Agent Prime

by Jake Bible

  Where there was a chair, there was a footstool. Sno grabbed that up and threw it at where he thought the attacker would be next. There was a grunt and the footstool’s flight was stopped midair.

  With distance and time on his side, Sno was able to retrieve his Keplar knife. Instead of using it as a weapon, Sno glanced at the ceiling, found what he was looking for, and set the energy blade to high. It glowed a brilliant red and Sno threw it straight up as he dove to the side to avoid the next attack he knew was coming.

  Air whooshed past Sno’s scalp as the next attack barely missed taking his head off. Then a sting and a burn told Sno that he hadn’t fully avoided the attack. Blood began to pour down his forehead from his scalp, dripping over his eyebrows and into his eyes.

  Before Sno could recover from the dive to the ground and slash to his scalp, his left shoulder exploded with pain. Something razor sharp dug deep into his flesh, tearing through muscle and scraping across his bone. He roared with agony and grabbed whatever was embedded in his shoulder. His hands found that it was connected to a foot and that foot was connected to a leg. And the leg began to twist. Sno screamed.

  Before the leg could twist too much farther, an alarm began to sound. Everyone in the galaxy, even the Skrang Alliance, would know instantly what the alarm meant: fire. Emergency lights in the stateroom extended from the wall and began to flash. Then what Sno hoped would happen, did happen.

  The heat from the Keplar knife embedded in the ceiling triggered the fire retardant system. A thick, white foam cascaded from a thousand nozzles tastefully concealed in the ceiling’s tiles. The attacker was suddenly a ghostly silhouette and Sno had a target to go for.

  The ghost’s leg was attached to something that was still stabbed into Sno’s shoulder. But with the outlining of form came dawning realization for Sno. He hadn’t been stabbed by a weapon, but by a talon. And he wasn’t fighting an attacker outfitted with cloaking tech. He was fighting a Tcherian.

  Tcherians were another of the galaxy’s many lizard-like races. Humanoid, with a similar size and build as humans, Tcherians’ skin could camouflage and adjust to the beings’ surroundings. If they were naked, they could become nearly invisible. The beings also sported a nasty, several-inch-long talon on each foot. It was sharp enough, and strong enough, to disembowel even a stone-skinned Gwreq.

  One of those talons was still inside Sno’s shoulder.

  Sno pulled his Defta Stinger and took aim up at his attacker, but the being yanked his foot back, causing Sno to almost drop the small pistol, and took a swipe at Sno’s head with the other foot as the attacker jumped backward out of arm’s reach.

  Sno ducked his head and rolled several times to his right until he was pressed up against a couch. The foam-coated Tcherian turned and ran towards the stateroom’s doors, but Sno put three flechettes into the beings back before he could get to the entryway.

  The being cried out and Sno knew he was dealing with a male Tcherian. That presented a problem. With proper training, and years of conditioning, Tcherian males could redirect hormonal excretions into their foot talons. Not all males had the ability, just like not all male humans had the same physical abilities as other male humans.

  As Sno felt the wound in his shoulder go numb, and his vision begin to swirl, he had a fairly good idea that the Tcherian that attacked him did have the capability. Sno guessed he had maybe five minutes before either unconsciousness, which was preferable, or possible mind-destroying insanity kicked in. The latter being less than preferable.

  Sno shoved up to his feet, crying out when his shoulder briefly awoke from its numb slumber to alert him to the flesh tearing around the wound. He needed to get to the attacker before the poison flechettes did their job. Three flechettes meant it was a race between Sno staying sane, or at least awake, and the attacker staying alive.

  The attacker must have heard Sno coming because he leapt half a meter into the air and spun around, his left leg whipping out in a solid roundhouse kick aimed for Sno’s head. Sno barely ducked back, the foot talon missing his chin by only a centimeter. The move threw Sno off balance and he slipped on the foam that covered every square millimeter of the floor.

  Landing hard on his ass, Sno grabbed whatever was at hand and threw it at the attacker’s chest. He’d managed to grab a piece of foam-coated art that was probably worth more than Sno wanted to guess at. The piece of art hit the Tcherian squarely in the crotch, dropping the being to his knees fast. The Tcherian vomited over and over as Sno scrambled to get to his feet.

