The Tabit Genesis (2 page)

‘Sorry,’ he said, backing away from the frenzied creature. ‘I’m concentrating.’

‘Whatever, just hurry up.’

Adam was mesmerised by the hunter’s struggle. The only sounds he could hear were the howling wind, his own shallow breathing, and the muted strikes of cartilaginous flesh on metal. But the creature was no longer lashing at him with its deadly limbs. From ruthless killer the Arkady hunter had become desperate victim; just another living thing fighting for its very life.

Adam was trapped between compassion and caution, though only for a moment.

Moving beyond the reach of its flailing tentacles, he clamped the mech’s tri-pads onto the regulator that would shut the damaged intake down. As the turbines ground to a halt, the shape-shifting beast writhed in pain, unable to free its limbs from the machine.

Dad’s voice cut through the radio.

‘Gas mining is tedious, but it’s dangerous work,’ he informed. ‘But there’s always a buyer for your harvest. That makes it all worthwhile.’

Adam took a step towards the hunter, willing himself to ignore the radio completely.

‘Did you know that every Orionis citizen will use several
million
cubic litres of compressed hydrogen fuel over the course of his lifetime?’ his dad informed.

The desperate hunter, its strength depleted, was fading away. Taking a deep breath, Adam marched directly towards it.

‘What are you doing down there?’ Abby demanded. ‘You missed another checkpoint!’

Adam was within ten metres when the hunter lashed out at him; its tentacles, now coruscating in angry bursts of yellow and green, made a futile attempt to latch onto the mech. Instead the limbs collapsed onto the rig, splayed out like strands of discarded cable. Gill slits along its body began twitching. Adam sensed it was dying. Time was running out.

He climbed deftly on top of the intake. The exhausted creature was heaving besides him, close enough to touch. Securing the mech’s footing as best he could, Adam set to work removing the intake’s cowling to examine the inside.

‘Radio check,’ he mumbled.

‘Did you find the problem?’ Abby demanded.

‘You could say that,’ he answered. As the cowling came loose, he carefully set the metal sheet down and peered inside. Two of the creature’s limbs were badly mauled and tangled in the turbine fans. The Pegasus was strong enough to pull them apart, but he would have to step up and over the leading edge of the platform to reach.

So that’s what he did, trying not to think about what would happen if he slipped.

‘Well, how long will it take to fix?’ Abby asked. ‘The offloaders are en route.’

‘Intake One can’t be fixed,’ Adam said, plunging his tri-pads into the ruined machine. ‘It has to be replaced.’

He clamped on tightly, transferred as much power into the arms as he could, and began pulling.

‘Are you serious?’ Abby asked.

With an abrupt, sickening
snap
, the fans came apart unexpectedly, and the sudden surplus of momentum carried the mech off the edge.

‘
No!’
Adam shouted.

He thrashed out with both arms to grab onto something, anything. The first arm grabbed nothing but Zeus air; the second found the edge of a flotation bladder. Adam transferred all the power to the grip, dangling over oblivion as he brought his second arm up.

‘Really?’ Abby fumed. ‘What’s your problem?’

Adam thought of some choice words, but instead:

‘No, I mean,
yes
, the intake is ruined,’ he said, plotting a vertical path to reach the platform rail.

‘What the hell can ruin a turbine intake?’ Abby demanded.

‘Did I ever tell you the story about how I got this rig?’ his father asked.

‘I didn’t think you ever wanted us to know that,’ Adam muttered, thankful for the interruption. The Arkady hunter was gone. He hadn’t seen what had happened to it. Given his efforts, he hoped it had flown away instead of falling to its death.

‘Yes, that’s right,’ his dad said. ‘It’s probably best you don’t.’

With full power diverted to a limb, the Pegasus was capable of pulling several times its own mass. But he would have to overload the reactor’s output in short bursts, timing each one with the grips he needed to reach safety.

In the hands of a lesser pilot, it would have been impossible. By the time Adam stepped over the rail, the reactor was overheating and doing permanent damage to the mech. Grateful to be alive, he limped back towards the drop sled, covered in Arkady remains.

Abby was relentless the entire time.

‘So not only did we miss the cut-off, now we produce less than every other rig. Wonderful.’

‘I’m finished down here,’ Adam said, unlatching the fuel hoses. ‘The
Three
tanks are full and ready to go on Cable Four. Cables Two and Three are on schedule for H and O deliveries. I’m coming up on One. Lift off in ten.’

‘Fine,’ Abby grumbled.

Exhausted, Adam very much wanted to get back into orbit. He just didn’t have the energy to explain that the Pegasus was likely ruined as well. Yet much as he wanted to avoid her, Abby had every right to be upset: the load coming up now wouldn’t reach the market before the other trawlers sold off their inventories. The cost of these equipment failures would far exceed whatever pittance they received for the harvest, and they would fall deeper into debt.

