The Cryonite Caper

by Felix R. Savage

  I hadn’t. After hacking my way through some work-related emails, I anonymized my virtual assistant and started digging for dirt on Buzz Parsec.

  It wasn’t like I had never done this before. But now I was looking for something different: any connection between Parsec and the Ekschelatans.

  On his publicly filed cargo manifests, I found numerous items supplied by Ek-owned firms. Nothing out of the ordinary there. I carried Ek cargoes, too. It’s not that the Eks don’t have their own ships, it’s that they are not on political speaking terms with most of the lesser alien races in the Cluster. Nor, officially, is humanity. That’s where indie freighters like myself and Parsec come in. We fly where others won’t, run risks others don’t.

  It’s a living.

  Unfortunately, I did not find anything more than usually dubious in Parsec’s public profile. No surprise: I didn’t even really know what I was looking for.

  I had just about resigned myself to calling Craig the Duck when Mia ran up to me in tears.

  “What’s wrong, sweetie?”

  “It’s broken!” She held up one of those Barbies. It was missing its head.

  Lucy appeared from her bedroom, looking guilty. “Sorry, Daddy,” she muttered. “I didn’t do it on purpose. It just came apart.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” I said. “There are more where that came from. Many more.” I indicated the crate of dolls still sitting on the floor.

  “But I want that one!” Mia cried.

  “Is this her one, Lu?”

  “No. It’s my one. But I don’t want it, so I gave it to her.”

  “This is the funny one!” Mia wept. “It says ‘Meeeehhh’ and ‘Urrrrghhh.’” Through her tears, she gave a passable imitation of the broken Barbie’s voice.

  “Ah,” I said. “Well, maybe I can fix it.” I was sitting in my office nook off the living-room, which was surrounded on three sides by a fantastic view of Mag-Ingat Bay, spread out below like a tourism advertisement. Sun flooded my terminally cluttered desk. I pushed my computer away, put the Barbie’s head down, and squinted at the tangle of wires and chips inside its body.

  “She looks even more stupid now,” Lucy said to Mia, encouragingly.

  Sunlight glinted on something in the doll’s body. That didn’t look like part of its innards.

  I found a pair of needlenose pliers in my desk clutter and wriggled the thing free.

  A memory stick.

  “Girls,” I said, “I need to work on this for a bit. Why don’t you go ask Nanny B for a snack?”

  Nanny B toddled in at the sound of her name. “Mid-morning snacks are verboten, Mike,” she reproved me. “But I have a better idea. We shall bake cookies together.”

  The girls charged off to the kitchen, and I examined the memory stick. Slim, chrome, half the length of my index finger. Looked like a high-end item, holding maybe a petabyte of storage. It was clearly not part of the doll’s electronics.

  In fact, this probably explained why the doll had not worked properly.

  Sitting there in the sun, I felt a chill as I recalled how easily Lucy had removed the factory-sealed bubble wrap.

  I’d credited her dexterity, but what if the bubble wrap hadn’t been factory-sealed …

  … because someone else had opened it recently?

  The manufacturers had not put this memory stick in the doll. But I thought I knew who had.

  I had to find out what was on it.

  But no way was I plugging it into my own computer. I grabbed my phone and called Craig.

  “This is Craig. You know what to do.”

  “Yo, Duck. Pick up.”

  “What the freak, Starrunner? It’s the middle of the night,” Craig said sleepily.

  “It’s eleven in the morning. The sun’s above the yardarm, and I have something I need you to look at for me.”

  I called one of Majesta Gardens’ couriers. It landed on my balcony five minutes later, rotors blurring to a stop, chiming to warn people out of its path. I stepped outside and placed the memory stick—now wrapped in old socks and duct tape—in its gripper. “Thank you, sir!” It confirmed Craig’s address and helicoptered away. I stood on the balcony for a moment, watching it shrink into the hazy air, descending towards the jewelled, insectile streams of the uptown flyways. The air was filled with the faint throb of traffic. I tasted the faint acridity of rocket exhaust, carried on the sea breeze from the spaceport, and I felt a powerful desire to be on board my ship, taking off for the other side of the Cluster. I had a bad feeling about Ponce de Leon right now.

