“Fuck you, Gallic,” Cugan said.
But Gallic could see the rancher pondering over what he’d just heard. He’d be having a chat with his son about his reckless driving habits real soon. “Now that I’ve answered your questions . . . I’d like to ask you a few questions of my own.”
Rick Cugan didn’t assent, but he didn’t decline answering either. Gallic made a few taps onto his ComsBand. “I’m recording your answers. They’ll be included with the formal case report.”
Rick Cugan took a step closer. “Here’s my official statement: I don’t know anything about what happened to our neighbors Catherine and Tami Bower. It’s a tragedy. My wife and daughter are completely devastated, as I am. If you are involved in tracking down whoever did this . . . I hope you’re up to the task.” Cugan, turning to Phil, said, “Catch whomever did this, or I’ll hire someone who can. That’s all I’m going to say. If you have any other questions, you can contact my attorney.” With that, he turned and walked away.
Roy Thompson too added a definitive nod, as if Rick Cugan’s words went double for him. He scampered away—hurrying to catch up with Cugan.
“Well, that was a bust,” Phil said.
Chapter 25
Frontier Planet, Gorman — Heritage Plains Township.
Gallic stood within the Hound’s lift as it began its descent to the lower level. He’d just sent Phil on his way—his ComsBand loaded-up with data files, security footage, and other information on the stolen Hayai. He’d gone over the footage twice with him. They viewed the beautiful ship, situated under the museum spotlights, when a disturbance caused the feed to pixelate and become visually indecipherable. Moments later, when the feed cleared, the vessel was gone—no longer parked between the two spaceships. Other feed angles showed similar momentary disturbances. Outside security cameras, positioned on nearby buildings, provided no indication that anything out of the ordinary had taken place. No spacecraft, either arriving or departing, that matched the same time code of the Hayai’s disappearance. He intended to give it more thought but still hoped Phil would have better luck figuring out that mysterious theft.
“Mr. Gallic, there is an incoming CoreNet call from Sergeant Tori.”
Gallic, going through his pre-flight checklist and seated in the Hound’s command center, said, “Go ahead and make the connection . . . put her here on the primary display.”
Tori flashed into view, giving Gallic only a hurried acknowledgment. “Hey . . . just wanted to give you an update.”
“Hello to you too, Silvia.”
“Don’t call me that. And yeah . . . hello! I just wanted to tell you I interviewed Donald Bower.”
“You’re back?”
“Yeah . . . I’m back,” she replied somewhat curtly.
“How did he seem?”
“He was distraught . . . no doubt about that. He couldn’t really add much to the knowledge base; said nothing seemed out of the ordinary before he left for his business trip.”
“Anything else?”
“Just that he worked for the Praxis Ranch franchise . . . the neighbor’s company. He’s a corporate lawyer.”
“Lawyer for the Cugan’s?”
“That’s right. For their company . . . Praxis.”
Gallic then updated Tori on his brief meeting with Rick Cugan.
“I want to be there for those interviews, Gallic. Let’s not forget whose case this is, okay?”
“Absolutely. But he tracked me down, not the other way around. He told me nothing other than accusing me of frying three of his cows.”
Tori stared at Gallic with a questioning expression.
“Never mind . . . it’s unrelated,” Gallic said.
“I’m going to knock on a few more doors; get full statements from all the surrounding neighbors. Maybe we can meet up later . . . go over things?”
“Sounds good,” Gallic said. “Let me know when you’re free.”
The connection ended though Gallic continued to stare at the display. “AI, make a CoreNet call to Lane.”
Lane answered the incoming hail out of breath and with a surprised expression. As if getting a communications hail was something totally not expected. Gallic took in her full-size 3D holographic image. As recognition took hold, she smiled and said, “Hey . . . I was just thinking about you.”
Open just behind her was her bedroom. The bed was made, and it looked like she’d been folding clothes.
“You still around here . . . or are you gallivanting around on another planet somewhere?”
