23
With the door opened, Dekker stepped over boxes and scattered items that had been jostled and shaken to the ground by the impact of the Raza 9 explosion. A dim set of utility lights hung overhead, burning on an emergency power supply. Vesuvius followed him step for step with a hand on her hilt.
“It’s definitely a giant safe,” Dekker said, overturning items that seemed likely to have value.
“Yeah,” she agreed, kicking over a box filled with dehydrated foodstuffs. “But most of this stuff only has value on expansion worlds.” She rummaged through a nearby desk. “I mean, where are the stacks of credits or expensive art pieces?”
He shrugged as Vesuvius picked up a ledger book.
“Azhooliens are known for their business acumen—living long lives by taking over new hosts when the old ones wear out. It gives a person a certain perspective, right?” Her eyes scanned the accounts. “Why would someone bother with a written log?”
“Because criminals don’t want to keep something that can be hacked through the TransNet.” Dekker pulled open the doors on a bank of rigid, vertical lockers. Bags stuffed with fine powder-form recreational drugs lined the shelves.
Vesuvius flipped a page and her face fell.
“What is it?”
She scanned the list. Renata. Meena. Natalia. Isabella. Rodrigo. Fatema. Abigail. Julietta.
“Names. So many names… and amounts ‘invested’ to track the profitability of the gang’s ‘investment.’ It also records which brothels they forced them into… they’re all over Galilee.” She handed it to Dekker with disgust.
He flipped through the book with similar revulsion. The back page had a separate list of their accounts, business shells, and investments. “That’s weird. They’ve certainly got this structured like a regular business, but they didn’t seem to diversify much… they’ve pumped a lot of investment money into Jagaracorps.”
Vesuvius kicked over a small lock-box. “Who cares about some criminals investment portfolio? We’ve got to help those women.”
“I agree, but we have to make sure that the constables aren’t dirty first. They’re the only ones who can take them down correctly… unless you want to move to Galilee and keep the streets clean.” He looked down at the contents of the spilled lockbox she’d tipped. “There are your valuables.”
Together they crouched down and sifted through the boxes contents. Several ancient pieces lay inside: rolled up pieces of art, a bag filled with precious gems and minerals, a small stack of high-value credits, and several religious artifacts and oddities that might have value to rich collectors.
Vesuvius combed through the credit chips. “There’s about enough here to pay Doc for all those repairs and upgrades to the Crusader,” she said, but Dekker’s attention remained fixed on pieces of paper encased in protective duraglass: torn-out pages from an ancient book. “What is that?”
“The Book of Aang,” he said in hushed tones. “It looks like some kind of map.”
“Treasure?”
Dekker shook his head. “Not exactly.” They tossed the rest of the room in case there were other valuables. There weren’t any. They exited the room with the box of treasure and the Azhooliens’ damning ledger. “What do you want to do with the rest?” He asked his partner.
Vesuvius scowled at the room filled with drugs and what they represented. “Burn it.”
24
Merrick pointed to empty shelves and floor space where the Dozen unloaded the items they’d recovered or taken from the Azhoolien thugs. His prefabricated unit wasn’t much different from the rest of the homes nearby except that his had a large red cross on it. It sat on the edge of town, abutting a deciduous forest.
He leaned against the side of his sparse building, taken by a coughing fit. Finally, Merrick slumped against the wall and spat out a wad of black effluence.
He wiped his mouth and turned back to his guests. “Sorry. That’s the crud I was telling you about. Most of us in the outliers have it—it comes after contact with an odd kind of invasive fungus that grows out this way.”
Ahmed eyed the black splatter Merrick had hacked up. “You’re sure these meds will help?”
Merrick grimaced as he nodded. “The odds? I give it about fifty percent.”
Ahmed tossed him a package with the medicine. “Then you better take some.” He crossed his arms, intent on watching the med student treat himself to make sure it happened. “You can’t help anybody else if you’re sick.”
He scowled, but tore open the package. He tossed back two different pills and gave himself an injection.
