The Kenval Incident

by Philippe Mercurio

  Between clips, he thought of another way of fulfilling his contract. Those two idiots and the big furry giant are going to get caught. They’ll cool their heels in the police station’s cells for a bit, then they’ll be transferred. Finding out where and when will be a breeze!

  His calm restored, he created a mental list of the equipment he would need for his task. Back on familiar ground, he became momentarily optimistic: if everything went smoothly, it wouldn’t be long before he could cut off their heads and send them to Morsak by express mail.

  In the Sirgan’s gaping hold, a swarm of bizarre creatures flowed out of the open crate, forcing Mallory to retreat. They had whitish skin through which a network of veins and moving organs could be seen. About a yard long, they looked like snakes with overly large prey in their stomachs.

  Mallory counted five pairs of legs sticking straight out of their abdomens and connected by thin membranes. These taut skin flaps filled the air with dry rustling.

  As they took off, the potbellied beasts let out asthmatic wheezes. One of them tried to bite Mallory. Their sucker-like mouths, filled with pointy teeth, snapped just in front of her face. Torg got between her and the creatures, but they were no longer targeting the human.

  Attracted by the light, they unfurled out of the ship and spread across the sky like a bad omen. To ensure that his captain was safe, the cybrid checked her from head to toe.

  “Don’t worry,” she reassured him. “Those pests only wanted to escape.”

  The aftereffects of the firefight suddenly hit her. She twisted to escape from Torg’s maternal embrace and ordered, “Try to figure out why the ramp won’t go back up. I’m going to wring the dear doctor’s neck.”

  Geekler was lying on his stomach, one arm stretched toward the package. No need to break his neck: he had died liberating the flying bloodsuckers. Mallory turned to Laorcq. His grey eyes were swimming, as if he had just witnessed a tragedy.

  “Are you okay? You look like you’re at a funeral.” Seeing him devastated like this touched her more than she expected.

  “I don’t have anything left against Morsak,” he sighed in despair. “Years of work for nothing…”

  He really seemed to be falling apart. She almost took his hand to comfort him but held back at the last second. She was ignorant of too many things about him to let down her guard.

  “I’m going to look at the hatch mechanism,” declared Torg, indifferent to the scarred man’s desperation.

  Mallory saw him take hold of the misaligned actuator and brace himself in order to pull on it. The steel bar creaked but returned to a sufficiently straight position so that it could slide again. Satisfied, the cybrid activated the closing switch.

  The ramp was retracting in fits and starts when Jazz spoke to them over the loudspeakers. “Captain! We’re being followed by three police vehicles.”

  Abandoning the doctor’s body and the pieces of the container, the pilot ran to the cockpit.

  As the cybrid and Laorcq burst in, she examined the navigation screens. On one of the displays, three red diamonds representing the police were getting closer little by little to a blue ball: the Sirgan.

  If we leave the atmosphere now, we should be able to lose them,” Mallory said.

  “It’s pointless. We can’t go anywhere…” Laorcq’s voice was low, almost broken. Failing when so close to the goal seemed to have aged him by at least twenty years. He continued, “With Geekler dead and the cargo flown away, Idernax’s lawyers will be able to make short work of me. Returning to Earth empty-handed is suicide. To be honest, I’m extremely concerned about the things that came out of the crate. With Morsak behind this, the worst is yet to come.”

  Running his hand through his salt-and-pepper hair, he concluded, “We have to give ourselves up, Mallory. It won’t be fun while I’m telling them what happened, and I’ll probably end up in jail, but we don’t have a choice.”

  “And what’s going to happen to me?” she asked, worried. “Lebrane still owns twenty percent of my ship. And how am I going to clear my father’s name, if I get convicted of theft? I’m being sought for a crime I didn’t commit, remember?”

  “No, I didn’t forget. My full confession should take care of that charge.”

  “Should? Is that supposed to make me feel better?” She gave up on the conversation with a sigh. With a flick of her finger on one of the navigation screen’s icons, she reactivated the on-board navcom.