  I shook it off and went back inside. Risk stood in his place against the wall of the living-room. I had added a spare duvet cover to his wrappings last night, so now I was staring at Hellraiser Beautiful, another of the characters in the Cluster’s biggest cash cow franchise targeting preschoolers. To the old fox cryonically slumbering in his inappropriate shroud, I murmured, “Hang tight, Risk. We’ll get you out of there.”

  I hoped the memory stick would turn out to contain the key to Risk’s nanonic defroster.

  How it had got inside the Barbie was a separate problem.

  Craig phoned me while we were having lunch. “Got your package,” he said. “I’ll try and get to it today.”

  “Put a rush on it; I’ll pay.”

  The girls ate not much lunch and a lot of chocolate chip cookies. Sugared up, they were bouncing off the walls, so I asked Nanny B to take them down to the playground.

  As soon as the circus moved out the door, I called Dolph. “Mary said you were at the spaceport.”

  “Can’t talk right now, Mike,” he muttered. “I’ll catch you later.”

  He rang off. I called back. Voicemail.

  Bad feelings were coming at me thick and fast now. I’d had these kinds of feelings before, and I had learned to trust them. At various times in my life, they might have even saved my skin. Something was coming my way …

  I glanced around, wondering what was going to break next.

  Right on cue, the apartment’s intercom chimed. It was the front desk concierge—the security desk.

  “Got a visitor for you, Mr. Starrunner. A Ms., uh, Seagrave?”

  Seagrave?

  I toggled the video feed, and saw Irene standing uncertainly in front of the security desk.

  “She’s OK,” I said. “Send her up.”

  I checked my teeth and ran my fingers through my hair, then went out to the open-air hall and leaned on the guard wall. When Irene stepped out of the elevator, I waved her over. She seemed a little out of her element, glancing up and down the long hall, and then sizing me up as she approached. She had dressed up in slim-cut black trousers and a blouse with fluttery short sleeves for this trip out of Shiftertown. It was kind of touching.

  “Look,” I said, pointing down. “There they are.”

  Lucy and Mia were playing on the smaller slide set. Mia, it seemed, was scared to climb the plastic mountain that led to the slide. Lucy stood behind her, coaxing and steadying her. The sight warmed my heart, and made me sad that Lucy didn’t have a sibling.

  But Irene saw something different. “They’re playing by themselves.”

  It was true. The playground teemed with little kids and their parents, nannies, or robot caregivers, but they were all doing their own thing.

  “Does Lucy always play by herself?”

  The question took me aback. The answer, which felt like a hot screwdriver in my heart, was: Yes. But I didn’t want to admit it, so I said, “They’ve been getting along like a house on fire.”

  “Mia always plays by herself. When I take her to Neverland, or World of Fun, or somewhere like that, I mean.” Shiftertown is short on public playgrounds. “I sometimes wonder if the other kids can … tell.”

  I had been wondering the same thing ever since we moved in here. The HOA knew we were Shifters. That didn’t mean every toddler in the playground knew it. But I couldn’t help wondering if some instinct told them that my little girl was different. A
nd it was true that I’d never seen Lucy hit it off with another child like she had with Mia. It was as if some instinct told them they were the same …

  I said, “Well, let’s let them play a little longer before you rush off. Come in, and I’ll stun you with my coffee-making skills.”

  I left her in the living-room while I brewed two cups of java. This was a deliberate ploy. Carrying the cups, I returned to the living-room as quietly as a Shifter can—and that’s very quietly, even in human form.

  I had hoped to catch her looking at Risk.

  She wasn’t anywhere near him.

  She stood in my office nook, holding the decapitated Barbie, looking as if she’d just received the news that a killer asteroid was headed for Ponce de Leon.

  I backtracked into the kitchen, rattled some china, and trod loudly down the hall.

  This time I found her sitting on the sofa and smiling. “You have a lovely place here.”

  “Thanks. We like it,” I answered. “The security’s great.”

  “It sure is. I haven’t been wanded that invasively since I was in the army.”

