"Breakfast first," I told her. "Then I'll go see the bodies while you and Trent discuss what's needed by those first on the scene."
"A little public education could go a long way," she said.
"Then we'll have to word it carefully, and face it, what are we going to say? Watch out for a horrible affliction that no known science can detect?"
"When you put it like that," she conceded.
Breakfast was a quiet affair. Mom wasn't happy that I was going with Randl, but she didn't object. I think she'd prefer to go herself, but she had the babies to consider. Sandra, their nurse, sat at the table with us, and she fed one while Mom fed the other.
I learned Winkler had gone to visit Lukas on Harifa Edus—there was a joint meeting scheduled with New Fyris concerning crops and a dry spell.
Randl and Quin arrived before breakfast was over, so they sat at the table for a cup of tea. Mom wanted to ask questions, directing the first at Randl.
"Kooper tells me the crime scene had the stink of the Prophet all over it," she began.
"It did. It's not a scent, specifically, it's just an overall psychic residue, I suppose. That's the best way I can describe how it feels."
"I wish I could actually take a sniff," she said.
"No," Randl, Trent and I chorused.
"No, Lady Queen," Randl shook his head. "I worry that going into that mess unprotected will not have good results."
"You're really worrying me, now," Mom said. She didn't look at me when she said it, but her concern was meant for me.
I'll be as safe as anyone can be, I told her in mindspeech. Randl is adept at keeping things shielded.
Including you?
Mom, he'd sacrifice himself before he'd sacrifice anyone else, I said.
After what the Prophet did to Campiaa, anyone who knows anything about this is scared.
I know.
Honey, what puzzles me is this—why did the Prophet do what he did to this family, instead of pulling them away?
We don't know. Trent and I have discussed that, and it makes no sense. We'll have that conversation with Randl, too, to see what his thoughts are.
With Kooper's permission, I'd like to be informed of what transpires.
I think we can manage that, I gave her a smile.
Good. Make sure those shields and the container are strong around Lorvis and Akrinn, too. Who knows what the Prophet's zombies are capable of doing?
I wanted to say she was worrying too much, except I had the same damn worries. Instead, I gave a slight nod and went back to my food.
Lunar Base Forensics Facility, Lordinus
Randl
The Forensics Facility was located on Lordinus' largest moon. Days there were half as long as they were on the planet itself, but so were the nights. That allowed plenty of sunlight to power the solar collectors to keep the facility running.
A few bodies from unsolved crimes were kept in frozen containers there, in case new evidence showed up.
And then there was the Gant family, the newest arrivals.
Bodies were laid out on cold, metal tables in a refrigerated room, waiting for further tests. The chests of the adults had already been opened and every precaution taken, in case they carried the Prophet's disease.
Already heavily shielded, Quin, Travis and I accompanied Kooper into the chilled room. "Can you hook me up, bro—to see what you do?" Travis asked as we approached the adult male's body.
"Sure." My answer was somewhat distracted—already the Prophet's cloud had dissipated here, as if the bodies had been drained of that evil before they ever left their home.
"I feel very little," Quin observed, echoing my thoughts.
"Same, here," I agreed. "Kooper, I think he pulled whatever it was away from his victims, so we wouldn't feel it," I added.
"It was there in the room yesterday," Kooper began, a frown wrinkling his forehead.
"I know. And it may have been here, too, yesterday. I should have asked to see them then."
"Is there anything you can tell me?" Kooper asked.
"We see the murder scene—clearly," Quin whispered. "Their lives before that, too. Nothing out of the ordinary, Director. I get nothing from them that would indicate otherwise."
"Except for some reason, the Prophet chose them to turn on one another," Kooper shook his head. "I was hoping for more than this."
"I should have come yesterday," I berated myself. "I should have."
"Quin, will you write a report on what you saw in them—for the sealed files, you understand," Kooper asked. "In case something becomes relevant later."
"Of course," Quin nodded. She didn't like the sight of bodies bearing wounds laid out naked before us, with the added indignity of being sliced open by forensic pathologists.
Travis, who stood beside me, had received the same images I'd gotten—of a family fight that had turned deadly and included knives, pots, pans and every other thing that could be turned into a weapon.
The children had died first, as they were the weakest. How strong and murderous was the Prophet that he could turn mother against child?
"I'll have to think about this for a while," I said, disconnecting from Travis. We'd seen as much as we could stand for one day.
"Let's hope it doesn't happen again," Quin said.
"Hmmph," Kooper snorted.
Chapter 4
BlackWing XIII
Randl
"It was disturbing," I told Vik. "Somehow, the Prophet drained the malice out of everything by the time we saw the bodies this morning."
Vik and David sat with me in the ship's dining hall, watching stars slip past like streaks of light. We were headed toward another dead planet, where a science team reported unusual activity.
Other ships had been warned away until someone could investigate. We would be investigating. Until then, three Alliance gunships patrolled Ca'Lex's orbit.
Ca'Lex. A target for treasure hunters. No humanoids had lived on the planet for a thousand years or more, but that didn't mean there weren't artifacts remaining. If you could survive the insects, wildlife and rampant greenery covering the habitable parts, you could dig to your heart's content for whatever the ground still held.
