Relic Hunted (Crax War Chronicles #2)

by Terry W. Ervin II

  “You know, Deputy Director Simms,” I said, “my shotgun with bayonet is still hanging on hooks above your head.”

  While I braced for the expected shock, he ignored me and continued his routine.

  Nothing happened to me, which was curious. I decided to relieve myself in the chamber pot and sat back against the wall, hex key held tight in my fist. I waited, ears listening, eyes watching for any light fluctuation, feet on the floor and back against the wall feeling for any vibrations. It’d take something of unusual magnitude to be felt or heard within our cell.

  Watching Simms complete his routine made me think. I began stretching and loosening up. I’d lost a lot of my strength and stamina, but if something did happen, pulling a muscle might ruin a chance that presented itself. What chance was that? It didn’t matter. I’d take anything. What did I have to lose?

  Another shuddering with subsequent light flickering and temporary grav plate fluctuation happened, and repeated a few seconds later.

  Simms sat in his lotus position, no reaction. Me? Adrenaline was flowing. Other than the hallway, the cell was my whole world. A small one with occasional music, and guards entering to clean and offer food. And Heartwell to taunt, but he hadn’t been around in a long time. And the pain of shocks, and Tahgs, twice.

  My thoughts were straying. “Director Simms. Karlton Simms, you know my shotgun with bayonet is behind you, within easy reach.”

  No response.

  Then the lights went out, fading over several seconds.

  I slid the hex key into the left manacle. It took several tries but it turned! Fifteen seconds later my wrist was free. Within a minute I was free.

  The lights hadn’t turned back on. Crawling across the floor I found Simms, right where I expected him to be. The magnetic lock to his ankle had failed as well. My first thought was McAllister. She’d have the code to power down and deactivate the locks.

  “Help’s here,” I whispered into Simms’ ear before reaching up for my shotgun. It felt good in my hands. I checked. Even in the dark, having it in hand came back to me. Not loaded. But it had my bayonet. I took Simms’ forearm and lifted. “Follow me,” I said, and led him to the door. When I dropped his hand he stopped.

  After forcing my bayonet into the door’s edge, I pried. The lug wasn’t built for excessive lateral stress, so I moved my hand further down and pried again. The door gave way, until a sliver of light reached the room, as well as a warning claxon. The light was red, and the claxon muted.

  I listened, thinking of escape rather than destroying the ship. At least primarily. Simms would follow, but he’d slow me down. There might be other prisoners. They could help. Hijack the ship? Not likely, unless it was a small vessel with minimal crew. Maybe we could reach a shuttle. I didn’t even know what kind of ship we were on. Maybe a converted barge. Maybe a space dock. I knew virtually nothing.

  Move forward, I told myself. Don’t lock up. Bold over timid.

  If I died, it’d be on my own terms. Gritting my teeth, I whispered to Simms, “Stick with me, and we’ll get you straightened out.”

  I shouldered the door open and peered out. A long hallway, with the central floor grate and doors, probably to cells on both sides running both ways. To the right, the dim red lighting outlined two men. One with a computer clip and the other with a cart, standing in front of a door.

  I ducked back in and leaned close to Director Simms’ ear. “Two guards outside. I’ll be back for you once I take them out.”

  The hyper-vigilant men were thirty feet away. Before I took five steps the man with the computer clip pointed to me. “One’s out. Get him!”

  The voice identified the pointing man as Heartwell. The second man dropped a fist-sized canister back into the cart before pulling and telescoping his stun baton.

  Either the guard was a fool and didn’t look, or the lighting didn’t show him I was armed. He shouted, “Back in your cell,” while charging, and discovered his error when I thrust my bayonet into his chest, piercing the diagonal white stripe and body armor. He gasped and slapped the energized baton against my shotgun. The discharge was muted, having to pass along the perforated jacket made from an Umbelgarri alloy and the stock to reach me. It also coursed through the jacket and barrel, and bayonet to reach him. The zap wasn’t enough to deter me from twisting before yanking my blade free. He bent over, clutching his chest, allowing me to slam my shotgun’s butt across his temple. He stumbled back and collapsed.

