Humans Only: A Jake Dani Novel (Jake Dani/Mike Shapeck Book 2)

by Victory Crayne

  “Scientists from CDC state that all the virus is destroyed by this method of burial. None can survive this harsh treatment. Because there are no remains left and since so many bodies are disposed of in batches, there are no markers identifying any individual. This is a true mass burial method.”

  When the news changed to show local weather, I turned off the telly.

  Alena came up to my chair.

  “Dad, I’m going nuts staying here. There’s nothing to do!”

  “I can’t help that, Alena. I have the same problem. Have you watched all the movies you’re interested in?”

  She bowed her head and nodded.

  “Dad, I can’t go back to my lab at the university. Can you find a place for me to do my research?”

  “Let me check.”

  After she left for the dorm, I tagged Ranute Fallow. He was a client from my earlier days and was now head of the Alien Protection Society, which looked out for the welfare of napes.

  “Hi Jake. What can I do for you?”

  “Have you read my daughter’s paper on human and nape DNA having a lot in common?”

  “Is she your daughter? I wondered when I saw her last name was Dani. And yes, I’ve read her paper. Very interesting.”

  “Can I ask a favor?”

  Silence greeted my ears.

  “And?”

  “Can Alena set up a lab at the Nape Museum to continue her research?”

  “I don’t know. There’s a lot of controversy surrounding it.”

  “If she can get verification, it would help reduce the prejudice against the napes,” I said.

  Silence.

  “Hmm. You may be right. Let me get back to you on that.”

  “How are you faring the pandemic?”

  “Candy and I—she’s my wife now—have been staying home. How are you? You live in Zor.”

  “I’m staying with some friends. We have a water purification system.”

  “We do too at my estate. Say, Jake, let me get back to you on your request.”

  “Got it.” We disconnected.

  He tagged me back an hour later. “Sorry, Jake. I don’t think that’s practical.”

  “I understand. Thanks for considering it.”

  We disconnected. That would have presented a problem anyway. The Nape Museum was on South Central Park Avenue, on the other side of downtown from the university. It wouldn’t take long to get there, but commuting would be a problem.

  And she would need bodyguards.

  Oh dear. This is getting complicated.

  Vincent piped up with “Have you considered asking the mercon ambassador about Alena setting up her lab at the embassy?”

  “That’s an interesting idea. I wonder what the downside is.”

  I hesitated to ask Alena her opinion. The way she jumped to conclusions bothered me.

  Did she do that in her research?

  One thing was clear. We would not have to provide bodyguard service if she could live at the embassy. The major drawback was our human odor. Could the staff tolerate her presence?

  One way to get an answer. Ask.

  I tagged Gliituk. He was not available and would return my call. I didn’t want to ask my question in a voice mail.

  It took an hour before I got a tag back from the ambassador.

  “What do you want?”

  Might as well spit it out.

  “Could my daughter set up a residence at your embassy and do her research in a lab there?”

  A pause followed.

  “Let me ask Picka’tor.”

  Chapter 30

  Leanna came up to me.

  “We need to restock our food. And toilet paper.”

  She handed me a list.

  Since I felt I could not ask her or anyone on my team to risk exposure by going out to a store I went alone. I wore a blue breathing mask for whatever good it might do. I hated to rebreathe my hot air but catching the virus was my greater concern.

  As I pressed along on University Avenue, I had to stop three times at military check points to explain my reason for being on the road. Prime Minister Pierre Klava had declared a curfew beginning at six in the evening and ending at eight in the morning. He had brought in the military reserves to police the streets and prevent looting.

  At one stop, I spied military escorts in front and back of a Walker’s delivery truck. Every person in every vehicle I saw wore breathing masks, either pale blue or white. All the soldiers at the checkpoint had them on.

  At the store, empty shelves stared back at me when I strode the aisles looking for bottled water and beverages. Even the milk section had few choices. I smiled when I saw the alcohol section was empty―beer, wine, hard liquor, you name it. Looks like some folks planned on partying until this epidemic was over.