Their Ceti overlords were tiring of excuses. The last visit had made that clear.

Adam stowed the fuel hoses away and backed the ailing mech into the sled cage. When the harness locked into place, he keyed in the launch sequence.

As the countdown commenced, he gazed down the length of the rig. Somehow it seemed much longer than usual.

Adam’s heart stopped as
it
began to move, undulating in the wind currents, rising above the rest of the platform.

A colossal zenomorph, wider than the entire platform, was gliding towards him. He had never seen an Arkady like this before. Its skin was pitch-black, its winged shape masterfully controlling its position in the gale.

The sled began ascending, all too slowly. Closer and closer the beast approached, unfurling tentacles many times longer than the hunter’s, all within easy striking range.

It would be no effort for the creature to kill him. But instead, as the sled ascended, a pattern of blue flashes danced across the Arkady’s ebony, liquescent skin. Symmetrical and deliberate, unlike the chaotic life energy that radiated from schools or hunters.

Adam sensed the signs were intended just for him.

I was lying face down in my own vomit when the Minotaur showed up.

There must have been a binge, and a bad one. I had the awful feeling I was falling, but I couldn’t be since the mess was spread out instead of floating around in puffy blobs. This was good, insofar as being preferable to a micrograv crash. Beyond that, I had no idea where I was or how I got there. With considerable effort, I managed to lift my head and look around. But my eyes wouldn’t focus on anything, except for … the Minotaur. And I decided there was nothing unusual about a horned, bull-faced humanoid and just let my head fall back onto the deck where it belonged.

Which may have offended him, since he kicked me so hard I threw up again. Then he began to laugh-snort through his formidable nostrils.

‘What do you want?’ I gasped.

‘I’m here for Jake Reddeck,’ the Minotaur said.

‘Don’t know him,’ I managed. The bile in my throat tasted like some twisted narcotic concoction.

‘I’ll help you remember,’ the Minotaur said.

He kicked me again. I was beginning to wonder if there was a non-lethal exit from this. Bad enough I had no recollection of my evening, but who was this animal? Either I owed him money, in which case this was a simple misunderstanding, or he was
the competition,
which meant I’d have to kill him. I have no patience for Belt-trash amateurs trying to muscle their way into my business, even if I used to be one of them myself.

There are twelve million lawful firstborn human beings in Orionis, and they would all love to shove me out of an airlock. Mostly, that was because I was guilty of doing to countless others what the Minotaur was about to do to me. It’s the nature of the drug trade; the old Ceti saying is ‘Success scales not with the customers you serve, but with the enemies you make.’ After whatever evil I committed last night, I was sure I deserved a promotion.

But the more I tried to remember, the more my head hurt. Whether from injury or product or both, there was a black hole in my memory. I’ve seen some crazy augmentations in my time, but this Minotaur …
damn
. Mutants aren’t hard to find in the Zeus colonies, but this guy was a
fucking
aberration
, easily the most disfigured one I’d ever seen. I mean, there were
heat waves
radiating off the man. Just being in the same room as him was giving me cancer.

Considering the circumstances, I thought it best to remain civil.

‘Here’s the best deal you’re going to get,’ the Minotaur said. ‘Bring me to Jake, and I won’t kill you slowly. How about that?’

‘I told you, I’m here for Jake,’ the Minotaur said, nodding towards the more prominent chunks of vomit nearby. ‘Wish you had drowned in that. It would make things simpler.’

Everywhere I looked, the rest of my surroundings took a few moments to catch up. As reality blurred across my vision, I heard this wailing sound, like screaming children over the groan of old, bending metal. The fog was palpable; I was only
peripherally
aware of my own existence, just watching myself from the edge of consciousness.

That meant I was
dangerously
intoxicated, even for a hard bastard. The crash was coming, and I needed something to soften the landing.

‘I can help with that,’ the Minotaur sneered.

I don’t know if I asked for a fix out loud, but the mutant obliged with another kick to the gut. By the time I finished wheezing, the floor was coated in blood.

I know how it looks: my consumption habit is killing me. That’s fair, because I’ve tried every drug there is. It’s expected of me in this profession, which is running a distribution network for Ceti. From Tabit Prime to the House Worlds, I vend chemical pleasures to people of all statures. What kind of sales rep would I be if I didn’t sample the product? That’s the kind of enthusiasm clients want to see. It’s made me very rich and, consequently, very sociopathic. Like any successful businessman, I defend my interests fiercely, with no regard for the laws of governments.

