by Mia R Kleve
“I like how you think! Hang on!” Jost stomped on the brakes and spun the wheel. The rumbler skidded sideways, the tires squealing. Jost released the brake and accelerated. Half the tires tore up the manicured grass along the driveway as the vehicle slewed toward the gate.
The rumbler hit the closed metal gates off center. The left gate swung away while the impact ripped the right gate off its hinges and flung it into the yard. The rumbler rocketed up the fifty-meter-long drive and screeched to a halt behind an expensive sports car.
“Nice Bugatti!” Jost remarked. “I would have hated to crush it.”
“I’m sure he has a car or two to spare.” Lars unbuckled. “Drop the ramp.”
“I’m jamming local phone service, and I’ve taken the estate’s Aethernet node offline,” Ozor remarked as she skittered down the ramp. Qivek scurried up a leg to sit on her back.
“It should buy us a few minutes at least.”
Lars followed the Peacemakers. Additional lights winked on, illuminating the house and yard around it.
Barking sounded as a quartet of Dobermans dashed around the corner of the building, teeth bared. Ozor raised her front legs, reared up, and hissed. The dogs fled in panic, yelping into the darkness.
“I didn’t want to have to hurt them,” Ozor remarked. “Animals don’t know any better.”
A gunshot popped, and a bullet ricocheted off Ozor’s carapace. Lars ducked behind the spider’s bulk and drew his pistol.
“These primates know better,” Qivek sneered. Crack! A man cried out.
“Try not to kill the hired security.” Lars peered over Ozor’s abdomen. One man lay on the ground, whimpering. Another crouched at the entrance to the house, occluded by shrubbery. He peered around the corner.
The laser whined and tracked toward the entrance. Snap! The pulse sheared off half the bush and left the remainder aflame. The guard retreated.
“Police! Drop your guns and come out with your hands up!” Lars shouted. He added, “The Peacemakers can and will use lethal force if you resist.”
Ozor sidled up for a better view of the entrance. Lars kept the spider between himself and the entrance while watching for additional attackers from the corners of the house or upper story windows. The guard hunkered in the entrance, his eyes going wide when he saw the spider. Three red dots appeared on the steps and swept up to his chest. He had nowhere to flee. He tossed away his pistol and raised his hands.
Lars went to the injured guard and collected his sidearm. Blood soaked the man’s shoulder, and a spray of blood decorated a shattered brick in the wall. “Tell your buddies this job isn’t worth dying over.” Hopefully they weren’t suiting up in CASPers.
“I can’t. Something is jamming our communications,” the guard replied.
Oops. “Open the door and yell to them,” Lars said.
The guard tentatively opened the door. “It’s Armin. These are Peacemakers and police.”
Lars stepped forward but kept to the side so Ozor could shoot past him. “If you cooperate, you will not be arrested!”
After a moment, a door on the far side of the room beyond the foyer opened. Two men in suits stepped out, holding their guns aloft by the barrel. Lars beckoned them forward.
Both eyed the Tortantula as they reached the porch. “Mr. Erhardt is waiting for you in his study,” one of them said.
“Take care of your friend.” Lars gestured to the wounded guard. “Don’t give the Peacemakers cause to shoot you.”
They both nodded and tossed aside their weapons. Lars marched through the door. Light spilled from the door the guards had emerged from and left ajar. Lars kept his pistol ready. Erhardt may have told his men not to throw their lives away, but he might be willing to resist, if nothing else than to force their hand rather than take him alive.
Konrad Erhardt sat behind a huge antique desk. The décor in the room was worth more than Lars made in the last decade. His eyes flicked to the door as Ozor squeezed through it.
“Special Detective Nilsson. I’d protest you’re outside of your jurisdiction, but I don’t think such niceties matter to your friends.”
“You would be correct,” Ozor said.
“Then I suppose I’ll have to let you arrest me.” Erhardt placed his arms on his desk. “I suppose you’ll want to handcuff me, even if I promise not to run.”
“First we need you to answer some questions,” Lars said, stepping toward the desk. “Why is Binnig interfering in the investigation of their stolen manufactories?”