Gallic heard another voice, coming from somewhere behind her. “Who you talking to, Lanie?”
Lane glanced over her shoulder, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “It’s Gallic.”
Gallic saw Larz Cugan appear in the doorway behind her, his long-parted hair hanging strategically over one eye. Leaning against the door frame, he crossed his arms over his chest. Once Lane turned back to face him, Gallic saw Larz behind her flip him the bird.
“Larz was just on his way out. You know that he and I are just friends, right?”
“That’s fine. Who you’re friends with is your business. Even if one of them is a tool.”
Lane, giving Gallic an indignant glance, said, “Let me say goodbye, then I’ll CoreNet back to you in a minute . . . okay?”
Gallic was about to say that was fine when Larz blurted out, “I haven’t forgotten what you did, asshole. Stay away from Heritage Plains . . . and stay the hell away from Lane. You got that? Your days are numbered.”
“You know where to find me.”
“Larz! Knock it off!” Lane yelled back, staring apologetically at Gallic. “Let me deal with him, Gallic . . . I’ll talk to you in a few minutes.”
The feed went black. Gallic wondered if Larz brought that out in him—his being transposed down to the maturity level of a ten-year-old.
In less than five minutes Lane appeared before him, sitting on her bed and looking stunning. “Sorry about that. I know Larz can be an ass . . . but he has a good side, too. He’s been like a brother to me. Watched out for me since we were kids.” Her train of thought veered away for a moment . . . mentally focusing in a distant time and place. When she snapped back, she gave Gallic a sideways glance. “I wish you were here.”
“Do you?” Gallic asked.
A mischievous smile crossed Lane’s lips. “More than you can imagine.”
“Well, I can imagine quite a lot,” he said, returning the flirtatious comment.
Lane’s demeanor suddenly changed. Gazing at him with sultry eyes, she slowly unbuttoned her blouse. “I want you to see what you’re missing right now.” She let the blouse slide off her shoulders, revealing she wasn’t wearing a bra. He could see her breathing slow—become deeper—her breasts steadily move up and down. He found it hard to pull his eyes away from those two perfect orbs. Her fingers began toying with the button on her blue-jean waistband. Although he appreciated the striptease, he felt uncomfortable knowing it was performed over an unsecured CoreNet channel, and that the ever-present AI was watching in the wings.
“Lane . . .”
She looked back at Gallic with a coy, playful expression.
“Why don’t we take this up later . . . when we’re together?” he suggested.
Lane gave him a hurt—pouty—look. It had been a long time since he’d met a woman with her appetite for sex. In their previous encounters she’d exhibited a physical voracity that teetered on insatiable. As much as he appreciated sex, he began to wonder if she might have . . . issues.
“Fine! You’re no fun . . . old fuddy-duddy.” Lane bent over and retrieved her shirt. As she put it on and buttoned it, Gallic asked, “Lane . . . do you remember anything unusual from last night? Do you remember what we talked about?”
The coy smile returned. “I remember we made love . . . that you were a stallion and—”
“You remember collapsing? Having an . . . episode?”
Lane didn’t reply.
“Do
you remember talking about the Curz, Lane . . . do you remember that?”
“I don’t know what’s wrong with you. Why you’re trying to start a fight. Why you’re making these things up. It’s most upsetting!” Her fingers balled into fists and tears welled up in her eyes. “I can’t talk to you right now,” cutting off the connection.
Gallic wanted to call her back. Seeing her that upset had more of an effect on him than he’d thought possible, knowing her for only a short while.
“Mr. Gallic, Polly Gant has been holding for you.”
Gallic closed his eyes, regaining his composure. “Put him through.”
Polly appeared, seeming exasperated. The little man was the spitting image of Danny DeVito, the old TV/movie actor in the last century. Wearing a purple and yellow Hawaiian shirt, part of his face was obscured from view, hidden behind one of the tall stacks of vid-sheets on his messy desk.
“What can I do for you, Polly?”
