiana tapped Joe’s frizzy white
scalp with the pistol.  The egger giggled again and kept carving.  “Now.”

“Do it, Miles,” Patrick muttered.

“Tightly, now,” Tatiana said. 
“If I don’t see blood, I’m gonna shoot this bastard.”

Milar hesitated several moments,
and the look he gave her left Tatiana with chills.  Finally, he said, “Sure, sweetie,”
his voice darker than his face.  He went over, took Patrick’s wrists, and
cinched them together with the silver bands.

“You got another set?” Tatiana
asked, once he was done.

“No,” Milar said.

“Get it out,” Tatiana ordered.

For a long moment, Milar simply
stood there, glaring at her.  Then, slowly, he pulled another set of bands from
his belt.

“On your ankles,” she said.  “One
on yours and one on Patty’s over there.”

Milar turned red.  “That’s
bullsh—”

“Just do it, Milar,” Patrick
said, glaring at her.  “She’s not going far anyway.”