Apex

by Robert Appleton

  “I think…if even half of that is true, it’s an unconditional miracle of happenchance.”

  “I know. Far-fetched, right?”

  “It doesn’t exactly subscribe to Occam’s razor.”

  “No. But consider this,” he went on. “The rock itself is loaded with cosmic radiation. So while it originated here, it’s likely spent a significant time outside the planet’s atmosphere.”

  Jan considered that for a moment, then let her mouth gape. “You’re sure? That isn’t just contamination from the meteorite strike?”

  “Not according to my readings. And those, if nothing else, match the other meteorite fragments – both yours and mine. They appear to have been a part of the same asteroid belt.”

  Clasping her hands on the back of her head, Jan shifted her weight forward so that she perched on the edge of her stool, almost falling off. “I can’t even... This thing’s even more amazing than I thought. It survived being ejected from Hesperidia and the hell of re-entry? What are the odds of that survival?”

  “Almost zip. Only slightly less than the odds of a rock finding its way back to the planet it was ejected from.”

  “Could it have been an asteroid strike that sent it up, rather than a super eruption?” she asked. “I remember Cindy Miyazaki telling me about the biggest craters from older periods. Those impacts were epochal in terms of the evolution of Hesp life. But the last one was millions of years ago, I think.”

  “About two hundred thousand, according to a paper I read. But it’s all conjecture at this point. Maybe we’re wrong and this thing was here all along. That would satisfy Occam’s razor, but it doesn’t change the problem at hand – the immediate problem.”

  “Hmm. Do we let it inherit the kingdom it’s earned, from a previous age? Or do we protect the current ecosystem and kill it?”

  Carlisle puffed his cheeks and let them slowly deflate while he ruminated. Meanwhile, Jan widened the scope of her own deliberations to include the amphibian bay dwellers that had introduced themselves to mankind for the first time the other day. The timing was no coincidence. The bay dwellers were fearful of the newly hatched predator. But was it really for humans to intervene?

  She considered telling Carlisle everything. He was smart and level-headed and easy to confide in. But he didn’t have her personal attachment to Hesperidia. Not yet, at least. He might insist on kicking these decisions back up the chain of command to COVEX. A first for science and human exploration, given over to bureaucrats and politicians to decide? No, she would wait until a First Ranger was chosen, and if it was her, she’d decide what to do herself. And if someone else got the job, she’d have to get to know him or her better before deciding how much to disclose.

  At the end of the day, if she wasn’t qualified to make that call, no one was.

  “We need more intel,” he concluded. “Its true territorial range, its habits, its reproductive abilities. Are there any more of these things buried in the ice? I’m thinking of the human outposts. If it stops chasing everything with a heartbeat and keeps to a particular region, perhaps we should treat it like the hydra – let it have its kingdom, give it a wide berth. But if doesn’t mark out its own borders, that’s different. We can’t have it hunting humans. And I hate to say it, but we shouldn’t pull out of the Hesp altogether because one rogue animal goes on the rampage. Ethically speaking, I’d probably get shot for saying it. But we’re more than just observers on this world now. We’re responsible for it. Just like we were going to repel the asteroids with the sat net, I feel we should protect the ecosystem from other invading forces. Right or not, that’s my instinct as a ranger and as a scientist. I’ve no qualms about killing this creature if we have to.”

  “Nor have I. And good for you, Carlisle, um, David. Nabakov would never have agreed with you, but like you say, we’re involved now. We have to safeguard the natural order. And this thing is a rogue threat to it.”

  “Until we know more, then, how about we keep this space odyssey theory to ourselves,” he said. “Let’s put it on ice, so to speak, until we can verify the more…unlikely parts.”

  “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

  “Good. By the way, have you named it yet? As the discoverer, it’s yours to—”

  “Oh, hell.” She raked her fingers through her hair. “I don’t know. What about…tenax hexapoda?”

  He typed that into his digipad. “Translates to ‘tenacious six-legged’. That’s not bad.”

  “Say that when you’re the meal it’s tenaciously stalking.”

  He snorted a chuckle. “I’d love to hear all about it.” And after checking his wristwatch, “It’s still early. What do you say to a working brunch?”

