by Steve Rzasa
A very familiar pair of shrieks cut off his spiel. Blue-green flashes shredded the weapons arm and torso, leaving ragged red-hot edges. The robot was knocked onto its back, ringing against the floor like a gong. A second hum. This robot’s head got the glow-then-explode treatment.
I huddled there, head down, but watching everything.
Ghiqasu strikers, yeah. But a laser rifle? That was human tech.
Isaac strode into view in front of my cell. “’Sup.”
There wasn’t anyone I’d be happier to see right then. Well, except for Ally. But I’d never say a word. Played it calm instead. “Hey. Nice toy.”
He grinned at me and hefted the laser rifle. I do mean hefted. The thing was four feet long, thick, and pale gray with polished white cowlings, big around as a two-liter soda bottle except rectangular. He had it dangling from a strap slung over his right shoulder, and it had a front grip in addition to the trigger. There was a control panel on one side with a glowing bar that was yellow and only one third full. I couldn’t read the other buttons. The muzzle, where a bullet would get fired from a regular gun, was a smoky slate-colored curved lens the size of my fist that let off wisps of steam. “Smith & Wesson Mark II Sidewinder, like the metallic man said. Twelve shots of that power on maximum, thirty if you just want to zap something more biological. Fresh from the FBI armory.”
“You told them you had a jailbreak planned and they gave you a laser rifle.”
“Close.”
I shook my head. “You were in that meeting with me and Carpenter. The only FBI person who really knew what was going on, he said. I’d have thought he’d lock you up too.”
“He tried to sell me on you being crooked, Caz. Showed me emails, even had an audio file of you and your pal here cooked up. It was all very fancy. But the Caz Fortel I know wouldn’t do what Carpenter said you did.”
There was no snarky comeback to that. Isaac’s my friend for good reasons. This was one of them. “How’d you handle him?”
“Same way you do. I nodded and gave him a bunch of ‘yessir’s. As soon as he was out of the room, I dug around to see where they were keeping you. Turned out it was just in our basement.”
“We’re in Boston? At the FBI? Nice.”
“Yeah. The armory?” Isaac scratched the back of his head. “As far as they know, this unit in my hands is being checked out for rifle range practice.”
I chuckled.
“Anyway, I had some help in that department, right?”
“That is correct.” It wasn’t a voice I recognized, but the inflections when it spoke English were very familiar. Like Nil’s, only the tone was a pitch lower. I heard Nil’s cell lock clank and the bars roll open. Nil appeared next to Isaac, alongside a second qwaddo with skin a red-brick hue darker than his. The hair was black with streaks of iridescent purple, and the eyes were a startling combo—one pale yellow, one neon orange. He was a fist shorter than Nil, broader at the chest and had more muscular arms, all four of them. Two of those hands held strikers bigger than Nil’s, flat green in color. He had on clothing that struck me as being a uniform: black shirt and pants, black shoes, white panels on either side of his torso, and three sapphire blue bands around each of his four biceps. “I exercised my authority as a hiqar Hounder.”
Didn’t know that word. But Nil nodded in very human fashion. “I have kept information from you, Caz. This is Prime Raek Dac Hemilh Yad, who is hiqar to my status as nanhiqar. He has been privy to our investigation from the start and was unwilling to let us both be unjustly incarcerated.”
Privy the whole time? My brain pieced together a slideshow of all the times Nil brained out and was talking on his comm system, the one jacked into his ear. “He’s who you meant when you said ‘superiors.’ ”
“Yes. He is one of my superior officers.” Nil put both hands on the other alien’s upper arms. “He is also a friend of my soul since our youth days.”
Neighborhood pal, huh? I grinned. At this point, one more on our side was a bonus, especially when that one more could shoot straight with Ghiqasu strikers. “Well hiqar,” I said, butchering his pronunciation, “Welcome to our jailbreak.”
“Thank you. You may call me Dac.”
“Peachy.” I banged on the bars. “So Isaac, make with the key.”
He unlocked my cell door. I got out of there, pausing only to give one of the ruined Tahomjr a good kick. Isaac gave me back my personal effects—wallet, phone, but alas, no keys for the Bimmer. Wondered if DEXA ever got it back. If not, Rutherford would kill me. Or stop texting.