"How do you kill your own kids?" David was back to our original topic of discussion.
"I don't know, but it happens at times." I sipped my tea absently, thinking I'd rather be drinking beer.
"May I join you?" Zanfield arrived with a cup of tea.
"Have a seat," I pushed out a vacant chair with power. "We were just discussing the Gant family."
"If I had a family, I'd instruct my own bodyguards to shoot me before I harmed them," Zanfield huffed.
He was serious—I could see it easily. Some might say those words, but they wouldn't mean them. Zanfield meant them with every cell in his body.
"Too bad they didn't have bodyguards," David set his mug on the table with a thump.
"We don't know that they wouldn't have been affected, too," Vik pointed out.
"True. This is fucked up," David shook his head.
"I hope it doesn't happen again," I blurted. I still had the images of a murder scene in my mind and the visions refused to leave or be muted.
"How long to reach Ca'Lex?" Zanfield asked.
"Tomorrow," I replied. Frankly, I wanted to fold space with the ship rather than let it stay the normal course—any activity would be welcome, even if it did involve jungle conditions and a hostile planet.
"Want to work out?" Vik asked. "That's what Markus and Miz are doing."
"Sounds like a plan," I agreed. "I'll change clothes and meet you in the workout room."
"Learned from Drake and Drew," Vik panted as we stood apart after a lengthy sparring session, wooden blades pointed at the floor as we worked to even our breathing.
He was good, and his height and longer reach was an advantage in most cases. I was hard-pressed to beat him back.
"Good workout," Vik grinned and held up his fist, knuckles o
ut.
David called it a fist-bump. I complied and grinned back. The sparring session was worth the sweat and exhaustion—the bad memories had finally taken a back seat to the present.
"Only thirty hours to go—as Le-Ath Veronis measures time," Vik turned to grab a towel from a nearby bench. After wiping his wooden practice blades, he hung them on the wall and settled the towel around his neck, using one end to wipe his face.
"Is it time for lunch, yet?" David wandered in. "Damn, you smell like an old gym locker," he made a face at Vik.
"I'll get cleaned up," Vik said. "Want to do my laundry?"
"What the fuck? Me, engineer," David tapped his chest. "You, brawny grunt," he then pointed at Vik. "Brawny grunts do laundry."
"Says who?" Vik sounded skeptical.
"Says every space movie I've ever seen."
"I don't recall anyone doing laundry in any space movie. I've even seen the specs for the Enterprise. I didn't see a laundry room in any of that."
"Then you didn't study hard enough," David teased. "It's on deck H. I checked."
"Shouldn't it be on deck L? For laundry?" Vik wasn't going to let it go.
"See, that's just the kind of thinking you'd expect from a grunt."
"Right," Vik countered. "Go wash your hands, engine monkey, I'm hungry."
"I'll be eating before you get out of the shower, and don't call me engine monkey."
"They used to call mechanics grease monkeys," Vik laughed.
"I'm a mechanic?" David roared. "A fucking mechanic? Oh, you'll be sorry for that one, string bean."
"String bean? You're making me hungrier. Are you walking out of here with me, or do you want to be carried?"
"Oh, sure. Start with the short jokes again," David fumed. Both continued to argue as they walked out of the exercise room. "I'll fart on your pillow," came floating back as they wandered along the hall toward their quarters.
I collapsed onto the towel bench and guffawed.
Miz'Sandar
Markus arranged for us to be transported aboard BlackWing X, where we met with Captain Trent. Captain Travis was acting Captain for the day, so Trent agreed to talk to both of us about blade fighting.
"Bro and I have put together a few tutorials that you can read on comp-vid," Trent told us, sweeping his long, black braid over a shoulder. "Mostly, it has to do with the types of blades available, how to care for them and such. These," he pointed to the table between us, "are practice blades. Once I hand them to you, you'll give them the respect you'd give a battle blade. The care you take with them can mean life or death on the battlefield."
"You really are Falchani," I said.
"Yes. From a long line of Warriors and Warlords," Trent agreed. "While that high position will never come to us, we do what we can where we are. We've used our own blades many times, in taking down criminals. This isn't an ancient art for sport or display fighting only."
"Randl says the discipline learned can be translated into other fighting arts," Markus nodded.
"He's right. I know who trained Randl, and he's a blademaster who learned from the best."
"I know this is forward, but how long before we will be allowed to pick up our blades to spar?" I asked.
"Not long—when you're able to go through all the exercises, plus the care and cleaning of your blade, you'll be given wooden practice blades. Those, if broken or damaged, are easily replaced and less destructive on wrists and other body parts." He grinned when he said that.
"I wondered at the lack of a cross guard," Markus observed.
"Some are trained initially with a cross guard, but those are done away with after the first few lessons," Trent said. "We were taught without one, from the beginning. Our grandfather says it isn't wise to depend on your sword to protect your hand—your movements and expertise should do that."
"And fighting with two blades helps, I'm sure." Markus said.