  A voice came out of the loudspeakers. “… are in violation. I repeat: you are in violation and your flight authorization has been withdrawn. Please slow down. We will escort you to the spaceport. I repeat: your flight authorization has been…”

  “Received! Private transport ship Volvaix, received!” interrupted Mallory, remembering at the last minute that she should use the Sirgan’s assumed name.

  The ship complied with the captain’s demands, seemingly regretfully, and decelerated. Flanked by police, the transport ship flew over the suburbs of Gloria City. They were no better when seen from above: a vast, desolated land, disfigured by war, with bits of greenery here and there. Procyon’s reddish light added a touch of eeriness to the scene.

  With her stomach in knots, Mallory thought fearfully about her immediate future: I only dreamed of having an interesting life… Visiting new worlds, yes, but not their prisons!

  XIV

  PRISONERS

  MALLORY put the Sirgan down on the runway reserved for the police. There were ships of every kind wherever she looked, from single seaters to orbital troop transports. She stepped away from the controls with apprehension and, accompanied by Laorcq and Torg, walked down the main corridor.

  She unsealed the airlock, which opened with a hiss. As she was about to cross the threshold, she froze in mid-step: a dozen agents were aiming their guns at her.

  Wondering if they had taken her for a raving lunatic, she examined them. Despite their shooting glasses festooned with sensors, she recognized several extraterrestrial species. Among them, Mallory spotted a human. Of Laorcq’s height, she had very severe features and blond hair cascading down to her waist. The pilot also noticed that the black uniforms had light blue stripes encircling their sleeves. Ranks, she deduced. And given the number of rings on her sleeves, the tall blonde was the chief. Which was out of the ordinary. Since she had arrived on Kenval, Mallory hadn’t seen any other Earthlings in such an important post.

  “You’re under arrest!” the policewoman proclaimed.

  While her men kept their guns pointed at the Sirgan’s crew, the tall blonde took their navcoms, their shoes, and anything they were carrying that was strong enough to break through skin. Once her booty was wrapped in plastic evidence bags, she spoke to her subordinates, “Search this ship from stem to stern!”

  Powerless, Mallory watched the black uniforms poking around in her ship like ants.

  The officer tensed suddenly: she had received a navcom message. “What? A cadaver in the hold!” she exclaimed. Giving her prisoners an accusatory look, she ordered, “Take pictures of everything and have the body brought to the morgue.”

  The pilot tried to look like nothing was amiss, but it wasn’t working very well. “Geekler… We should have thrown him out the airlock!” she muttered from between her teeth.

  The Sirgan’s loading dock descended, controlled from inside by one of the police officers. Jazz, whose acrimonious remarks were annoying the searchers, was once again disconnected. Laorcq’s weapons collection was laid out on the floor, carefully inventoried, and photographed. The bulletproof suits attracted intense curiosity.

  With one of the steel cylinders in his hand, an agent called his boss. “Lieutenant Lafora? Look at this!” He stepped forward and pressed the tube. Immediately, the blue protective suit covered him from head to toe.

  The lieutenant pushed her glasses up to her forehead, revealing her chestnut-colored eyes. “Not bad,” she said. “Nothing like our usual guests’ toys.”

  After ordering her subor
dinates to follow, Lafora put a hand on Laorcq’s shoulder. She pointed to a building distinguished from the others by its windowless facade: the astroport’s security block.

  A Regulian officer, whose green skin contrasted with his black uniform, came to seize Mallory. He guided her toward the prison building. She glanced behind her. With an ache in her heart, she saw three agents push Torg into a cage with thick bars. Before her eyes, the cybrid disappeared, his cage loaded onto a flatbed truck that took off like a shot.

  While crossing the hundred or so yards that separated them from their cells, Laorcq scrutinized the lieutenant. Her agile gait hinted at hours of training. Combined with her regulation uniform, her feminine curves made her look like a Valkyrie. A pronounced jaw, long nose—broken at least once—round cheekbones, and direct gaze came together in a pleasant, although not really beautiful, face. Her name—Alrine Lafora—was embroidered on a strip of cloth affixed to her uniform with Velcro.