“What do you mean . . . what can you do for me? You work for me, or have you forgotten that?”
Gallic had to remind himself that Polly Gant tended to overreact. Insecure, he might even be bi-polar. But since he generally liked the guy, he didn’t mind summoning up the extra patience needed to help that little trolley get back on the tracks. “You’re right . . . sorry. I’m all ears, and you have my undivided attention.”
Polly stared back at him blankly—assessing if he were being fucked with. “You must have made some kind of impression on Ms. Tillman. I think she likes you.”
“We still haven’t actually met . . . in person.”
“Whatever. I got a recorded vid call from her that she wanted me to forward on to you.”
“Why didn’t she just do it herself?”
“She tried, but she wasn’t able to reach you. Basically, contacted by the same company managing her exotic import/export business, they have some information that might make it possible for us to track what happened to the Hayai.”
Chapter 26
Frontier Planet, Gorman — Heritage Plains Township.
Gallic waited for Polly’s forwarded message from Allison Tillman to arrive. Hearing the AI begin to speak, he cut it off mid-sentence. “I see it. Just play the message.”
“Hi Polly, that Mr. Gallic is a tough man to get ahold of. If you would be so kind, please forward this message onto him . . . thank you.”
Gallic said, “Pause message.” As he stared at Allison on the display he tried to determine what was different about her appearance from the other times he’d seen her. It then occurred to him that this was the first time he’d seen her dressed in casual, non-business attire. He tried to make out where she was standing . . . outside? Someone walking behind by a swimming pool, wore a skimpy bathing suit. Allison was wearing a bathing suit as well, but hers was obscured by an oversized, somewhat-see through, blouse. She was standing beneath a pergola, and the overhead wood slats were making a shadow pattern across her face and ample chest. She looked tan and carefree.
“Play the rest of the message,” Gallic said and heard the sound of water splashing in the pool. “The high-tech firm I’m in communications with, Sunland Technical Industries, actually sought me out,” Allison said. “I guess they heard through the grapevine about the theft. You’ll be meeting with them at their company headquarters, here on Spector. They’ve agreed to meet with you and Sargento personally and share with you whatever confidential information they have, I guess, regarding any tracking data they have on the Hayai. Now, you and Sargento need to play nice on this . . . okay? Anyway, I’m not completely sure what info they have . . . to be honest.” Allison seemed a little flustered by her own lack of detail. “They don’t want to broadcast on an unsecured line. Let me know when you’ll be coming to Spector. I’ll try to be around so we can officially meet. Now see the attached coordinates; the time scheduled for your meeting. Have a nice day . . . bye.”
Gallic next, in a second CoreNet conversation, let Phil know he was headed back to Spector; that there might be a new lead regarding the location of the Tillman spacecraft. Firing up the Hound’s propulsion system, he lifted off.
* * *
Entering Spector’s atmosphere, Gallic found that the coordinates provided by Sunland Technical Industries put the Hound on the other side of this small world. Descending, the big spaceship hit substantial turbulence, making it hard for Gallic to stay on his feet. He heard several books fall hard to the deck behind in his den. Bright lightning flashes outside, and pounding rains against the windows, made it clear the weather on this side of the world was far more tumultuous. Gallic scanned the nav display and tried to make sense of the rough terrain below. There were no structures visible—no industrial buildings. A small icon appeared—another ship was entering the atmosphere, behind the Hound. About to ask the AI to provide him with the ship’s identification, the Hound bucked sideways as gale-forces winds buffeted her portside. Gallic grabbed hold of the controls, shouting, “I’m taking over,” as an alarm klaxon began to ping loudly.
“The Starboard Graviton drive—”
Gallic interrupted the AI, “Yeah . . . I know . . . it’s swamping. This old girl doesn’t much like water.” Fighting to maintain control, Gallic brought the ship down quickly. When three consecutive lightning bolts struck the outer hull in rapid succession, he winced at the potential damage being done to his ship. He noticed on the nav display where he was supposed to land. Yelling over the noisy klaxon, and the raging storm outside, he asked the AI, “Is the space even large enough for us?” referring to what looked to be too small an area to even set down on.
