Dial D for Deadman: A Space Team Universe Novel (Dan Deadman Space Detective Book 1)

by Barry J. Hutchison

  “Where is she?” Kalaechai asked again. His eyes became two swirling pools of darkness, and Nedran felt like he might fall down them at any moment. “Where is my daughter?”

  That made Nedran pay attention. He did several minutes worth of blinking in the space of a couple of seconds. He tried not to look over at Ollie, but his head moved all by itself, and he was too weak and too scared to fight it.

  “Your daughter? You're looking for your daughter?”

  Kalaechai placed one of his oversized hands on top of Ned's head. The fingers tightened on the old man's skull, making him hiss in pain.

  “Where is she?”

  Nedran winced.

  Nedran swallowed.

  Nedran closed his eyes and quietly made his peace.

  “Sorry,” he said, as brightly as he could manage. “I have absolutely no idea.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Vextor von Haff opened his eyes. Almost immediately, he wished that he hadn't.

  He was upside-down. That much was clear.

  He couldn't remember if he was supposed to be upside-down, but he suspected not. He could count on the fingers of one hand how many times he had purposely been upside-down in the past few years, and still have six or seven fingers left over, depending on which hand he used.

  His face hurt. Not any specific features of it, just the whole face in general. Likewise, the rest of his head, torso and limbs.

  A moist wind slapped at him. It tasted salty. The docks. That would explain the water below him. Or above him, depending on your point of view.

  A few sea birds squawked in the middle distance. The sea itself lapped softly against the wooden struts of a pier. It was actually quite pleasant, if you liked that sort of thing and weren't, as he was, being held upside-down.

  “Finally,” grunted a voice from somewhere behind him.

  Vextor rotated himself, the ropes around his ankles groaning as they twisted. The guy from the Derby was standing on a rickety-looking platform maybe twenty feet away. In one hand, he held the other end of the rope that, via a system of archaic and rusted pulleys, currently suspended Vextor above the choppy water.

  “Thought you were never going to wake up,” Dan said. “Was starting to worry I'd killed you, like I did your piece of shizz brother.”

  Vextor growled and thrashed on the end of the rope. Dan dismissed the protest with a wave of his hand.

  “Yeah, yeah, struggle all you like. You ain't going anywhere.”

  Still holding the rope in one hand, Dan reached into a large bucket on the platform beside him and withdrew a metal scoop. A mound of bloodied, gelatinous fish-innards wobbled on the end of it, then tumbled into the water when he gave the scoop a flick.

  “You know, the ocean, it's a pretty amazing place,” Dan said, scooping up some more of the fishy mush. “I mean, this planet is... what? Five per cent land? Less? That's a lot of water.”

  He tossed the chum, and Vextor watched it vanish beneath the waves, leaving an oily red slick on the surface.

  “You wonder, just what is out there?” Dan said, gazing off across the water. The blue glow of the Up There engines danced across the undulating surface, a flickering lightshow that stretched all the way to the horizon.

  “But anyway, I digress,” said Dan. “Where is the girl? What did you do with Nona?”

  “Fonk you,” Vextor spat.

  Dan released the rope. Von Haff watched him, grinning, even as he plunged towards the ocean below.

  Vextor was big, and the splash didn't disappoint. Dan felt the spray of it fleck across his face, even from his high vantage point.

  He picked a random number between one and twenty, counted to it, then hoisted Vextor up again.

  He dropped him immediately, and enjoyed the fleeting expression of panic on the shizznod's face, before he smashed through the surface again.

  Dan picked a different, higher number, and counted again.

  Then he waited a bit longer, just for fun.

  When Vextor was finally raised back up into his original position, his long hair hung down, pointing to the water below, and his beard was plastered across his cheeks and up into his eyes. He was wet with a combo of water and fish innards, and it was obvious from his expression that some of the fight had already gone out of him.

  Dan hoped this wasn't going to be too easy.

  “Where is she?” he asked. “Where is the girl?”

  Vextor didn't sneer or bite back, but he didn't say anything useful, either.

  “Have it your way,” said Dan, scooping out more chum. This time, he flicked it straight at the dangling Von Haff. It hit him with a splat, covering him in chunks of greasy fish guts. “You know what I call this? Fishing for information.”

