by Steve Rzasa
“Mm-hmm. You’ll no doubt want to exchange for the sculpture before you give me the rest of the money.” Fisk pocketed the bond. He pulled closer to the table. “So the Ghiqasu. Turns out you’re right, Nil. Even the untrained, the bureaucrats, the Observers and Engineers, they have a sense of smell that blows humans away. Some researcher told me there are 350 types of olfactory receptors in humans. Ghiqasu? The number varies between two and four thousand.
Fisk had started sweating. Perspiration beaded across his brow, along the edges of his sideburns, on his top lip. He was breathing faster, enough of an acceleration that I could see his shirt rising and falling. His eyes were going glassy, unfocused. What, had he taken something right before the meeting?
I glanced at Nil. He was watching Fisk closely, nose drawing in deep whiffs.
“Now, I bet you didn’t know that there are telltales,” Fisk went on. “Little hints about the way they process scents, even about the way their noses move when they sniff, that indicate not only race but region and training. You can’t find humans who can pick up on those hints, not on Earth.”
Nil sat stock still.
Me, I leaned back, arms loose and hands folded in my lap. Doing my best to not freak out. “Look, Fisk, I don’t know what you’re going on about, but you’ve got your down payment. Now tell us where and when you want to do the exchange for the statue and we’re all golden.”
Fisk laughed. Weirdest sound ever—a nervous cackle. Did not fit his voice or even his body type. His muscles were taut, as if with exertion, and his stare had gone completely blank. He looked right past us. His pupils were so dilated I don’t know how he could stand the light in the room.
“You’re full of lies, Mr. Foss, you and your Hounder,” he said, in a voice that was suddenly not Fisk’s.
Just like the Borg from Star Trek. Lots of voices, all similarly monotone but overlapping in a creepy chorus with a very robotic, metallic ring to it.
Then he drew a qwaddo striker. No idea where it came from.
Okay. Focus. He claimed Nil was a Hounder. Which he was.
There shouldn’t be any way for a human to know that. Right?
The room was stone quiet. Nil had two hands above the table. The lower pair were frozen in place by his belt. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw he hadn’t drawn his strikers but something was flashing faint white, with a very slow beat, on his belt. More toys? My smile stayed locked in place. What was I going to do, start pleading for my life and dropping big splotchy tears? Um, no.
“Fisk. What are you doing, man? I thought we had a deal. I don’t get it. You think Nil’s a dog?”
“A Hounder, a Ghiqasu investigator.” The Borg-type voice was more worrisome than the alien ray gun. “You thought you could snare us, but you are wrong.”
Us? Little help here, Nil. “Not sure what that all means, Fisk. Just put that thing down and relax.”
Fisk got up slowly. He backed off from the table. The door handle was within an arm’s reach. There were a dozen people out there—three at the computers, thankfully all with their backs to us, eight more scattered about, and the pretty brunette librarian shelving novels.
“Fisk. Do not bow down to them!” Nil’s command boomed off the windows. There was a deep grumble behind those words. “I do not know what they promised but they will not keep their agreement. They have already forsaken their vows to their people, when they made you kill Jordan Santoro.”
Nil drew both his strikers. Fisk’s gun hand wobbled, his fingers twitched. If either one fired . . .
“Jordan . . . he shouldn’t have—I didn’t. You don’t understand what they—I can’t . . . Do not attempt to overrule.” Fisk’s voice shifted back and forth between his own and the Borg buzz. Finally he got that stony look back. His grip on the gun solidified. I missed my chance to disarm him, but in the interests of keeping this whole mess quiet I hadn’t wanted to risk it, anyway. Especially because idiot Nil could have accidentally shot me in the process.
“Fellas. Let’s. Not. Do. This.” I put my hands up very slowly and set one atop the nearest striker Nil held. “Holster those.” Nil didn’t budge. “Put them away!” I snapped. “You too, Fisk.”
Nil did lower his weapons, and it was hard to tell whether he was growling at me or Fisk. Who cared? The situation was rapidly getting out of hand. And there were a lot of hands in that room to choose from.
My phone buzzed. Twice.
Not now.