Nil’s friend Dac passed around strikers—two for Nil, one for me. “Be forewarned: I cannot guarantee these modified units will not kill a human when set to incapacitate.”
I turned the small weapon over in my hand. Puny, compared to a certain Smith & Wesson weapon I was firmly in love with. “Isaac, be a pal.”
He angled the laser rifle away. “Uh-uh. You’re not authorized, chief.”
Figured.
“Come on. Your ride’s waiting.”
“Ride? To where?”
Isaac glanced at Nil, then gave me one of those looks. One of those I’m-your-pal-and-I-know-you’ll-do-the-right-thing looks. “You’re going after it, right? That statue.”
“It’s more than just a statue, Isaac.”
“That’s what I understand.”
“Who knows about it?”
“There are a handful of us in the upper echelons of Retrieval and Justice who were recently informed,” Dac rumbled. “Observer Premier Nasp made the announcement of your capture. It was he whom you and Nil saw in the past day.”
Two-faced four-armed fink. It was nuts. By all rights I should be done with the mess. Of course, it was anyone’s guess if I’d get paid. Meanwhile Carpenter’s words haunted me—a war between alien races, Earth stuck in the middle, and let’s face it, we as a species weren’t in any shape for a conflict of that magnitude.
Big word, I know. But it translated easily enough. I sighed and shoved the striker into my belt. “Okay, let’s do it.”
They all started down the hall, but I turned back to Fisk’s cell. Turned out he was awake. Leaned against the wall, seated on the floor. He glared up at me. There were bruises on his face, and his shirt was torn on one side. Enhanced interrogation, much?
“Caz. What’re you doing?” Isaac asked.
“Open his cell.”
“What? Fisk’s?” Isaac frowned. “He’s the one they hired to steal the statue, remember? Makes him the bad guy.”
“They also made him kill his friend.” I tapped on the bars with the striker. “Fisk. You catch all of what Carpenter said?”
“I did. I can barely process it,” he said, his voice scratchy. “They put it up to Jordan and me like it was a simple heist. No casualties.”
“Here’s your chance to even the score. Come with us. Help us get it back.”
“Me?”
“You’re a soldier. You’ve fought alongside the aliens we’ve got to go up against. Not a lot of humans hanging around down in the basement with that experience. Plus, the bad guys were in your brain. Figured you can find ways to stop them we can’t.” I paused. “Our help’s in short supply, Fisk. I’m trying to be decent about this.”
He stared at me. After a spell that was way too long for me, he nodded. “All right. I’m in.”
See? Just like that. Barely twenty seconds’ consideration. I was only half-enthused about the prospect of chasing dangerous aliens inhabiting an FBI agent-in-charge with enhanced physical capabilities. But that was something I kept to myself.
“Awesome.” I backed away so Isaac could spring him from his cell too. When he came out, Nil and Dac visibly tensed, like dogs ready to pounce.
Me? I offered my hand.
Fisk shook it. “Not for you. For Jordan. And for my country.” Whatever floated his boat. “Well, this is way better than no help. First up: where’s Carpenter gone?”
“A Ghiqasu ship took him to orbit a few minute
s ago,” Isaac said.
“Then we need to follow.” I turn to Nil. “We got guns. Now we need a spaceship.”
Dac nodded. “I have a solution to that.”
We moved out, me thinking this was one of my top three stupidest moves of my entire life. This coming from the guy with a son he’s never met and the ex-fiancée he’s pining for.
I thought to God, You better know what You’re doing.
Isaac led us in a hustle up the back stairwell of the FBI building, straight to the roof.
A hexplane darted over the office towers to our east. It banked low and sloped into a dive toward us. Wind from its six engines, each perched on a spindly white pylon jutting from the fuselage, buffeted us. It was a pearly white aircraft with a blue stripe down the side, black registry numbers but nothing else for an ID. It jerked to a halt, its engines tipping upward so it could hover.
“Dac here has a shuttle arranged at the spaceport!” Isaac hollered over the roar from the rotors. “Supposedly there’s a ship in orbit, a big one! Dac has the rest of the details!”
