The Callisto Gambit (15 page)

“What?”

“Did we get it on?”

Kiyoshi sniggered. “If you tried anything, you would’ve woken up singing soprano.” Actually, the same appalling thought had occurred to him when he woke up with Wetherall lying on his legs. Things like that
had
happened, in the very distant past, when he was too fucked up to know the difference between right and wrong, let alone male and female. But he was pretty sure the closest he’d come to having sex last night was that kiss stolen from Molly in the live music joint. He told Wetherall about that, and the man grinned.

“Brother, you’re lucky
you
didn’t wake up minus your ‘nads.”

They left it at that. Kiyoshi descended a smelly zipshaft to the street. By averting his eyes from the big screen, he managed to avoid another blast of 39 Laetitia’s death throes. He bought a coffee from a vendor, and asked the man casually where he was.

Westhab … OK. The Heinlein Hotel was in Northhab. Asgard City was laid out in an X, with four districts descending to the four points of the compass. You had to go back to the spaceport concourse in the middle to get from one hab to another. Still, it wouldn’t take him long to get there.

As it happened, Legacy’s Leather Goods
was also in Westhab. Kiyoshi decided to scope the place out on his way.

The higher he climbed, the classier the buildings got. It reminded him of Ceres, where the rich lived in spendy domes on the surface—or in orbit—and the poor lived in ice caves known as the Belows. You saw the same pattern everywhere in the solar system, with few exceptions. It was almost always cheaper to dig down than to build up. Thus, domes signalled both status and virtue. Everyone thought it was somehow ‘better’ and ‘healthier’ to live on the surface, like Earthlings.

And that, Kiyoshi thought, was why the scheme to provide Callisto with an atmosphere—people could live in unpressurized stone cottages!—would be such a draw for Earth’s affluent refugees.
If
Wetherall’s predicted exodus came to pass.

But
if
that happened, it would mean the war was lost and Jun was dead …

Worrying, he walked straight past Legacy’s Leather Goods, and had to backtrack.

The modest shop occupied the ground floor of a building with gothic design flourishes. Here on the plaza called Westhab 2, just two levels down from the spaceport concourse, the air didn’t smell of sewage. It smelled of rain-wet grass, newly baked bread, or something else, depending on which shop you were closest to. Loitering in front of Legacy’s Leather Goods, Kiyoshi smelled leather. He peered past the antique-look gold writing on the window.

Expensive suitcases and handbags flaunted animal patterns, to show how real they were.

A man’s shirt-sleeved arm reached into the window display. Kiyoshi glimpsed the shopkeeper’s face for just an instant.

He turned and walked away,
not
moving
too fast,
not
acting suspiciously.
Not
drawing attention.

Definitely
not
going in there.

By the time he got back to Northhab, he’d begun to doubt what he’d seen. After all, there was no question but that he’d been subconsciously primed to see evidence for his gut hunch.

Later, he promised himself, he would look back through his old vidcall records, and they would certainly confirm that he’d been wrong.

The shopkeeper had been a stranger.

A complete stranger.

Yeah.

★

Loping across the plaza of Northhab 6, Kiyoshi stopped dead, astounded by what he saw on the next stair-step level down, Northhab 7. The Galapajin were streaming out of the Hemingway Hotel. As they emerged, they were organizing themselves into groups, by family name, by social club, by religious order, by school year, or by former neighborhood in 11073 Galapagos. Clearly, they were going somewhere.

Kiyoshi took the short flight of steps down to Northhab 7 in a single bound. He hurried up to the group at the core of all this activity: the five priests and 41 religious of the Order of St. Benedict of Passau.

They didn’t look like priest, monks, and nuns at the moment, having evacuated from the Startractor in their EVA suits, with little or no luggage, just like everyone else. That was just as well, or this parade would be drawing even more attention.

“Father! What’s happened?”

“It’s been decided,” Father Tanabe said.

In Japanese, it was seldom necessary to specify
who
had done a thing. It had
been
done, was what mattered.

But
what
had been decided? Kiyoshi’s mind leapt from one impossibility to another. He walked alongside Father Tanabe as the group started to move.

Once brawny, now haggard, Father Tanabe faced front. His demeanor clearly said that he had a lot of things on his mind and didn’t want to be pestered for explanations. At the steps to Northhab 6, Kiyoshi gave him his arm. Father Tanabe leaned gratefully on it for a second, then jerked away. Kiyoshi wheedled, “Did you find something? A church? An underground community?”

