The security team trained weapons on him but stepped back at the behest of the Point team leader, Dr. Marion Bazanet, who stood impassively as Arturo died in a wracking fury of blood and pain. A security team lead pointed wordlessly to the dart, sticking obscenely from the quivering back of what had once been a fine paleogeologist.
Her dark eyes never flickered as she regarded the corpse with clinical disdain, but rounded into lust when she noticed the bulging sample vest. Her voice cracked with authority underlined by greed. “Gloves on. I want those samples immediately.”
“What of Dr. Peres?” asked a stern man with his MP5 trained on the former scientist, who was now a steaming corpse. The death had been unsettling to see, but was already forgotten by members of the team who realized that a short memory span was the key to staying on this project.
Bazanet’s voice never deviated as she said, “Remove him.” Her low heels clicked in the ensuing silence, filling the hangar with a staccato beat that was entirely too cheerful for the gory scene. In minutes, the samples were secured, and it was if Arturo Peres had never existed.
* * *
Twenty-four hours later, the head of Point security, Denis Gauthier, entered Marion Bazanet’s office to find her leaning casually against the desk. The director’s state of repose was nearly total, and the career soldier felt his senses go on alert as he stepped forward. Three men and a woman sat in chairs arrayed in a semicircle before the immaculate expanse of wood that served as desk and reminder of exactly who was in charge.
“Denis, if you please. We have some introductions to make.” Bazanet’s voice was cool, flat, and humorless, much like her clothing and demeanor. She was the most unremarkable human Gauthier had ever encountered, with brown eyes, mousy hair, and a slender, frail-looking body that she kept hidden behind formless suits. But then she would begin asking questions, and the brilliance of Marion Bazanet blazed like an inescapable collapsing star. Her background in law and engineering found fertile purchase in a mind that was ever seeking better angles and means of control over a technology that could, if unleashed, destroy civilization in a matter of days. Denis found himself seated and staring at the hard characters who regarded him with looks ranging from open disdain to mild curiosity. He could tell at a glance that they were all operators of some sort, but no one he’d ever seen, and that meant that the upcoming mission was going to be something different.
“Denis, this is your team for the next insertion.” The excision of his regular crew was done with that single sentence, and the tone brooked no argument. “For the purposes of this mission, you may address these people as James, Eduard, Daniel, and Corli.” Three men and the woman all nodded once and turned their eyes back to the director. Denis had no doubt that they were all delisted, ex-military, and highly specialized. Despite their aura of professionalism, there was something unique about the way each of them sat. He filed that away for further consideration and turned to face the director once again.
“Look here,” she commanded. A flatscreen flicked to life behind her desk, the digital watermark of the Point project floating on a blue background. “We’re going to watch this footage and formulate a plan to achieve three goals in one mission. Should any of this information leave the room, you won’t leave this property alive. I guarantee it.” She wasn’t smiling. Denis frowned when the other team members didn’t even flinch. He took a moment to assess them and reached some tentative decisions based on their stoic postures. The three men were military, of that he was certain. The woman, Corli, had the ghost of a smile playing at her lips. She was different, Denis decided, and when she caught him staring, her answering gaze hinted at an intellect that was rare indeed. Denis snapped his attention back to the screen and assumed a look of competent interest.
“For the purpose of time management, I’ve cut the insertion footage, as it isn’t germane to our goals,” Bazanet said in clipped tones. “The first section is critical to James and Eduard, who will be tasked with eliminating any and all hostiles during the walk to the ruins.”
“Ruins?” Corli asked, with barely contained interest. They were going to slip into the deep past, well before any hominids had existed. Her eyes burned with curiosity.
“Exactly what I said. Watch.” Bazanet looked to the screen, where two of the previous team members were cresting a low rise to reveal … a city. Or what had once been a city. Jungle pulled the stonework into tortured piles, but the walls stood. It was unquestionably a city.
“How—never mind.” Eduard closed his mouth with an audible click. He knew not to ask questions about the origin of such ruins, not with this project. Everyone waited for the reason that this incomprehensible ruin could yield profit. Marion Bazanet did not disappoint them; she merely pointed back to the screen, where Arturo Peres was chattering excitedly with a colleague off camera. His hands were prying gleaming stones from a bas relief of such age that the shapes were mere suggestions in the worn volcanic rock. The gems, or whatever they were, popped out with ease, glimmering with dull radiance in his work-roughened hands.
“What is he taking?” James asked in a Ukrainian accent. His eyes were fixed on the screen; more specifically, he eyed the stones. James knew a target when he saw it.
Marion Bazanet paused the vidstream and turned to the team. Only her head moved, giving her the aura of a small bird of prey. It fit her well, right down to her unblinking eyes. “After we enhanced the pictographs, we noticed a pattern not unlike an electrical circuit board. The stones that we acquired are piezoelectric.”
“And? So is table salt,” spat Daniel. His outburst earned him a piercing stare, but he was unfazed by the director. “And bone, I might add. Your point? I was told that this was groundbreaking. These stones appear to be clever distractions from my work, nothing more.”
