— that his survival depended on the death of his partner. Or, more subtly, that the other wasn’t taking proper care of Company equipment, and should be eliminated.
It had taken time and experience, but the Company had finally come up with a foolproof set of algorithms. The outback was a functioning anarchy. Nobody could hurt anybody else there.
No matter how badly they needed to.
The ’plants had sounded like a good idea when Patang and MacArthur first went under contract. They’d signed up for a full sidereal day — two hundred fifty-five Earth days. Slightly longer than a Venusian year. Now, with fifty-nine days still to go, she was no longer certain that two people who hated each other as much as they did should be kept from each other’s throats. Sooner or later, one of them would have to crack.
Every day she prayed that it would be MacArthur who finally yanked the escape cord, calling down upon himself the charges for a rescue ship to pull them out ahead of contract. MacArthur who went bust while she took her partial creds and skipped.
Every day he didn’t. It was inhuman how much abuse he could absorb without giving in.
Only hatred could keep a man going like that.
Patang drank her water down slowly, with little slurps and sighs and lip-smackings. Knowing MacArthur loathed that, but unable to keep herself from doing it anyway. She was almost done when he slammed his hands down on the tabletop, to either side of hers, and said, “Patang, there are some things I want to get straight between us.”
“Please. Don’t.”
“Goddamnit, you know how I feel about that shit.”
“I don’t like it when you talk like that. Stop.”
MacArthur ground his teeth. “No. We are going to have this out right here and now. I want you to —
what was that?
”
Patang stared blankly at her partner. Then she felt it — an uneasy vertiginous queasiness, a sense of imbalance just at the edge of perception, as if all of Venus were with infinitesimal gentleness shifting underfoot.
Then the planet roared and the floor came up to smash her in the face.
When Patang came to, everything was a jumble. The floor was canted. The shelves had collapsed, dumping silk shirts, lemon cookies, and bars of beauty soap everywhere. Their muscle suits had tumbled together, the metal arm of one caught between the legs of the other. The life support systems were still operational, thank God. The Company built them strong.
In the middle of it all, MacArthur stood motionless, grinning. A trickle of blood ran down his neck. He slowly rubbed the side of his face.
“MacArthur? Are you okay?”
A strange look was in his eyes. “By God,” he said softly. “By damn.”
“Innkeeper! What happened here?”
The device didn’t respond. “I busted it up,” MacArthur said. “It was easy.”
“What?”
MacArthur walked clumsily across the floor toward her, like a sailor on an uncertain deck. “There was a cliff slump.” He had a Ph.D. in extraterrestrial geology. He knew things like that. “A vein of soft basalt weakened and gave way. The inn caught a glancing blow. We’re lucky to be alive.”
He knelt beside her and made the OK sign with thumb and forefinger. Then he flicked the side of her nose with the forefinger.
“Ouch!” she said. Then, shocked, “Hey, you can’t…!”
“Like hell I can’t.” He slapped her in the face. Hard. “Chip don’t seem to work anymore.”
Rage filled her. “You son of a bitch!” Patang drew back her arm to x Blankness.
She came to seconds later. But it was like opening a book in the middle or stepping into an interactive an hour after it began. She had no idea what had happened or how it affected her.
MacArthur was strapping her into her muscle suit.
“Is everything okay?” she murmured. “Is something wrong?”
“I was going to kill you, Patang. But killing you isn’t enough. You have to suffer first.”
“What are you talking about?”
Then she remembered.
MacArthur
It had taken time and experience, but the Company had finally come up with a foolproof set of algorithms. The outback was a functioning anarchy. Nobody could hurt anybody else there.
No matter how badly they needed to.
The ’plants had sounded like a good idea when Patang and MacArthur first went under contract. They’d signed up for a full sidereal day — two hundred fifty-five Earth days. Slightly longer than a Venusian year. Now, with fifty-nine days still to go, she was no longer certain that two people who hated each other as much as they did should be kept from each other’s throats. Sooner or later, one of them would have to crack.
Every day she prayed that it would be MacArthur who finally yanked the escape cord, calling down upon himself the charges for a rescue ship to pull them out ahead of contract. MacArthur who went bust while she took her partial creds and skipped.
Every day he didn’t. It was inhuman how much abuse he could absorb without giving in.
Only hatred could keep a man going like that.
Patang drank her water down slowly, with little slurps and sighs and lip-smackings. Knowing MacArthur loathed that, but unable to keep herself from doing it anyway. She was almost done when he slammed his hands down on the tabletop, to either side of hers, and said, “Patang, there are some things I want to get straight between us.”
“Please. Don’t.”
“Goddamnit, you know how I feel about that shit.”
“I don’t like it when you talk like that. Stop.”
MacArthur ground his teeth. “No. We are going to have this out right here and now. I want you to —
what was that?
”
Patang stared blankly at her partner. Then she felt it — an uneasy vertiginous queasiness, a sense of imbalance just at the edge of perception, as if all of Venus were with infinitesimal gentleness shifting underfoot.
Then the planet roared and the floor came up to smash her in the face.
When Patang came to, everything was a jumble. The floor was canted. The shelves had collapsed, dumping silk shirts, lemon cookies, and bars of beauty soap everywhere. Their muscle suits had tumbled together, the metal arm of one caught between the legs of the other. The life support systems were still operational, thank God. The Company built them strong.
In the middle of it all, MacArthur stood motionless, grinning. A trickle of blood ran down his neck. He slowly rubbed the side of his face.
“MacArthur? Are you okay?”
A strange look was in his eyes. “By God,” he said softly. “By damn.”
“Innkeeper! What happened here?”
The device didn’t respond. “I busted it up,” MacArthur said. “It was easy.”
“What?”
MacArthur walked clumsily across the floor toward her, like a sailor on an uncertain deck. “There was a cliff slump.” He had a Ph.D. in extraterrestrial geology. He knew things like that. “A vein of soft basalt weakened and gave way. The inn caught a glancing blow. We’re lucky to be alive.”
He knelt beside her and made the OK sign with thumb and forefinger. Then he flicked the side of her nose with the forefinger.
“Ouch!” she said. Then, shocked, “Hey, you can’t…!”
“Like hell I can’t.” He slapped her in the face. Hard. “Chip don’t seem to work anymore.”
Rage filled her. “You son of a bitch!” Patang drew back her arm to x Blankness.
She came to seconds later. But it was like opening a book in the middle or stepping into an interactive an hour after it began. She had no idea what had happened or how it affected her.
MacArthur was strapping her into her muscle suit.
“Is everything okay?” she murmured. “Is something wrong?”
“I was going to kill you, Patang. But killing you isn’t enough. You have to suffer first.”
“What are you talking about?”
Then she remembered.
MacArthur
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