  She was a vet, too? Intriguing. It tied in with what Parsec had said about her. But I resisted the bait. I wanted to get to the point. “The kids were playing Lil’ Hellraisers this morning.” I indicated the frilly costume draped over the sofa, and the six-foot image of Hellraiser Beautiful leaning against the wall. She couldn’t not have noticed it. “Whoever created that franchise, they’re laughing all the way to the EkBank.”

  She twitched. “It’s a human franchise,” she pointed out.

  “Well, of course it is,” I said, slightly puzzled. Laughing all the way to the EkBank; it’s just an expression. The Eks may have banking sewn up in the Cluster, but humanity has a lock on the entertainment business. Everyone loves our stuff. Whether they have two legs, four, or eight, whether they see in color or black and white, whether they live on land or in space stations or on the backs of cloud whales (yes, really), there isn’t a species in the Cluster that doesn’t go cuckoo for human shows, books, and games … and buy the tie-in merchandise. It’s just a certain spark we have.

  “Yeah,” Irene said, “but the Eks own it.”

  “Seriously?”

  “One of their IP troll companies sued. The courts found that Lil’ Hellraisers was suspiciously similar to another franchise from, like, the twenty-first century, which the Eks already owned. The settlement gave them a controlling interest in Lil’ Hellraisers Inc.”

  “Damn Eks, huh.” I gave in. She was determined not to notice Risk. That was actually pretty telling. “So, any updates on your own plague of Eks? I don’t guess the cops tracked them down?”

  “No, and they never will. Because they don’t know what the Eks were looking for.”

  She looked me in the eye. I felt a tiny electric thrill. Not because—well, not only because—her blue eyes were as deep and clear as mountain lakes. She was going to fess up. About time.

  “Can I use your toilet?” she said.

  Oh.

  “Sure. First door on your right.”

  She vanished down the hall. I leaned around the corner to make sure she really did go into the toilet, and then flopped back on the sofa, frustrated as heck.

  No, not that way.

  Well. Maybe a bit.

  It had been three years—three dateless years—since Lucy’s mother left.

  But Irene was married, and …

  What was that?

  The apartment filled with a throbbing noise. It was as if the hum of traffic outside was suddenly louder, coming through the window.

  Something heavy clunked against the outside wall of the apartment. I felt a vibration through the sofa. For a crazy minute I wondered if I was aboard my ship. It was exactly like the sound of a grapple locking on before someone tries to board your spacecraft.

  Not a sound you ever want to hear.

  I jumped up and turned to the windows. Maybe I’d be able to see—

  The windows flickered. Shadows swung across them. Into them.

  The windows exploded inward in a spray of glass gravel.

  I hurdled the sofa and covered the distance to the kitchen in two strides. Guttural grunts and zzzzip sounds filled the living-room behind me. My Midday Special was in the gun safe built into my desk, and based on the noises in the living-room, I was already blocked off—I had no hope of getting to it. The sofa scraped along the floor as someone pushed it, and I snatched a cleaver out of the knife block over the sink.

  A horrible stench assaulted my nose.

  I knew that smell.

  Spinning, I confronted a blue individual with four arms. Xe was at the kitchen entrance, and so tall xe had to duck under the lintel of the door. When xe looked up xe saw me—xis glossy eyes widened, and xis nearest arm whipped around. It was holding a pistol. I couldn’t see what kind and it didn’t matter.

  I was already charging xim.

  Xe had to duck to get xis head under the lintel of the door. I used that moment to lunge at xim and slash xis lower right arm open with the cleaver.

  Xe let out a moo and dropped xis pistol.

  Then xe shot me anyway, with the gun in xis other right hand. Phut.

  That’s the problem when you fight someone with a four arm loadout: there’s always another gun.

  Pain streaked along my thigh. Behind me, the plates in the draining rack exploded.

  I slapped the pistol away as xe fired again. The round drilled into the wall over my shoulder and exploded a moment later. Armor-piercing rounds! Overkill much? I slashed again with the cleaver but didn’t connect, because xe flinched back.

  This wouldn’t last long. Xe had more arms with more weapons to bring to bear, and as if that wasn’t unfair enough, xe had height and reach too.

  A gunshot boomed from the living-room.

  My Ek grunted, staggering.

