Hunter's Run Part 16

The other man dug the knifepoint into Ramon's neck. Ramon felt the urge to step back, away from the blade, but he fought it. Showing weakness now would be an invitation. He forced himself to stay calm, or as calm as he could.

"You're no f.u.c.king banker," the man said, spitting the words out.

"You build like that. You know how to sharpen my knife. What kind of banker knows that?"

"I told you," Ramon said. "I spend a lot of time-"

"Out at the a.s.s end of nowhere? Yeah, because that makes a f.u.c.king lot of sense. And you just happen to come up here. A month ago. And no one gives a s.h.i.+t that you're gone? No one sends out a search party? That sound likely to you? And your beard. You tellingme that's a month's growth on your chin? Or did the aliens give you a razor to clean up with while you were there? Your hands. You've got calluses on your fingers. That from data entry?"

Ramon looked at his hands. The hard, yellowed flesh was starting to come back a little. He balled his fists. The man's grip on the knife got stronger, the pressure against Ramon's skin hurt a little.

"You're paranoid, ese, ese, " Ramon said. His voice was steady and strong. He tried to gauge his chances of wrestling the knife away. If he threw himself back, out of the man's reach, he could get a few seconds. And the man was going to be fighting off-hand. But Ramon's twin was scared and angry and crazy as a s.h.i.+thouse rat from what he'd been through these last days. Ramon gave himself a-little-worse-than-even odds. " Ramon said. His voice was steady and strong. He tried to gauge his chances of wrestling the knife away. If he threw himself back, out of the man's reach, he could get a few seconds. And the man was going to be fighting off-hand. But Ramon's twin was scared and angry and crazy as a s.h.i.+thouse rat from what he'd been through these last days. Ramon gave himself a-little-worse-than-even odds.

For a half second, he wondered what the man would do if Ramon told him the truth. Kill him? Run away? Accept him as a brother and move on? Only the last one seemed laughable.

"And then you asked about the El Rey!" the man shouted. "What the f.u.c.k f.u.c.k do you know about the El Rey? What the f.u.c.k are you?" do you know about the El Rey? What the f.u.c.k are you?"

"I'm a cop," Ramon said, surprised as soon as he heard his own words. But it was clear. It was the story he had already spent days telling himself. All he had to do was turn it around. "My name really is David. The European amba.s.sador got killed. There were some people in the crowd who said you were there. And the knife man, he matched your description."

His twin nodded, encouraging Ramon on as if he were confirm-ing his suspicions. Which he probably was, if only because he was making it all up. Ramon swallowed, loosening the knot in his throat.

As soon as he could, he went on.

"Then you take off. Skip town. The constabulary think it's a little weird, so they send me out to track you. I have spent a lot of time up north. It's why they picked me. So I find your van blown up like you had a bomb in there or some s.h.i.+t. I start poking around, looking for 201 201 maybe your arm or something. The next thing I know, there's this flying box thing. It's just hanging there. I go to take a look, and then bam! These big-a.s.s things with quills on their heads take my clothes, they take my badge and my pistol, put me in this f.u.c.king baby-s.h.i.+t outfit and start marching me around telling me I was supposed to find you."

"And so you did it," the man said, stepping an inch closer, the metal of the blade digging into Ramon's flesh, stinging like the sahael sahael.

"You followed their orders like a dog!"

"I tried to go slow at first," Ramon said. "I thought maybe I could buy you time. You know. You get back to the city, you can tell people what's happened, send help. But then we found that camp. We were too close on you. The only thing I could do was wait and hope you were smarter than the pinche pinche aliens. And you were. So here we are." aliens. And you were. So here we are."

And then, because he couldn't help himself, "You would have done the same thing in my position, man. Seriously."

"I didn't kill the a.s.shole European," the man said through clenched teeth. "It was someone else. I didn't f.u.c.king do it."

"Ramon," Ramon said, and shook off a moment of vertigo at using his own name in this way. "Ramon, you saved my a.s.s from those demon pendejos pendejos. As far as I'm concerned, you were at my house the night the amba.s.sador got himself cut up. The whole time."