  “You’re buying.”

  “What the hell else am I gonna spend it on out here?”

  “A new name tag,” she said. “Deputy First Ranger has a nice ring to it.”

  “First Ranger rolls off the tongue more.”

  “Ah, ah. That’s my job you’re slobbering over.”

  “And after I retire, it’s all yours,” he replied.

  Jan tutted, playfully shook her head. “I can see this one’s gonna come down to an arm-wrestle.”

  “Nope. I’ve read your profile. Cybernetic repair puts you out of my league.”

  “That’s what I’ve been saying. Deputy is more your rung.”

  “All right, let’s settle this with a footrace,” he said. “A sprint across Miramar green. First one to cross the finish line is First Ranger.”

  “You’re on, Carlisle.” They shook on it.

  “Think COVEX will go for it?” he asked.

  “About as much as the other candidates.”

  “Good point. Brunch?”

  “Order away,” she told him. “Then we’ll swap war stories. Yours with the poachers and smugglers, then my memoirs of a musher.”

  “You know, you’re not like any scientist I’ve ever met.”

  “I get that a lot. Do you want to know why that is?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Order me a sausage bagel with extra cheese and I’ll tell you.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Departure day for several tour groups, about a quarter of the total visitors, brought the usual uneasy combination of fixed logistics and mixed emotions to Miramar. The hotels emptied in predictably lumpy fashion, a steady stream of efficient loners and young couples bottlenecked every now and then by awkward, memory-challenged, ragtag groups, sometimes families, sometimes families plus lonely hangers-on, and often gangs of veteran vacationers that had coalesced during the safaris and become firm friends (’pod-pals at best after the trip). The tour guides had the worst of it by far. As well as triple-checking passenger manifests before take-off, they were responsible for security scans, luggage searches, oxygen supplies, pre-arranged medical needs, customer service questionnaires, collecting donations, declaring tips, making sure all deposit boxes were emptied, and a million unforeseen problems that arose.

  Vaughn watched the evolving chaos with an increasing fondness. Aside from the inevitable barrack-room lawyers haranguing their guides with complaints – and not without merit, after the horrors of the meteor strikes and the recent storm – there was genuine sadness, even tears, shared by these people having to leave what would for many be the vacation of a lifetime, a profound experience they would never forget. This wasn’t some zoo you could queue for on a weekend. This wasn’t a hover Jeep ride across the Serengeti. This was a world so far away from Earth that no terrestrial telescope could see it. A world so rich in alien life that its exotic vibrancy overwhelmed you, became a part of you for the duration of your stay. To some it was even addictive, that otherness. That sense of being somewhere man was not meant to be, and seeing things beyond the architecture of human dreams.

  “Excuse me,” said a little girl of about six or seven, offering Vaughn a partly chewed rubber ball. “We found this on the trail. I think it belongs to that doggie who likes his tummy to get rubbed. Y
ou and the lady ranger, you were that doggie’s owners. Does he want it back?”

  “Well, let’s see here.” Vaughn took the ball, spun it a few times, tossed and caught it. “This does look like one of Stopper’s, but do you know what? He wants you to have it. If there’s one thing he likes more than his toys, it’s having his belly rubbed. So this is his thank you for being his friend.”

  The girl’s eyes lit up when Vaughn handed it back to her. Then she shrank into a giggly, embarrassed aside. “What did you say his name was?” she asked, blushing.

  “Stopper’s his name. Did you know he was the first ever Earth doggie born on Hesperidia?”

  “For real?” She eyed him with either wonder or suspicion, or both.

  “Yep. His mom and dad were both from Earth. They were the first two doggies to move here, and when he was born, he became the first puppy ever on this planet.”

  “So he’s an alien doggie and an Earth doggie.”

  Vaughn’s smile sprouted to a full-on grin. “That’s exactly right.”

  “Wow. Cheers, Mr. Lady Ranger.”

  “Cheers, little lady. And have a safe trip home. Where do you live?”

  “Apartment 31b, McGregor Tower, Sky Hamlet Station Two, Pod Code 22-138-EW. It’s on Venus.”

  He nodded his approval. “Nice greenhouses on the Sky Hamlets. Nothing like this, though, right?”

