Free Dominant Species Volume Three -- Acquired Traits by David Coy Page B

distance.”
    “Well, we
don’t have a gun. So forget it,” Habershaw said.
    “I’ve got
a gun,” Joan said abruptly.
    Habershaw
glared at her to shut her up.
    “Well, I
do,” she repeated. “I stole it. And I’m keeping it.”  
      “That’s it, then. We can use that,” Lavachek
said. “Hell, I’ll do it.”
    “Like
hell you will,” Habershaw snapped. “If they catch you, they’ll find the gun,
then they’ll find out where it came from—and we’ll all get Vilaroosed. Fuck
that. You’ll stay right here.”   Lavachek
didn’t like the answer. But he took a sip of coffee in silent, tacit agreement.
Habershaw was still his boss.
    “It’s
your call,” Lavachek finally said.
    Later
that night, as Joan and Habershaw lay in their bed, the sound of Duggings’
cries reached them over the jungle’s din. It came adrift on the wet air like a
dark wisp. It wasn’t possible to close the windows or block one’s ears to keep
it out; that would be turning your back on the man’s pain, turning his agony to
nothing.
    Bill and
Joan tossed and turned fretfully; and when they weren’t tossing or turning,
they lay unmoving, trying not to listen but listening still. Joan was having
the worst time of it. Habershaw heard her sigh and groan slightly with each cry
that seeped snakelike through the shelter’s screens.
    At some
point, Bill heard and felt Joan get up out of bed as slowly and softly as a
cat. He heard her faint noises at the rear door and heard the slight click of
the door shutting. He hoped to hell she wasn’t doing what he thought she was
doing. He got out of bed and looked out the window in the direction of Duggings
but didn’t see anything. He finally convinced himself she had gone for a walk,
perhaps to distance herself from the sounds of suffering riding the jungle’s
busy clamor.
    When he
heard the first shot, Habershaw went stiff, as if the bullet had gone through
his brain. A moment later he heard another, then another. He went to the window
and looked out. Duggings' cries had stopped, and the jungle’s buzz had shed
that soulful rider. He could feel the settlement breathe a sigh of relief.
    A few
minutes later he heard the soft click of the door again. Joan slid cat-like
back into bed. When her leg touched his, he felt cool sweat.
    “That was
stupid,” he said evenly.
    She
didn’t answer right away. “I doubt Duggings thought so,” she finally replied.
    Sometime
before dawn, they slept.
    At
breakfast the next morning, no one said a word for a long time.
    “I guess
he went quick after all,” Lavachek eventually said, looking at Joan.
    “Yeah,”
Joan said. “He went quick.”  
     
    * * *
     
    When
Habershaw and Lavachek got to the Chief Engineer’s office, a man neither had met,
nor had heard much about, greeted them. He was a small man, clad in the brown,
clean, cotton commonly worn by those within the Council’s inner circles. The
garb gave the man away.   This had
suddenly turned into a situation with unanticipated consequences.
    The
Council was the source of tyrannical rule; rules and instructions that had to
be obeyed as if handed down by God personally. Here stood a friendly and
diminutive fellow who wielded the power of the council by proxy and about to
aim that power right at the domain of him and Lavachek. Under that neat and
clean exterior was the heart and soul of the Council. He was the tyrant’s
unsoiled, innocent-looking nephew, who could sling the Council’s violent power
like a mad child if need be. Habershaw's previous resentment of having to
answer to Patel was now minor compared to the foundation of fear that his
umbrage rested on.
    The next
thing Habershaw noticed about him were his tiny hands. They were so small and
feminine Habershaw wondered if he weren't actually a female in disguise. When
he held out his hand for Habershaw to shake, the touch was moist and soft like
a little girl’s. His voice possessed a hint of an Indian accent. It struck
Habershaw