  “I have the antidote,” Sno said, lying.

  He never kept the antidote to the flechettes on him. He didn’t want the option. He also didn’t want to deal with an inquiry in front of a GF review board asking him why he did not use the antidote when he had it on his person. To solve that bureaucratic dilemma, Sno simply stopped keeping it with him. But the Tcherian didn’t know that.

  Wounded, poisoned, and still coated in foam, the Tcherian’s camouflage ability was spent. His skin returned to its normal scaly iridescence and he struggled to stand upright and continue the fight.

  “Stay down,” Sno warned, getting back to his feet. He wobbled, but willed himself to stay standing and took the few short steps to the Tcherian, towering over the struggling attacker. Sno slammed a fist into the being’s face, crushing bone and sending bits of teeth flying everywhere and skidding across the room in the foam. “I said to stay down!”

  The Tcherian stayed down, his shaking hands trying to staunch the blood that poured from his mouth.

  “Who were you sent to kill?” Sno demanded.

  The Tcherian’s eyes looked everywhere but at Sno. Sno hit him again.

  “Who were you sent to kill?” Sno shouted.

  “You,” the Tcherian hissed, the man’s voice weak and fading.

  “Me? What’s my name?” Sno asked.

  The Tcherian blinked a few times in confusion.

  “Tell me the name you were given,” Sno said, raising a fist again. It took all his willpower not to sway before the Tcherian. That toxin was kicking in hard. “The name of your target. Give it to me.”

  “Denman Sno,” the Tcherian whispered, his body slumping to the ground. “Agent…Prime…”

  The Tcherian’s eyes rolled up in his head as pink froth spilled from between the being’s lips. Sno slowly lowered himself into a crouch, careful not to fall over onto the body, and checked for a pulse. The Tcherian was gone. Sno tried not gag as the being’s body voided itself of all digestive waste.

  With complete and total deliberation, Sno stood back up and limped to the foam-coated couch. He fell into the cushions, launching clouds of foam high into the air. He activated his comm and waited.

  “Hello, love. Everything alright over there?” Veben asked.

  “No,” Sno said, his voice weak in his throat, but ragingly loud in his ears. He winced and took a slow breath. “Bit of an intruder problem.”

  “Yes, well, we’ve had our own intruder problem,” Veben said. “Was yours a naked Tcherian?”

  “Yes,” Sno said, but wasn’t sure he actually formed and uttered the word. “May have caught… A talon in the…”

  “Denman? Love? Are you wounded?” Veben asked.

  “Probably…”

  “I’ll be right there, love. Try not to die on me.”

  There was banging at the doors as Sno’s comm went silent. Then the doors burst open and in raced several uniformed crew members, their faces hidden by environmental hazard masks and rebreathers. Half of the crew members scanned the room for the fire while the other half raced over to Sno. Half of those crew members skidded to a halt when they saw the Tcherian corpse amongst the fire retardant foam.

  “Hello,” Sno said, unfamiliar faces swimming in his vision. “Tcherian…talon…”

  A crew member nodded and stepped forward. She leaned over Sno and checked his pulse, lifted his eyelids, then smiled behind her mask as she opened a pouch on her belt and withdrew a pencil. She jammed the p
encil into Sno’s talon wound and he screamed at the top of his lungs. The pain in the wound began to subside and some focus returned to Sno’s sight. He glanced down at his shoulder and realized it wasn’t a pencil, but an injector.

  “Thanks for that,” he mumbled.

  “Are you hurt anywhere else?” the woman asked.

  Masked crew members were milling about behind her, most arguing about how best to clean up the mess, with the remainder arguing about who was going to alert the command crew about the Tcherian corpse. The woman, a medic Sno had to assume, purposely put herself in Sno’s line of sight.

  “Ignore them and answer my questions,” the woman said. “Are you injured anywhere else?”

  “Everywhere,” Sno said.

