The Balance of Silence (3 page)

“No, of course not, I wouldn’t think of troubling you. But tell me, are you open for breakfast?”

The Balance of Silence

The incredulous stare spoke volumes. “This is a bar.” The girl spoke slowly, mouth twisted in an unpleasant grin. “You want a freakin’ restaurant, then you need to be a good long ways from here. You’re at the end of the world.”

The “asshole”, or whatever the local equivalent would be, was muttered at the end. That was the nice thing about basic—even when the natives picked it up, the regional insults were still easy to spot. It made planning for an eventual beating that much easier.

Not that Riv was looking for a beating. Failed pacifist that he was, he still wasn’t interested in cleansing himself with pain. Rather than rankle the woman further, he just smiled and lifted his glass.

“Thanks for the hospitality.” If she caught the sarcasm, good on her, but he couldn’t tell and didn’t care much either way.

Glass in hand, he ambled around the place for a few minutes, hearing the far-off roll of thunder as the night storms made their way across the rainforest. There were a couple dated posters on the walls, and some pictures of what he assumed was the family who owned the place. They were all some variation on the local standards of short and dark, and apparently the scowling was genetic. Nowhere in any of them did he see a stray blond child, but there was always some tide of missionaries leaving behind unfinished business, and he’d been witness to stranger things.

When the song wound to a close he found himself near the piano. The man playing it didn’t look up until Riv leaned one elbow on the top of the aging instrument, and then only a slightly fearful dart of his eyes gave away that they were blue.

“Do you take requests?”

No answer, but another song started up almost immediately, and Riv took that as a no. Shrugging it off, he left a stray coin from his dinner on the piano lid and stood a little farther away, enjoying the music.

“He don’t talk.” He nodded at the bartender, taking a refill of the local rotgut, which tasted pleasantly of fruit punch when it wasn’t trying to kill you.

“We found him like that one day. Just sitting there at the piano, happy as a clam. No ID, and he won’t tell us a damn thing. I’d turn him over to the clinic in Patchous, but he doesn’t hurt anything and he keeps people drinking.”

Riv wondered about the explanation, then remembered that he was still wearing his ReliefCorp tags. It was amazing how many people thought he had some kind of authority just because he trucked vaccines and seeds through the forest.

“You’re kidding. You just found him sitting at the piano?” Incredulity made him repeat the statement, and he stole a look back towards the silent blond man.

“Thought that’s what I said.”

And that was why he generally tried to avoid repeating himself, especially around people with no discernable sense of humor. “So did he walk in or did somebody drop him off?”

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15

S. Reesa Herberth and Michelle Moore

“Don’t know. Don’t really matter, does it? He’s here now.”

Considering it had taken him a good four hours in a well-equipped hopper to get here, and the trip had been anything but easy, it did seem like a relevant question, just not one Riv was sure he wanted to ask again. “Did you look around to see if he left a truck or a hopper somewhere?”

The derisive sneer was followed by a laugh. “Think we would’ve noticed one, if that was the case.

Spotted you as soon as you showed up.”

Curiouser and curiouser. That meant Piano Man had either come in under his own power, a feat not to be taken lightly, or that someone had dumped him in this town at the end of the world. Beyond the how was the why, although if you were looking to disappear, this wouldn’t be a bad place to do it.

It wasn’t a bad place to help someone else disappear, either.

“Why don’t you go ask him yourself if you’re so interested?” Turning back, the barkeep started wiping down the greasy counter, apparently considering the conversation closed.

Riv thought about pressing the matter, but it was a brief moment of insanity. He didn’t know anyone here, and a hopper could disappear into the jungle faster than you could blink. No sense pushing his luck and becoming one of Marta’s cautionary tales. Instead, Riv shrugged, carefully schooling his face into studied indifference. “Not really my business anyway. I’m going to finish what I need to do and be on my way.”

“And when exactly would that be?”

He wasn’t used to this level of hostility. Most places were glad enough to see him and the meds he trucked in. A good number actually managed gratitude. “I’ll be meeting up with some folks tomorrow, make my deliveries and then I guess I’ll see.”

