by Gary Weston
Boss casually leaned back in the chair, the rifle on his lap. ‘I can spare a couple of hours to watch you die.’
Chapter 112
The ship docked at the space station. The trip had taken longer than it should have. The Masters would not be pleased. The pilot went to the hold of the ship. Thirty humans were in the passenger section, unshackled. New recruits to work on the space station, carefully selected. They were to earn their drixolate, they had been told, and had gone willingly to the station. Those working directly for the Masters were guaranteed their ration of the drug that enslaved them.
‘Everyone follow me. Keep together.’
The usual procedure was isolation for two days. Time to allow the new batch to digest their last meal. Time did not allow for that. The pilot led the slaves along the first doughnut, through the connection tunnel to the second doughnut. A holding room, devoid of any furniture, was opened up.
‘This is just a temporary place for you. You will wait in here. Get in.’ They were in no position to argue, not if they wanted the drug. ‘Not you.’
She was a young woman, no older than nineteen. Slim. Pretty. Her eyes were full of fear.
‘Why not me?’
‘You are to come with me.’
From the room crammed with twenty-nine humans, one cried out, anxiety in his voice. ‘Drixolate. What about our drixolate?’
‘Later. You will be supplied.’ He closed the door. ‘You. Follow me.’
The girl followed him along the doughnut, walking fast, trying to keep up. They came to the door with the robot, and the girl gasped in shock. The robot scanned the pilot’s eyes and the door opened.
‘You go in there,’ the pilot told the girl. No light came from the darkened room and the girl was frightened enough of the huge metal man. ‘Go on.’
The girl went inside. To the robot, the pilot said, ‘You know what to do.’
The robot entered the darkened room and the door closed behind it. The pilot stared at the door for a moment, then he hurried away. He had to supply the others with the drug. They were no good dead.
Chapter 113
Scales sat and stared at the floor. Time was running out for him. Boss had sat in silence, the rifle on his lap. On the small table by his side was the glass vial with the drug that would at least keep Scales life on hold, if not actually save it. All he had to do was to tell Boss all he knew and the drixolate would be his. But if he lived and he’d betrayed the Masters, they would make him suffer in ways even Boss didn’t know about. There was a growing burning sensation in his guts. The internal decomposition had begun.
‘Please shoot me.’
‘Too easy.’
‘I can’t believe you can just sit there and watch me die.’
Boss leaned forward. ‘Scales. I am the Boss. I head the DSI. The agents like Raven. The military division. I’m it. Until the day I die or retire from the post. The DSI is as risky a line of work there is. I am the one who authorises all the missions, regardless of how dangerous. I send brave men and women to risk their lives, knowing there’s a real chance some won’t be coming home alive. I have to live with their deaths on my hands. Oh, yes. I can watch you die.’ Boss picked up the vial. ‘Tell me. Has it started? The burning? That’s how it starts. I have been by the side of too many people, good people, better people than you, and watched them die. You have the choice, Scales.’ He held the vial towards the young man. ‘Talk and you can live, or at least not die in agony. What’s it to be?’
The burning was becoming acute. The pain was excruciating. He held out his hand for the vial.
‘Talk first, Scales. You know where the Masters are. Talk.’
‘There’s a space station. They move it often. In the case. God, the pain. I can’t…’
‘Come on, Scales.’ Boss held the vial in his outstretched hand. Tempting Scales.
Scales’ face screwed up with the pain, his skin grey, his eyes rolling. ‘Hurry. Bring me the case.’
Boss knew where to go, racing into the bedroom, ripping open the battered suitcase. He took out the case inside, taking it to Scales. Under Scales’ instructions, Boss set up the equipment. Lights fanned out from the tips of the crystals, joined up, the metal disc spun.
‘That’s sending a direct signal. Trace it. But be quick, or they’ll know.’
Boss used his communicator. ‘General Millet. Are you getting this?’
‘Wait. Yes. We have a fix.’