Guy entered with the last of the supplies they’d commandeered from the criminals’ compound. “We’re a long way from Newhope,” he said, leading a caravan outside under the afternoon sky.
The village that Merrick’s small clinic served didn’t look like much. Most of the residents worked contracts to do remote work for off-world employers via the TransNet or labored in the fields, mines, or grow factories that dotted the surrounding landscape. Small pockets of industry had sprung up all around Galilee in tiny towns like Merrick’s.
“Is it always so empty?” Vesuvius asked.
Merrick scanned the vacant, dirt streets. “Not usually. But folks have been disappearing—usually they are in the advanced stage of illness and they wander out into the woods in a fever—though we never find their bodies. But also, folk have disappeared who aren’t even sick. Now, folks don’t go out much at all… I wouldn’t go that way,” he called out.
Guy turned back from the edge of the building. He’d been exploring near the woods.
“That’s the stuff,” Merrick pointed to the gray and black mottled fungus that draped over the undergrowth and adhered to tree trunks like spattered slime. “The locals call it the Creeping Black. It’s what makes folks sick.”
Guy stepped back with a frown. “Can’t you get rid of it?”
Merrick shook his head. “I wish. It’s super responsive; if we burn it away, it grows back and then seems resistant to fire. I’ve never seen anything like it. Creeping Black almost has more in common with the super bugs that developed in the late twenty-first century than with other fungi.”
“Speaking of fun-guys,” Dekker bobbed his head down the alley. “There goes one now.”
A singed, shifty looking Azhoolien slinked across an alley. He staggered on exhausted feet and pushed his way into the building
“He must’ve been running since the explosion to get here on foot. What’s inside that building?”
“A tavern,” Merrick said.
“Great,” said Vesuvius. “Who else is in the mood for a drink?”
25
The parched criminal chugged his second bottle of water when he heard the noise. He whirled to find a man standing in front of him.
“I think we’re about to have a problem, you and I.”
With sweaty, silver locks falling off his shoulders, the thug played coy. “So thirsty. I didn’t know the bar was tended, sorry. Just ran twenty clicks… I’ll pay for the drinks.”
“That’s not it at all. You see, my name’s Dekker. You and your crew tried to shoot down my ship.” He pointed through a window where the cockpit of the Rickshaw Crusader was barely visible.
The criminal reached for his sidearm, but found himself suddenly surrounded; at least ten weapons pointed back at him. He surrendered his gun and the Investigators tied him to a chair, moments later. Merrick finally entered and watched the proceedings, but he didn’t recognize the alien.
Vesuvius pulled out the criminals’ ledger and began reading names off of the list. “Renata. Meena. Natalia. Isabella…”
Merrick startled at the names. He’d only heard them just now, but obviously recognized some of them.
By contrast, the Azhoolien looked confused. Regardless, he promised, “I’m not going to tell you anything.”
Vesuvius shot him a baleful glare. “We have ways of making you talk.”
Guy suddenly straightened. “Oh! Ide
a. I have an idea,” he announced, and then sprinted through the front door.
Vesuvius towered over the Azhoolien. He merely sneered in response. “Tell us about your trafficking operations,” she insisted.
The Azhoolien looked at her. “What? We don’t do that.”
Vesuvius slapped the man across his face. Blood and spittle flew from his mouth. “Men like you make me sick,” she hissed.
“Seriously,lady. Its not our style.”
“All those names? We know what they mean.” Vesuvius pulled a pointy dagger to threaten him when Guy returned with a jar of clear fluid. One of Doc Johnson’s business stickers and a poison warning labeled its contents. “I got some o’ Doc’s Leerium juice. I thought we’d prank the new guys with it,” he grinned. “But this’ll do, too.”
The criminal sneered again, ignoring Guy. “You really better check your facts. Those are just customers of ours. Azhooliens have no need for sexual reproduction. We find the whole concept distasteful, honestly.”
Guy sauntered over to their prisoner. Rock joined him and pried open his mouth while Guy poured the Leerium down his throat. Much of it spluttered and splashed out, but some of it got in.