The spark of interest this inspired was hardly comforting. “What sort of deliveries would that be?”

The barkeep’s eyes narrowed, dirty rag in his hand slowing and then stopping its movement.

“Aid supplies, meds mostly. Why?”

“Wondering’s all. Don’t see many outsiders here. Haven’t seen anyone from ReliefCorp in almost a year. Anyway, I suppose you need a place to doss down tonight then.”

This sudden friendliness wasn’t doing anything for Riv’s comfort level. In fact, if the hair on his neck rose any higher, he’d be able to comb it. “Yeah, I suppose I could,” Riv said cautiously. “You have a suggestion?”

The man jerked a shoulder in the direction of the piano. “He’s in a lean-to across the street. Nothing fancy, but since he ain’t paying for it, you can stay there.”

“He doesn’t seem really eager for the company,” Riv muttered under his breath. “Thanks. It’s been a long day.” He got a grunt in reply, which was enough, and he sat there finishing his drink as the place filled up.

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The Balance of Silence

Most of the customers paid no mind to the piano man, and on occasion the drone of voices outclassed the music. He hardly seemed to notice, moving from one song to the next. Apparently he knew that Riv was watching him though, and would look up for half a second between one song and the next.

“You want another?” The bartender’s voice woke Riv out of his pleasant doze, and he was about to reach for the refill when the music changed again. It took him a second to recognize it, since it wasn’t normally a piano piece, but the planetary anthem of Karibee was fairly hard to mistake. He looked over his shoulder, surprised to see blue eyes meeting his for just a second. His accent was nowhere near as pronounced as it had been when he’d left, but it was still there, caressing every word he spoke. Obviously it had been recognized, and Riv wasn’t so oblivious as to not notice the attempt to garner his attention.

“Thanks, but I think I’m gonna head for that promised bed. I assume it isn’t locked?”

“Nope, just let yourself right in. He won’t be much longer, so you’d better stake your claim to the bed fast.”

Riv nodded, swaying a little more than he needed to as he got up and made his way to the door with exaggerated care. The wet heat of the night struck him almost immediately—within seconds he was drenched to the skin. In the slanted spill of light given off by the doorway behind him he could just make out the structure across the way. Calling it a lean-to was generous, as it was decidedly more
lean
than
to
.

The whole thing creaked ominously when he pushed aside the scrap of tin serving as a door, and he glanced behind him to see if anyone had followed him from the bar.

Satisfied that he was alone, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a folded bag, dumping two small black tablets into his palm and swallowing them dry with some difficulty. He couldn’t be certain the food had been drugged, but he was also used to going with his gut instincts. Riv waited, riding out the immediate wave of dizziness, and when he couldn’t keep it down any longer he slipped back outside and bid a fond farewell to his dinner in the bushes. He was quiet as he could be, kicking dirt over the mess when he was done and heading back into the hovel to find that somewhere in the intervening minutes he’d gained company.

“Bad mangos,” he said uneasily, trying to leave space between himself and the man edging unhappily into the far corner.

No response, but then he hadn’t really expected one. But he hadn’t expected the flash of fear either.

“Look, I’m sorry for invading your place like this. The barkeep, he told me I could crash here.” The excuse definitely sounded as lame as he was afraid it would. Admitting that curiosity had been a good part of it would probably sound worse. “I’ll just sleep over here.” Riv gestured vaguely. “It’ll be out of your way, hopefully.”

This time he got a shrug, or at least it looked like one. The movement was so faint that he couldn’t be sure, and he wondered briefly just how much the man understood. There was fear, but he hadn’t seen that marked blankness he usually associated with the mentally ill.

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17

S. Reesa Herberth and Michelle Moore

“Do you care if I stay here tonight?” He smiled, hoping he’d managed to make it reassuring. “It’s guaranteed to be more comfortable than curling up in the back of my hopper.”

While he’d been talking, the piano guy had reached the pallet on the floor. Eyes not leaving Riv’s, he nodded slowly, then sank down, knees tucked under him.

