Beneath an Oil-Dark Sea (2 page)

PART ONE

Atlanta

2004 – 2008

Bradbury Weather

1.

I still have all the old books that Sailor left behind when she finally packed up and went looking for the Fenrir temples. I keep them in a big cargo crate with most of her other things, all that shit I haven’t been able to part with. One of the books, a collection of proverbs, was written more than two hundred years ago by a Gyuto monk. It was published after his death in a Chinese prison, the manuscript smuggled out by someone or another, translated into Spanish and English, and then published in America. The monk, who did not wish to be remembered by name, wrote: “No story has a beginning, and no story has an end. Beginnings and endings may be conceived to serve a purpose, to serve a momentary and transient intent, but they are, in their truer nature, arbitrary and exist solely as a construct of the mind of man.”

Sometimes, very late at night, or very early in the morning, when I should be sleeping or meditating, I read from Sailor’s discarded books, and I’ve underlined that passage in red. If what I’m about to write down here needs an epigraph, that’s probably as good as any I’ll ever find, just as this beginning is as arbitrary and suitable as any I could ever choose. She left me. I couldn’t have stopped her, not that I ever would have tried. I’m not that sort of woman. It was her decision, and I believed then it would have been wrong for me to interfere. But six months later, after the nightmares began, and I failed a routine mental-health evaluation, I resigned my teaching post and council seat and left to chase rumors and the ghost of her across the Xanthe Terra and Lunae Planum.

In Bhopai, a pornography dealer sold me a peep stick of Sailor dancing in a brothel. And I was told that maybe the stick had been made at Hope VII, a slatternly, backdust agradome that had seen better days and then some. I’d been up there once, on council business, more than twenty years before; Hope’s Heaven, as the locals like to call the place, sits like a boil in the steep basalt hills northwest of Tharsis Tholus. The dome has been breached and patched so many times it looks more like a quilt than a habitat.

I know a woman there. We worked together a few times, but that’s ancient fucking history. These days, she runs a whorehouse, though everyone in Hope’s Heaven calls her a mechanic, and who the hell am I to argue? Her bulls let me in the front door, despite my bureaucratic pedigree and the council brands on the backs on my hands. I played the stick for her, played it straight through twice, and Jun’ko Valenzuela shrugged her narrow, tattooed shoulders, shook her head once, and then went back to stuffing the bowl of her pipe with the skunky britch weed she buys cheap off the shiks down in New Riyadh.

I waited for her to finish, because I’d spent enough time in the mechanic’s company to know that she talked when she was ready and fuck all if that wasn’t good enough. If I got impatient, if I got pushy, she’d have one of her girls handing me my hat and hustling me straight back across town to the air station, no ifs, ands, buts, or maybes. So, I sat quietly in my chair and watched while she used an antique ivory tamper to get the weed just the way she wanted it, before lighting the pipe with a match. Jun’ko exhaled, and the smoke was the color of steel, almost the same color as her long dreadlocks.

“I don’t do business with the law,” she said. “Leastways, not if I have a choice. But you already
knew
that, didn’t you, Dorry? You knew that before you came in here.”

“I’m not police,” I said, starting to feel like I was reading my lines from a script I’d rehearsed until the words had lost their meaning, going through motions designed to waste my time and amuse Jun’ko. “This isn’t a criminal investigation,” I assured her.

“It’s bloody well close enough,
perra.
You’re nothing but a bunch of goddamn witches, I say, badges or no badges, the whole lot of you Council rats.”

“I don’t work for any corporate agency or government corpus, nor do I – ”

“Maybe not,” she interrupted, “but you do work
with
them,” and she squinted at me across the small table, her face wreathed in smoke. “Don’t deny it. They say fuck, you ask who. You tell them whatever they need to know, whenever they come around asking questions, especially if there’s a percentage for your troubles.”

“I already told you, this is a personal matter. I told you that before I ran the stick.”

“People tell me lots of things. Most times, turns out they’re lying.”

“Has it ever occurred to you that just might mean you’re running in the wrong circles?” I asked, the question slipping out before I let myself think better of it. There she was trying to pick a fight, looking for any excuse to have me thrown out of her place, and there I was playing along, like I thought I’d ever get a second chance.