Now we know who the geologist is. Denis nodded imperceptibly in recognition of the man’s bravado. He sounded British, but was most likely Israeli or Jordanian. Whoever he might be, he wasn’t scared, and he must also be involved in some deep black energy source research to discount this discovery out of hand. That told Denis these people were at the top of their professions.
Marion leveled a frosty gaze at the man. “Daniel, you’re here because of your ability to assess value in the field, not to judge the Point’s goals. Despite your lack of decorum, you’ll have several hours to look over our initial data. For now, I’ll tell you two facts you might want to consider before any more inadvisable outbursts.” Her eyes narrowed briefly as the room cooled even further. “The samples are not on the periodic table, and they produce energy at an output that we’ve never seen. Nor imagined, even.” The last admission rang with frank truth. That got the attention of everyone, because Marion Bazanet loved money more than anything in the entire known world. That quality made her motivations transparent; what was hidden was the lengths she would go to achieve those goals. Looking at her expression as she described the unknown energy source, Denis decided that there was little she wouldn’t do when it came to exploiting the Point for profit.
“What kind of energy?” That question came from Eduard. His voice was a stentorian rumble of pure Texan. Denis noticed United States army tats on his forearm, but they were a design that he didn’t recognize. Interesting.
“We think it’s piezoelectric, but in an output that we can’t explain,” the director stated, a note of uncertainty in her voice. “We lost three people in the testing phase overnight. Suffice it to say that those stones are proof that a closed system can yield more than the input. We don’t know how, or why, but the quick and dirty? One kilo will power the city of New York for a century. Or longer.”
There were grunts and a low whistle at that. It was instantly clear that those dull stones were now the only thing more valuable than the Point itself.
Corli raised a finger to gesture at the screen. “If you please, Director Bazanet, show us the reason that I have three assistants with me, plus Denis, on what should be a relatively bland sample recovery.�
�� Her voice was pleasant, mannerly, and South African.
“I see you’ve anticipated the issue, Corli. If you’ll watch.” Marion thumbed the remote as the vidstream leapt forward to utter chaos. The smear of green and brown vegetation was overlaid with three people screaming in horror. The object of their terror was a feathered dinosaur, but none they had ever seen before.
The dinosaur wore clothing. And it was armed.
To be more accurate, a primitive system of looped belts clung to the lithe form of a raptor that weighed less than a cheetah but stood nearly seven feet tall. Marion slowed the film with a casual wave of the remote, saying, “Watch this. Carefully.”
Even at a fraction of normal speed, the animal moved like mercury. Within the woven garment hung spear points, a stone knife, and small bags that bulged with what looked like trail supplies to the seasoned veterans who watched. Eduard grunted in surprise as the beast lashed forward with a blur, hurling a short spear it materialized from a shoulder-mounted quiver that blended perfectly with its own skin. The haft accelerated like a greyhound and vanished over the shoulder of whoever was shooting the video. A liquid puncture preceded a short, horrid scream, but the raptor never slowed, not even for an instant. It leapt a low berm, digging for purchase with long talons that dug a deep groove into the red earth. Inch-long jeweled shapes—armored insects of some kind—boiled up from the furrow, and the raptor moved two long steps to avoid a torrent of sprayed toxins that wafted up from their massed defense. It sneezed once in a sound so human that everyone including Marion Bazanet took pause. With a violent shake of its head, the creature levelled intelligent, dark eyes at the camera, settled back on its haunches, and prepared to wait.
“Here’s the second point you’ll want to note,” Bazanet ordered. They all took note of her jaw muscle bunching as the scene played out again. It dawned on Corli that the director was only angry because she couldn’t change the outcome—the impending death of her people meant nothing.
A hooting whistle carried to the mic of the unfortunate soul still filming. The raptor’s head turned, catlike, and its muscles bunched in preparation of movement. When it came, the transition from rest to action was almost instantaneous. With a muffled squawk, it vanished over the hillside into the red of a dying sun. Heavy breathing began to rasp in the microphone as Marion waved the remote once more, ending the presentation.
“Well? Do you see? Our power limits how many team members we can send, but if we can secure this source …” Marion trailed off with a knowing look.
“Do we know the species? Of that … hunter?” It was Eduard. His eyes glittered with interest.
Marion fought a smirk. It was always about measuring their dicks against something new, she thought. She knew that at least one of them would see it as a hunt. “In fact, we do not. Nor do we care. Here’s why—those animals are fast, vicious, and smart. They also happen to be a direct impediment to the security of our species. Unfortunately, we can’t send a Marine brigade back to paste them into oblivion, so for now, I have you. And you will perform as advertised, because your pay depends on it.” She paused, regarding a hand and its short, unpolished nails. “Not to mention your lives.” A real smile crossed her features, and she stood from the edge of her desk in dismissal. “Corli, if you would? Stay for a moment while the men begin preparations. We insert tomorrow at 0600 local time, and you’ve much to do.”
Corli nodded, mute with her thoughts while the men filed out, muttering to themselves about combat loads and egress. The mission parameter was beyond dangerous, but the reward astronomical. When the door closed, Marion turned and regarded her like a bird in a mirror.
“I’m sure you’re curious as to why we care about their culture at all,” Marion began.