  “Boy, I wish.”

  Reading her name tag, he said, “Well, have a fun flight back to Venus, Amanda.”

  “Thanks. You too. Bye.”

  “Bye now.”

  She ran to her mother, an abnormally tall, thin woman wearing a jumpsuit. The woman mouthed the words thank you to Vaughn, then signaled to her husband, who was even taller. He was struggling to marshal their two boys, one about ten, the other twelvish, back to the luggage pile. They were squabbling over their souvenirs bought from the gift shop. He gave them both a thick ear and frog-marched them instead, which made Vaughn chuckle.

  If only all disobedience could be solved like that, he thought, and tried hard not to pluck the threads of the case he’d woven into such intricate order over the past few hours. It was, at least to his mind, a solid case he’d fashioned against the smugglers thus far. But its implications were too weighty for him to push it all the way on his own, not while he was protecting a crucial witness in an even bigger, sanctioned case. No, he would make the arrests alongside local law enforcement, and then get Lacey Hallow to sequester a couple of trusty colleagues from ImEx, so they could take over in the meantime, until he could sort out Kyra’s situation.

  But where were those rock-hoppers? He’d received a reply saying they were en route, but that was hours ago. Protocol demanded they keep him apprised of any delays. Kraczinski would have, if he were still here. “So much for professional courtesy.”

  One of the rangers was handing out liquid crystal maps, the new ones that projected holographically from a tabletop and provided commentary on each area you touched. A pretty good keepsake. The Alien Safari PR and merchandising was getting better all the time. There were stuffed toys of the most benign animals, crafted figurines of the deadliest or most impressive species, branded candy, keychains, designer apparel, safari rucksacks and survival kits, sound and smell simulators, interactive VR experiences, as well as every kind of knickknack and overpriced bauble the store had space for, all stamped with the Alien Safari logo. Vaughn guessed that a good half of the luggage weight on these shuttle rides home would be taken by souvenirs and keepsakes.

  It was a serious clip-spinning enterprise. Whoever was selected as First Ranger would have to oversee it all. Vaughn’s gaze wandered to a young blonde woman wearing tight jeans, a tank top tied at the midriff, and a cowboy hat. She was so self-consciously attractive and alluring to those around her, male and female, it was like some cruel tease at the tail end of a vacation, when it was too late for anyone to do anything about it. And it reminded him of a seasonal mating ritual Jan had told him about, with the single female in a group of tree-dwelling creatures suddenly turning on her sexual charms and rousing the males into the most peculiar behavior that saw them—

  “Detective Vaughn?” One of the COVEX delegates approached him. He remembered her dusky face only, sweet, bookish – Enola Fashnu, according to her name tag. “The committee would like a word with you. We’re convened in the conference room, and Mister Isherwood is there, too. Have you got a spare minute?”

  “Of course.”

  The full committee? Did they want him to testify? Perhaps the others had got wind of the treachery within their ranks and were seeking some concrete intel. He’d be happy to oblige…as soon as the rock-hoppers got here and made the arrests, but not before. Too many run-ins with too many slippery bureaucrats over the years had blunted his trust in organizations wanting to ‘smooth things over’ before official charges could be leveled.

  “Can I ask what this is about?”

  “It’s a committee matter,” she replied, her gait somehow dainty and purposeful at the same time as she led him into the main building’s foyer airlock. “It shouldn’t take long.”

  Nor did his heartrate take long to reach its heavy gallop the moment she slid the conference room door open and he perceived what awaited him. Sure, it was the full committee, but they were standing behind empty chairs tucked under the varnished table. Four wore holstered sidearms. One or two had their arms folded, while the others, including Isherwood, expressed consternation and bemusement as Vaughn strode in to meet his fate.

  With Tynedale at the head, and armed lackeys poised to spring, he questioned the wisdom of staying here even a moment longer. But the Omicron side of him insisted these weasels didn’t have a leg to stand on. It was highly unlikely they’d all be corrupt, so whatever cockamamie story Tynedale fed them, it had no evidence to back it up; whereas Vaughn’s conviction in his version of the events was strong enough to risk his career on. And he did have evidence, more than enough.