“You’re not coming?”
“Nah! Got to stay here and clean up the mess! Someone has to watch your back and keep my colleagues from following!”
Man. You talk about putting yourself in harm’s way for a buddy. That meant I owed it to him, too, to stop Carpenter and his goons. I grabbed Isaac’s arm and shook his hand. “Thanks, Isaac! Take care of yourself.”
“Godspeed, Caz!” He slapped me on the shoulder, then turned to Fisk. He slipped the laser rifle strap off his shoulder and handed it over. “Take this! Don’t let Caz get vaporized!”
Fisk’s smile was crooked, but by the way he checked the power setting on the rifle I got the feeling he knew the weapon. Dude had confidence in his handling. “Can do.”
Isaac hurried off toward the second stairwell. The hexplane settled just above the roof. I took the helping hand of the young crew-cut dude in an olive green flight suit, sunglasses, and co-pilot’s headset, who assisted my hop up into the open hatch.
“Sir! Are you Casimir Fortel?” he hollered.
“What? Yeah!”
“Agent Rutherford! He’s contacted you!”
That’s when I noticed the emblem on the kid’s shoulder: U.S. Department of Extraterrestrial Affairs.
I yanked out my phone which was, I realized, still powered down. Had to wait for the angry red eye of doom on the screen so I strapped in, along with Nil and Dac. The co-pilot slammed shut the hatch.
Text message came right up once the phone was active. [Shrt hop to Bstn Spaccpt. Enjy ride. We hav Ms. Bnnstr – safe.]
How about that. [Thx. Loya okay this?]
[Negativ. He bght Carpenters story & arests. I dnt.]
[There’s hope for you yet.]
[Good hunting, Fortel.]
Not even Nil’s fussing could stop my grin.
The hexplane hopped up from the roof. My stomach lurched, and I was close to puking in seconds. The taste of bile reminded me I hadn’t had anything to eat since the a.m. out West. Good thing we were near our ride into orbit.
Orbit. Couldn’t believe that’s what we were actually going to do. What I’d always wanted to do—get into space on some fantastic starship and soar out into the galaxy.
Never seen Boston Orbital? That’s what everyone called the spaceport. Well, if you haven’t, you’re missing out. They dredged out this massive hook of land curving from Logan International Airport into the harbor, back when private spaceflights got their boost from qwaddo thruster technology. Remember? The U.S. Airways-United-Virgin Airlines merger? The price wars with SpaceX?
So on this mini Cape Cod they had four towering skeletal gantries for rockets, red muscle holding onto white bones of sleek rockets with delta-winged spaceplanes strapped to their backs. They cantilevered out over the bay, like soldiers’ rifles ready for a salute. Very cool, but our hexplane angled in toward the field of flat black octagons that served as landing fields for the qwaddo shuttles. There were four sitting there, four hundred feet long apiece, waiting patiently for passengers.
The pilot put us down right at the edge of the nearest pad occupied by a big triangle of white and gray-green. My arms shook as we got out—I was grinning ear to ear, but my heart was pounding and my stomach clenching. Getting shot at by alien phasers puts the danger of space travel into perspective.
The hexplane rotors made me near deaf. Even over that, the rumble from the shuttle’s engines slammed into me and vibrated right up from the ground into my teeth. We hustled toward the open ramp of the shuttle—same kind of ramp I’d just watched Observer Premier Nasp scoot up yesterday—but Nil pulled up in front of me. “Fortel. I smell your hesitance.”
Tried for nonchalance. “Nah, it’s Old Spice.”
“When you board this ship, you take your first step into the galaxy at large,” he went on. “Many in your species cannot adjust their minds. It is why they stay on this world. My concern is for your faith.”
“That’s sweet, Nil, but you leave that between me and the Big Guy.” I waved at the ship. “Everything I believe’s been twisted, ripped, and taped back together in such a mess it’s going to take me a long time to rearrange it. If I can rearrange it. Joyriding to the stars? There’s nothing I’d rather do right now, especially since it means putting a stop to Carpenter and the jerk Jinn.”’
Nil bared his teeth. Good thing I know it meant a smile because he always looked like he was going to have me for dinner.
