by William Cray
Finally they tried talking to the man who had first found the woman one more time, knocking on his door a couple of times before he answered. He relayed to them the same story he told the arriving officers. Floss questioned him professionally, but got very little in return. Finally Floss tried to reach him on a human level.
“You got kids, Manny?”
“Yeah, a couple. Boy and a girl. We got so lucky, man. Both are healthy. I should take them outta here, ya know. But it’s hard, ya know.”
Floss continued, “Yeah I know Manny. It’s hard on the surface. But what’s going on down here… you don’t want your kids caught up in this do you? Can you tell me anything?”
Manny shook his head, more frightened now. “I don’t know… there is rumors.”
“Rumors of what?”
“Just rumors… of bad people lurking around.”
Duran interjected, “What kind of bad people… what do they look like?”
“I don’t know nothin’ boss. Just rumors.”
Floss cut in, “Look… people are dying. Did you see what happened to that woman down there? I still don’t believe it. We need someone on the inside to help us. This thing is getting very bad. If someone is responsible for cooking bad dope we need to shut them down.”
Manny glanced around, looking over the shoulder and back into the hallway. “It ain't the Max… shit’s as good as always.
“Then what is it?” Floss shot back.
“Bad people, lurkers,” finally blurting out, “Nosferatu.”
Duran leaned in. “Vampires? Where do we find these vampires?”
The man stepped back “That’s all I know, just the rumors… now get out of here before I wind up like Jezz.” He slammed the door shut.
Floss knocked on the door, rapping harder. There was shuffling from the other side of the door then a firm slam.
“He's gone,” Floss said. “Let's go.”
Duran nodded and turned towards the waiting car, “Vampires.”
Floss shook his head, “Could these bad people be your terrorists?”
“I don’t know,” Duran said. “I’ve wasted enough time today. Let's get to the weapons locker.”
8
Outside the Imperial Armory
Hebes Chasma Trench, Mars
Stepping from the lifter and onto the broken elevator, Duran looked down into the waters of the Kinsberg Reservior below. They set down near the bottom of the trench with the reservoir just a few dozen meters below them, running the entire length of the chasm. On this end of the trench there was no artificial lighting in the water, creating the frightening appearance of a vast cold black sea. The sparse glowing fungus provided a faint luminescence that gave the lake a purple tint in areas near its black edge. Below the surface, genetically designed creatures survived in the acidic lake by feeding on its minerals and the infusion of benefical compounds from the water treatment plants skimming the surface. The palm sized invertebrate creatures were the top of the Martian ecosystem. The trolled the depths in vast hereditary schools, seeking nourishment and procreation until the population was deemed stable enough to support a larger, more advanced life form, one that would be a predator rather than a bottom feeder.
The poorer populations in New Meridian already fed on the tiny Quee fish, which were drawn to warmer waters in search of mineral nourishment. Eating poached Quee was illegal, but those who were desperate did what they had to do. They tasted horrible. Duran had eaten the brackish fish regularly in a communal sharing with a cohort of loyalist miners long ago, but he swore that he would never subject his body to another of the muscular, tentacle laden seven eyed creatures again.
Although processed and profusely spiced until edible, some foods were not meant for human consumption other than for pure sustenance. He pitied those who harvested the beasts because they had nothing else to keep their stomachs from growling and their children from starving.
Duran looked up from the dark lake. The square platform elevator he stood on served as the landing pad for the lifter, its engines drowning out the lap of the waters below. As soon as Floss exited the lifter, it climbed back up into the air and started its winding path through the struts and support beams crisscrossing the chasm.
Access to this side of the chasm was restricted by design. It was on the far end of the trench nearest the Stratospire and further away from the largest concentration of the population. The old Imperial age weapons locker was ahead.
During its operational days, it held many of the most terrible weapons man had ever designed. The locker was was alone at the bottom of the trench at a time when New Meridian’s population was still scattered throughout the habitation domes on the surface. The weapons storage bunkers were arranged in a horseshoe around the trench wall with elevators reaching all the way to the surface near the base of the Stratospire. There, the bombs and q-devices would be transferred to waiting vessels, and flung against the Rokon or anyone the Emperor deemed worthy of incineration. These dangerous weapons of war were sequestered deep into the trench, so an accident would divert the energy of a blast up and downwind from both the Stratospire and the populated domes. The bunkers were reinforced with dense metals and powerful magnetic fields to prevent anyone who might be foolish enough to attempt an act of terrorism or sabotage from succeeding. Bombs that could devour continents and asteroids had been kept here. Duran imagined it was easier to stumble drunk into Singlon and find the retired Emperor reclining on his throne in his underwear than it was to get into this place in its prime.
But the bombs were all gone now and the equipment had fallen to rust and disrepair so close to the waters edge. Duran walked down the open flight of stairs from the platform and into the entrance of the first hollowed out cavern. He looked down the dark row of shelters, cut into the walls of the trench.