  “What can I do for the Congressional Oversight Committee on Exoplanetary Management?” he asked wryly.

  “You can start by handing over your sidearm, Detective Vaughn.” Tynedale, submitting his early audition for the role of Desperate Dan.

  “Mm…no, I think not. Anything else?”

  “What did I tell you?” He addressed the others, sweeping his combover. “See how facetious he is. It’s exactly what I was talking about. He thinks he’s untouchable, that he can get away with murder as long as he has that badge.”

  “I don’t know what bile you’ve spewed to save your ass, Tynedale, but whatever it is, it’s pathetic. You’re done.”

  “And the threats, the deflections, the Omicron defenses go up right on cue. If that isn’t guilt avoidance one-oh-one, I don’t know what is.”

  Vaughn snorted a mirthless chuckle, then scanned the worried faces around the table. “This is quite a clown show, fellas. What else has he been telling you?”

  “That you and Jan murdered Kirsten Zeller,” answered Isherwood with a hesitant shrug. “Sounds far-fetched to me, brother, but he claims he’s got a witness.”

  Vaughn’s forced smile dropped. This was still an outrageous bluff, easily debunked, but he no longer took it lightly. In that one word – ‘witness’ – he perceived the cleverness of Tynedale’s gambit. This wasn’t about pitting story versus story, version against version, evidence versus lies; it was about time. Tynedale didn’t have it, Vaughn did. The longer this played out, the more the noose tightened around the bastard’s neck. So he had to disarm Vaughn now, get him into the brig and sneakily dispose of him before the authorities got anywhere near the real evidence. That also meant Jan would have to go, and Carlisle, and anyone else who didn’t fully subscribe to Tynedale’s new ‘official’ narrative.

  And where would that leave Kyra, Cleeve, Melekhin, Joyce?

  Only one man stood between them and the most horrific crime he could think of. Murdering innocents to protect the guilty. Vaughn pulled his Kruger, set it to
maximum yield, and aimed it square at Tynedale’s chest. He said to those next to him backing away, “Nobody make a move! The next person who twitches, half of you will reach a thousand degrees in a microsecond.”

  “He’s bluffing!” But the beads of sweat were already gathering under Tynedale’s combover. The four armed men, having drawn the moment Vaughn pulled his Kruger, did not have his conviction. Their gazes darted to one another, questing for resolve, a way to break the deadlock. “It’s four against one,” Tynedale added. “Why are you letting him bully you? He’s the guilty sonofabitch here, and he’s hiding behind his badge.”

  “Not just his badge,” one of them reminded him.

  “Whoa, whoa! Everyone needs to walk this back.” Isherwood, too close to Tynedale for his liking, and for Vaughn’s – the deputy governor was not the enemy, but he was in an impossible situation – gestured for the nearest gunman to lower his weapon. “You guys are out of your league.”

  “And your minds,” another delegate, Wynne, called out to nobody in particular.

  “Detective Vaughn disputes the charges,” said Isherwood. “And it sounds like he has some of his own to level. I for one would like to hear all sides of this story before we decide who needs to lay down their arms here.”

  “Consider yourself dismissed,” snapped Tynedale. “You’re a waste of space, just like Nabakov. Vaughn and Hopper have orchestrated this whole thing right under your nose, and you still can’t see it. Who’s been in an ideal position to gather the specimens, smuggle them out through security? Then when Kirsten Zeller found out what they were doing, they took her out to a remote spot and viciously eliminated her. Just ask Doctor Intaglio. He knows what he saw. Then ask yourself why Vaughn came here unannounced, wouldn’t tell anyone what he was doing here, and the next minute he was interfering with an official COVEX assessment of potential candidates for the most important role on Hesperidia. The timing of it is no coincidence. Think about it. Doctor Hopper disappears for the best part of an hour shortly before the meteor shower. No one saw her, then she appeared on her own, away from the others, moments before the appointed time. The sat net mysteriously goes offline at such a crucial time, burying Nabakov’s career and opening up the top job. Ask yourself who stands to benefit from that. Doctor Hopper was always going to be on the shortlist, and between her and Vaughn, they made sure she was going to win.