“Oh, the thought has crossed my mind,” she said calmly around a mouthful of britch smoke, smiled, and the sinuous gold and crimson Chinese dragon tattooed on her left shoulder uncoiled and flashed its gilded eyes. “Why are you
asking
me if I’ve seen this little share crop of yours?” Jun’ko said, and she motioned at the peep stick with her pipe. “It’s obvious that was scratched here, and nothing happens in my place I
don’t
know about.”

“Was she working for you?”

The dragon on Jun’ko’s shoulder showed me teeth like daggers.

“Yeah, Dorry. She worked for me.”

“When’d she leave?”

“I didn’t say she had.”

“But she’s not here now – ”

“No, she’s not,” Jun’ko Valenzuela said and stared into the softly glowing bowl of her pipe. “That one,
conchita
cashed out and bought herself a nook on a freighter that came through Heaven a couple months back. One of those big transpolar wagons, hauling ore down from the Acidalia.”

“Did this freighter happen to have a name?”

“Oh, no damn doubt about it,” she smiled and emptied the bowl of her pipe into an ashtray cut from cobalt-blue glass. “I just don’t happen to remember what it was.”

“Or where it was headed.”

“Lots of places, most likely.”

“She’s looking for the Fenrir,” I said, saying too much, and Jun’ko laughed and tapped her pipe against the edge of the ashtray.

“Jesus, Joseph, and Buddha, you know how to pick ’em, Dorry.”

“She never told you that, that she was looking for the temples?”

“Hell, no. She kept to herself, mostly. And if I’d known she was hodging for the Wolf, I’d never have put her skinny ass on the menu.
Mierda.
You listen to me.
Sácate el dedo del culo,
and you get yourself right the fuck back to Herschel City. Count yourself slick all this Jane cadged was your heart.”

“Is that what you’d do, Jun’ko?”

She looked up at me, her hard brown eyes almost black in the dim light, and the dragon on her shoulder closed its mouth. “I got better sense than to crawl in bed with grey pilgrims,” she said. “And you’re officially out of time, Dorry. I trust you know the way back down to the street?”

“I think I can figure it out.”

“That’s cause you’re such a goddamn smart lady. Of course, maybe you’d like to have a drink and sample the product first,” and she nodded towards a couple of girls standing at the bar. “I’ll even see you get a little discount, just to show there’s no hard feelings.”

“Thanks, but – ”

“ – she took your
huevos
with her when she left.”

“I suppose that’s one way of putting it,” I replied, and she laughed again and began refilling her pipe.

“That’s a goddamn shame,” Jun’ko said and struck a match. “But you watch yourself out there. Way I hear it told, the Fenrir got more eyes than God. And they say the Wolf, he never sleeps.”

When I stood up, she pointed at the two girls again. They were both watching me now, and one of them raised her skirt to show me that she had a dick. Jun’ko Valenzuela puffed at her pipe and shook her head. When she talked, smoke leaked from her mouth and from the jaws of the dragon tattoo. “Things ain’t always what they seem. You don’t forget that, Dorry. Not if you want to find this little
coño
and live to regret it.”

The sun was already starting to slip behind Tharsis Tholus by the time I got back to the dingy, dusty sleeper that I’d rented near the eastern locks. The storm that had begun just before dawn still howled down the slopes of the great volcano, extinct two billion years if you trust the geologists, and battered the walls of Hope’s Heaven, hammering the thin foil skin of the dome. I’ve always hated the western highlands, and part of me wanted nothing more than to take the mechanic’s advice and go home. I imagined hauling the crate full of Sailor’s belongings down the hall to the lift, pictured myself leaving it all piled in the street. It’d be easy, I told myself. It would be the easiest thing I’d ever done.

I ate, and, when the night came, I sat a little while in the darkness – I hadn’t paid for electric – gazing out the sleeper’s tiny window at the yellow runner lights dotting the avenue below, the street that led back up to Jun’ko’s whorehouse or down to the docks, depending whether you turned left or turned right, north or south. When I finally went to bed, the nightmares found me, as they almost always do, and for a while, at least, I wasn’t alone.

Just before dawn, I was awakened by a knock at the door, and I lay staring up into the gloom, looking for the ceiling, trying to recall where the hell I was and how I’d gotten myself there. Then I remembered smirking Jun’ko and her kinetitatts, and I remembered Hope VII, and then I remembered everything else. Whoever was out in the corridor knocked again, harder than before. I reached for my pants and vest, lying together on the floor near the foot of the cot.