Hansen believed the two girls inside were connected somehow. Keeping them alive held some unknown value to him but doing so was dangerous. The heavy shielding of the weapons locker might hold someone with the Intruder ability but setting up the resources would have taken up a good portion of his time. If the two girls inside were infected with the Intruder taint, he would be swift and merciless. That was the job. He would do what Axe had failed to.
Just a few hours ago he had learned how vulnerable he was to the Intruder mind control. He had killed while under their influence.
What was it that made him safe now? Was he safe at all?
The team science staff told him that he had shown the greatest ability to resist the effects of the Intruder influence based on the simulations they could concoct. He was the strongest of the group and had the most capacity to reject the Intruder advances. But was he strong enough? No one knew. Duran was told accompli had the ability to control or influence single individuals from a short distance. But an actual Intruder…no one knew the full extent of their powers. It was theorized that the towers and thought control equipment existed to amplify their reach, giving them the ability to extend across great distances and simultaneously control hundreds, maybe thousands per individual Intruder. But none of those things are here, he thought. Yet.
Duran reached into his coat pocket, feeling for the pack of pilfered cigarettes. He could smell the musty allure activating his nerve centers. He reached in to take one out, but one was already half way out of the case before he caught himself. He slid it back into the self-sealing pack.
Duran followed Floss as they walked past the last unmanned checkpoint in the tunnel, winding around the barricades and access gates until entering the complex of bunkers in the far end of tunnel. Limp pylons and brackets that held weapons and sensors sat empty. The bunker’s layered defenses and shielding had been removed long ago. All that was left was the duranium and concrete that formed the reinforced external walls of the fusion bomb storage locker. A LTC blue and orange unit van sat outside the star shaped bunker complex in the tunnel near the entrance. The van doors were open and several monitors could be seen glowing from the interior.
One small orange light illuminated the corridor over the large reinforced duranium double doors that rested half open. A reddish line of corrosion edged along the huge doors seals. It looked like they hadn’t moved in years.
As they approached the van, their footfalls tapped rhythmically on the metal floors, echoing down the corridor. Floss glanced at his chrono.
“We shouldn't spend a lot of time here.”
“I don’t intend to,” Duran responded. “You should wait here. If something goes wrong, get into my bag.” He pulled the black L-bag off his shoulder and handed it to Floss. “In the front lower left compartment you will find two cylinders. Take them out of their sleeves, depress the spoon and lock them open by twisting the bottom until it clicks. Toss the two cylinders into the bunker and close the main doors and seal them if you can. Then get out of here, as quickly as you can and do not return until someone from M.C.E. say’s its clear.”
“What’s in the cylinders, are they some sort of grenades?”
“Yes.”
“You’ve got live grenades in your bag?”
“Yes, but these grenades aren’t the kind that go boom.”
“Gas?”
“Worse.”
“What the hell we dealing with here Agent Duran? I can have a tactical squad here in half an hour. All this shit is unnecessary. I think you need to level with us.”
“Not until I have clearance. Until then you will have to trust me.”
“Listen, Commissioner Cole told me to stick with you. I’m going with you…”
Duran cut him off, “Lieutenant, if these girls are carriers you could be in danger of infection.”
Floss frowned, his hands on his hips. “What about you?”
Duran headed towards the bunker doors and the van. “I've been inoculated.”
“Inoculated against what?” Floss yelled.
Duran yelled back over his shoulder. “Against having my brains run out of my eye sockets Lieutenant. Remember the cylinders.”
Duran approached the van, one of the doors unhinged and swung open with a hiss, blowing cool air across his face. For the first time Duran noticed tiny sweat beads on his forehead, cooling in the air exiting the darkened van, sending a brief but welcome chill. Inside he found two uniformed constables, one standing in front of the opening door the other seated in the operators compartment. Both men wore blue urban style tactical armor. Along with their military-style helmets, they wore the full riot gear environmental protection kit with gas masks hanging loosely around their necks. Both men carried their issue side arms slung in vest holsters, but resting against the far panel of the van were a pair of black angular kinetic assault rifles. Stationed in the van was a bank of makeshift surveillance rigs.
One of the constables came forward, as Duran flashed his ID. The uniformed officer checked it as his other hand rested on his side arm. The nameplate on the front armor read “Otosky.”
At least they are taking security seriously, Duran thought.
Constable Otosky apologized for the scrutiny, but procedure had to be followed. Duran acknowledged his diligence with a nod.
Duran stepped over to the bank of surveillance monitors showing the immediate area around the bunker. Two of the monitors were focused on the girls being held inside.
Duran stepped over to the monitor on the left. He looked at still form of the dark haired girl, Celeste Von Heiden. He wondered if what that asshole Delk had told him about Axe was true. Eric believed the girls were connected somehow, sure enough to bring them here, but not sure enough to do what had to be done. He could have executed them as a precaution. But he must have felt they could provide more answers and sequestered them here. It was damn peculiar. There was nothing in the book about what he had done.