Fisk backed toward the door. “Do not try to follow us. Do not try to apprehend us. Or we will destroy the Sozh Uqasod and this human with it.”
A bluff? Don’t know, but it scared me. “Don’t do this, Fisk. Whatever’s wrong, I can fix it. Trust me.”
Something like Fisk’s old expression returned. Rueful. “No. You can’t fix it, and I can’t trust anyone.”
He pocketed the gun and slipped out the door.
Nil was up from his seat, but I grabbed his arm. “Sit down!”
He yanked me up out of the chair and slammed me up against the wall. I mean, my toes didn’t touch the floor. His growl was louder, stronger, and he had my right hand pinned to my side with one upper arm. The other hand had a bunch of my shirt balled up in it, and he used the other two to press my abdomen against the wall. “He is fleeing.”
I sagged. “Put me down.”
His grip loosened, and I socked him in the face. Hurt like the devil where my knuckle scraped his armor, but I did get him right in the snout. He let go completely, two hands immediately going to shield his nose. He swung with the bottom right; I blocked it and shoved him so hard he tripped over his chair.
“You big-nosed idiot!” I paced the room. “You said your alien buddies couldn’t smell that you were a Hounder! But Fisk called you on it!”
He propped himself up on three of his four elbows, staring at me in a blank expression that was so wide-eyed I assumed it was his version of amazement.
“You heard him!” I hissed. “We follow and he—or they or whatever!—will break the Sozh. Which I’m not even sure how they do.”
Nil rubbed at his snout. “Fisk’s scent—when his voice changed, I lost his scent.”
Wait, what? “How can you lose it? He was sitting right there.”
“It changed, Foss, to the same scent from Mosier Gulch.”
“Really. I kinda figured he was the one who attacked us when he pulled the alien gun.” I stopped pacing. “Answer time. Why was Fisk acting all bizarre?”
“The strange scent coupled with his behavior is what told me,” Nil said. “He is not acting of his own volition. Jinn have seized control of Fisk and are masking his scent.”
Jinn? As in the leaders of the Consociation? As in the ones whose sculpture was stolen? “I don’t get it.”
“Neither do I, Foss. But the pattern of behavior and strangeness of odor fits. I have seen it only once before. The Jinn are the only ones capable of seeing through my ruse. Only they can discern with greater detail the origins of an individual Ghiqasu. Whoever this rogue group is, they have forsworn the oath to the Jinn nation that they will never force themselves upon a living sentient entity. It is a worse offense even than theft of art.”
Which was a capital offense, according to the FBI. Great.
“Rogue Jinn. That’s just awesome. Come on, get up.”
“I do not need your assistance.” True. He got back to his feet, somewhat wobbly. “The scanner on my belt did pinpoint the Sozh Uqasod on Fisk’s person. It is implanted in his chest. More specifically, his heart’s left ventricle.”
“Oh, great.” I rubbed my face. Then I checked my phone. It had been Rutherford who texted.
[Carpenter lnded in Bufalo. W/Loya. En rut to you. U were supposed to mintor, not engge.]
Really? [I did monitor, and I did my job: make contact to secure the sculpture.]
[Targt on th run. Leaving town Hwy 16 to mountn.]
What? How’d he know that? [How’d you know that???]
[UAV retasked.]<
br />
I wanted to break the phone. They got a drone to track Fisk right then when I could have used one days ago? I snarled and shoved the phone in my pocket as I stormed from the room.
“What is our plan?” Nil said, following right behind me.
“Rutherford and the feds might think we need babysitting, but I’ve got news for them: my drone’s already tailing Fisk,” I muttered. “Had it waiting on the library roof after we got here. It’s programmed to watch for his license plate and shadow him. Which it’s doing now, thanks to the tablet in the Bimmer. But we’ve only got about a half hour before she drains her battery dry. Come on.”
The brunette librarian was staring at us, frozen in the midst of putting a James Patterson novel in its proper place.
Oops. No way she’d missed that fight of ours. I smiled. “Thanks for letting us use the room.”