“It is sufficient, if you nail the landing.”
Gallic stared at the console. Nail the landing? He’d never heard an artificial intelligence speak in such a way . . . personality added in? “I’ll do my best,” Gallic replied, his voice heavy with sarcasm. He hit the landing thrusters, working hard to maintain control.
“Lateral axis needs adjustment . . . vertical axis needs adjustment—”
“I’m working on it!” Gallic replied through gritted teeth. “And address me as Mr. Gallic!” What the hell’s wrong with the AI, he wondered.
Landing within a valley of sorts, and peering out through a window drenched in torrential rain, Gallic found the surrounding terrain mostly jagged rock. He noticed reflections, bouncing off windows built into the cliffs. As the Hound touched down hard, more books clattered off shelves in the den behind him.
Gallic, exhaling a deep breath, quickly shut down the propulsion system. “Do what you can, AI, to drain excess moisture from both drives.”
“Yes, Mr. Gallic.”
Gallic, glancing outside, shook his head. He didn’t like this. Something was up. “We may need to get out of here in a hurry. You see me heading back, fire up the drives and be ready to lift off as soon as I’m back onboard.” He waited for the AI to acknowledge the command.
“Hello?”
“Yup . . . I’m on it, Mr. Gallic.”
Gallic exhaled: What the fuck? But now wasn’t the time to deal with an out-of-whack AI. He’d run complete diagnostics on the thing later. Pulling on his thick leather duster, he lowered his Stetson further down on his head. Once inside the lift, descending, he thought about the situation he presently was in. During the flight from Gorman, he’d taken the opportunity to research Sunland Technical Industries. There wasn’t much data available. Primarily a military contractor to more than one Earth government, virtually everything they worked on was highly secretive. Bio-warfare capabilities, was a term that appeared several times.
Halfway down the gangway, Gallic lost his hat when a huge gust of wind nearly pushed him off the ramp. Once on firm ground, he looked around for some indication where he was supposed to go. Based on the number of windowed rows, there appeared to be six or seven levels built into the cliff directly ahead. Moving in that direction, he figured there had to be an entrance somewhere at ground level. No other ships, nor vehicles of any kind, were around. Perhaps
there’s some other way into the place, he mused, sensing something was off about the place, about the whole situation.
Hatless, Gallic needed to shield his eyes from the rain to see even several feet in front of him. Up ahead, he thought he saw something. Three strides farther on, Gallic held up, trying to decipher what he was seeing on the rocky terrain ten feet ahead.
“Hey, you . . . you okay there, man?” Gallic asked, noting a person. A naked man, hunched over in the rain, not moving. Gallic approached slowly. At six feet away, he halted again. This was no ordinary man. His skin was gray and slick—oily-like, snake-like. A door then creaked open—not outside in the rocky landscape, but within his mind. Gallic’s inner demons were on the move.
The grayish man had curly, black hair—not short but not long either. Though his head was facing down, Gallic still could see a strong Roman nose and full lips. Hard to judge his age—he could be thirty . . . maybe forty. His hairless arms and legs were beyond muscular. The guy was ripped. Only when he turned his gaze upward, on fully seeing the man’s face—his nearly transparent blue eyes—did Gallic fully comprehend the term Bio-warfare capabilities. This being was neither man nor human but what was commonly referred to nowadays as a Bio Technoid. One built for war, obviously.
Today was by no means Gallic’s first run-in with a technoid. As a Royal Marine officer, he’d witnessed those artificial soldiers come into their own—advancing from mere experimental units, deployed in theater operations, into fully utilized military assets, replacing their more vulnerable human counterparts. Technoids’ reaction times were far better; their strength and endurance performances off the charts; and the bio-units followed all orders without exception. The perfect soldier with one important exception—their wireless cyborg brain interfaces could be, and often were, hacked.
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