"It does. Most of your enemies won't expect a single blade, let alone two. Great-Uncle Crane always says attack with one blade, stab or slice with the other."
"Those of my race have a similar saying," I offered. "Distract with tail, kill with teeth."
"That's very good," Trent's mouth curled into a smile. "I'll remember that. How are the shooting lessons going?" He turned to Markus.
"Really well. Miz has an uncanny ability to focus on his target."
"My eyesight is very keen—as it is with all my people."
"Like a raptor's?" Trent was curious.
"Very much like that," I agreed. "We can see small things from high up or far away—while having an extended field of view. It's how our eyes have evolved."
"That would be an excellent edge on a battlefield," Trent said. "Focus on the one you're engaging, while seeing everything else around you."
"We've never fought like that, but you're correct—it could be useful in those circumstances."
"It may prove useful in the future," Trent said. "Learn your lessons, Miz—we don't know what we'll face before this is over."
"I understand that well," I said, reaching for the handle of the practice blade nearest me. "I will study the texts and be ready for my first lessons. Soon. My sister is waiting."
BlackWing XIII
Randl
We'd just entered Ca'Lex's orbit when the message came from Kooper. At least a family hadn't turned on itself this time.
Instead, a packaged food distribution facility had gone crazy during a night shift, and every employee on duty was now dead. Kooper's description of the scene made it sound worse than that of the Gant family.
The entire operation had been shut down, while other employees and the owners were having a meltdown. For now, the facility was off-limits to anyone except those sent by the CSD—the planet belonged to the Campiaan Alliance, this time.
"I'll be there shortly," I said. "We just arrived in Ca'Lex's airspace."
"Keep everyone staying behind onboard, then, until you get back," Kooper warned. "Bring Travis or Trent with you, if you want."
"I'll bring one of them," I agreed. "We'll have shields up and full security measures in force while we're gone—we don't need to be attacked while we're distracted."
"Just what I was thinking," Kooper sighed. "Let me know when you're on your way. We've set up in a nearby building while the forensics teams search the crime scene."
"Will do." I tapped the comp-vid to end the conversation before sending mindspeech to Travis.
BlackWing X
Travis
"I'll go this time, bro," Trent offered.
"If you're sure," I began.
"I'm sure. See if Sabrina has any ideas on how to pinpoint irregularities while we're gone," he added.
"We'll work on that," I said. "Don't let it get to you. That first scene was brutal, and what Randl transmitted, mind-to-mind, was worse."
"I'll keep you posted," Trent said. "I'll even fold space if I need to barf."
We always laugh at Mom's use of that term—it makes no sense in any language except that of Old Earth.
"You'll be fine," I punched his shoulder. "Randl may want to see the bodies, though, so be prepared."
"I will."
Huyer Food Distribution Warehouse, Woord'l
Randl
Mak and Jak wanted to come. I ended up settling for Mak and Vik, instead. The Blevakian brothers were satisfied with that arrangement. I figured both had seen their share of bloody crime scenes, so I didn't feel obligated to warn them ahead of time.
Trent, dressed in black leathers with both blades in sheaths at his back, was silent and determined as Kooper led us into a side door of the warehouse, near the loading dock where most of the carnage took place.
Kooper frowned at Trent's preparedness, but I didn't. From the moment we walked in, I knew there were survivors hidden somewhere, waiting. The stink of the Prophet's interference was everywhere.
Vik
If Randl hadn't shielded us as well as he did, we'd have died or been severely injured
in the initial attack. I'm sure the investigators had no idea that there was enough space below the extendable deck to hide a dozen or more attackers.
You have individual shields around you, Randl sent rapid mindspeech. Go to work. Even Kooper held a laser pistol, shooting at attackers who were also shielded heavily. Most of his shots ricocheted away from those shields, pinging against metal columns or tearing chunks out of less substantial walls instead of hitting intended targets.
Several CSD agents who'd been standing guard were also engaged, but as they weren't shielded at first, we lost three quickly.
Somehow, in the midst of blasting the enemy, Randl formed shields around the other agents, who were now protected as they fired their weapons.
Randl couldn't bring the facility down—that would destroy the crime scene. For a moment, as I fired my pistol at an attacker, I wondered whether these men were the Prophet's minions or former warehouse workers.
Randl
I recognized this as the trap it was meant to be, right as we were attacked. The Prophet's reach had become long, it appeared, as I read in a few faces that they were from Campiaa, and part of those who'd been snatched away from there recently.
Miz's sister wasn't among them.
She was valuable to the Prophet, if he'd bothered to learn about the skills of those he'd taken.
So far, we'd only managed to kill one attacker, and that was because three agents fired at the same one, bringing an entire wall down on him.
The rest were well-shielded by the Prophet, although to a fault—unless those shields were breached by us, only air was allowed in.
Those he'd sent to attack us would die within their shields in a matter of days, as they could only fire their weapons past the shields.
Target the weapons, Kooper sent to the rest of us.
That was harder than it sounded, as the attackers had been instructed to keep moving.
That's when I stopped, closed my eyes and focused solely on their laser rifles.
MindRogue Page 5