  Another gunshot. This one wasn’t an Ek weapon, it was throaty and over-the-top loud—human manufacture.

  My Ek pivoted away from me and back into the living room.

  First things first. The reason I’d charged forward in the first place was the button beside the kitchen door. It was the panic button. When I punched it, it gave a satisfying whoop that fit perfectly with the general atmosphere of chaos.

  Then I stooped and grabbed the Ek gun off the floor.

  Boom. Another deafening gunshot rang out. Someone was trigger happy—or really pissed off.

  I stopped myself from lunging into the living room, instead shifting to the far side of the doorway. The living room came into view.

  Risk’s cube was sliding across the floor. The Eks were dragging it out through the shattered window, using smart zip-ropes that clutched the duvet-wrapped slab.

  Two Eks stood on the balcony, but only for a moment. Ropes dangled from the roof. Risk rose up, up and away and the Eks followed.

  Boom, the other gun spoke again. My Ek was the last one in the apartment. Xe staggered when xe was hit, but bounced off my desk and fell out the window. A moment later xe rose back into view, hanging by xis last good arm. Xe was bleeding from half a dozen wounds, the unhappiest Ek I’d ever seen. Xe glared at me as the rope pulled xim up.

  Irene jumped up from her prone position in the hall. We reached the balcony at the same time.

  Rotors thudded. A bullet-shaped SUV lifted off from the roof a few floors above our heads. Risk stuck out of its trunk. My Ek was dangling half in and half out of its open side door. I loosed a few rounds at xim, pointlessly. The SUV roared over our heads, accelerating at top speed, and within seconds it disappeared into traffic.

  I lowered my gun. Well, their gun. Mine now. Cold comfort.

  Irene’s gun looked like an adult toy, but I’d seen the holes it made in that Ek.

  “Ceramic,” she said. “Your security’s fine.”

  “Oh no it clearly isn’t,” I gritted, incandescent with rage.

  The intercom in the kitchen gargled, “Yes, Mr. Starrunner? What is you
r emergency?”

  I stomped inside, yelling, “Take a wild guess. Do you think it might have anything to do with the Eks who just landed their SUV on the roof, rappelled down to my balcony, and robbed me in broad freaking daylight?!”

  “And shot you,” Irene said.

  I followed her gaze to my right thigh. Blood had seeped through my jeans. “I’ll live.” I’d spent five years in the army, knew what was serious and what wasn’t. The Eks had been firing armor-piercing rounds, and this one had gone through my thigh like paper. It was a through-and-through so narrow it probably wouldn’t even leave a scar.

  “Sit tight, sir,” Security boomed. “Do not let anyone in. We will be with you in just a moment.”

  “This isn’t what I pay for,” I yelled back.

  Irene was eyeing the exit and I felt the same. No way could I get bogged down with building security, or the actual police. I grabbed my Midday Special from the gun safe in my desk and dumped both of my side-arms in my shoulder bag. With Irene half a pace behind me, I slammed out of the apartment. I confirmed Lucy’s whereabouts with a glance over the guard wall, then ran down all eight flights of stairs rather than wait for the elevator.

  “Thank God the girls weren’t there,” Irene panted, behind me.

  “No kidding.” The thought that Lucy could have been in the apartment chilled my blood. And amped up my rage. I forced myself to jog to the playground, rather than sprinting. I wanted to scoop Lucy up and rejoice in her unhurt-ness, but she was playing contentedly with Mia in the sandpit, so I just waved.

  “Nanny B!” The droid turned, placidly smiling as usual. “I’m heading out for a while. Take them to Burgermeister’s for supper, if we’re not back.” The complex had a couple of kid-friendly restaurants on the premises. “Do not take them up to the apartment.”

  “As you wish, Mike.”

  “Mommy!” Mia exclaimed, spotting her mother. She ran to Irene. “Are we going home now?”

  Irene opened her mouth to answer. I cut in. “Not yet. Think you’ll be OK playing with Lucy for a bit longer?”

  “Yay!” Mia dashed back to Lucy. “Your dad says we can play longer!”

  “I didn’t say that,” Irene said, low.

  I held her eyes. “You’re coming with me. You owe me a new living-room. But I’ll settle for information.”