‘Then, go.’
‘Taking off now, Sir.’
‘Good luck.’
Boss pulled the stopper from the vial and went to Scales to save his life. A few drops hung on the end of the stopper, ready to fall onto Scales’ arm. Scales knocked it away.
‘Too…late.’
‘Scales.’
Scales was rolling around, his knees tucked up under him, his hands clutched to his belly. A fire raged within him. His internal organs were disintegrating, failing. His heart would be the last organ to fail. Eventually. He turned to look up at Boss, pleading for mercy with his eyes. Begging for an end to it all. Boss pointed the laser rifle to the young man’s head and pulled the trigger. Then he stepped over the dead body, walked out the room and locked the door behind him.
Chapter 114
The room was dark when she entered, apart from a surreal glow about the eight-foot robot. Her eyes became accustomed to the gloom. In front of her, something reflective. Like the mirror of her soul. A light, not bright, dull, from within the tank. Shapes. Odd. Moving. One approached the glass, staring at her.
‘Come. Come to me.’
The voice seemed to be directly in her mind, filling her head. She stepped forward. What probed her mind, calmed her fear. She felt nothing, now. No fear. Just an emptiness in a place where her soul should be.
‘Take off all your clothing.’
She took off all her clothing and stood there, naked. From the robot came a light. To the side of her, in a wall, a door opened. The voice told her what to do next. She walked without fear through the door, which closed silently behind her. In the small, dully lit room, were steps. She climbed those to the top of the tank. Something slid back making an opening in the cover of the tank. She looked down into the green viscous liquid. Just below the surface, something, a dark shape, swirled around. It called to her. She stepped into the liquid, slid into it. Down she sank, slowly, suspended. She felt no fear, only tranquillity. Something took a hold of her hand and pulled her deeper into the tank. She didn’t feel the first bite of her flesh being eaten. Or the next.
Chapter 115
General Millet had the fire in his belly. The fire of positive action and the opportunity to make a difference. If a man had a cause to hate drixolate runners, it was him. His only son, Marley, had been enslaved. It was years before the time the true significance of the pernicious drug became common knowledge. Marley was seventeen at the time. A face that glowed with the love of life. An infectious grin to match his blue eyes, and a cheeky disposition that had the girls lining up to date him. Marley also had a serious side, and a burning ambition to become a doctor. He had the smarts to do it, too.
Marley was a prime target to recruit into slavery. At a friend’s birthday party, Marley had been surrounded by girls, each wanting to stake a claim on him. One lucky girl had caught his eye. A dark skinned beauty, who was Marley’s match in looks and brains. Adora was her name. She had led him away from the others, into the flowerbeds of the garden. They had found a bench to sit on, and soon they were kissing and exploring each other, as healthy teenagers do.
As Adora kissed his face and neck, her hands, stained with drixolate, rubbed the nape of Marley’s neck. The strange and unexpected smell of rotten meat had made Marley pull away from the girl for a moment, but that smell must have been wafting from elsewhere, he’d assumed. She had pulled him to her and kissed him on the lips.
“I’m so sorry. They made me do it.”
Marley had asked the girl. “Do what? Adora. I don’
t understand.”
Adora had pushed him away. The drixolate on her hands were of no consequence. Not for her, at least. She had also been made a slave, and she had been ordered to ensnare Marley Millet. By doing that, they could control the then Major Millet, into doing their bidding.
Adora’s beautiful eyes filled with tears. “I was frightened. I had to do it or I would die. You are so perfect and I have destroyed you.”
“Adora. Tell me. What have you done?”
From her purse, she took a silver container and placed it in his hands. “Every morning, rub this onto your skin. Just a few drops. It will keep you alive.”
Marley had gone to a friend’s party. Girls would be there, and he didn’t need luck to be lucky. And here was the most fabulous girl he had ever seen in his life, one who had set his heart pounding like no other he had met. The smoothness of her skin pressed upon his; her lips, like kissing honey, the tenderness of her touch. He had been willingly captivated by Adora, but also unwittingly enslaved. Still holding his hands, she stood up.
