‘CIC?’ Foxx said.
Nathan noted the large gaps between the letters. ‘Looks like it says something else, but we can’t read the other letters.’
‘Possibly,’ Schmidt agreed, ‘and some of the drones seem to have been loaded with an inert substance rather than the venom more normally carried, but I haven’t had a chance to analyse it yet. I’ll have to put it aside while we start work on this new problem. I take it that you have seen the recording of poor Captain Dwight’s demise?’
‘We saw it,’ Foxx confirmed, ‘any ideas?’
‘It’s likely plague,’ Schmidt replied. ‘However, I can’t say anything more until I have a physical victim to examine. The ship’s internal systems and life support indicators recorded nothing out of the ordinary when their contents were received at CSS Headquarters, so if this is indeed the plague virus we all know and hate then it must be some kind of new strain that is currently unknown to us. The fact that these people were infected makes it certain they were not naturally immune or vaccinated against the sickness.’
‘The Aleeyans,’ Foxx said softly. ‘They could be using exotic illnesses that they’re already immune to in order to infect humanity and instigate a second wave of plague.’
‘It’s entirely possible,’ Schmidt said, ‘and it wouldn’t be the first time that such sickness has eradicated entire races on Earth.’
Nathan nodded, recalling his schooling and the stories of centuries before even his own time.
‘The Conquistadores,’ he said.
Schmidt raised an eyebrow. ‘I’m impressed, Nathan.’
‘What’s a Conquistadore?’ Foxx asked.
For the first time since he had awoken, Nathan realized that he was the one with the knowledge.
‘They were Spanish settlers, who sailed across the Atlantic Ocean and landed in South America nearly a thousand years ago now. They conquered native races such as the Inca, not only through battles but through their bringing diseases like smallpox with them from Europe, against which the native Incans had no natural defence. They were decimated and in collapse long before the Conquistadores reached them, so devastating was the spread of the diseases.’
Foxx rubbed her temples as she considered what she was being told.
‘Damn it, we need to figure out what their game-plan is. If they manage to get a virus like this into the population, especially on one of the orbiting cities like New Chicago…’
‘They would be quarantined immediately,’ Schmidt replied. ‘It would take weeks, perhaps months to find a cure based on our own knowledge, by which time the populations would be struck down in their tens of thousands.’
‘Just like the Black Death,’ Nathan said.
This time, Foxx knew what he meant. ‘A medieval plague that struck Europe a millennia ago. We’re still taught in school about that plague and all of the others, and that we will never be safe from the threat of total annihilation from disease now that we’re capable of visiting other worlds.’
Nathan looked at the drone on which Schmidt was working and he realized that something about the machines had been nagging him. C – I – C. It was like a word that he could not quite recall, perched on the tip of his tongue and ready to topple out, but he couldn’t quite find it…
‘Neptune orbit in six minutes.’
The ship’s announcement system broke in across his train of thought.
‘We’d better go,’ Foxx said as she glanced at Schmidt. ‘Get yourself to the launch bays, we’ll meet you there.’
Nathan cast a last glance at the drones and then hurried after Foxx as she left the sick bay at a jog.
***
XXIX
New Washington
‘I’m gonna lay it down real simply for you. You either give us something to work with or we walk out of here with a prosecution deal that means you’ll never see the light of earth again, understand?’
The interview room was cold as Vasquez glared into the eyes of Viggo. He and Allen had deliberately had the heating turned down in the room while Viggo waited, a deliberate ploy to make the runner uncomfortable and eager to escape the confines of police custody. Psychological warfare, something that he and his fellow Marines had practiced often against captured Aleeyans, had always proved far more effective than torture in the literal sense. Wear ‘em down slowly without ‘em realizing it, his sergeant had once said, and they’ll give you anything.
Viggo bit his lip. ‘I already got offered immunity,’ he complained.
‘Deal’s changed,’ Vasquez replied. ‘You ain’t callin’ the shots here Viggo, we are. About the only thing I can guarantee you is that you’ll stay out of prison if you make real sure you tell us everythin’ you know. This isn’t a game.’