The downside: I do very bad things when I’m high. Because of the drugs.

Which I do because the profession demands it.

I guess the infinite loop of denial means I’ve reached rock bottom.

What a view.

‘It gets worse,’ the Minotaur said. The room was spinning
around
him now, like he was the centre of the universe. ‘You have no idea.’

The mutant had bright yellow eyes criss-crossed with purple capillaries. Every time he blinked, one of the irises changed colour.

‘Jake was mindful of these things,’ the Minotaur said. ‘Where is he?’

‘Look, man…or whatever you are: I don’t know who you’re talking about,’ I repeated, turning myself over.

The Minotaur reared up an iron hoof for another kick, and I cringed. But he held back at the last moment.

‘Is your name Jack Tatum?’ he asked.

‘That’s right,’ I said. ‘Who are you?’

The Minotaur snorted a puff of hot smoke.

‘What do you do for a living, “Jack”?’ he asked.

‘I work for Ceti,’ I answered, hoping the mere mention of the most notorious cartel in Orionis would make him recoil in horror. But no such luck.

‘Tell me something,
Jack
,’ the Minotaur asked, kneeling so his hairy face was very close to mine. ‘What happened to your hands?’

I hadn’t realised that my knuckles were shredded and bruised. They reminded me of the more despicable things I’ve done in my life. But
not
what had happened last night.

The Minotaur was now holding a gun.

‘Do you want to know?’ he asked.

His question provoked a powerful revulsion in me, like some primeval, autoimmune response to danger.

‘No,’ I answered.

He pressed the weapon against my temple. Deep down I could feel this whimpering urge to do something about it. But my limbs were limp, unresponsive dead weights. I had a reflex to deal with this. The muscle memory was there because I’d practised it a thousand times. It just wasn’t listening to me.

I guess I didn’t care.

‘You swore an oath,’ the Minotaur said, snorting through flaring nostrils. ‘Remember?’

I didn’t, but began surrendering to the possibility.

‘Lie to yourself all you want,’ the Minotaur said. ‘The truth is coming.’

‘Is that why you’re here?’ I spat.

Steam poured from his nostrils.

‘Something like that.’

Maybe the high was wearing off, and the adrenaline was wresting back control of my sanity. But a voice rang out that I hardly recognised, and it used my mouth to speak.

‘I do what I do for the job,’ I muttered.

The Minotaur roared a slow, throaty laugh.

‘How’s that working out for you?’ he quipped, tapping the gun against my head. ‘Is it worth this?’

Strangely, the cold sensation of steel against skin reminded me of someone who once gave me strength.

But I had to try harder to forget.

‘The job,’ I said, driving the memory out, ‘is absolutely worth it.’

The Minotaur spat onto the floor. His phlegm burst into flames on contact, making the place stink of sulphur.

‘This is the last time I’ll ask,’ he warned. ‘Where is Jake Reddeck?’

My patience ran out.

‘Look, friend,’ I said, ‘I really don’t know who he is.’

He struck me once, then again when the first blow didn’t open a deep enough gash.

‘Guess you’re telling the truth,’ he growled, leaning in close to admire his handiwork. ‘Danna wouldn’t recognise you, anyway.’

The name made my skin boil. Lesions bubbled out, oozing necrotic slime that dripped over every inch of me. The world spun with the ferocity of a Zeus cyclone.

‘Tell me,’ the Minotaur sneered, ‘was Danna worth the “job” as well?’

I snapped.

‘
Fuck you!
’

‘What do you care?’ the Minotaur roared, centimetres from my face. ‘She was Jake’s problem, not yours.’

Violent shivers wracked my spine.

‘I have to see this all the way through,’ I heaved. ‘Especially now that …’

I couldn’t bring myself to say it.

He stepped back, shaking his long, pointed horns back and forth.

‘You think she deserved what happened to her,’ he said.

‘I didn’t say that!’ I whined.

‘I think she died for nothing,’ the Minotaur said.

‘That’s not true!’ I shouted back.

He pressed up against my face.

‘Show me why it isn’t.’

Furious rage ran with the toxins in my veins. But I was the Minotaur’s captive. And, goddamn him, he was right. I could never justify all the wrong I’ve done.

‘Once you’re in, you go all the way,’ I muttered. ‘That’s how it is.’

His eyes were crimson.

‘You broke your oath last night,’ the Minotaur growled, pushing his gun past my teeth. ‘You know what that means.’

I shut my eyes, ready for the end, when an ear-piercing ring silenced the snarl of the Minotaur’s breath.

A second ring, twice as loud, made him step back.

The room’s spin was starting to slow.

‘Too bad,’ the Minotaur snarled. ‘See you around, Jack.’