  The police officer misunderstood what he was looking at. “In your situation, I would be worried about other things… Commander Laorcq Adrinov!”

  Embarrassed, he searched for the right words. “I just wanted to…” He stopped, suddenly struck dumb with astonishment: she shouldn’t know who he was!

  A wide smile lit the tall blonde’s face. “I don’t know if the police on Earth are any good, but here I sent your ship’s ID to the continuous surveillance division to reconstruct your comings and goings. The pictures taken by the cameras at customs were enough for our Artificial Intelligences to find out who you really were. So much for your very good fake ID…”

  While she continued, her voice grew harsher, “The AIs have also been recording your navcom connections. I know how you’ve been spending your time these last few days down to the minute. Falsification of a ship’s ID, weapons theft, breaking and entering, kidnapping, and violation of airspace… You and your girlfriend seem to think Gloria City is a battlefield!”

  “Mallory isn’t… She’s just a pilot, she was in the wrong place at the wrong time. Listen, Lieutenant, there’s a lot more going on here than you know. You should…”

  Lafora cut him off, “I’ve arrested hundreds of guys like you. They always have good reasons for being screw-ups. That’s not my problem. Tell it to the judge.”

  Mallory felt movement behind her as the tall metal gates closed behind them. A long corridor lay before them, running through the prison. To her right, she noticed a holographic projector mounted on a tarnished metal post. Lafora placed a hand on the image it displayed. Light globes hung from the ceiling at regular intervals, bathing the place in bright light.

  The Regulian police officer locked the pilot in a narrow room that stank of urine. The walls were dripping with muck and covered with obscene graffiti. Yellowish toilets squatted in the back, behind a bed with a practically nonexistent mattress.

  The only glimmer of comfort was limited to a screen built into the bed, behind shatterproof glass. It showed an alternating stream of info flashes and educational programming on a loop. Nose wrinkled by the odor, Mallory tried to cheer herself up:

  “At least no one’ll be bothering me.”

  Meanwhile, Laorcq was brought to another cell by Lafora, who shoved him inside. She slammed the heavy door behind him, and he heard her footsteps receding.

  He tapped on the metal panel to attract her attention, “Lieutenant, listen to me! A whole contraband cargo of creatures has just escaped near the city!”

  Lafora stopped, retraced her steps, and looked at him through a peephole. “I already told you: I’ve been told most of the fairy tales ever imagined by jailbirds. Yours isn’t very original. Improbable things aren’t uncommon in Gloria City!”

  Exasperated, he tried to explain. “These things have nothing to do with the mutants. They fly and are less than a yard long. They look like balloons with ten legs and a trunk. They were brought here illegally, shipped to an unlicensed but still practicing doctor. That should be enough to concern you, no?”

  “Maybe,” the lieutenant conceded in a doubtful tone. “Who’s this doctor supposed to be?”

  The soldier cursed. He had just trapped himself. “Geekler. He died during a firefight outside the city. It’s his body that you found on board.”

  “Obviously!” Lafora said sarcastically. “What bad luck. The only person who could back you up is dead. I’ve wasted enough time on you!”

  She flipped the circle of metal that blocked the peephole and left. Despairingly, Laorcq cried, “At least notify the health service!”

  Without stopping, the lieutenant replied, “But of course, as monsieur wishes! While you’re waiting, please get acquainted with your new friend…”

  Laorcq looked around the dark and smelly cell, equipped with a bunkbed. The weak lighting made it hard to tell what was on the top bunk. Grimy, hairy tentacles hung down to the floor. An acidic smell, halfway between damp dog and wild animal, flooded Laorcq’s nostrils.

  These clues helped him guess the species of his cellmate: a Sirius ape. An alien race commonly known as “freeriders.” The apes owed this nickname to their unusual physiognomy. Endowed with eight tentacles in place of arms and legs, thin, strong tendons served them as skeletons. Capable of extending to three times their normal length, these creatures could stretch out so thin that they could slide into the neck of a bottle. This ability allowed them to sneak onto ships through exhaust conduits or ventilation ducts.