‘I know it’s not a damned game!’ Viggo snapped back, his skin taut across his bones, his eyes wobbling with imprisoned fear and anger. ‘I don’t know anything. Minter was playin’ his own game, had his own connections. I’m just a damned runner.’
‘And a good one,’ Allen pointed out, standing by the door with his arms folded. ‘Bionic implants galore. It’s a wonder that Lieutenant Foxx was able to chase you down at all, and she would have caught you too if you hadn’t hosed her down with that spray. We need to know what was in it, Viggo.’
‘I told you,’ the captive complained, ‘it was just Shiver, nothin’ else.’
Vasquez leaned forward on the table, his eyes glaring into Viggo’s.
‘Shiver changes people’s perceptions,’ he growled, ‘it doesn’t erase their memory. That wasn’t Shiver in that can, Viggo.’
The runner seemed genuinely distressed and confused, even to Vasquez’s cynical perception of him.
‘I don’t get it,’ Viggo said. ‘Minter told me to keep the can on me, said it would help out if I got jumped by anybody ‘cause the Shiver inside it was aerosolized. He said to use it as much as I liked.’
Vasquez leaned back as Allen spoke.
‘They’d aerosolized Shiver?’ he repeated. ‘Why would they do that?’
‘Beats me,’ Viggo shrugged. ‘Maybe it’s easier to hide or somethin’? I dunno, but he told me to use it whenever and that there was plenty more where it came from.’
Vasquez leaned forward again. ‘Where?’
‘He didn’t say, just that he could get it.’
Vasquez thought for a moment and then he got up and walked out of the room, Allen close behind him.
‘What do you think?’ Allen asked.
‘I think that he knows where the stuff is and is just afraid to say,’ Vasqeuz replied. ‘If he’s found himself dealing with big players he might fear for his life enough to do the time instead of testifying. If he gives us the location of Minter’s stock, and Minter’s people know that Viggo’s in custody, they’re gonna put two and two together and track him down either inside prison or on the outside.’
‘Viggo’s not gonna sell out without a damned good reason,’ Allen agreed.
Vasquez thought for a moment and then a mischievous grin spread across his features.
‘How ‘bout we let him lead us to the prize, in plain sight?’
‘Seriously?’ Allen said. ‘We just agreed that might get him killed.’
‘Yup,’ Vasquez replied, ‘which we won’t let happen of course, but he doesn’t know that.’
Vasquez turned before Allen could reply and walked back into the room. He shut the door behind them and sat down in front of Viggo.
‘Okay, Viggo, here’s the deal. You talk now and we’ll have you transported to a safe location off station. You turn evidence on these people, you’ll be a free man and you won’t ever have to worry about lookin’ over your shoulder.’
Viggo’s expression didn’t change.
‘Seriously? You expect me to fall for that sell out and you’ll be okay crap? I’ll be dead the moment I hit the street.’
‘You’re already dead the moment you hit the street,’ Vasquez shot back. ‘We traced the vehicle that Minter was using
before he died and linked it to both the driver and his employers. We know you’re in deep with the big boys Viggo and now there’s no way out other than to accept our protection. By now they know you’re here and within a few hours we’ll be onto them too. So your choice is this: give us locations and names and we’ll protect you. Otherwise, we’ll let you go.’
Viggo stared at him for a long moment. ‘You’ll what?’
‘We’ll let you go,’ Vasquez repeated. ‘Like you said, Foxx offered you immunity from prosecution if you gave up the location of the apartment block and you did so. We raided it and our people got shot at in the process. Turns out though, Viggo, that they might not really have been looking for us at all.’
Viggo’s skin paled and Vasquez went on without giving the runner any time to speak.
‘The vehicle had been waiting around the block for some time, and we got it all on the record. It hit us thinking we were with you, Viggo. They were already waiting to take you out.’
The line of Viggo’s lips hardened and he looked left and right as though seeking an escape route.