Familiar settings began taking shape. Of all places, I was in my own apartment.

‘Jack! I know you’re in there,’ I heard. ‘I’m breaking in.’

It was my friend Dusty, and I couldn’t answer him because I was holding a gun in my mouth. It fell between my legs as the door slid open.

His frail, ungainly silhouette appeared in the doorway.

‘Holy shit,’ he breathed. ‘What’s with the cannon?’

I decided against mentioning anything about the Minotaur. He’d be back soon enough.

‘What are you talking about?’ I croaked.

The shadowy figure lifted the weapon slowly, like a bomb technician, gently placing it beyond reach.

‘I brought stuff for a hangover,’ he said, ‘but not … this.’

Jack Tatum would never admit how good it was to hear Dusty’s voice.

‘… could use some water.’ My voice was a bare rasp.

‘You’ve never been this bad,’ he said. ‘Better get your mind right, real fast.’

‘Why?’

‘Jack,’ he said. His voice was more subdued than usual. ‘You are the
toast
of Ceti today. You’re practically a hero.’

I tried to focus on the clock resting on the night table. The number said 17:49.

‘When’s the last time you saw me?’ I asked, bracing for the answer.

‘Seven thirty,’ he said. I felt a cup pressed against my lips. I had no pride left at all. ‘Yesterday morning.’

I gulped the water. It went down like cold fire, refreshing and excruciating all at once.

‘Yesterday?’

‘Someone realised you were missing,’ he said. ‘They sent me to find you.’

I had a vague memory of being with some big-time Ceti officers, personnel way up in the organisation who reported directly to Vladric.

The closest I’ve ever been to the top.

‘Where were we?’ I stammered, taking a moment to spit out bile.

‘You really don’t remember, do you?’ Dusty asked. ‘Jack, you were at The Helodon.’

The most exclusive club this side of the Belt, run by Ceti, for Ceti personnel only. Just getting a glimpse of it was an achievement most operatives never reached in their careers. The kind of moment you’d remember, unless you came close to overdosing.

If I was that close to senior officers – and still alive – then I would be connected to their most crucial importers: Inner Belt agents embedded in government, the corporations, you name it. People with the power and means to bypass Navy dragnets and Customs stings. They were the key to the whole Ceti network, the most sought after prize of undercover police work.

And by all accounts I was about to screw it up.

‘We have a run to make?’ I blurted out.

‘Yeah,’ Dusty said, rummaging through his satchel. He never went anywhere without it. ‘They’re keeping us mobile. For our safety, they said.’

‘Safety?’

‘The bounty on you is worth as much as Vladric’s now,’ he said.

‘Oh.’

Dusty offered some pills. It looked like he was holding three hands in front of him.

‘I took care of everything,’ he said, pushing them into my mouth. ‘The
Breakaway
is ready to fly.’

What was once an abandoned freighter was now an armed speed rig that could outrun House Obyeran corvettes, all thanks to Dusty. He is the most talented engineer and skilled pilot I’ve ever met. He could easily pass the technical qualifiers for a Navy command – and then fail the part that required interaction with people. Dusty was a social introvert, and under no circumstances was he allowed near my clients. Physically, most people mistook him for a mutant: short, lanky build, with bony, hunched shoulders and a twisted face that was scarred from the way he was treated by Ceti before he became useful to them.

That was how we met. Like many other privateers working the Outer Belt, his family owed Ceti a lot of money, and I found him getting stomped by a few thugs sent to collect his debt. Since Jack Tatum was a newly minted associate in the organisation, I saw this as an opportunity to assert myself. After all, Ceti operatives will just as soon steal from each other as they do from everyone else. So I challenged them to a friendly bout of hand-to-hand combat – no weapons. If I won, his debt to Ceti became my problem. I didn’t offer terms if I lost. They accepted anyway.

Crippling them sent a clear enough message. The event bought enough time and space for us to start producing revenues. Between my way with people and Dusty’s ability to convert junk into high-performance machinery, we began climbing the ranks.

I’ve met all kinds, but Dusty is unique – not because of his skills, but because of his outlook. Those Ceti punks left him for dead. He’s permanently disfigured; children are literally frightened of him. But if you ask, he’d say that if he could go back in time, he wouldn’t change a thing. He says that beating was the wake-up call he needed to get the right attitude about life. If not for those three thugs, he’d be dead by now.

I’d walk through fire for him.

The room stopped spinning almost the instant the pills reached my stomach. Dusty got up, walked to the sink and poured another glass of water. I could feel a bit of my strength returning, and with it the clarity of recognising that I had been about three pounds of trigger pressure away from blowing my own brains out. Dusty had just saved my life, but for the moment I wasn’t convinced that was a good thing.