In the silence between them, Ramon heard the distant chimes of a flock of flapjacks, like church bells. The blade wavered, but Ramon didn't move. A thin flow of blood tickled his collarbone. The knife had broken the skin. A confused, distrustful expression came over the man's dark eyes.

"What are you talking about?"

"I owe you," Ramon said, putting as much sincerity into his voice as he could without sounding weak.

"Guy got killed," his twin said. It was an objection.

Ramon shrugged. If he was lying, he might as well lie big.

"You know Johnny Joe? You know who he is?"

"Johnny Joe Cardenas?"

"Yeah. You know why he gets away with so much?"

"Why?"

"Because we let him. You think we don't know how many people he's killed? Thing is, he works for us."

The man rocked back an inch. The blade was no longer touching Ramon's neck. Maybe sixty-forty in his favor now. Ramon kept talking. That was the thing; keep the two of them speaking.

He had to make it a talking talking fight. fight.

"Johnny Joe's a snitch?" the man asked. He sounded stunned.

"For the past six years," Ramon said, trying to remember how long Johnny Joe had been in Diegotown. The man didn't seem to think the number implausible. "Keeps us informed on what's going down. And no one suspects him because who the f.u.c.k would believe it? He's a thug. Everyone knows the governor wants him hanged. No one thinks it's all bulls.h.i.+t and he's calling us every Sunday like he's our f.u.c.king girlfriend."

"I'm not a snitch."

"Not saying you are," Ramon said. "What I'm saying is this: So Paulo? It doesn't have laws. It has cops. I'm one of them, and you helped me. Whatever happened at the El Rey, it was someone else.

That way we're square."

"How do you know I'm not innocent? What if I really didn't do it?"

"If you didn't do it, then I'm gypping you big-time," Ramon said, and grinned. His twin wavered for a moment, then a smile plucked at his mouth too. The knife blade lowered. The man stepped back.

"It's my knife. I'm keeping it. It's mine."

"You want to hold on to it, that's cool," Ramon said, trying to sound rea.s.suring, the way cops did when they were talking you down. He'd heard the tone a few times, and it wasn't hard to fake.

"I understand you'd want to keep the weapon. That's not a problem.

203 After all, we're just two guys on the run from a bunch of G.o.dd.a.m.n aliens, right? Doesn't matter which one of us has the knife, because we're on the same side."

"If you f.u.c.k me over . . ." the man said, and left the threat hanging. Because, Ramon thought, really, a cop decides to break his word to you, exactly what could you do? Take him to a judge and see who got believed?

"If I start f.u.c.king people over, Johnny Joe and all the other pendejos pendejos like him will lose their s.h.i.+t," Ramon said. Grave. Authoritative. like him will lose their s.h.i.+t," Ramon said. Grave. Authoritative.

Like a cop. "It ain't worth it. I tell you you're clean, man. That makes you clean. But any reward we get for turning in those alien f.u.c.ks, we split it. You and me. Right down the middle."

"f.u.c.k that," the man said. "I saved your a.s.s. You were walking bait. I get three quarters." saved your a.s.s. You were walking bait. I get three quarters."

Ramon felt his belly loosen. He was clear. The crisis was gone, and nothing left but a little posing and haggling. "Sixty-forty," he said.

"And you didn't kill anyone. Ever."

"I'm getting gypped," the man said.

"So's everyone. We're the cops, remember?" Ramon said, then smiled. The other man coughed out an incredulous laugh, then smiled himself. "You want to start getting these leaves in place, so we can get out of here and back to someplace they've got plumbing?"

"f.u.c.king cops," the man said, but now it was a joke. The man was half-drunk with relief. And why shouldn't he be? Ramon had just forgiven him his sins.