“Thanks. I wasn’t sure if I could contort myself into that seat another night. I think my spine’s permanently curved. Although I’m a little concerned about my cargo. This town’s a bit rough around the edges. Uh, no offense, though.” Although he doubted he’d have any disagreement. It wasn’t like the town was treating this guy particularly well. “You think anybody’s going to fuck with it?”

His new friend’s nod was accompanied by what could almost be called a smile—slight, ghost-like even, but still a smile.

“Great, I was afraid you were going to say that.” Riv found himself grinning in return. “Good thing I locked up tight before I left then. And I’m thinking that booby trap was probably a good idea.” He’d be awake for whatever attempt they made on it now, at least. Riv swallowed, grimacing at the taste. Too bad he didn’t have any ration bars with him, because once the nausea wore off, he was going to be hungry.

Leaning back against the wall, he tried to make himself a little more comfortable without pulling the whole place down around their ears. He sighed, opened his mouth, and then closed it again. The conversation was definitely one-sided, but complete silence while the two of them were about a meter and a half apart just seemed uncomfortable.

“Hey, you played something back there, something I knew.” Riv hummed a few bars. “Karibee’s anthem. How do you know it? You’re not…” He paused, looking closer. “You’re not Karibian, are you?”

They tended to scatter. It certainly wouldn’t be unheard of to find a fellow countryman this far away from the homeworld.

The mystery man shook his head, pointing a finger at Riv.

“So that was just for my benefit, eh? Trying to distract me so your friend could slip me a mickey, or trying to get my attention so I wouldn’t drink it?” He waited for some other gesture, some attempt to carry on the conversation, but he might as well have been alone for all of the sudden disinterest being shown.

Eyes downcast again, the man steadfastly ignored him, and Riv took the hint and shut up.

Sometime later he found himself shaken lightly awake. Outside, the rain had nearly ceased, and he could hear at least two voices nearby, one of them raised in a curse. He shook the sleep from his mind, scrambling to his feet in the now-empty shack and heading towards his vehicle in a loping run. It was a good job that at least a part of the forest floor had been cleared here, because otherwise he would have been flat on his face instead of rounding on the bartender and the idiot who’d been foolish enough to try jimmying the lock. He was still shaking his hand, holding it at the wrist like he could keep the sting from traveling farther up his arm.

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The Balance of Silence

“Did you see who it was?” he asked, managing to hide the amusement in his voice. “They warned me that there had been trouble in this area with people trying to break into aid supplies, but they thought the new alarm system might help.”

“Your fucking hopper—”

“What he means,” the barkeep said, interrupting hurriedly, “is that we only got here in time to chase them off. We didn’t see who it was. Omal here was trying to see if they’d damaged anything, and he got a nasty bite.”

Riv narrowed his eyes, knowing damn good and well that Omal would have had to breach the lock plate without a code to have gotten his little zap. “Well, I guess I should be heading out then. I wouldn’t want your family to be put in harm’s way for my sake. ReliefCorp is really trying to keep their people safe now, outfitting all their hoppers with these systems. I heard they were even going to start sending ships into close orbit so they could drop a shuttle crew if one of their people sent a distress call.”

From the wild looks he was getting, they were buying his load of shit. If it made them think twice about bothering the next worker through, he figured the lies were worth it.

“You drive safe. The road gets dangerous at night.” If it was a threat, it was ultimately one that Riv would have to ignore. There was no chance that he’d sleep here all night while they tried to rob him.

“I’ll do that. And I’ll see to it that someone comes through to check on your piano player.”

They left him in the clearing, and as soon as they thought they were out of earshot Omal began grousing about smartass supply pushers who didn’t drink enough. He chuckled as he inspected the hopper, making sure there was no damage before he headed back out.

He was just kneeling under the lift thrusters on the driver’s side when he saw a pair of grungy bare feet appear on the other side of the craft. ReliefCorp had a strict ban on weapons in field situations, and he wouldn’t have used one anyway, but it gave him a jump when he realized that if someone had come back to try and steal his cargo he wasn’t likely to make it into the hopper, much less power up in time to get away.