  “Warden Heartwell, you’re next,” I growled.

  Rather than run or draw his own weapon, Heartwell laughed and pointed his remote at me.

  The next thing I knew, the side of my face was rebounding off the metal floor.

  I could move my eyes and jaw. Nothing else. My arms and legs didn’t even twitch when I tried to get to my feet; I couldn’t lift my head to better see Heartwell stepping closer. My shotgun, lying in front of me, partially blocked my view.

  “V’Gun surgeons are very useful,” Heartwell said, “installing central nervous system interrupters in potentially troublesome prisoners.” He stopped several strides away, presumably so I could see him. His hand went to his mouth, feigning surprise. “Oh, Specialist Keesay, did I neglect to inform you? I apologize. Upon my request they installed one along the vertebra in your neck shortly after your arrival.”

  While I continued breathing, I only had partial control of my throat and tongue and couldn’t reply. It didn’t matter. What was there to say?

  Heartwell looked up from me. It was hard to tell the expression on his face. “No,” he said and he took an initial step back, then decided to bend over and grab the fallen guard’s stun baton.

  Someone next to me picked up my shotgun. The red lighting made it hard to pick out details. The person was barefoot. Another prisoner. Heartwell turned to run. With a grunt, the prisoner hurled my shotgun at the retreating lawyer.

  My bayonet pierced him in the back, right where his left kidney should be.

  Heartwell twisted as he fell, causing my shotgun to clatter to the floor against the wall, but the damage was done. He cried out in pain and tried to get to his feet, collapsed and began crawling, alternating between groaning and crying, “No…no!”

  The prisoner was tall and bald and thin, his gown covered in a pattern of vine-twisted morning glories. It was Director Simms!

  My cellmate ignored my shotgun and picked up Heartwell’s remote, examining it. He caught up with the crawling lawyer and kicked him across the face before bending over to grab the lawyer’s hand.

  Pressing the lawyer’s thumb on the small screen, I felt my muscles again, my strength returning.

  Then Simms stood up straight and backed away from Heartwell. The lawyer screamed once before an acidic stench began filling the hallway. I’d only gotten to my knees and realized what was happening. I’d witnessed it several times before. Heartwell had a Crax suicide device implanted behind his aortic artery. I didn’t know all of the triggering parameters, but severe wounding was one of them.

  “Step back,” I warned Simms. “It’s the result of a Crax implant and will completely devour his body.” Wondering why he was up and moving about with mental faculties intact and working wasn’t something to worry about now. There’d be time later. Maybe.

  Simms glanced over at me and nodded once. The dim light was enough to reveal he was fully alert, glancing up and down the hallway. I walked over and picked up my shotgun and the guard’s discarded stun baton. “What’s in the cart?”

  Simms ignored me and picked up Heartwell’s dropped computer clip.

  “We’ve got to get moving,” I said, looking over the fallen guard. “I think this ship or barge, or whatever is under attack, maybe being liberated. Maybe not.”

  Simms looked from the computer clip to the cart.

  “What?” I asked pulling off the guard’s boots. They were too big for me. “These might fit you. Socks too.” The dead guard wasn’t wearing his helmet. Odd since the ship was under attack. I�
��d’ve had mine. I took off his white belt, which had a small computer clip attached and a hook for his stun baton. No hex key that I could find, which was odd, too. “I get his uniform. You can have the belt.”

  Simms tried to talk, but his voice was too raspy and weak for me to hear. The claxon, even muted, didn’t help. Uniform and belt in hand, I hurried over to the cart and picked up one of the metallic canisters. A small tab with several wires was affixed to the top. On the sides it read: Sarin Aerosol. I immediately placed it back in the cart.

  “Sarin gas,” I said. “They were going to kill us.” I glanced up and down the corridor. “They might’ve killed some of the prisoners already.” Simms shook his head and pointed to the computer screen, being careful to keep his hands from touching even the edges of the screen.

  He showed it to me. Of the sixteen cells, four were listed as empty. Of the twelve remaining, nine had been highlighted in red, listed as Sarin prepared.