“I don’t deserve it, but one day I wish your forgiveness.”
Adora was crying hard. Once, she had seen a wonderful life before her, and now she was clinging on to life, one day at a time. And even for that pittance of a life, she had deliberately turned a young god into a slave. Adora didn’t go home that night. So full of remorse had she been, she had gone to her favourite place in the whole world, and she had sat on the bank of the lake, where the full moon had made pretty patterns on the ripples of the water, and black galleons of clouds cast spectral shadows across her soul.
Her soul. That had surely gone from her. Nobody who had a soul could surely hate themselves as much as she did at that moment. The warning burning inside her, told her she needed the drixolate to keep her alive. From her purse she took the tiny container, and opened it, intending to spread the liquid stinking of rotten meat, all over her arm. That would make the pain go away. That would keep her alive. Her hands shook as she was about to apply the drug. But before she could, she thought of Marley and what she had done to him. Beautiful, beautiful Marley. Any girl would be a princess on his arm. Not for her. She had to turn Marley into a slave if she was herself to live.
Adora stared out at the rippling water, where battling sailing ships crossed a shining moon, and ghostly shadows danced upon the lake. Marley wouldn’t be the last, if she were to live. Adora tossed the container into the lake and watched as it cast rings in the water where it had landed. She should have used the drug hours ago, the tell-tale burning inside her, crying out for attention. She had made her choice. She would enslave no others.
Her hands went to her belly, where the inferno raged. She rolled over onto her side, on the cool grass. She was crying, as much for Marley and what she had done to him, as for the sorrow and pain she felt for herself. It took hours, her internal organs slowly decomposing, the one thing that could have prevented it, at the bottom of a lake. All that remained of her was her heart, the heart long since broken from what she had done.
Adora begged her deity to forgive her and, if a soul remained, to care for it somewhere. As the pain filled every fibre of her being, she thought of Marley, and although in the throes of agony, had smiled at the memory of his touch, his soft lips upon hers. She deserved this pain she thought. A small price to pay for the life she had taken.
It was done now. A calmness, a serenity descended over her. She no longer felt the pain. Except in her heart, for the life she had taken. As her heart failed, she imagined the soft kisses of Marley Millet, pressing on her lips. As her heart beat its last beats, the lingering kiss on her lips was her last memory.
General Millet had pieced this together later, after a young god had died in his arms. His son was not only beautiful, intelligent and full of life, he was also the bravest man he had ever known. Not for him the life of a slave.
“Don’t blame Adora, Dad. For me, she could have been the one. Promise me you won’t blame her.”
And as his son slipped painfully away in his arms, his own tears dripping onto that perfect face, he vowed he would not blame the brave Adora. She was not responsible. Marley was not responsible. But those heinous bastards who had destroyed two wonderful lives, they would be held accountable. If it took his last breath, they would pay.
General Millet squeezed the shoulder of the copilot, a lad the same age his son was when he had been taken from him.
Millet smiled when he said, ‘We are still on track?’
‘Yes, sir, General Millet.’
‘Looking forward to kicking some ass, son?’
‘Can’t wait to get there, sir.’
‘Good man.’
Millet left them to fly the bus. Back in the passenger section he sat and buckled up.
‘We’ll get your man back, Miss Dainty. I feel it in my bones.’
Joy said, ‘That’s why I’m here, General. To get my man back.’
Chapter 116
It took three days to produce the last of the drixolate, pack it into cubes, and stack it with the rest. Raven and Casey had been an afterthought during the production, regularly having to call out for food, water or toilet trips. Finally, the cubes were packed into the ship.
Fritz grinned at the captives as he tapped the control on his wrist. ‘I’m tired. We are all pretty tired. That makes us irritable. I mention this merely to warn you both, if I even think you are about to be annoying, I’ll zap you anyway. Ah! Don’t speak. I would find that so annoying. If you understand me, nod your heads.’