  He raised his eyebrows, clearly hoping for some sort of response. “No? Suit yourself,” Dan said, shrugging. “I'm going to ask you again, so pin back your ears and listen. Where is she?”

  Vextor opened his mouth, and Dan thought he was going to break. But then the dangling man drew in a deep breath and clamped his mouth shut.

  “Have it your way,” said Dan, and he released the rope again.

  The water wasn't as cold this time when Vextor plunged beneath its surface. He was getting used to the shock of it, and the shuddering impact of his head hitting the surface.

  What was harder to get used to was the way it tried to force its way inside him. He could feel it exploring him for weaknesses, probing his nostrils and trying to find a way in through his mouth.

  It was dark, but not as dark as he'd expected. The engine lights created a sort of ambient glow through the top dozen or so feet of water, with the occasional shaft of light stabbing down into the murkier depths below.

  Somewhere in those murkier depths, Vextor saw something move. It was as if the darkness itself were coming alive and forming itself into a long, wide shape that flicked lazily towards him, following the scent of guts and gore.

  A bubble escaped Vextor's lips and rolled upwards. He suddenly became aware of other movements, even further off. He couldn't see them, exactly, but the way the light and shadows shifted told him that something - no, some things - had been drawn by the lure of the blood.

  The rope tightened on his legs, and he was jerked upwards again. He started talking before he was even clear of the water.

  “Bleunf-mmfk-ggt me down! Get me down!”

  “Down?” said Dan. He shrugged. “OK.”

  The rope went slack. Vextor screamed as he plummeted, the panicky squeal becoming a trail of bubbles as he sunk like a stone.

  Dan picked a low number this time, to be on the safe side, then pulled him back up. Vextor was a thrashing, babbling mess. His eyes were so large they looked as if they'd been inflated, and the words were tumbling out of him all at once.

  “I took her! I mean, ve took her! OK? Ve took them all.”

  “Where?”

  “To... To... Look, please, get me down. There is something moving around in—”

  Dan released the rope. Vextor howled, then jerked to a stop a few feet above the surface.

  “WHERE?” Dan roared.

  “A van. A van, that's all I know. Ve didn't hurt them. Not really. That vasn't us. Ve… A van! He… He had a van. He had a van, and he’d tell us vhere to be, and ve'd hand them over.”

  “Who was he? Why did he have you grab them?”

  Vextor lifted his eyes to the water below him. The blood had spread out, and the fish chunks were rippling out in different directions. He tried not to think about what he'd seen under there.

  He tried, but failed, and his confession became a hysterical string of high-pitched babbling.

  “Stay focused, you piece of shizz,” said Dan, hoisting him a little higher. “You think you're scared? There's a mother out there who doesn't know where her kid is. Because you took her. You took her daughter!”

  “She's his d-daughter, too!” Vextor yelped.

  Dan's brown furrowed. He titled back his hat. “What? What are
you talking about?”

  “It's true,” said Vector. “That’s vhy he vanted her. The girl. She's his—”

  It was then that the fish ate him.

  Technically, it might not have been a fish. It might not even have eaten him, in fact. All Dan saw was a gaping orifice, roughly the size of a small building, emerge from beneath the waves. He smelled the sea, even more than he already had been, and felt a gust of warm air rise up from below.

  He heard Vextor try to scream, but it didn't amount to much. Then the mouth - if, indeed, it was a mouth - and the villain were gone.

  Dan gazed down at the ripples growing across the ocean's surface, and watched several thousand bubbles become several hundred bubbles, then several bubbles, then no bubbles at all.

  “Shizz,” Dan cursed. “You couldn't have given me just five more seconds?”

  * * *

  The Exodus chugged to a stop outside Nedran's workshop, spat a wad of something gloopy from the exhaust, then died in a puff of smoke and melodrama.

  The door took a firm shoulder or two before it flew open, and Dan spilled out onto the sidewalk. He jumped up immediately, tried to pretend like he'd meant it the whole time, in case anyone was watching, then banged the door several times until it agreed to stay closed.