  “Computer controlled release,” I said and took a hold of the cart’s handle. Inside it, a sectioned plastic crate held three canisters, and nine empty slots. The one I’d read had been sitting atop the others—the one the guard had tossed back when he saw me. Who trusted containment enough to toss a canister holding such a deadly agent? A fool or an idiot, or both.

  “I’m taking this into our cell and shut it inside. Watch for trouble.”

  After I’d wheeled the cart in, Simms helped me slide the door closed. The hallway’s circulation system had to run separate from the cells’, otherwise the stench of the prisoners and their waste would be present in the hallway.

  “We should open the cells with the poison placed in them first,” I said.

  He nodded. Before we moved, our eyes shot down to the computer clip’s screen resting on the floor. It beeped as a red ribbon with bold white text appeared across the top: Lower two decks have been captured. Respond immediately to receive instructions.

  My eyes shifted down to the tasks and security bar. Authorized iris and finger print access. I pointed to the task bar, showing Simms my concern. “You knew this?”

  He nodded.

  Even though it was old technology, it was difficult to fool or override. I didn’t have the skills to attempt an override. Simms probably had the skills to at least attempt, but not the necessary equipment. Heartwell’s higher ups were trying to contact him. Probably through his implanted ear receiver, and followed up through his computer. Heartwell was gone, his communications implants dissolved along with him. If someone was boarding, they weren’t going to be patient.

  I said, “We’ll have to move fast and now.”

  He nodded and scooped up the clip. After looking down the hallway, he pointed to a red cell on the diagram and then to the corresponding closed door.

  I dropped the dead guard’s uniform and boots before pulling the hex key from the seam I’d shoved it into and handed it to Simms. Then I went and jammed my bayonet in the door Simms had pointed to, right along the frame.

  Just as I put my weight into prying the door open, Simms grabbed my shoulder and pulled me away. “No,” he rasped.

  “What?” I asked. “Why?”

  He pointed to the screen. All of the red cells, plus ours, still green, had an image of a black skull and crossbones centered in them. The red cells had a yellow barrier appear around them. Our cell didn’t.

  “Sarin’s been released,” I said. “Our cell isn’t sealed off.” I looked up, not seeing any vents above. “Its ventilation must still be open.”

  “Monitor,” I said, moving across the hallway to one of the white cells and began prying the door open. “Rescue!” I shouted when it was open a half inch. A pair of wrinkled hands slid along the door and helped me open it. When it was wide enough, Janice Tahgs squeezed out.

  “Spreading,” Simms rasped. He pointed to another door. “Next.”

  Tahgs tried to hug me.

  “No time,” I told her, pushing her away. “Sarin gas. Poison. Get the hex key from him,” I said, pointing to Simms and hurried to the next door.

  This room was dark inside. “Rescue,” I shouted. Two voices replied at the same time. A man’s yelled, “We’re here.” A woman’s cried out, “Yes, help us.”

  After prying it open wide enough, I signaled Tahgs to go in. Worried about running out of time, I asked her, “Any cells where they aren’t shackled?”

  She pointed across the hall to one that the computer diagram identified as filled with poison gas. “Okay,” I said, not wanting to slow her down. Then I said to Simms, “Make sure whoever comes out with Tahgs pushes the door closed.”

  He nodded. “Last one,” he said, pointing.

  “Last one?” I asked for clarification, as I wasn’t sure what he’d said because of the claxon combined with the man and woman with Tahgs shouting at her to hurry. After Simms nodded I said, “Send Tahgs with the key,” and ran to the door of an occupied cell farthest from ours.

  Somehow the door locks had been disabled, like the shackles’ power had been cut. My thoughts already suspected McAllister. It made some sense for her to not open the doors, since it required a manual key to remove the shackles. If it was her. It could’ve been a traitor to CGIG—a humanity loyalist, or a computer expert from Intel or the military, or a Bahklack.

  With a concerted effort, the door opened. Slower than the others. I wasn’t in very good physical shape. Plus, the exertion caused my hemorrhoids to flare with increased pain. In comparison to what I’d suffered, that was easy to set aside. A reminder of Heartwell and all he’d done, not only to me, but Simms, Tahgs, and everyone else. Including those who’d died because he’d prepped their cells with poison. If anyone deserved to die with Crax acid flowing through his arteries, dissolved alive, it was him.