“I’m afraid you’ll have to wait to talk to my lawyer.” Erhardt smiled. “I have the right to remain silent.”
Qivek jumped on the desk. “I hoped I’d get a chance to use this.” He jabbed a syringe into Erhardt’s neck.
“Ow! What did you do to me?” Erhardt clasped his hand over the angry red dot on his neck.
Qivek brandished the syringe. “These are interrogation nanites. The more you think about lying, the more of your brain they will disassemble neuron-by-neuron. A primate like you can’t have too many neurons to spare, so you’d better tell the truth.”
“You can’t do this! I have rights!” Erhardt moved his fingers from his neck to his temple.
“Maybe in your Human courts. Since Lockerbie called in the Peacemakers, this is Galactic Union business and falls under our jurisdiction.” Qivek squinted. “Do you feel a buzzing in your skull? I bet the nanites are ready to snip apart some brain cells.”
Erhardt paled. “No! Stop them! I’ll tell you what you want!”
“Let’s start with the manufactories. Where are they?” Qivek waved the syringe.
“The one in Korea is in an old warehouse not far from Kaesong. There’s a bunch of buildings full of relics from preunification days, so it made a convenient haystack,” Erhardt said.
“What about the German one?” Lars asked.
Erhardt grimaced. “It was taken to Hamburg, but I don’t know if we can get it back.”
“Why not?” Qivek demanded, gesturing with the syringe.
“The people we hired claim they now belong to the Red Justice Front!” Erhardt replied. “This particular branch is Kirmizi Adalet. Not only do they demand restitution of all public welfare benefits, they blame the aliens as much as the wealthy for their woes.”
“Now they have their own war machine factory,” Lars muttered. “This can’t be good.”
“Turn off the nanites!” Erhardt cried. “I told you the truth!”
“We need the specific locations of both assembly lines.” Lars pointed to a slate. “You better type fast before your nose starts bleeding.”
* * *
Jost stood along the Bugatti, admiring the sports car. “I’d love to give this a spin. Can we seize it like the American police?”
“No, and we don’t have time,” Lars replied. “We need to get to Hamburg.”
“I’ll be back, darling.” Jost kissed the roof of the car and trotted back to the rumbler.
“I knew the Peacemakers didn’t mess around, but brain-eating interrogation nanites? People will freak out if they hear about it,” Lars remarked as they boarded the LLR.
“If any remain in his system to analyze, they’ll read as medical nanites designed for migraines and concussions,” Qivek said.
“They’re designed to read as benign? Clever.” Lars didn’t approve, but he admitted the results were handy. Erhardt had confessed and promised to turn himself over to the local precinct.
“No. They’re brain injury nanites,” Qivek said. “If you stick them in someone without an injury or malady, they’ll buzz around a while looking for something to repair. The stress makes them more active.”
“You tricked him?” Lars laughed. “That’s more fiendish than the real thing.”
“You’d rather I melt his brain? You primates are crazy,” Qivek said.
* * *
“We’re approaching the address,” Jost announced. “Want me to drive through the gate again?”
“These guys won’t
surrender as quickly as Erhardt’s security,” Lars said. “Do you have a plan besides storm the warehouse?”
“Sure we don’t need a warrant, Special Lars?” Qivek cracked. They’d studied the layout of the old logistics facility, one of dozens south of the Elbe River. A chain-link fence surrounded it, but images didn’t show any formal security.
“The facility lacks an Aether Net connection,” Ozor stated. “It is the only facility with power in this area without at least a basic connection.”
“So much for hacking,” Lars commented. “The best cyber security—unplug.”
“It also keeps us from verifying the presence of the manufactories.” Ozor manipulated the image of the facility, highlighting potential entrances. “We’ll have to get inside, and once we have confirmation we can contact Lockerbie to send a security team to hold the facility.”
“Then it’s no longer your problem?” Lars ventured.
“Unless Lockerbie wants to put a bounty out on Erhardt and his accomplices,” Qivek replied.
“How much is this bounty?” Jost called. “Enough to buy a Bugatti?”