Now, I wasn’t entirely truthful with him. The whole plan was crazy. I didn’t want to do it. I wanted to get paid and get drunk.
In that order. So I could forget the whole mess.
But pictures kept swirling in my mind—Ally, Kyle, Isaac, the people at the church. Nil getting baptized. That part of my life had been over.
Maybe.
Whatever hesitation I had got blown away by the sirens that came wailing into the spaceport terminal. Three black SUVs with red and blue emergency lights strobing. Guess who?
“Let’s get out of here,” I said and hustled up the ramp.
<<<>>>
Funniest thing: the ramp wasn’t more than forty feet long, but by the time I got to the top I felt like I’d climbed one of the Big Horn Mountains. I slapped my hand on the fuselage and immediately regretted it. Far from being cold metal I’d expected, it was warm. Body warm. And it writhed under my fingers. The air smelled really dry, so much so that my eyes itched at the corners.
Everything in here was bright. I had to squint a little. Not too bad—just like being outside on a sunny summer day without shades. The walls of the corridor ahead of us were green, a dark scaly surface pitted with strange markings and lined with strands of . . . something. Safety webbing? Power cables? No idea. The floor was charcoal gray, and the ceiling marked overhead with tendrils of orange light.
Fisk was right behind me. He waited at the top of the ramp, breathing deeply and with a tinge of pink on his cheeks. “Been a while since I had to hoof it in one point four four gees,” he said. Dude sounded way too chipper.
“Yeah, no doubt.” Okay, manhood salvaged. Dummy. I should’ve remembered the Ghiqasu’s planet had a third greater gravity than Earth. No wonder they could leap so well down on our dirt.
Nil and Dac trotted up without so much as a hint of exertion. Dac touched his ear and murmured something. The ramp shuddered underfoot and rose slowly to meet the ceiling. I joined them in the corridor—or I joined Nil because Dac was already gone. “What, no tour guide?”
“Dac is in command here. His presence is required on the control deck. Come.” Nil didn’t touch me but gestured with his right hands.
He led us up the corridor, which ran on a slight incline until it flattened out into an oval room. Four hatches were arranged matching an X-shape on the deck, with a fifth, taller hatch directly ahead. Nil ushered us into the one on the right. A curving row of eight windows let in sunlight, big sloping rectangles a foot wide and two tall. The only thin
gs in this cabin were twelve chairs. They were—alien. No other way to say it. Kind of stools like I’d seen in Nil’s hotel room, except they had a spindly back that arched up and curved over. Four limp straps hung from the sides, plus another pair that were positioned on the padded top like seat belts. I plopped down, expecting a sanctimonious safety explanation from Nil. Instead, all four of the dangling straps grabbed me. They snapped out like striking snakes, two making an X across my chest and securing under my arms, the other two going down across my waist. The seat belt ones wound up strapping down my legs.
Fisk looked perfectly calm. There were no mirrors so I hoped my expression was just as cool. He was seated on Nil’s left, me on Nil’s right.
“Hey, Fisk, you been on one of these?”
He nodded. “With a company of grunts, plus all our gear and drones. Smooth ride.”
I was about to snark about turbulence when g-forces smashed me into the backrest. We left the ground so fast I caught only a blurred glimpse of the black SUVs—tiny Matchbox-car-sized already—pulling up to the edge of our landing pad. The spaceport, the harbor, the city, it all shrank, falling down a hole. Except it wasn’t falling, we were leaping up away from everything.
“Rough ride,” I said.
“Not as bad as the drop to Ditalanax.” Fisk smiled and shook his head. “Our whole left quarter blew off. Did a HALO jump into a lake that had fanged fish the size of German Shepherds.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah. That was a rush.”
“Sure. Yeah, gotta love that.” Maniac.
Clouds disappeared beneath us. It was all blue skies and clear sailing from there on out. But I decided being stuck on the shuttle was worse than an airline flight because A) No alcohol and B) No updates from the flight deck. Just a stone-cold Fisk whose only emotion was a smile at the prospect of catastrophic hull damage—good times, man—and a stoic Nil who looked like he was ready for a nap.