  “Rescue!” I shouted into the darkened room.

  There was no reply. I pried the door open a little further, saying, “Rescue. Anyone in here?”

  The red light fell in the middle of the room, but illuminated it enough to show one body shackled by a leg to the wall. It was a woman, bloated and covered in welts. The welts were a different color from her pale skin, but the red lighting made it difficult to see exactly what color.

  A man with bulging muscles lumbered up behind me. He was Colossra on steroids, so much that it was difficult for him to walk, turn his head, and limited his arms’ range of motion. He was dark skinned, and had penetrating dark eyes, probably brown.

  “I’m Keesay,” I said to the hulking man. “Poison gas is spreading. We may need to close this door quickly.”

  He replied in a calm, deliberate tone. “I can handle that. Just say when.”

  “The man with the computer clip is monitoring. He’ll tell us. Actually, he’ll tell you as I’m going inside. Send Tahgs in with the hex key.”

  The muscular man tipped his body forward, instead of nodding, before I turned. “Got it,” he said. “I’m Gerard, by the way. Thank you for the rescue.”

  I went over to the woman lying on the floor. “Don’t thank me yet,” I shouted over the claxon. “There’s a fight going on somewhere. Do you know what this is? A dock, a converted freighter?”

  “Hunh,” he said. “I always figured this was a medical research ship converted to a prison.”

  That was news to me.

  The woman was sprawled out, unconscious. She appeared bloated and the flesh around her wrist felt squishy. She had a pulse, slow, but steady. I looked up and around, wondering if I’d get any warning if the Sarin started flowing into the cell. If any of the poison touched my skin it would do me in. Do everyone in.

  I took my bayonet and began sawing at the cable. The serrated sawback edge bit into the twisted reinforced steel, but it’d take longer than we had. I kept at it anyway.

  Gerard said to someone behind me, “He needs the key.”

  A few seconds later Tahgs knelt next to me. She inserted the key and began twisting.

  The big man urged Tahgs, saying, “The man says hurry!”

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p; With nowhere else to put it, I affixed my bayonet and slung my shotgun. “She is hurrying, Gerard.”

  The unconscious woman was like lifting a man-sized rigid water balloon, and I didn’t have the strength to hoist her for a fireman’s carry. Janice lifted and draped one of the woman’s arms over her shoulder. I did the same. “You first, Tahgs.”

  We squeezed through the doorway, trying to keep the woman from hitting her head on the door or its frame. Gerard slid the door closed.

  A woman with long, tangled hair stood next to Simms. We all wore flowered gowns. The woman’s face looked deformed, with her forehead and the bridge of her nose bulging out. Her nose was three times the size it should’ve been. She held a hand over it while her eyes watered. She wasn’t crying. The tears appeared to be due to a physical response. The acidic smell lingering from Heartwell’s demise came to mind.

  “We need to move,” I said, thinking that Sarin might make its way into the corridor. “All that Simms and I know is that this ship or dock is being attacked and the lower decks have been captured. Anybody know anything about where we are?”

  The big-nosed woman shook her head. Gerard, standing protectively close to the woman, said, “You know more than us.”

  “Tahgs?” I asked, looking at the guard’s uniform. Simms already had on the boots and belt. He picked it up and draped it over a forearm.

  “I’ve never been outside of this corridor,” Tahgs said. “At least not while conscious.”

  I thought Simms might know more than me. When I asked, he shook his head.

  “Okay,” I said, starting to lead them down the hall away from my cell. The unconscious woman’s arms around mine and Tahgs’ shoulders. “Unless there’re any objections, I say we make our way down toward the fighting. Toward friendly forces.”

  I glanced at Simms with a raised eyebrow. He took my meaning and said in his raspy voice, “You lead.”

  We went down the long corridor without any doors to where it formed a T intersection. I peeked around and didn’t see anybody. A standard corridor lit in normal fluorescent light a short way down to the right.