  The woman’s eyes were a dazzling emerald green which matched beautifully with her pitch-black skin. Ebony couldn’t even describe the woman’s skin. It was as if he was staring into the center of oblivion. And he liked it.

  “Oblivion?” the woman asked as she pulled off her mask. She gave Sno a smirk. “I’ve never been compared to oblivion before.”

  Sno frowned right before realization hit him. “Was that out loud?”

  “It was,” the woman replied, amused. “Should I start asking you about your bank account codes now?”

  “Better hurry,” Sno said as he tried to stand up. “I’m feeling much better.”

  He collapsed before he got more than a few centimeters off the couch, sending more foam clouds flying up into the air. The woman batted them away and put a hand gently on Sno’s chest.

  “Stay put, sir,” she said. “I’m going to fix your nose.”

  Sno didn’t have a chance to protest before the woman jammed a small hose into each of his nostrils and pressed a button on a canister the hoses were attached to. Sno’s nose was fixed almost instantly. And with that speed came an excruciating amount of pain.

  “Thanks,” Sno said with a hint of sarcasm.

  “My pleasure,” the medic replied.

  “Where is the fire?” a crew member snapped. “The system is registering a fire, but I don’t see it!”

  “Knife,” Sno said and pointed up at the ceiling without taking his eyes off the woman bent over him, her hand still keeping him in place. “Keplar knife.”

  “You threw a Keplar knife into the ceiling?” the crew member shouted. The way the others deferred to him, Sno guessed he was a supervisor. “Are you mad?”

  Sno blinked a couple times then shook his head. “I do not believe I am. Might have something to do with a Tcherian assassin waiting to kill me the second I stepped into my stateroom.”

  Sno looked about.

  “I’m going to need a new stateroom.”

  “Do not fret on that issue, love,” Veben said as she pushed past the crew members. The supervisor tried to stand in her way, but thought better of it after only a glance from Veben. “You’ll room with us.”

  Veben hooked a thumb over her shoulder.

  “Had a bit of my own Tcherian assassin issue and I believe it is safer if we stay together for the rest of this trip,” Veben said. “Don’t you, love?”

  “No one is going anywhere until I have some answers,” a massively tall Leforian growled as she entered the stateroom. All of the crew members, even the supervisor and the medic, instantly stood at attention. “Relax, people. You don’t work for me.”

  The Leforian scanned the room quickly then snapped her fingers. The supervisor moved to her side.

  “Is the fire out?” the Leforian asked.

  “There was no fire, ma’am,” the supervisor replied.

  “That so?”

  “Keplar knife in the ceiling set off the sensors.” The supervisor gave Sno a quick glare.

  “Smart thinking,” the Leforian said, confusing the supervisor. She sighed. “I was talking to Mr.… Shaw, is it?”

  “That would be me,” Sno said.

  “We should talk,” the Leforian said. “Everyone out.”

  “I’ll be staying,” Veben stated.

  “I wouldn’t argue,” Sno said. “She has her own dead Tcherian in her stateroom.”

  Realization hit Sno and he flashed a look of panic at Veben. She smiled and waved him off telling him his alarm was not warranted. Pol was safe.

  “Can he be moved?” the Leforian asked the medic.

  “I’d rather he wasn’t,” the medic said.

  “I feel like I could die,” Sno said, placing a hand on the medic’s arm. “You may need to stay close.”

  “Eight Million Gods,” the Leforian grumbled. “Fine. Everyone but the old woman and Medic Woqua needs to get out. Now!”

  The crew members left at once.

  “Old woman?” Veben growled.

  “No offense,” the Leforian said.

  “We’ll see,” Veben replied and turned her back on the being.

  The Leforian grimaced then shook her head. She eyed the medic then focused on Sno.

  “Before we begin, I need to know if you would prefer the use of a med pod,” the Leforian said as if reading from a card. “If you succumb to your injuries during this interview, then it must be stated that you refused use of a med pod.”

  “I refuse use of a med pod,” Sno said. “For the moment. Can we get on with this?”

  The Leforian found a chair, wiped off as much foam as she could, then sat down and glared at Sno. The medic went about patching his wounds and tending to the cuts and scrapes on his face and neck. Sno grinned the entire time.