She just stared. Her cheeks were very red. “I should—”
“No. Please do not call the police.” I dug a pen from my pocket and ripped a corner off a poster on the end of the bookshelf. Something about an Edgar Rice Burroughs book club. “Here. Call this number. Or have your boss do it. It’s DEXA, Extraterrestrial Affairs. Please, this needs to stay absolutely quiet.”
She took it, James Patterson’s tome still hovering.
I patted her on the shoulder. “Thanks, you’re a peach. Great library you’ve got!” I sprinted out with Nil stomping close behind.
“Have a lovely day,” she said.
<<<>>>
So I had a long list of problems.
Problem Number One: Fisk was on the move. Good part, the drone tracked him nicely up the highway into the mountains.
Problem Number Two: He turned his Land Cruiser onto a narrow dirt road several miles into the foothills that the Bimmer would never make it over. Nil helpfully pointed out the huge ruts and potholes that were obvious obstacles to my classic ride.
But I brainstormed a potential solution. Tricky, but hey, what hadn’t been?
Problem Number Three: We were driving up Carrington when we spotted a dark gray Chevy Suburban with tinted windows. The vehicle promptly broke several traffic laws and veered over into our lane. I slammed on the brakes and let it block us.
Really? Tinted windows? In Buffalo? I got out of the car.
Nil did too. “It seems the FBI has limited patience with our efforts.”
“You think?”
Sure enough, there was Carpenter climbing out, looking like he’d eaten something sour. He was still fastidious in that same suit with that same American flag pin. Which I wanted to shove up his—nose.
A couple of his FBI agents, one black and one white, got out of the rear doors. Loya exited the driver’s side, looking far more annoyed. “Fortel, this is outrageous. You have completely botched—”
“Shut up.” I walked right past him to Carpenter. The FBI boys reached for their guns. Carpenter shook his head, apparently as a signal to heel. “Special Agent Carpenter. Seriously, what’s wrong with you? You want me to do this quietly, yet you show up here with your goon squad in broad daylight?”
“Fortel, you have a situation on your hands, one that is becoming untenable,” he said smoothly.
“Really? I had no idea!” I pointed west. “Something completely bizarre is going on with that guy—mental breakdown or what, I don’t know. But I do know I don’t need you guys going all Elliot Ness on him. We’ve got it covered.”
“We?” Carpenter nodded at Nil. “You two have made a mess.”
“Really? Where’s our support been? Where’s our intel?” I poked him in the chest. “I’ve gotten shot at twice. Once by an alien phaser—which you’d think would delight my inner geek, but turns out, just made me cranky. We’re going to finish this Carpenter, without your boys here. If you don’t let us handle it, I have it on good authority Fisk is going to destroy the Sozh.”
Loya squeaked. Like a mouse. Same exact sound.
Even Carpenter looked bothered. “You’re certain.”
“He told us so, and since he’s got it, I’m not inclined to argue.”
“Agents, please.” Nil stepped beside me. “I have the ability to subdue Mr. Fisk if it becomes necessary. But our best and safest option is to continue our ruse.”
He didn’t mention the multiple voices or the fact that Fisk somehow knew Nil was a Hounder. Didn’t make him my buddy—but at least my teammate.
Carpenter mulled that over. “We will continue to monitor you. If you need backup, notify Agent Rutherford with DEXA immediately.”
Loya was shaking. “Sir, I have to protest. DEXA is not at all convinced—”
“Interagency cooperation aside, Loya, I am in charge of this operation,” Carpenter said coolly. “You can be replaced if you can’t work with the team. Understood?”
Loya stared for a moment. Then after giving me a healthy glare, got back into the truck.
Carpenter sighed. “Mr. Fortel, if you cannot put a lid on this, I am authorized by the president of the United States to use whatever means necessary to apprehend Tyler Fisk.”
Whoa. “I got it.”
They packed up and drove off. I turned to Nil. We probably looked ridiculous standing there in the middle of the street.
“We cannot pursue Fisk in this transport,” he said, indicating the Bimmer.
“Duh.” I waggled my phone at him. “But I know a girl with a better transport.”
<<<>>>
Did I say my solution was tricky? Because she said yes in less than a minute.