‘No way out of this,’ Allen said, falling into line with Vasquez’s thinking. ‘You’re out of here, Viggo, either with our protection or on your own.’
‘Won’t last long I’m guessing,’ Vasquez continued smoothly. ‘Maybe a day.’
‘Maybe two days if you can get off station, but then the drugs are everywhere,’ Allen said. ‘You could go down to the surface but even Minter was doing that so he must have contacts down there too, right? So they’ll find you anywhere, which means you’ll have to leave the solar system and never come back. You got family, right? You won’t ever see your kids again Viggo, but they’ll still be stuck here in New Washington and at the mercy of whoever you’re working for and we all know what they’ll do in revenge if…’
‘Okay!’ Viggo snapped. ‘Okay, just leave my kids out of this.’
Vasquez scented victory and leaned forward again. ‘Names, locations, Viggo. Give us the details and we can protect you.’
‘You’re signing my death warrant.’
‘Not if you come on side and help us take these people down.’
Viggo closed his eyes and then he spoke.
‘The stash is on Crescent and Twelfth, Block Charlie.’
‘Names,’ Vasquez insisted.
Viggo’s shoulders slumped. ‘Jean Alliso,’ he whispered.
Vasquez jumped out of his seat and rushed out of the door with Allen close behind, Vasquez calling to the Technical Support team leader across the office.
‘Tech! Get Viggo out of here and into protective custody. I’ll need a support team to Crescent and Twelfth Charlie, and run a name search on a Jean Alliso!’
Together, Vasquez and Allen tore out of the office and hurried to the parking bay where their cruiser was located.
‘Viggo’s people will have tried to clean it out by now,’ Allen pointed out as they climbed into the sleek cruiser. It lifted off into a light drizzle as Vasquez guided it into the traffic stream.
‘Gotta take the chance we’re ahead of them,’ Vasquez replied as he hit the sirens and lights and the cruiser accelerated past the flow of traffic and climbed swiftly toward the law enforcement lane, the highest available for aerial traffic.
The cruiser shot overhead the slower moving streams of cabs, private vehicles and goods cruisers drifting over the dense Belt below. From their altitude Vasquez could see diaphanous clouds drifting in the station’s upper atmosphere, veils of thin rain drifting down toward the city below. A bright sunrise was creeping over Earth’s horizon above and behind them, casting broad shafts of light through the station and illuminating a rainbow that hovered over the city’s spires. Although he could rarely admit it to himself, every now and again Vasquez understood why this vast city had once been a sought after place to live, the abode of the wealthiest and most privileged of all mankind: the vivid beauty somehow made sense against the high-rise spires and the blackness of space.
The cruiser zipped through the veils of rain falling like clouds of shimmering gold chips in the sunlight, and as he descended toward Crescent and Twelfth the craft was plunged back into deep shadow and the grime of the city below once more dominated their view.
‘There,’ Allen said as he reached across and locked the cruiser’s navigation system onto Block Charlie.
A decrepit tower block soared out of the city streets, a series of landing platforms attached to one side using antiquated, heavy steel braces. Vasquez guided the cruiser in, the sirens now extinguished but the lights still flashing brilliantly and reflecting off the windows and the wet sidewalks far below. Although the lights would attract the attention of any criminals they might encounter trying to clear out the apartment, it was far safer to scare them away early than surprise them and force a gunfight at close quarters. Vasquez wanted the evidence in his hands, not be faced by a handful of heavily armed thugs trying to blast their way out of an arrest.
The cruiser settled onto the pad amid veils of glistening rain and Vasquez leaped out with Allen even as the mass drive was whining down. They hurried to the entrance and rushed inside, weapons drawn and badges clearly visible as they sprinted down a corridor and into the apartments.
Allen found the apartment door first, battered and aged much as the one they had found the drones in. Vasquez already had the warrant data and he scanned the information into the locking system as Allen held his pistol out in front of him.
Moments later, the door opened and they rushed inside.
The apartment was empty, but they swept the rooms anyway before shutting down the magazines on their blasters and slipping them into their holsters.