“You fancy Azhooliens and your energy based blah, blah, blah,” Guy mocked. “At the end of the day, you still rely on a host body to carry you… a host that has its own set of weaknesses.”
The prisoner grinned smugly, maintaining that famous Azhoolien composure which often ruled board rooms and offered superb diplomacy in corporate settings. And then the smile cracked, and he began laughing manically. He chortled like a donkey and grinned like a sloppy drunk.
“He’s all yours,” Guy stepped back and waved to Dekker and Vesuvius.
“The names of these people you’ve been trafficking,” Vesuvius started.
Their prey hung his head lopsidedly and slurred his words. “Told ya the truth. We don’t do that sorta thing.”
“Then who are they?” Dekker took over with a more level headed line of questioning.
“Just random people. Random targets.”
Dekker raised an eyebrow. “For what. For whom?”
The man shrugged and made an I don’t know sound. “Not sure why he needs em. Sciencey fella. Works for Jagaracorps.” He blinked unevenly and saliva pooled at the edge of his lips.
“Why?”
He shrugged again.
Dekker pressed for more. “So you guys just run drugs, extort the locals, and kidnap folks?”
“We also tried to start a cult a while back… but w’eventually gave those guys to the scientist too. The fancier fellas… needed something to believe in,” he grinned. “Mostly rich folk with too much money: antiques, and books, and art stuff.”
“Where can I find this science guy?”
“Mang… no, his name was Meng… I think. Brain’s fuzzy.”
“You can tell me where you delivered the victims to?”
The Azhoolien nodded. He looked up and then his face fell. Juice had recorded the entire confession.
“You’re planning to cooperate with the authorities and testify against the criminal bosses you worked for, right?” Dekker’s question carried more weight as a threat than a question.
Their victim blanched at the thought. Momentarily, it seemed like nausea overwhelmed him.
“If you don’t, we’ll give you, and this recording, to the first Azhoolien we can find in Newhope.”
The criminal swallowed the lump in his throat and nodded.
“Excellent.” Dekker began jotting notes. “Now tell me: where did you deliver these captives to… where will I find Meng?”
26
Dekker and Vesuvius led the way, following their drunk informant’s information. They’d left him tied to the bar rail in the building where they’d found him; Merrick had insisted on joining their party, however.
The dirt path described by their Azhoolien snitch ended abruptly. Trees towered overhead and viscous splatters of Creeping Black spread away from the relatively safe path in broad swaths. At the trailhead, the ground browned, parched as if baked by a solar flare. Only a few small pipes protruded up from the ground to indicate it was anything other than a barren patch of earth.
“Why do I have such a bad feeling about this?” Mustache asked ominously.
Guy looked over his shoulder again and muttered a string of paranoid curses. “I’m tellin ya… something isn’t quite right about this all.” He whirled suddenly and stared into the forest. “Something… someone, is watching us.”
Vesuvius smirked. “Let them watch,” she winked and grabbed Dekker’s butt.
He jumped with surprise. The rest of the Dozen laughed, breaking the tension.
“Looks like someone finally got the drop on our boss,” Guy laughed.
Mustache mused, “I thought it was virtually impossible to surprise him.”
Dekker merely shook his head and brushed it off. She may have released the pressure from the situation, but Dekker wouldn’t let her off lightly. As he walked by, Dekker whispered with a wink, “Paybacks gonna be sweet—you got it coming, now, Viv.”
“Promises, promises,” Vesuvius bit her lower lip. For her, tension continued to mount.
Dekker twisted the cap on one of the pipes. It clicked, and the ground trembled slightly. A hidden elevator rose from the soil wearing a toupee made of turf.
The Investigators split into two groups of seven and descended the lift in two groups.
Dekker and his crew entered the subterranean complex first. He scouted ahead, but there did not seem to be any immediate dangers. The rooms appeared to be some kind of laboratory. A painted symbol on the wall indicated it once belonged to Jagaracorps, although the company had re-branded and updated their logo at least fifteen years ago. The construction must’ve been completed prior to that.