  That was going to get annoying fast. It was already annoying, in fact. He added it to the list of things to get fixed. It was quite a long list, now, and arguably longer than the list of things that didn't need fixed.

  He was almost at Nedran's door when he realized it was open, the metal shutter rolled all the way up to the top.

  Weird. It wasn't like to Ned to leave the door open, and especially not at this time of night.

  For the second time that night, Dan reached for a gun that wasn't there. For the second time that night, he cursed his stupidity.

  There was no sound from inside the workshop. No voices. No movement. Dan felt a tickle of dread down the back of his neck, and decided to forego stealth in favor of finding out what the fonk was going on.

  He hurried through the door and made straight for where his gun was charging. “Ned?” he called.

  Then he stopped.

  For a moment, everything stopped.

  Nedran was on the floor, his blood pooling in a puddle beneath him. His face was a mangled mess, barely recognizable. One of his arms was bent back, the bone protruding through the bruised skin. His legs were folded beneath him at an angle they shouldn't be. Couldn't be.

  Ollie knelt beside him, sobbing silently, her hands on his unbroken arm as she shook him back and forth.

  “Oh. No,” Dan croaked.

  Ollie looked up, her own face a mess of blood, tears and snot - only two-third of those her own. “He won't wake up,” she said. “I keep trying, but he won't wake up.”

  Dan dropped and scrabbled across the floor. His fingers went to his friend's neck, but the wide, staring eyes told him what he'd find there. He wasn't giving up that easily, though.

  Pushing Ollie away, Dan interlocked his fingers and pressed the heel of one hand onto Ned's chest.

  “Nedran! Ned, can you hear me?” he shouted, compressing the chest. One. Two. Three. Four. Five.

  He counted to fifteen, then tilted the old man's head back. Lowering his own, he drew in a breath, then remembered he no longer worked that way.

  “Put your mouth over his. Breathe,” he told Ollie.

  Ollie's face contorted in confusion. “W-what?”

  “Mouth over his. Blow. Big breaths. Now!”

  Ollie did her best to follow the instructions, but after just one breath Dan pushed her away. “No, not... Forget it!”

  He began to pump the old man's chest again. One. Two. Three. Four. Five.

  “Who did this?” he demanded.

  More tears streamed down Ollie's face. She coughed, choking on her own snot.

  “I said who did this?” Dan roared, then his head snapped down as Ned wheezed back to life.

  “D-Dan.”

  “Oh, thank fonk,” Dan said, the words coming out as a strangled sob. “I'm here, buddy. I'm here. You're OK.”

  “O-Ollie? Did he g-get her?” Ned's voice was fragile, like a house of cards in danger of toppling at any moment.

  Dan raised his eyes to Ollie, unable to hide his contempt as the picture of what had happened became clearer. “No. She's fine. But don't worry about her.”

  Nedran managed something like a smile, and Dan saw that several of his teeth were missing. “He c-came for her.”

  “It's OK, buddy. It's OK.”

  The old man twitched, his muscles spasming. “He came for her,” he said again. “Kalaechai. Her f-father.”

  Dan had no blood. Not really. If he had, it would have run cold. He raised his eyes to Ollie again, but her head was lowered, her tears creating lighter red spots in the puddle of blood on the floor.

  “Her what?” Dan growled, but then he shook his head and turned his attention back to his friend. “Doesn’t matter. We’ll get help, OK? You’re going to be fine.”

  “Kept her safe, though,” Ned whispered. His eyes were glassy. He looked past Dan, and up to the ceiling at something that wasn’t really there. “Whatever h-he did… Everything he did. I k-kept her s-safe. Told you y-you underestimate me.”

  One of the old man’s hands reached out, fumbling in the air until it found Dan’s face. “Now it’s your turn,” he wheezed. “D-don’t blame her. She’s a g-good one. Good for you. You shouldn’t b-be alone all the t-time.”

  “What? I'm not alone. I've got you and Artur, you old...” He frowned. “Wait. Artur. Where's Artur?”

  A groan echoed out of the sink. “Ooh, that fecking hurts. Where am I?”