“No. There are no churches on Callisto. Well, I was told there’s one in Valhalla City, but that’s on the other side of the planet.”

“Moon.”

“A moon the size of Mercury.” Father Tanabe made that sound like a bad thing.

“Yes, Father, and they’re building deep-drilled habs. We’ll be safer than we ever were at 11073 Galapagos. This is Ganymede, without the fun parts. Ha, ha.”

“You stink of drugs,” Father Tanabe said, and that wasn’t even true. It was Wetherall’s damn candy-scented vape that the priest could smell on Kiyoshi. His hangover cure had done its job. He was stone cold sober. And terrified.

“Where are you taking them, Father?”

Father Tanabe met his eyes for the first time. He enunciated a single word.
“Mukou.”

Kiyoshi reeled away. He saw Sister Terauchi, but she refused to meet his gaze. The rest of his people made way for him, stepping aside with lowered heads, like the strands of a safety net parting as he fell. He spotted Hardware Engineer Asada, walking with his family. “Asada-san.”

“Hai.”

“What’s going on? You’re going over to the other side? How did this happen? What did I do?”

You left them,
his brain needled.
You stayed away for almost 24 hours. When they needed you most, you were getting wasted with a bunch of losers in Hel’s Kitchen.

“You didn’t do anything!” Asada said, faking cheerfulness. “In fact, why don’t you come with us?”

“To the
Salvation.”

“Yeah!”

“I’d rather die,” Kiyoshi said flatly.

Asada flinched at the words. When he spoke again, it was in a tone of cold dislike. “In that case, can I have my knife back?”

“This?” Kiyoshi touched the hilt of the dagger in his thigh webbing.

“Yes,” said Asada, flanked by the other members of his ninth-generation swordsmithing lineage.

“Nah, let me borrow it for a little longer, OK?”

He turned away before Asada could say no.

Fleeing through the crowd, he ended up at the entrance of the Heinlein Hotel. He went into the lobby. A few Galapajin stragglers were tumbling out of the zipshaft. Their eyes widened when they saw him; they hurried out. After them stepped another familiar figure—tall, lantern-jawed, with EVA helmet dents in his afro.

“You.”
Father Tom Lynch wore a shapeless black suit that resembled Colin Wetherall’s. The Roman collar at his neck was the difference.
“You’re
behind this. I should have known. You snake. You traitor. You—
Jesuit!”

Father Tom stared up at him without fear. “Let go of me.”

Kiyoshi did.

“I came to offer an olive branch. They accepted it. That’s all. I’m sorry you’re reacting as if there’s been a death in the family.”

“Bad choice of words,” Kiyoshi said.

“Sorry,” Father Tom said. “All I meant is that you’re overreacting. The boss said specifically to invite you along. He’s willing to bury the hatchet if you are.”

“Yeah, right. He’d bury
me
the minute I dropped my guard. He can’t stand the fact that I challenge his authority.”

“You challenge it too openly, too often, and in language that frightens him.”

“At least I’m doing something right.”

“For God’s sake,” Father Tom said impatiently. “He is a vile, manipulative bastard. I’m with you on that. But God can use even the worst human beings for His purposes. Anyway, I have my instructions from the Order.”

“And those are?”

“To preserve Mother Church, whatever it takes.”

“The devil is always in the details, huh?”

Father Tom laughed, sadly. “It’s possible in my view that the boss will go off his nut entirely. But it’s not him that matters. It’s the ship and the people on it. If he loses his grip, you would be my first choice to take command. And now you know why I came for you.”

“Me, command the
Salvation?
Brian and Zygmunt would have something to say about that.”

“Can you all not work together, for the love of Christ? Come up to the ship, and I’ll tell you all I know.”

“The ship is a death trap. It won’t even reach the Oort Cloud.”

“It doesn’t have to reach the bloody Oort Cloud,” Father Tom said, low.

Kiyoshi locked his arms across his chest, thinking. “Maybe I will pay a visit. I want to talk to the boss myself.”

“Oh, he’s not there at the moment.”

“Where is he?”

“Would you believe it? While the solar system burns around our ears, he’s gone on a tour of the bleeding ice spires.”

