They chased the frankensteined rig down with ease. It only took a couple shots to knock the engines out, sending the craft crashing down on the outskirts of Newhope. It finally skidded to a halt where MEA constabulary vehicles surrounded the downed ship.
With the Crusader hovering just nearby, they watched on the news as officers rushed into the ship. A few moments later, they brought the remaining Azhoolien criminals outside wearing restraints. The camera panned to the bewildered Merrick who stood with an MEA commander who directed the raid from his mobile command central.
The Azhoolien squinted at Merrick while the officers dragged the criminal towards a detention vehicle. He screamed threats against Merrick’s life. “As soon as I get out of prison… I’ve got connections! I will get out—and then you’ll be sorry you were ever born,” he shrieked as an officer grabbed him by the silver hair and shoved him into the detention pod.
Shock plastered across Merrick’s face and the commander waived the cameras off. Officers tried to block them from recording anything further, a sure sign that he’d screwed up by bringing his witness to the pursuit.
Vesuvius bit her lower lip. “You know that MEA Witness Protection sucks, right?”
Dekker sighed. “I know. I may have a few ideas on how to keep him off the grid.”
36
The Rickshaw Crusader angled for entry and into the hangar attached to the Dozen’s base of operations. Matty cursed beneath his breath.
“Peace For All Races garbage,” Dekker muttered as he noticed it too. PFAR punks painted giant letters across the building’s exterior walls.
Race trash.
Murderers.
Die Decker’s Dozen!
Guy snorted and slapped Dekker on the shoulder. “They didn’t even spell your name correctly… and it’s literally on the sign only a few meters away.”
Dekker could only frown. It wasn’t an altogether uncommon occurrence. Reef City, perched atop the organic continent, had become a hotbed of social justice warriors in recent years.
The ship landed and powered down as the crew wandered out and back into their home. A darkness seemed to fall over them on the last leg of the return trip. Without Mustache’s good-natured ribbing to guide them home, they each felt a bit lost.
Dekker scowled. They could clean the building’s exterior later; first, the Dozen had to deal with losing another friend.
He paced outside the entry to the mess. The guys sat and slumped, awaiting the usual debriefing. They wore tired, gray faces.
Vesuvius paused before going in. “I think they need you in there,” she said with raw emotion.
He sighed and rummaged through his hair, looking for the necessary words. The flash of old memories he’d felt in the grrz’s grip lingered like a bad sunset in his mind. “I know what I am… I don’t think I can be whatever it is people need. There’s stuff in my past that… I dunno…”
She crossed her arms in a huff. “This crap again? Maybe if you’d open up and ever tell me about this mysterious past.” Her voice got sharper with every word. “How long have I known you now?” She rolled her eyes and growled as she pushed past him. “Maybe this was all a mistake.”
Dekker watched her go. She paused at the door and spat a final barb.
“I thought you were all about this family thing… and now you suddenly go cold and shut down when your family needs you most?” She turned her back to him.
He stared at her from the hangar where she joined the others in the mess. His shoulders sagged and his chest tightened. Something in his heart hardened. He didn’t truly believe Vesuvius had meant it, but Dekker was driven by duty; he owed it to his crew to say something in the wake of Mustache’s loss. He could talk with Vesuvius later… if he could somehow first reconcile his internal guilt.
A grrz goliath had nearly killed him beneath that window, but what hurt him most was the wound that had taken decades to scab over—and now it had burst open again. Guilt over the possibility of moving past his great love. Shame for desiring a new family—as if anything could ever replace what had been taken from him. Dekker’s jaw clenched as he stood in the doorway, encouraging himself to enter.
Vesuvius scowled and refused to look back at Dekker who paced in the hangar. She pulled out a collection of daggers and practiced throwing them across the room at a dartboard before stalking back angrily to retrieve them and begin again. She threw several rounds, losing herself in the automatic action.
Dekker steeled himself as he watched her, eyes flitting to each crew member. At least we got paid this time. Dekker finally walked into the room, ready to begin the debriefing when Vesuvius whirled on her heels and launched a blade. Dekker yelled and ducked a little too late. The dagger lodged in his forearm, sinking nearly to the hilt.