  Artur's hands appeared, then there was a kicking and scrabbling as he heaved himself out of the sink. “Deadman! There ye are, ye big feckin'...”

  Artur's eyes fell on Ned and he stopped. “Aw,” he grimaced. “Shoite.”

  “He's OK,” said Dan. “He's going to be...”

  He turned back to Ned. The old man’s eyes were still open, still looking past him, but now seeing nothing at all. Ned's last breath left him in a low, burbling wheeze. His chest clicked, like the sound of a telephone receiver being hung up for the last time.

  Dan kept hold of his hand for a few more seconds. He thought about trying chest compressions again, but knew, deep down, there was no point. He was gone. His oldest friend - maybe his only real friend - was gone.

  Setting the hand down, Dan gave it a final squeeze, then raised his gaze to Ollie. Her bottom lip was trembling and her eyes were red as she watched Ned's body sag further into the embrace of death.

  “Is he...? Did he...?”

  “You did this,” said Dan.

  Ollie's eyes widened. She sniffed, and wiped her nose on her sleeve. It left a slick of Ned's blood across her cheek. “Huh? N-no, I didn't. It was...”

  “YOU!” Dan roared. He was on his feet in an instant, his one working fist clenched. “He was looking for you. He came for you! And you let him do this!”

  Ollie shook her head. “No. No, I tried to show myself. I tried to stop him, but once the pendant is activated, it won’t… I didn't want this to happen. I didn't want any of this.”

  “You think Ned did?” Dan spat. “You brought this on him. You! No one else.”

  “Steady on there, Deadman,” said Artur, jumping down from the worktop. “Neddy knew what he was doing. He wanted to protect her. Sure, it's not her fault she's got some headcase from the Malwhere after her.”

  “Her father,” said Dan, not tearing his eyes away from Ollie.

  There was a lengthy pause before Artur spoke. “Say what?”

  “Not 'some headcase'. Kalaechai is her father.”

  “Her father?” said Artur.

  “That's right.”

  “As in... as in she's his daughter?”

  “Right again.”

  Artur looked between them both, then snorted. “Yer arse. There's no way she's his daught
er. No way. Right, peaches?”

  Ollie felt the tears come again. She fought them back as best she could, but one or two snuck through and plopped into the blood puddle at her feet.

  “I'm sorry,” she whispered. “I didn’t tell you, but the rest was all true. I was still his prisoner, he was still keeping me there. He was never going to—”

  Dan spun and kicked a table aside. It flipped and smashed against one of Ned's many cabinets. The noise would wake up Ned's wife, but he didn't care. Hell, he was going to have to wake her up, anyway. He'd never liked the woman, but she didn't deserve this. Ned didn't deserve this.

  Ollie’s throat was soft and pliable in his grip. One squeeze, that was all it would take. Sure, her necklace might go off, but by then it'd be too late.

  One squeeze. That was all.

  Ned's wife hadn't woken up.

  Why hadn't she woken up?

  “What did he do?” Dan demanded, his grip tightening, just enough. “After he did this to Ned, what did he do?”

  “I tried to stop him,” Ollie whispered. “But he couldn’t see or hear me. She kept shouting, and.. and... he got angry.”

  Dan let out a sharp, sudden cry that made Ollie jump in his grip. He shoved her aside, tore his gun from the charging point, then raced for the door leading into the rest of Ned's house.

  He slowed just enough to shout back over his shoulder. “Get out,” he commanded. “And just hope you never see me again.”

  “What?” Ollie spluttered. “But... But, I didn't mean this. I didn’t mean any of it, honest. What will I do? Where will I go?”

  “Not my problem,” Dan spat, then he kicked open the door and vanished into the hallway beyond.

  Ollie sagged, the tears coming again. Maybe he didn't mean it. Maybe he'd change his mind. Maybe Artur could talk him round.

  “What are ye waiting for, peaches?” the little man said, scowling up at her. “You heard him. You don't want to be here when he comes back, trust me.”

  Ollie felt her stomach twist. Her voice came as a babbled string of syllables. “But I don't have anywhere to go.”

  “I know. And I'm sorry,” Artur said. He crossed his arms and very deliberately turned away. “But like yer man says. That's not our problem.”