“In fact, I’m not. I can distill my purpose.” Corli awarded the director a measured look.
The surprise on Bazanet’s face was genuine. Like anyone in charge, she detested not knowing the answers to questions ahead of time. It was an issue of control, and pride, if she was honest. She was not. “What is it, then?” She tapped her fingers on the desk with a thrum.
“Maximized output.” When the director’s brows shot up in admiration, she continued. “We need to know where the mines are located. Is the stone holy? Is it a sacred site, but unique? Or is it one of thousands? Who can access the stones? And this is the money shot, if you’ll excuse my phrasing: did these animals harvest the energy source with Neolithic technology? Because if they did, it’s most likely stream bed or shallow deposits, and that means we can strip mine the land, not deep drill. The difference in cost would be incalculable. Sound about right?”
Marion Bazanet regarded Corli with something like respect. The emotion rested uneasily on her face until a warm smile percolated to her thin lips, reducing her age by ten years. It wasn’t often the director met someone capable of cutting to the heart of a gnarled root, but in Corli, she had her equal in that regard.
“You are uncomfortably accurate. And, I’m afraid, you’ll be the only person fully apprised of the situation. Other than myself, of course.” A slight incline of her head was as close to mannerly that the director could get.
Corli narrowed her eyes in a long moment of consideration. There was more than intelligence at play in her gaze; she was plumbing the depths of Bazanet’s intentions. After a casual glance at her hands, she looked up, and for the first time in years, Marion Bazanet felt like she’d been properly understood. The silence grew, fat and tense.
“You’re an engineer, yes?” Corli asked, but it wasn’t really a question. It was a gambit designed to see if she could elicit something close to honesty from the avaricious woman before her.
“I am,” came the answer, clipped and chilly.
Corli resumed the examination of her hands. They were good hands; a bit rough from work, but sturdy. Her one nod to vanity was a silver ring she’d been given by a fawning student some years earlier. It served to remind her of the power of authority. “So why haven’t you gone back?” The question festered between them until Marion Bazanet did something unusual.
She laughed. And then, she told Corli what she had planned.
* * *
Eduard was the first to die. It was, as deaths went, spectacular. The hunters surrounded him in a trio, working with the beauty of practice and instinct. The raptors hadn’t attacked until the group was standing in the ruins of a city that made Corli laugh out loud even as she began to examine one of the obedient rows of piezoelectric gems.
Three darts took Eduard in neck, chest, and thigh. There was a whistling hoot as he began to spasm, and then Daniel and James opened up with their weapons. They may as well have been firing at wisps. The raptors were past masters at shadowboxing, and they threw a series of noise- and sight-based feints that spun the party around, firing at hints and whispers, but always firing. Denis bellowed for a fallback but was roundly ignored; only he took up a position next to Corli, who wisely huddled close to the wall, her Glock drawn but silent. She was a scientist, but no fool when it came to fighting. Hurling rounds downrange at a ghost was as good as a death sentence. They couldn’t fight their way out if they were left with glorified clubs for weapons, and Denis knew it too. Of the party, only they had shown truly prescient firing discipline, a fact that Corli was certain the raptors had noticed.
In less than five minutes, James expelled his last clip, and the forest noises shifted from oppressive to quietly menacing. Their ammunition was nearly gone, and they hadn’t even secured a single gem.
The hunters began calling to each other just over the berm that provided their cover. Corli listened, as did Denis, but neither of them could see a way back to the Point that didn’t involve an all-out run. That was akin to suicide, so Denis began looking for another route.
He found one in Corli. With exaggerated care, she holstered her weapon and sat back on her haunches against the wall. Her repose was casual but alert.
“What the hell are you doing? Get up!” Daniel hiss
ed. His face was pale with fear, eyes darting around as he began to lose whatever shreds of training he’d been clinging to.
Denis shook his head. “No, you idiot. Get down. You’re inviting them to—”
A wet smack signaled the end of Daniel. A stone point jutted brutally through one cheek, then a flurry of darts struck him even as he began to tumble to one side. His limbs began to twitch in unison as the toxins took hold, blooming in his body with each of his dying heartbeats. To his credit, James drew a pair of wicked knives and took up a defensive posture near Daniel’s corpse, but Denis drew his attention with a quiet, insistent word.
“James, put them away. You won’t need them now.” Denis’ voice was soothing, even rational. He saw the wild fear in James’s eyes and knew the man was on the cusp of breaking. He couldn’t let that happen. It was a wasted life, and they only had three to give.
More lilting hoots drifted to them as the hunters spread out, and James reached that inexorable tipping point between reason and flight. He was man at the full noon of his potential, his muscles corded and bunched as he muttered an apology to Corli before leaping forward in the general direction of the Point.
A chorus greeted him as he plunged into the cover of the forest, but he wasn’t pursued. “They’ve got the Point covered, too,” Corli said in a reasonable tone. James was dead. He just didn’t know it yet.
“What next?” Denis asked, but it was directed at the clouds. He took a knee next to Corli, hands splayed carefully open in what he hoped was a form of submission. This was unknown territory for all parties involved, he thought.
The Jurassic Chronicles (Future Chronicles Book 15) Page 5