“Who’s there?” I shouted, hoping it was nothing more than someone banging on the wrong door, a drunk or an honest mistake. The only person in town whom I’d had business with was the mechanic, and as far as I was concerned, that business was finished.

“My name is Mikaela,” the woman on the other side of the door called back. “I have information about Sailor. I may be able to help you find her. Please, open the door.”

I paused, my vest still unfastened, my pants half on, half off. I realized that my mouth had gone dry, and my heart was racing. Maybe I’d pissed old Jun’ko off just a little more than I’d thought. Perhaps, in return, I was about to get the worst beating of my life, or perhaps word had gotten around the dome that the stranger from the east was an easy mark.

“Is that so?” I asked. “Who sent you?” And when she didn’t answer, I asked again. “Mikaela,
who
sent you here?”

“This would be easier, Councilor, if you’d open the door. I might have been followed.”

“All the more reason for me to keep it shut,” I told her, groping about in the dark for anything substantial enough to serve as a weapon, cursing myself for being too cheap to pay the five credits extra for electric.

“I’m one of the mechanic’s girls,” she said, almost whispering now, “but I swear she didn’t send me. Please, there isn’t time for this.”

My right hand closed around an aluminum juice flask I’d bought in one of Heaven’s market plazas the day before. It wasn’t much, hardly better than nothing, but it’d have to do. I finished dressing, then crossed the tiny room and stood with my hand on the lockpad.

“I have a gun,” I lied, just loud enough I was sure the woman would hear me.

“I don’t,” she replied. “Open the door.
Please.
”

I gripped the flask a little more tightly, took a deep breath, and punched in the twelve-digit security code. The door slid open immediately, whining on its rusty tracks, and the woman slipped past me while I was still half-blind and blinking at the flickering lamps set into the walls of the corridor.

“Shut the door,” she said, and I did, then turned back to the darkened room, to the place where her voice was coming from. Yellow and white splotches drifted to and fro before my eyes, abstract fish in a lightless sea.

“Why is it so dark in here?” she asked, impatiently.

“Same reason I opened the door for you. I’m an idiot.”

“Isn’t there a window? All these nooks have windows,” and I remembered that I’d closed and locked the shutters before going to bed, so the morning sun wouldn’t wake me.

“There’s a window, but you don’t need to see me to explain why you’re here,” I said, figuring the darkness might at least even the odds if she were lying.

“Christ, you’re a nervous nit.”

“Why are you
here
?” I asked, trying to sound angry when I was mostly scared and disoriented, and I took a step backwards, setting my shoulders squarely against the door.

“I told you. Sailor and me, we was sheba, until she paid off Jun’ko and headed south.”

“South?” I asked. “The freighter was traveling south?”

“That’s what she told me. Sailor, I mean. But, look here, Councilor, before I say any more, that quiff left owing me forty creds, and I’m not exactly in a position to play grace and let it slip.”

“And what makes you think I’m in a position to pay off her debts, Mikaela? What makes you think I
would
?”

“You’re a
titled
woman,” she replied, and the tone in her voice made her feelings about the Council perfectly clear. “You’ve got it. And if you don’t, you can get it. And you’ll pay me, because nobody comes all the way the hell to Hope’s Heaven looking for someone unless they want to find that someone awfully fucking bad. Am I wrong?”

“No,” I sighed, because I didn’t feel like arguing with her. “You’re not wrong. But that doesn’t mean you’re telling the truth, either.”

“About Sailor?”

“About anything.”

“She told me about the Fenrir,” the woman named Mikaela said. “It’s almost all she ever talked about.”

“That doesn’t prove anything. That’s nothing you couldn’t have overheard at Jun’ko’s yesterday evening.”

Mikaela sighed. “I’m going to open the damned window,” she said. “I hope you don’t mind,” and a moment later I heard her struggling with the bolt, heard it turning, and then the shutters spiraled open to reveal the easy pinkish light of false dawn. Mikaela was prettier than I’d expected, and a little older. Her hair was pulled back in a long braid, and the light through the window revealed tiny wrinkles around her eyes. The face seemed familiar, and then I realized she was one of the women who’d been standing at the bar in Jun’ko’s, the one who’d shown me that she had a penis. She sat down on the cot and pointed at the flask in my hand.