★

The Pegasus lander was the
Salvation’s
newest and biggest auxiliary craft. The boss-man had opportunistically bought it off a fellow in Valhalla City selling military surplus. It was a powerful old workhorse, and lacked any such thing as a passenger cabin, so Father Lynch apologetically asked the Galapajin to cram into the pressurized cargo hold, along with a load of last-minute purchases the boss had asked him to make.

The Galapajin were undismayed. They’d travelled in worse conditions than this. And it was only a hop into orbit.

As they orbited towards the
Salvation’s
present location, some of the Galapajin, up on the catwalks above the cargo deck, sang a hymn of thanksgiving for their deliverance.

O O O O Adoramus te O Christe!

Adoramus te, O Christe!

Their voices drifted over the noisy vibrations of the drive. “We adore you, O Christ …”

Sitting on a bale of bamboo fiber, Father Lynch rested his forehead on loosely joined fists. Some of the people around him were quiet. Others whispered along: “We adore you, O Christ …”

The piety of these people moved Father Lynch deeply. His thoughts turned self-critical.

Would you believe it? He’s gone on a tour of the ice spires …

He could hardly have made his meaning much clearer, without handing Kiyoshi Yonezawa a map marked with crosshairs.

By God, it was wrong! Roundabout words didn’t change the intention in Father Lynch’s heart, which had been to provoke a murder. Not that Kiyoshi had needed much provoking, by the looks of him …

Father Lynch pulled his EVA helmet off its velcro patch and fitted it over his head. He suspected his distraught mood showed on his face, and the tinted faceplate would hide it from the people around him. He noticed them glancing at him, wondering what was wrong.

As recently as a few days ago, he’d believed Kiyoshi Yonezawa was the biggest threat to the
Salvation’s
mission. But two days ago, he’d changed his mind. By taking this ill-advised trip to the surface of Callisto, the boss-man had made
himself
the biggest threat. He’d revealed his true priorities. And the 6,000 people who trusted him were not at the top of his list.

It was the measure of Father Lynch’s desperation that he now believed Kiyoshi would make a better captain. Ideally, he would have liked to see the
Salvation
led by a council of representatives from all the communities on board. But in practice he knew leadership would fall to the strongest of the strong men. His best realistic hope was that Kiyoshi, Brian, and Zygmunt could agree to share command.

All this scheming rested on a single necessary precondition. The boss-man’s death.

Adoramus te, O Christe …

Father Lynch reached a sudden decision. It felt like a knife had slashed a jagged hole in the clouds of his gloom. The decision came from outside himself: it was the voice of Christ speaking through his conscience.

He couldn’t let those words he’d spoken stand.

He used his suit radio to ask for a patch through to the Asgard Spaceport network. As soon as he was connected, he pinged Kiyoshi.

To his immense relief, Kiyoshi answered after a few seconds. “What the hell do you want now?”

“Where are you? What are you doing?” The call was audio-only.

“I’m at the Heinlein Hotel. Feeding my pigs. Seems they forgot to take them along.”

Father Lynch offered up a prayer of thanks. Kiyoshi hadn’t made a move yet. “Listen, Yonezawa, forget what I said.”

“Which part?”

Mary, Mother of God.
“All of it, if you like.”

“The part about how dying somewhere in the Oort Cloud is better than dying on Callisto?”

“No one has to die!”

“Oh, you’re wrong about that, Father. We all have to die.”

“Don’t twist my words. Death is not a thing to fear, but it’s not a thing to seek, either. Not our own death. And not the death of others.” There. That was as clear a warning as he dared deliver.

Back on the surface of Callisto, Kiyoshi laughed humorlessly. “Apparently you didn’t hear me saying that the Salvation
is a fucking death trap!”

“I’m not an expert on propulsion,” Father Lynch said.

“It’s not just the propulsion. It’s everything. The boss may think he wants to reach Planet X, but maybe he really wants something else. Such as … to go out in a blaze of glory. Maybe someone should oblige him.”

Father Lynch gripped his pectoral crucifix so tightly that the figure of Christ dug into his palm. As he searched for a response, Zygmunt, who’d drawn pilot duty today, alerted him that they were approaching the
Salvation.
An optical feed popped up in his HUD. Truth be told, he was starting to hate this giant ship. Its silhouette had changed since it began its voyage. Now, propellant tanks garlanded the fuselage. The locations and mass allotments of the tanks had been calculated by that extraordinary child, Michael Kharbage—a task akin to balancing a stack of balloons on a razor, according to the construction crew, who had done the actual installations.