He bit the meat of his lower lip, barely keeping it together. “Ffffff…” Everyone hung on the edge of their seats, suddenly brought to life by the drama in their living room.
Guy nearly fell off his chair and whispered to Rock, “I think I’ve known him the longest—and I’ve never heard him drop an F-bomb.”
“Ffffrrarrk!” He howled as Vesuvius tried to yank the blade out of his arm. “You—you stabbed me!” Dekker stammered.
“Oh, quiet down you big baby. It’s just a tiny throwing knife.”
“It’s the principle of the thing! Besides, I thought you never miss-”
“Maybe I didn’t,” she snapped, immediately regretting her words, uncertain if they were true or not.
Ahmed tried to assist, but shook his head. “I think he’s got to go see a doctor. It’s lodged in the bone.”
“I’ll drive,” Guy hopped to his feet and led the way.
Dekker and Ahmed walked ahead of Vesuvius who trailed behind out of guilty obligation.
Outside the hangar, a scruffy man looked up from under the tangles of his hair. With his only arm he clutched an old rag. A bucket filled with dirty water sat between his feet as he scrubbed the painted insults.
Dekker furrowed his brow. “Dirk?”
Dirk looked startled. “Uh… sorry. I didn’t know you were here,” he said sheepishly. “Those PFAR idiots don’t know what they’re talking about.”
They walked over to the former Investigator who’d been rubbing away the spiteful graffiti as best as he could. Dirk did not look well.
“How are you? It’s been months since we heard from you.”
Dirk managed a shrug even with his slumped shoulders. “You know. Hanging in there. It’s hard—no work yet. But I’m keeping busy with… stuff.”
He tossed the rag into his bucket and exhaled; a tight breath caught in his chest. Dirk noticed the blood oozing from Dekker’s arm and the knife lodged in it. The pain cracked for a moment and he managed a smile. “Glad to see that nothing has changed since I left.”
Dekker nodded slowly. “You need a job?”
“Not much use on the battlefield with the old flipper,” Dirk waggled his arm stump where it had been severed at the bicep.
Dekker bobbed his head towards the vandalism. “We could use something of a site manager. I’m sure that you’d be able to scare away those PFAR punks and manage our affairs whenever we’re off-world.”
Dirk raised an eyebrow and took a step back. “I appreciate it, but, we’re friends and all and I…”
“Nonsense,” Dekker insisted, glancing back at Vesuvius. “We’re family.”
Vesuvius shook her head with measured grace. “Come on,” she insisted. “I’ll get you set up while they take Dekker to the hospital.”
Dekker glanced back as his escorts took him to the vehicle, unsure what it meant that she wasn’t coming with him to the hospital. He stuffed that uncertainty down inside, sure that he’d done the right thing by Dirk.
Suddenly and overwhelmingly tired, he settled into the back seat and nearly drifted off to sleep while Guy prattled on about his own train-wreck of a love life and how he had never been stabbed by a girlfriend.
Dekker smiled as h
e drifted off. His guilty conscience seemed to fade. He knew deep down that Aleel would be proud of him.
37
Deep in the heart of the Jagaracorps’ transfer hub, a lonely grrz staggered through the tunnels, drawn by a memory of the last voice speaking panicked-like into the hive-mind. It was the closest other voice he had heard in the sudden aftermath of silence.
Its legs were burned from the recent fire, but the thing could still move. It knew there must still be others, and the grrz knew that it could not let their kind die out. A self-preserving instinct motivated it more than the pangs of hunger in its belly or scorched skin on its haunches.
Finally, it arrived at the tunnel’s terminal. It squeezed around the giant steel pod and scratched its way through the door to a well lit room. The room felt cold and sterile, like the grrz’s prey preferred. The environment worsened its hunger.
The pungent aroma of flesh drew its attention, and it found a human body. It was dead and so it couldn’t breathe in the spores necessary for incubating any more grrzkind. It filled its belly instead and then lumbered further into the lab
A loud hiss startled the grrz, and it shrieked and recoiled. It was in no condition to fight right now.
Atop a table, a machine had opened automatically. The light panel on its front shone with the color of leaves, intriguing the creature. It moved cautiously and investigated.