  “Talk,” the Leforian demanded.

  18.

  Once Sno had finished relaying the events, the Leforian sat there, her quad-jawed mandibles clicking in obvious irritation.

  “Mr. Shaw,” the Leforian said. “You have no idea why a Tcherian assassin would be hiding in your stateroom to try to kill you? That’s what you are telling me?”

  “I’m telling you what happened,” Sno replied. The medic handed him a steaming mug and he smiled. “Thank you. Tea?”

  “Hot caff,” the medic said.

  “Tea would be better,” Sno said in a playful tone.

  “Whiskey would trump both, but I’m not allowed to serve you that,” the medic said.

  “Maybe I can buy you some later? Say, after dinner? I bet you know a wonderful bar we could sit in,” Sno said.

  “Excuse me!” the Leforian snapped. “There is a Tcherian corpse on the floor, flame-retardant foam everywhere, and a second Tcherian corpse in the stateroom next door. Can you two refrain from flirting for the moment so I can get all the information and prepare a report for the captain?”

  “Oh, my Tcherian isn’t dead,” Veben said.

  All eyes fell on Veben, but she seemed nonplussed and only stood there, her arms crossed.

  “I never said I killed the Tcherian,” Veben said when everyone continued to stare at her. “I said I had a similar problem. Except I managed to keep my attacker alive. Mr. Talpic is watching over him now.”

  “You left P… You left Mr. Talpic in your stateroom with a living Tcherian assassin?” Sno growled.

  “The man is quite restrained,” Veben said with a wicked grin. “I do know my bondage techniques, love. That young man is not getting loose unless I allow him to get loose.”

  “I’ll have security take him to the brig,” the Leforian said with a sigh as he activated his comm and gave quick orders.

  “I thought you were security,” Sno said.

  “Like I said before, my name is Investigator J’gorla,” the Leforian said. “I am the ship’s investigator, separate from security.”

  “Let me guess,” Sno said. “Your job tends to be more about finding lost necklaces and responding to complaints of passengers harassing each other. Maybe make a bust or two when contraband is found. Dead Tcherian assassins are not part of your daily workload.”

  “You’d be surprised,” J’gorla said. “With some of the high profile clientele we attract here on the Mip, I have dealt with more than a few murder attempts. Not to mentio
n the crimes of passion that are inevitable when dealing with the privileged class.”

  “We’ve all had to deal with the aftermath of those incidents,” the medic said.

  “I’m sorry, but I never caught your name,” Sno said.

  “Zan Woqua,” the medic said.

  “Pleased to meet you, Ms. Woqua,” Sno said.

  “Zan, please,” Zan replied.

  “Medic Woqua, is Mr. Shaw stable enough now that perhaps we can move this conversation to somewhere less…foamy?” J’gorla asked.

  “If Mr. Shaw feels up to it,” Zan replied.

  “I certainly feel up to it,” Sno said.

  Veben snickered then covered her mouth with her hand and coughed. “Tickle in my throat.”

  “I’ll come by and check on you later, Mr. Shaw,” Zan said.

  “I’ll be in the stateroom next door,” Sno said.

  “No, you will not,” J’gorla said. “That room, as well as this one, are now part of an active investigation. I will have Osol arrange for new accommodations.”

  “Joint accommodations,” Sno said. “I feel it’s best I stay with my friends. Easier to maintain proper security.”

  “Osol can take care of all of that,” J’gorla said. “Until then, how about we move to my office so we can finish our conversation for the official record?”

  “I’ll find you,” Zan said as she gave Sno’s arm a pat then scooped up her gear and left.

  “Delightful woman,” Sno said. “Cannot wait for our…conversation later.”

  “I’ll bet,” Veben said.

  “Shall we?” J’gorla asked, standing up and gesturing to the door. “We’ll fetch Mr. Talpic on the way.”

  Sno stood, made sure his legs weren’t going to betray him, then smiled and walked confidently to the stateroom doors. Veben was at his side immediately, an arm ready to steady him if he stumbled or slipped. But Sno made it out of the stateroom and into the corridor without assistance.