“It’s vacant,” Guy stated the obvious as they cleared the largest research bay of the laboratory. The far wall was lined with pods intended to house specimens. Cadaverous husks littered the floors within many of them, sample codes scrawled above the doors with erasable markers labeled them with batch numbers. Safety warnings were affixed above temperature gauges and charts indicating that the pods may have been re-purposed, formerly massive refrigerators.
One pod’s door lay busted open. Someone had labeled the pod’s occupant as Specimen GRRZ. An uneasy silence fell over the room as all eyes fell on the empty cell. A chill breeze stood the hairs on the back of their heads.
Dekker turned and spotted a tunnel that laid open. A subterranean rail system stretched into the blackness of the magsled tube. The darkness seemed to call to them with a slight growl as if the unknown monsters in the dark expressed displeasure at their invasion.
A door suddenly slid open, and all guns snapped to acquire targets. Matty held his hands up. “Whoa. It’s just us… what’s got you all so jumpy?”
Guy tried to inject some humor. “Just speculating as to what a Grrz is and why it hates vowels so much.”
Nobody laughed.
From the back of the pack, Merrick rushed forward to a table where a human corpse lay pinned open. Pain tugged at his face. “It… it’s Quade.” His voice cracked. “I felt so sure that we would find him alive…” His organs laid in examination trays, abandoned to the elements.
Dekker nodded apologetically, but poked the organs with a forefinger. They’d stiffened somewhat in the open air, but remained spongy except for the dried skin that’d formed around the edges exposed to the air. “It can’t have been too long since whoever did this took off. Guy, what’s that thing you're always saying?”
“Let’s blow something up?”
“The other thing.”
“Someone’s watching us?”
“That’s the one.” Dekker scanned the room. “Everyone, find whatever intel you can find. It looks like whoever ran this place left in a hurry. Maybe they got clumsy and left us a clue.”
The investigators broke apart in clusters and started their search.
Vesuvius scowled from inside the Grrz chamber. Dekker caught sight of her frown and joined her. A ratty nest of fabric scraps and detritus lay on the ground. She pried it apart to reveal a macabre collection of trophies. Half shredded shoes mixed with an assortment of watches and a snarl of jewelry.
She extracted a bracelet and rubbed the dirt away to reveal the engraving. Meena.
Vesuvius recited the names from the list like a mantra. “Renata. Meena. Natalia. Isabella…” her voice trailed off.
“Whatever the grrz are,” Dekker agreed, “they are definitely not friendly.” As if in response to his statement, a roar echoed from the reaches of the tunnel, followed moments later by an even louder screech. Something was coming.
27
A sound like rushing wind rippled through the tunnel as the creatures descended through the dark. Vesuvius pushed Merrick into a nearby specimen chamber, the one labeled GRRY, hoping it would help protect the noncombatant.
Guy ran his fingers through his hair. “Gee, it sure wouldda been nice if you could just clear the whole tube with your big, fancy, reliquary gun,” he said.
Dekker shrugged sheepishly, internally lamenting how he’d left it in safe storage for this mission.
With a terrible shriek the fiends burst from the dark like hornets from a ground nest. Though humanoid, they rampaged on all fours with massive forearms and shoulders. Spikes and bony protrusions scraped against the tables and benches that the Dozen used as cover from the oily-skinned beasts.
“Fire!” Dekker howled, blasting the berserkers nearest him.
His first shot barely dented the creature where its bony plating protected it, but the next bullet found its mark.
The grrz’s roar turned to a gurgle, and it fell dead, eyes rolling black as it leaked red.
More grrz continued coming, crawling even along the ceiling with their powerful grips.
A massive grrz towered over Vesuvius and stared down at her with intelligent, yellow eyes. They burned with animal rage as she slashed at it. The grrz blocked her blades with its hardened, chitinous spikes.
Spawn of Ganymede Page 6