They worked until the light failed. The little lean-to was half-ready; a bed of leaves made and the covering laid down with the leaves ar-ranged in overlapping rows so that any rain would run down the top and into the water instead of dripping through. Ramon called the halt; his twin would have kept going all night, he guessed, just to prove something. And yet, as they walked the short path back to their little camp, he could tell that the relations.h.i.+p had changed. Clue-less banker lost in the wild was one thing. Policeman and granter of pardons was another beast entirely. Ramon built a small fire and the other man unloaded a double handful of sug beetles, suicide nuts, and the bright green berries that Ramon had never found named in the planet's taxonomies and that tasted like cheap white wine and pears. It wasn't a feast, but it tasted good. Afterward, Ramon drank water until his belly felt full. He'd have to p.i.s.s in the middle of the night, but for the moment, it fooled his body into feeling sated.

His twin lay back beside the fire. Ramon saw the man's fingers twitching, and knew he was wis.h.i.+ng he had a cigarette. The thought immediately made him want one too. How long, he wondered, before the nicotine stains grew back, yellowing his fingers and teeth?

How long before the teasing fan dance of ident.i.ties he was doing for the other man stopped working and the truth came out? Maybe the right thing was to leave now, go into the wild and avoid his twin, the governor, the police, and the Enye entirely.

He'd thought about living off the land many times before. The idea of fading away into the forest had seemed more plausible when it was a fantasy, or else something he could do with a good, solid van that he could lock up at night. Or if he at least had his pinche pinche knife back. knife back.

There had been stories from the first wave of colonists of men who had gone feral; moved out into the forests and steppes, deserts and tide pools of the planet and never came back to civilization.

Some of them might even be true. Colonies didn't tend to pull people who loved their old lives on Earth. There would be a percentage who hated life here too; men and women who'd hauled their sorry personal failings all the way from Earth. Ramon wondered if he was one of those. Except that he wanted to get back now. So he wasn't feral yet. And as long as his fingers kept twitching toward a cigarette case that was days behind him and across a river, he would never wholly abandon the cities.

205 "Why'd you become a cop?" the man asked, his voice already slurred by exhaustion and impending sleep.

"I don't know," Ramon said. "It seemed like the right thing at the time. Why'd you become a prospector?"

"It was better than being on a work gang," the man said. "I'm pretty good at it. And there was a time I needed to get out of town, you know? Get kind of lost for a while."

"Yeah?" Ramon said. He was tired as well. It had been a long day in a series of very long days. His body felt heavy and comfortable.

"There was this guy," the other man said. "Martin Casaus. We were friends for a while, you know. When I first got here. He was one of those guys hangs out by the orientation centers and tries to make friends with new people since no one who knows him here likes him." The other man spat. "He called himself a trapper. I guess he even killed things sometimes. Anyway, he got this idea I was after his woman. I wasn't either. She was a f.u.c.king dog. But he got it in his head that I was trying to cut him out."

Lianna. Ramon remembered her, the night at the bar. The deep red wallpaper, like drying blood. He'd gone to her, sat at her side.

She'd still smelled of the kitchen-frying oil and herbs, hot metal and chili. He had offered to buy her a drink. She'd accepted. She'd taken his hand. She'd been gentle about it. Tentative. He'd had enough to drink that he was a little fuzzy in the head. Martin's fantasies of her-of opening her blouse, of whispering filthy, exciting things into her ears, of waking in her bed-had intoxicated him as much as the drink.

"I didn't give a s.h.i.+t about her," the man said, chuckling. "She was a cook. Kind of dumpy, you know. Ate too much of her own stuff.

Martin, though. f.u.c.k. He was crazy about her."

Lianna's room had been in the back-a separate building grown from cheap chitin out behind the cantina with a little bathroom, a shower, but no place to cook. The LEDs spelling out los rancheroshad filled the room with dim, harsh light. He'd undressed her to the sound of Portuguese fado fado music on the music feed, the singer croon-ing about love and loss and death, a song whose words he heard again now. It had been a beautiful song. In spite of the mild night air, Lianna had had goose b.u.mps. He remembered the gooseflesh on her arms. Her thighs. Her b.r.e.a.s.t.s. She'd been shy at first. Feeling guilty about having him there. And then less so. And then not shy at all. music on the music feed, the singer croon-ing about love and loss and death, a song whose words he heard again now. It had been a beautiful song. In spite of the mild night air, Lianna had had goose b.u.mps. He remembered the gooseflesh on her arms. Her thighs. Her b.r.e.a.s.t.s. She'd been shy at first. Feeling guilty about having him there. And then less so. And then not shy at all.