They nodded.
‘Right. I’m about to unlock you from the ship. Pity really, because it would amuse me for us to take off with you two dangling on a rope outside.’
Fritz unlocked them and they were the last three to enter the ship. Raven and Casey were secured to the wall of the hold, the ramp closed up and Fritz entered the passenger section. There was a hiss as the air and pressure levels adjusted.
‘Buckle up. Buckle up. Take off, two minutes.’
There came the familiar hum of the plasma engines reaching optimum temperature. Helium three gas was being bombarded with electrical pulses. That turned it into plasma, which was ejected using electrostatic and electromagnetic forces which became the propulsion. The ship took off, did one half orbit of the planet, left the atmosphere and began the journey to the space station.
Once more, the feelings of hopelessness and frustration settled over Casey and Raven, at the mercy of their captors, sitting in the cargo-hold of a ship with stacks of cubes of the drug that humans were using on other humans, under the control of some swamp creatures. Their own fate seemed somehow insignificant in the scheme of things.
Raven was thinking about Joy Dainty. He had failed her. No last kisses goodbye, no last lovers’ embraces. Had he talked things over with her, he knew she would have pleaded with him not to go. Just tell Boss what he knew or thought he knew. That was his job, now. Coordinating information for others to work with. Not for him to turn into his personal crusade.
In truth, that’s exactly what he had thought of doing. Go see Boss. Hand it all over. His problem had been, was there anyone he could trust, including Boss? Too much was at stake. His own happiness, welfare and even his life, mattered nothing in the scheme of things. He had done the right thing, although perhaps in the wrong way.
It wasn’t the first time he had lost the one he loved in the line of duty. His love for Tilly Jordan had never died. It wasn’t her beauty he loved, but the essence of the woman. It had been Tilly who had turned on him, rejecting him. For years, he had hoped she would have the surgery to repair her face. Not for him, but for her to feel like the woman she truly was. She hated him too much.
He had lived with that hatred, year after year, his love for her never completely dying. Always that flickering candle in the wind of hope that her face and their love could be restored. He hadn’t dared believe he could love another as he had loved Tilly. But fate had conspired to bond him with Joy Dainty, and at last
his heart had been free to love again. But Tagg Raven had been destined to tilt at windmills once again, fighting for the greater good.
He stared at the last shipment of drixolate. Cubes of misery, slavery and death. This was his last windmill. His lance was broken. The battle lost. He had given up his last chance of love, to die on a reckless folly, trying to stop the inevitable demise of the human race. He should have spent what little time they had, in the arms of the woman he loved. The battle for life was lost and he had lost the love of his life.
Chapter 117
Boss said, ‘I had to kill a man, last night.’
Typing.
‘Yes, I did. Rod Scales. Raven’s assistant. I’d been suspicious of him for some time. A search of his room revealed a special piece of communication equipment, used to contact the drixolate runners. I had his room bugged. Eventually, I caught him in the act.’
Typing.
‘No. Not really. Just a poor drixolate slave. He was just a scared kid.’
Typing.
‘You’re right. We never do get used to killing people. Useful information? I’d say so. Millet is leading a mission to finally wipe the runners out, once and for all.’
Typing.
‘Tagg? No. Still no word. Joy Dainty insisted on going along with Millet.’
Typing.
‘Yes, she is. Broke a man’s nose on Nyzon Five, I heard. She asked me to send you her best wishes for a speedy recovery, by the way.’
Typing.
‘The doctor said the new tongue is healing well. Just the new voice box to go in, a few days after that, the synskin. Another two weeks you’ll be good to go.’
Typing.
‘Yes. One day at a time, Tilly. You know, Joy could be a good friend to you, if you let her.’
Typing.
‘Tilly. Tagg’s moved on. You should, too. You have people who care for you. People like me. We’re your friends and we want you back with us.’
Typing.