Never ridden in one of those vintage Broncos before. After almost a week hugging pavement in the BMW it felt like I was going down the road on stilts. And the way that engine rumbled . . . “This is an outstanding ride.”
Ally drove, breeze through the rolled-down window flinging her hair about. “You have really got nerve, Casimir Fortel.”
Ah. The entire name. “Does that mean I’m in trouble or relentlessly charming?”
She smiled—tried really hard to fight it, I could tell, but she failed miserably. “Both,” she said and laughed.
“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” I grinned over my shoulder at Nil, who was hunkered in the back seat. “See? Told you.”
“I suggest you continue tracking Fisk,” he grumbled, pointing at my tablet.
It’s not like I was ignoring the job. I had Fisk’s Land Cruiser square in our sights. Or rather, the sights of a U.S. government drone. Rutherford had kindly hooked me up with live feed, so I had a way better image than the first fuzzy pictures from my UAV. Which, by the way, had caught up with Fisk before we could and was now perched on a granite outcropping overlooking the forest in which he’d parked. Battery on my drone was dying, but at least I saw that the roads were way worse than originally advertised.
“No sign of Fisk in or near the truck,” I said. “Must be on foot. So that’s what we need to do. How long til we get to that turnoff?”
“Five minutes,” Ally said, then she pressed down harder on the accelerator. The engine growled and we gained speed going up and over a steep hill. “Make that four.”
What a gal.
There was no one else on the dirt road. It dipped down from the highway, across a few hundred yards of meadow before disappearing into a stand of lodgepole pines and aspens so thick we could have been spelunking. No sounds except the crunch of gravel under tires and the rumble of the engine. Ally parked behind Fisk’s Land Cruiser. She shut off the engine and waited, hands on the steering wheel. “Are you sure about this?”
“Oh, yeah, piece of cake.” I hopped out. Nil was already on foot, circling the Land Cruiser, sniffing its sides and the air about him. “Anything useful?”
“Faint scent, the same oddity as when the Jinn took over Fisk. Possibly this way—” He pointed with his upper left arm straight ahead into the trees. “Or this.” He aimed his lower right on a right angle from that.
“Let’s check the old-fashioned human way.” I knelt in the dirt. Yep. Footprints. Barely the
re, sure, but it was the only set and it was plainly a tread not meant for hiking. Plus, the direction of the prints matched up with Nil’s lower arm. “Door number two, Nil.”
“Caz?” Ally waved the tablet at me from the open passenger side door. “The screen’s blank.”
Man. I grabbed it from her and sure enough, nothing.
My phone buzzed. Rutherford again. [Dron recald. Los of feed.]
Yeah, thanks, I guessed. Before I could text him back, the last little bar on my phone winked out and the stupid thing informed me it was “Searching for Signal.”
“Be careful,” Ally said.
“Thanks. Watch yourself here. You know, if anything goes bad, just get out of here. You’ve got Rutherford’s number at DEXA—call him when you get on the highway.”
Nil and I set off into the trees. It was just like stepping into a cave. Took Nil a few seconds to steady himself, blinking furiously. But he kept right on with the occasional sniffs, presumably to stay on Fisk’s scent.
“So do you have any thoughts on how we deal with Fisk now that he’s infected with angry Jinn?” I asked.
“Yes. The strikers can be set to deliver a stunning pulse that can disable a humanoid nervous system, though its strength is calibrated to Ghiqasu metabolism,” he said. “It can also debilitate the Jinn. Though for how long is uncertain.”
“Okay. What will it do to Fisk?”
Nil hesitated. “It may stop his involuntary nervous functions along with the voluntary.”
“Involuntary. Like breathing. And heart beating.”
“Yes.”
Fantastic. I rubbed my forehead and shoved that bit of info way in the back, right alongside Nil’s desire to get churched and my award as worst absentee father of the century. “This job gets better and better.”
There was a strange thrum in the air, like high tension wires. I hadn’t noticed it before, with the truck’s engine running, but in here among the trees everything had a subtle vibration to it. The edge of the trees was just ahead, atop a gradual slope. Nil stopped abruptly at the top, standing in the sun. “Caz.”