"So Martin gets it into his head that I f.u.c.ked this girl. Now, he wasn't seeing her. Hadn't spoken more than maybe a dozen words to her his whole life. But he thinks he's in love. So he gets crazy. Jumps me with a sheet metal hook. Almost kills me."

Afterward, he'd run his fingers through her hair as she slept. He'd wanted to cry, but hadn't been able to. Even now, the memory growing in like a vine in his brain, he couldn't say why he'd wanted to do that, what mixture of l.u.s.t and sorrow, loneliness and guilt had moved him so much. Part of it was that he'd betrayed Martin. Only part of it, though. Lianna.

"So I figure, you know, as soon as I'm healed up, maybe I should get scarce. I put a down payment on a van from this place I'd been working that was about to go t.i.ts-up. I got some old surveying soft-ware from the widow of a guy I knew that died. Took off. It just went on from there. You know how that goes."

"I do," Ramon agreed. "You ever see her again?"

"The dumpy cook girl? No, man. Why bother, you know?"

She'd snored a little, just a wheeze in and then out. She had a cheap poster of the Virgin of Despegando Station over her bed, the bright blue eyes and robes glowing in the near dark. Ramon had thought he was in love with her. He'd written her letters but deleted them before he hit send. He couldn't conjure up what he had put in them. He wondered if the other man remembered what they said. If not, the words were gone forever.

He hadn't told that story in years. If he had, he would have talked 207 207 about her exactly the way his twin had, just now. Some things you just don't say to people.

"You got quiet," the man said. "You thinking about that Carmina?

She had you whipped, mi amigo mi amigo. I could hear it when you talked about her."

A sneering tone had crept into the other's voice, and Ramon knew he was on dangerous ground, but he couldn't keep himself from asking, "How about you? You got a girl now?"

"I got someone I f.u.c.k," the other said. "She's got a mouth on her sometimes, but she's okay. I don't mind f.u.c.king her. She's pretty good in bed."

Time to take a chance, push it a little. "You love her?"

The other man froze. "That's none of your business, cabron, cabron, " he said in a hard voice. " he said in a hard voice.

Ramon allowed himself to lock eyes with the other man for a heartbeat, then said gruffly, "You're right. Sorry." Not rising to the insult. Backing down, but in a way consistent with his tough-cop persona. Not craven enough to arouse the other's ire.

After a moment of silence, Ramon said, "Let's get some sleep, eh?

Long day tomorrow."

"Yeah," the man said, his tone sour. "Sure."

But, as Ramon had hoped, the subject of who he loved didn't come up again.

Chapter 20.

They launched the raft around noon the next day, the morning spent in final preparations and unsuccessful hunting. It was more cramped.

The fire pit sat at the back, where one of them could both tend it and steer with the oar. The lean-to ran lengthwise along one side. It un-balanced the raft a little, but if Ramon had put it in the midline, he wouldn't have been able to see ahead and steer. Of course it blocked part of his view no matter where it sat. And as a counterbalance, he'd put a pile of wood for the fire on the other side, not so near the edge that it was likely to get soaked.

Ramon steered them out into the river where the flow was swift-est, then spent the afternoon holding steady. The man sat at the side, a fis.h.i.+ng line in his hand. And here it was, the grand escape plan brought to its perfect end. Two unwashed and unshaven guys on a grungy raft, fis.h.i.+ng to eat and taking turns steering down the 209 209 middle of the river. Ramon scratched his belly. The scar was growing, and the one on his arm. His hair was slightly coa.r.s.er too; he could feel it. No doubt he was starting to get the creases in his face back as well.