“I don’t know how much a Bugatti costs, but you could buy ten top-of-the-line Zuul fast luxury cars,” Qivek answered. “I hear Zuul or Besquith make the best ground vehicles.”
“Before Jost spends his hypothetical future bounty, we need to solve the case.” Lars pointed at the image. “Notice how trailers block most of the docks? It means we go in the two docks on the end, or the personnel entrance on the other side.”
“What about the skylight?” Ozor suggested.
“I forgot my wings,” Lars countered. “I have no way to get up there. Can you climb the wall?”
“As long as the wall doesn’t crumple under my mass,” Ozor replied. “I could carry you, Detective Nilsson.”
“Carry me?” Lars had grown accustomed to the Tortantula’s presence, but physical contact with a giant spider sent something quivering in his mind.
“It is only ten meters. You can hang onto my harness with Qivek.”
“It’s easy, Special Lars,” Qivek chimed in. “Once Ozor rips open the skylight, we can drop a line.”
Lars looked from the Flatar to the Tortantula. “I should have joined a gym. Fine, let’s do this. If we’re lucky, no one is home.”
The rumbler slowed. “The gate is closed,” Jost yelled. “Can I deputy through it?”
“Sure. Park on the end by those empty loading docks,” Lars replied. The rumbler lurched forward. A metallic clatter signaled their passage through the gate, but the vehicle didn’t slow until it reached the end of the building.
Jost clambered back. “If you’re going to storm the castle, you’d best take some proper gear.” He opened a locker in the cargo section of the logistics rumbler. Jost handed Lars an armored vest and a bulky gun Lars took for a shotgun.
“What’s this?” Lars asked. Instead of the side-by-side barrels of a double-barreled shotgun, this weapon had over-and-under barrels and two triggers.
“It’s a Heckler and Glock RC-11, a recon carbine,” Jost replied. “The top barrel fires standard 7mm caseless infantry rounds. The bottom is a 30mm gyroc. Not as much punch as a magnetic cannon, but it launches a rocket with an armor-piercing shaped charge. It only has the one rocket, so make it count.”
Lars double-checked the safety and slung the weapon. “How many rounds in the magazine?”
“Fifty.” Jost grinned. “Don’t ask where I got them. Them? I meant it.”
“You ready to go, Special Lars, or do you primates want to chatter more?” Qivek demanded. The Flatar had donned an armored combat vest.
“Let’s do this,” Lars replied, following Ozor out the back of the rumbler.
The spider lowered its body to the pavement. “Climb onto my back and hang onto the harness. Don’t worry about stepping on my legs; you won’t hurt me.”
Grunting from the exertion, Lars hauled himself atop the spider. He found a pair of straps to use as handholds. Ozor tensed beneath him and leapt halfway up the concrete wall.
Lars’ feet scrabbled for purchase on the harness as he dangled by his hands. The toe of one shoe snagged on a strap. He resisted the urge to look down.
“Don’t let go, Special Lars.” Qivek clambered up the harness.
The ten seconds it took Ozor to ascend to the roof stretched out. Once they were level, Lars peered ahead. A skylight glowed from interior illumination. The roof creaked with each of Ozor’s steps. Would her feet punch through the metal?
Qivek hopped down and scurried ahead. “To quote you primates, jackpot. I can see the manufactory. A wall of crates separates the back of the warehouse from the loading docks, but there’s a gap at the other end.”
Ozor leaned forward, forcing Lars to hang on so he didn’t slide over her head and onto the skylight. “I see guards. They must have heard us.”
“Us? I’m light-footed as a cloud,” Qivek countered. “Get ready. I’m going to draw their attention away from the skylight.” The Flatar scampered off into the darkness.
“Should I get down?” Lars asked. “If you have a line, I could secure it to something.”
The rear pair of eyes ringing Ozor’s head focused on Lars. “I’m going to jump to the top of the crates, then to the floor. Hang on tight.”
Lars sought something to hook his other foot into. Red sparks popped from the roof, illuminating Qivek using a cutting tool. Voices cried out below and men ran beneath the skylight. Qivek dropped something through the hole he had made and rolled aside. Lars instinctively ducked his head.