  “A freerider. It’s been a long time…” sighed the commander.

  Memories flooded his mind. At the height of the war, when the conflict with the Orcants had threatened to spread, he had been sent to a world infested with ape-octopi. After being invaded by these vermin, the soldiers tried to seal up their barracks. But nothing could stop the simians.

  To the great displeasure of the humans, they treated themselves to the army’s provisions, especially the alcohol. Any food left unwatched would be reduced to crumbs. The smallest crack was sufficient to provide passage for a horde of starving extraterrestrials.

  Exasperated, the general in charge of the sector had resigned himself to quartering his garrison in an orbital station. The order was given to use airlocks and spacesuits at all times on the planet.

  Unfortunately for Laorcq, the presence of the Sirius ape proved that the prison’s security was first-rate. Otherwise, the freerider would have escaped long ago.

  Vexed, he lay down on the reeking bunk and closed his eyes.

  During the following three weeks, only meals gave rhythm to the days. This was particularly annoying to the soldier. The beasts that had been meant for Geekler were in the process of disseminating a virus capable of decimating the population of Kenval—he was sure of it.

  Every time he heard steps in the corridor, he waited for a frantic police officer to come get him. Lafora would remember his words, once the first signs of the illness appeared.

  After a dozen days without any notable events, Laorcq began to question himself. During each info flash, he scrutinized the screen in his room, but nothing seemed to have happened.

  He was missing something extremely important. Tormented by this nasty feeling, he soon became sure that he had misinterpreted his enemy’s motives.

  All the indications aligned with his hypothesis. Idernax was going to show up with a treatment and present itself as a savior, he told himself, repeatedly seeking the flaw in his logic.

  And yet, the facts contradicted him. He was in a fog, and he hated it. “If they weren’t trying to release a new virus to profit from a vaccine,” he thought aloud, “what’s Morsak up to?”

  The conference was boring Idernax’s CEO to death. It was about the ecosystem on Alpha Centauri, where his company had founded an extremely profitable agro-food business. Investors and politicians filled the amphitheater.

  Cut off from the outside, the circular room occupied the entirety of a mirrored crystal bubble. Morsak was becoming impatient, tired of playing the corporate leader. He welcomed the beep
indicating that it was time for his appointment with relief.

  He stood with complete indifference. A number of seats were empty, and many of the attendees were busy digesting their meals, their minds a million miles away from the conditions among the natives on Alpha Centauri.

  Morsak walked up the aisle between the rows of seats and headed for the exit. Outside the spherical building, the sounds of Nogartha assailed him. Despite the driving rain, the inhabitants of Earth’s capital filled the streets with a teeming crowd.

  Morsak stopped on the corner of a street, protected from the downpour by an overhanging building. A flotilla of automobiles flowed past him, as densely packed as the pedestrians.

  He stroked his short beard with one hand and sighed, “If only I could leave my affairs here behind and go supervise things on Kenval in person…”

  In complete disregard for the rules of the road, a midnight blue limousine cut off several other vehicles and stopped in front of Morsak. The luxurious car’s antigravity mechanism held it ten inches above the pavement. A door slid open along the length of the body, which dripped with rain. Morsak climbed into the limousine, settled in comfortably, and closed the door with a nonchalant gesture.

  The leather-upholstered compartment sheltered a couple. A white kimono with a black pattern did not manage to conceal the man’s thinness. A hateful look shone on his face, which was covered with constantly changing geometrical tattoos.

  Morsak noticed that Sarge was still playing at being a Yakuza. He considered him completely stupid but, while ogling the woman, admitted that he had good taste in babes.

  She was barely of age. Holograms projected by her earrings partly concealed her nude body. The curves of her voluptuous chest softened the effect of her hormone-enhanced musculature. Cascading over her shoulders, her long pink hair framed her round, snub-nosed face. A smile spread across her plump lips: she had noticed Morsak’s attention.