He wished he'd kept the cigarette case. Or anything he could use for a mirror. How long would it be before the other man realized what was happening? Every time his twin glanced back at him, Ramon felt his belly growing tighter.

As they moved south, the forests changed. Needle-leaved iceroot gave way to lacy sponge oak. Twice, Ramon caught sight of the great pyramids of dorado dorado colonies, their sides swarming with the crawling black spiders. The sounds also changed. The chirr and squawk of the thousand varieties of half lizard, half bird, as they threatened one another and fought for food and mates. Deeper calls, like the voices of women singing in some beautiful African tongue, from kyi-kyi preparing to shed their summer skins. And once, the soft, whistling sound of a redjacket cutting through the underbrush. Ramon didn't see the animal, though, and since it didn't attack, apparently it hadn't seen them either. colonies, their sides swarming with the crawling black spiders. The sounds also changed. The chirr and squawk of the thousand varieties of half lizard, half bird, as they threatened one another and fought for food and mates. Deeper calls, like the voices of women singing in some beautiful African tongue, from kyi-kyi preparing to shed their summer skins. And once, the soft, whistling sound of a redjacket cutting through the underbrush. Ramon didn't see the animal, though, and since it didn't attack, apparently it hadn't seen them either.

Above them, the sky-lilies were being blown south and east by some high-atmosphere wind. Their distant bodies looked like points of deep green against the blue arcing sky, strewn like dark stars against the daylight. One precocious colony had bloomed, sending out streamers of yellow and red that were likely miles long, though from so far away, Ramon could cover them with his thumb. When the others joined it, it would look like a flower garden swimming up into s.p.a.ce.

But it was the hovering black Enye s.h.i.+ps that kept drawing his attention. Six of them hung in the air. It struck him for the first time how much the s.h.i.+ps were shaped like ticks, and once the image was in his head, he couldn't get rid of it. He had ridden from his home, his world, his past in the belly of a great tick, and been puked outonto this beautiful planet. None of them belonged here-not the Enye, not Maneck and its people, not humanity. And yet So Paulo suffered them.

Maybe he could s.h.i.+p out again. Get back on the Enye s.h.i.+p, move to some other colony. Or cast his fate to the sky and come down wherever G.o.d put him. So Paulo wasn't so big he could be a.s.sured of never running into his twin again. The universe, on the other hand, was was that big. Bigger. For a moment-as strong as a memory reawakening-Ramon felt again the gaping abyss from his dream. that big. Bigger. For a moment-as strong as a memory reawakening-Ramon felt again the gaping abyss from his dream.

He shuddered and looked back at the river's edge.

s.h.i.+pping out would mean getting a false ident.i.ty, but anything anything meant that now. The real problem was going on the s.h.i.+p. Smelling the skins of the Enye, hearing their voices. Knowing what they had done, and what they were doing, and the real purpose of these colonies. Before, he might have been able to do it. His twin, sitting on the edge of the raft with his head resting on his good hand, meant that now. The real problem was going on the s.h.i.+p. Smelling the skins of the Enye, hearing their voices. Knowing what they had done, and what they were doing, and the real purpose of these colonies. Before, he might have been able to do it. His twin, sitting on the edge of the raft with his head resting on his good hand, he he might be able to do it. But Ramon had felt the flow, had become the abyss, and heard the cries of dying might be able to do it. But Ramon had felt the flow, had become the abyss, and heard the cries of dying kii kii. Of dying babies. He couldn't do it. Not anymore.

The easiest thing would still be to kill the man. If his twin were dead, all this would go away. He could step back into his own life, call in the little insurance policy he had on the van, and try to start over. It had been hit in a rockslide. Why not? The policy was cheap enough that no one would bother with more than a cursory investigation, and they wouldn't find any pieces chopped and sold secondhand. He could have his life back instead of ceding it to this cabron cabron. And if the cops were looking for someone to pin the European's death on, they'd have found someone else by the time he got back.