The other monitor showed the nervous girl that he didn’t have a name for. Her contemporary style skirt evolved colors and patterns as she paced back and forth. Her short blonde hair was unkempt and tousled. The food trays left inside the security door were strewn around and picked through. Water bottles were scattered around the cells interior and their contents spilled on the floor. The girl reminded him of a confined animal stalking in it's cage, agitated and ready to tear anything apart that came in its grasp. Duran could see the cold air from her breath as she exhaled in fits. Yet she was still was a young girl, only in her middle teens, appearing scared and all alone with pent up energy derived from anxiety.
Celeste was far harder to read. The motionless figure remained in the same fetal position he first saw her in from the monitor in Cole's office. Her food was untouched, the trays still stacked neatly on top of each other. The only indication of life was the subtle movement of her chest, coinciding with the visible breath in the cold air of the locker. She reminded him of a brooding black panther, laying still and conserving her energy until the moment was right.
Even from the grainy monitor he could see the perfections of her form. The skintight black pants and shiny blouse radiated in the pale blue lights of the room. He couldn’t equate the emotions now rushing through him as he watched her breathing slowly.
Duran watched her on the monitor, just breathing. The prospect of being in the same room with her sent an unnatural wave of adrenaline flowing into his veins with a cold rush.
He could feel Otosky figiting behind him and he wished Otosky would just stand still for a moment, while he gathered his thoughts.
Otosky finally broke the spell. “Which one do you want to see first, Agent Duran?”
Duran pointed to the monitor, the sleeping panther. Otosky shrugged, commenting, “That one give me the creeps.”
“How do you mean?” Duran asked.
Otosky shrugged, “Just does. I've watched her for seventeen hours now. I don’t go down there.”
“Go on.”
Every time I walk down that hall, I get the freaks. It's like someone is watching me.”
The other officer, sitting at the monitor interjected, “I'm watching you.”
Otosky snorted at the snide comment, giving him an ugly glare, “You like what you see asshole?”
Duran waited out the banter of the two constables, before cutting off the idle chatter as it continued down in a moronic spiral. “Why is it so cold in there?”
The constable seated the monitors answered. “We were told by our supervisor to keep it as cold as possible in the cells to slow the spread of any biological contaminants they may be carrying. We don’t know anything else.”
Duran nodded. “What about their activities?”
“Same as what you see now. The younger girl, the variable, will lay down and sleep some, but otherwise they have been doing exactly what you see since I’ve been down here.”
Duran took a step closer to the bank of monitors, “Could their actions be the result of a drug withdrawal?”
Otosky replied this time, “Could be, but the one on monitor four isn’t acting like a regular geek on the ride down. Three…”he pointed to the pacing young girl, “is racing around like she's still maxed out.”
Duran nodded. “Ok… four will be first.” Otosky pointed to an environmental protection suit, hanging on the van side panel. “You can use that suit there, sir.”
“That won't be necessary, just one of you follow me down there and secure the door behind me once I’m in. If anything happens, yell out to Lieutenant Floss.”
Otosky objected, “Sir, those girls are under quarantine. No contact without protective measures. A team will be here from Infectious Disease Control in a few hours.”
Duran shot back, becoming irritated with the cover story. “Who do you think issued those orders?”
Otosky fell silent from the rebuke. Duran continued, “I did. I am aware of the risks. No one is to come down here until I clear it. Understood? Now let's get going.”
Duran exited the van and began down the corridor. The muffled sound of a snide remark came from Otosky as he snapped his gas mask into place. Duran ignored him and led him down the dark corridor, the h
all reverberating with their staccato steps.
As Duran passed the number 4 and 5 lockers he noticed the sensation for the first time. It was like numbness had permeated on the back of his brain. A tingling that felt like part of the bloodflow to part of his brain was cut off. Duran walked with a disconnected gait, perceiving that his body moved forward on its own without conscious intervention. The feeling grew the closer he got to the end of the corridor, intensifying the disjointed sensation. Confused, Duran looked over at Otosky who showed no signs of the unsettling feeling. For a moment Duran stopped, concentrating on the feeling, relying on his training, focusing his mind on just trying to stand up.
Otosky stopped behind him as Duran wavered. “Something wrong?”
Duran stood still, the corridor spinning slowly. He focused and the spin stopped.
“No…” Duran said. “Lets go.” They continued forward as Duran struggled to refine the feelings. He felt the weight of the gun under his arm.
As they reached the exterior of the last locker, Otosky pointed up at the monitor. “This is a first. Looks like she’s awake.”
Duran stared at the monitor, entranced at the image of Celeste Von Heiden now sitting up. She remained in a fetal position, knees pulled up to her chest, her arms folded across the top of her knees. Her forehead rested against her folded arms with straight black hair draped across the top, hiding her face and obscuring her features. Duran felt subconsciously for the Mag-gun under his coat. If felt solid and comforting. Duran could still feel the subtle tingling. She knew he was there.
Otosky stepped up to the manual door release. “You want me to go in there with you?”
Duran shook his head, no.
Otosky touched his helmet mounted headset. “Reed, we're at number 10, enter your code now.” A moment later the crank of the doors released with a metallic bang. Otosky grabbed the release with a gloved hand, the other never releasing the rifle across his chest.