Bang!
Lars saw the flash through his eyelids. Men yelled in the building. With one of her sharp fighting legs, Ozor ripped open the skylight. Air rushed past as she dropped through the opening. Lars bounced against her back, knocking the wind out of him.
Lars caught a glimpse of four men covering their eyes and waving rifles. The crates under Ozor’s feet shifted, and the world tilted as the spider scrambled for purchase. She slammed into an industrial storage rack on the way down, twisting to keep from crushing Lars between her bulk and the metal frame.
Lars’ teeth clacked together from the jarring impact. Thank God he didn’t bite his tongue in half or break any teeth. “Was that part of the plan?”
“No. Ow.” Ozor’s translator conveyed pain. “I sprained a couple of legs. Where’s Qivek?”
Men shouted in an Arabic-sounding language, accompanied by gunfire.
“Parsing. Language detected: Turkish,” Lars translator announced.
“Where is it? I can’t see! Something fell through the roof!”
Lars slid off the Tortantula’s back. A jumble of crates blocked his view of the front of the building. “I can’t see him, but I suspect he’s toward the loading docks.”
Crack! A man’s voice suddenly cut short. Lars looked toward the end of the crates, where a gap opened. A man with a battle rifle tumbled through and caught site of Ozor.
“Another alien! One of the spiders!” The man sprayed automatic fire.
Lars rolled aside as bullets glanced off Ozor’s carapace, struck crates, and sparked off the metal racking. The laser popped halfway out of Ozor’s harness, but a crate was blocking it.
Lars peeked over a crate and drew a bead on the shooter. He squeezed the trigger and fired a three-round burst. He’d forgot to check the selector. Two of the bullets sent the gunman slumping against the wall.
“Police! Throw down your guns and surrender!” Lars shouted, creeping toward the gap. Ozor shifted behind him, working to extricate herself from the crates without bring more down. From the sound, the containers were empty.
Crack!
Qivek yelled something unintelligible over the return fire.
Another man poked his head around the end of the crates but ducked back. Had he spotted Lars or had Ozor drawn his attention? The man dove through the gap, his gun blazing. Bullets struck pallets and crates in the racking above Lars.
Lars flipped his
selector to single shot. Had the shooter hoped to flush him out by puncturing a container above him? Nothing spilled down, so Lars waited. The gunman leaned out, and Lars put a shot through his shoulder.
Crack!
Something hissed through the air above Lars. It spanged off metal out of sight toward the back of the building.
“Any time you two want to quit taking a nap and help me out!” Qivek sounded in his ear.
Lars remembered the button. “Ozor is hurt. I’m working my way along the crates.”
“Get your ass away from the crates, Special Lars!”
Lars dashed down an aisle between the racks as a forklift erupted through the crates. A loud clang reverberated through the warehouse as the machine collided with one of the racks. The metal framework wobbled, and Lars feared they’d collapse like dominos.
The driver shook his head and spotted Lars. With an evil grin, he ducked and reversed the forklift, aiming it down Lars’ aisle. Lars sought somewhere to squeeze between pallets in the racks on either side of the aisle.
Snap!
A smoking corpse tumbled off the seat of the lift. “Qivek, how many more are on your side?” Ozor asked over the comms.
“Three more hunkered behind some crates ten meters past where the forklift drove through,” Qivek replied.
Lars watched the spider climb the pile of crates. Two of her legs on the right side dragged. Once at the top, she swept a crate from the wall. Voices cried out as the crate thudded on the other side. Even empty, the industrial container would weigh a hundred kilograms.
“One left.” Gunfire rattled. “Make it two,” Qivek said.
Lars jumped on the lift truck. The stench of burnt meat hung in the air. Lars grabbed the joystick and pulled back. The lift whirred backward through the gap, pushing a crate across the concrete floor. It took the gunmen a moment to realize Lars had replaced their compatriot. He spun the wheel and the lift pivoted.
Lars ducked as bullets peppered the forklift.
Crack! Snap!
The gunfire ceased.
“Is that all of them?” Lars asked.
“I think so,” Qivek replied, switching the barrel on his pistol.