The grrz felt a presence within and used its clawed hands to gently lift the object from its cradle. It sniffed the large seed which pulsed with a kind of presence—not unlike the hive-mind. The thing was young—new, even. It did not understand what it was, did not know its purpose.
You are a grrz, the creature lied to comfort it.
The seed took comfort in the reassurance.
I will protect you.
Are you my parent?
No. But I will teach you our way. We will be one grrzkind again.
Will you love me?
The grrz cocked its head, confused at such a foreign concept. It did not understand.
I will show you, if you will open your mind, the seed requested.
The grrz sat on its haunches and held the seedchild to its chest. Loneliness reverberated through the part of its mind that yearned to be filled with the pulsing echoes of the hive mind; perhaps this love could fill that? It snorted a hot blast of air and decided to let the seed teach it.
An overwhelming sensation of pleasure and purpose filled the creature as the new sensation flooded its inner being. It still did not understand love, but experiencing it momentarily shook the grrz to its core.
We must find the others, the grrz insisted.
Others?
Grrzkind. There must be more of us. We must show them love. They must know.
The impromptu parent rushed from the room while cradling the seed. Staying in the lit room made it feel uncomfortable and vulnerable to attack. It knew one thing for certain: the seedchild must be protected at all cost.
The End
About the author:
Christopher D. Schmitz is the traditionally published and self-published author of both fiction and nonfiction. When he is not writing or working with teenagers he might be found at comic conventions as a panelist or guest. He has been featured on television, podcasts, and every other medium he can get into. He runs a blog for indie authors.
Always interested in stories, media such as comic books, movies, 80s cartoons, and books called to him at a young age—especially sci-fi and fantasy. He lives in rural Minnesota with his family where he drinks unsafe amounts of coffee. The caffeine shakes keep the cold from killing them.
Schmitz also holds a Master’s Degree and freelances for local newspapers. He is available for speaking engagements, interviews, etc. via the contact form and links on his website or via social media.
Dear reader,
Thank you for reading my book. If you enjoyed it or find anything helpful within its pages won’t you please take a moment to leave me a review at your favorite retailer? Sharing this title with your friends on social media and requesting it via your local library will also help immensely. Discoverability is the lifeblood of success for authors and we can’t continue writing without help!
I also hope you will keep tabs on me by joining my mailing list. You can get free books and other updates by signing up for that list at:
www.AuthorChristopherDSchmitz.com.
Thanks for reading and sharing!
Christopher D Schmitz
Discover Fiction Titles by Christopher D Schmitz
The Last Black Eye of Antigo Vale
Burning the God of Thunder
Piano of the Damned
Shadows of a Superhero
Bridge of Se7en
Grandma Ethel’s Donuts and Hollowpoints
The TGSPGoSSP 2-Part Trilogy
Father of the Esurient Child
Dekker’s Dozen: A Waxing Arbolean Moon
Dekker’s Dozen: Weeds of Eden
Dekker’s Dozen: Spawn of Ganymede
Dekker’s Dozen: The Seed Child of Sippar Sulcus
Dekker’s Dozen: The Last Watchmen
Wolf of the Tesseract
Wolves of the Tesseract: Taking of the Prime
Wolves of the Tesseract: Through the Darque Gates of Koth
The Kakos Realm: Grinden Proselyte
The Kakos Realm: Rise of the Dragon Impervious
The Kakos Realm: Death Upon the Fields of Splendor
Anthologies No.1
Anthologies No.2
Discover NonFiction Titles by Christopher D Schmitz
The Indie Author’s Bible
Why Your Pastor Left
John in the John
Gospels in the John
Please Visit
http://www.authorchristopherdschmitz.com
Sign-up on the mailing list for exclusives and extras
other ways to connect with me:
Follow me on Twitter: https://twitter.com/cylonbagpiper
Follow me on Goodreads: www.goodreads.com/author/show/129258.Christopher_Schmitz
Like/Friend me on Facebook:
https://www.facebook.com/authorchristopherdschmitz
Subscribe to my blog: https://authorchristopherdschmitz.wordpress.com
Favorite me at Smashwords: www.smashwords.com/profile/view/authorchristopherdschmitz
Spawn of Ganymede Page 9