‘They cleaned out already?’ Vasquez said in disappointment.
Allen was about to reply when Vasquez saw him open a cupboard in the kitchen and shake his head.
‘Not quite,’ he said as he beckoned his partner over.
Vasquez joined him as Allen handed him a spray can. The label said that it was an industrial product, ZapClear, used to seal window glass in a self-cleaning film, but Vasquez could see the other twenty or so identical cans up in the cupboard, none of which had any place in a private residence in such numbers.
Vasquez hurried out of the kitchen with the can and handed it to the analysis team now joining them inside the apartment as other police cruisers converged on the site, their flashing lights flickering into the gloomy apartment windows. One of the analysts took the can and attached it to a hollow transparent sphere that was connected to a data screen and panel. Once attached, he squeezed the can and a vapor puffed into the sphere. Moments later the screen filled with data.
‘It’s a colloidal suspension,’ the analyst reported, ‘identical to that which was used on Lieutenant Foxx.’
‘Any idea what it is?’ Allen asked as he joined them.
The analyst waited, watching as the data continued to appear as the device tested the contents of the can.
‘It’s identified as Shiver, the street drug,’ the analyst replied, but then held a finger up to forestall them as he watched the information streaming down the screen. ‘But it’s not the standard form of the drug.’ He frowned, confused. ‘It’s some kind of neuronal inhibiter, designed to block certain neuro-receptors in the brain.’
‘That would explain Foxx’s memory loss,’ Vasquez said to Allen. ‘But what’s it doing in Shiver?’
The analyst’s face suddenly paled and he looked up from the screen at them.
‘It’s designed to target the immune system,’ he said finally. ‘It’s not a memory inhibitor, that must just be a side effect of ingesting the drug.’
‘The immune system?’ Allen said. ‘Why would they be using a drug to inhibit the immune system?’
Vasquez got it a moment later and his blood ran cold in his veins.
‘The plague,’ he said, and turned to Allen. ‘What if it’s designed to reverse the effect of vaccination against plague?’
Allen stared
at his partner for a long beat. ‘Foxx was exposed to it.’
‘And she’s aboard Titan, heading for that ship. If she’s no longer immune…’
At that moment, Allen’s Ocular Implant flickered and Vasquez saw him hesitate as he received a message. Then, his blue eyes turned truly cold.
‘What?’ Vasquez asked.
‘They got a hit on Jean Alliso,’ Allen replied. ‘He’s a neuro-surgeon who works for CSS on Earth, under the tutelage of Doctor Hans Schmidt.’
‘Ironsides’ team,’ Vasquez snapped urgently. ‘The people that revived him, right? You think that Doctor Schmidt’s in on this?’
‘They’ll be in super-luminal cruise by now,’ Allen said. ‘We won’t be able to warn them.’
Vasquez was already moving. ‘All we can do is get a message to the military and have them get another ship out there! We need to find Alliso!’
***
XXX
CSS Titan,
Neptune
‘Delta Comp’ny, eyes on me!’
Twenty of Delta Company’s Marines slammed the butts of their plasma rifles against the deck of the shuttle to signify their complete attention on Gunnery Sergeant Jenson Agry as he stood before the shuttle’s rear ramp.
A stocky man with a thick neck and close-cropped gray hair, the blood of the Marine Corps flowed fiercely through Agry’s veins. Like his men he was decked out in full battle kit, festooned with weapon, webbing and bio-enhancement suit designed to allow super-human agility and combat in zero-zero conditions: zero atmosphere and zero gravity. He surveyed the men before him with a predatory gaze.
‘The target is the exploratory vessel Icarus,’ Agry reported. ‘The data we have from fighter intercept has revealed extensive damage to her stern and neutralised propulsion, although internal power remains active. Atmosphere is stable but the temperature is low and there have been no signs of life, though that doesn’t mean we should expect a stroll in the park. You’ll assume there is hostile life aboard and act accordingly at all times. We all know what the Aleeyans are capable of when they put their feeble excuses for minds to it.’
Old Ironsides Page 20