  After a minute of searching, I found a clerk who wore the uniform of the store, along with a white mask.

  “When do you expect more bottled water?” I asked.

  “Don’t know,” he replied as his mask bobbed up and down. “We get some in every morning, but they’re gone by ten.”

  “What do you do for water?”

  The edges of his mask moved upwards. Was that a smile behind the mask?

  “As an employee, I get first choice.”

  “What about ordering online?”

  “You could try, but with the looting going on, most of the delivery trucks are bare by noon.”

  The shelves had half of their usual offerings so it didn’t take me long to get what I came for. In my mind I thanked Vincent for stocking up on canned goods. Zetto claimed we had enough to last three weeks of a siege. I had gone shopping to pick up the perishable items.

  When I got back to the center, Vincent met me outside the security door in a full coverage contamination suit of light green.

  He passed each item under a tray with radiation before putting them on a table. We didn’t want to bring the virus in with us.

  “Take off your clothes,” he said.

  After I stripped, he ran a hose of filtered compressed air over my clothes and every item I brought in while I stood outside the security door. After that, he placed each item of clothing under the radiation.

  “Turn around.”

  He blasted my naked body.

  When he finished, I redressed and helped him carry my purchases inside.

  Even the air inside felt used. I’d seen enough of these walls to last a lifetime and we had maybe a week to go. Faces everywhere bore the strain of being cooped up. No smiles, no joking or teasing. Just “grin and bear it” was the code of the day.

  I had to do something to get their minds off being stuck here.

  “Any ideas on casualties?”

  Zetto said from his chair, “So far fifteen percent of those who came down with VB have died. The police have blockades set up on the major roads out of town. Barricades block the rest. But most of those who want to leave claim they have nowhere to go.”

  When I finished putting food away, I said, “If everyone is here, let’s have a meeting.”

  The two tables in the planning room soon filled up. Monk sat on Alena’s lap while she stroked him.

  I looked at the members of my team. “We need to think about our next step.”

  Alena spoke up first, “Let’s get Coocher and Hoskins.”

  I glared at her. “This is a not a democracy. I need your advice but I have to make the final decision.”

  I walked over to the walls, which still had information on Coocher, Hoskins, and Craig Horton of RUFF. On the wall behind the tables, Zetto had put the current status of VB, with the number of new cases spreading out from around Zor. It looked as if those who fled in the beginning brought the disease with them. That wasn’t a surprise.

  “With so many people in the city dead, we can expect HO to press for more restrictive laws on immigration.”

  As if the plague wasn’t enough of a deterrent.

  I looked at my daughter. “Alena, what progress have you ma
de on your discoveries?”

  “Well, since I can’t do any more lab work,” she said, “and my next paper is held up by reviewers who don’t want to see it published, I’d say none. Dad, when can I get a lab set up?”

  “I don’t know. Let me think about that,” I replied.

  Leanna piped up next.

  “Craig Horton was released this morning. The police said they didn’t have enough evidence to hold him. And the lawyers for RUFF made a motion in Superior Court for habeas corpus.”

  “Jake,” added Vincent, “what about sending a copy of the recording I made of Coocher and Getner? That is bound to raise concern.”

  “Does the vid show Getner’s face?”

  “At one point, yes. But when he passed the package, only his legs appeared. And those were covered with pants.

  “That may not be enough.”

  Vincent added, “I think you should tag Sheila. The rest of us should stay out of sight.”

  “I agree on that,” I replied. “The question is─is this the right time?”

  “If we don’t act soon,” said Ron, “Coocher may get a law passed banning criminals, hybrids, mercons, Bingers, and napes from entering York. He’s entered a bill into Parliament called the Freedom from Aliens Bill.”

  “When did this happen?” I asked.

  “This morning,” Ron replied. “I saw it on Channel Four.”

  I asked, “So Coocher is back in Zor from his home in Beverley Hills?”

  “He came in just today,” replied Ron. “Attendance in Parliament is low. Maybe because of the pandemic, he hoped to get the bill passed into law with fewer votes.”

  “So what do we have so far? Any news from Earth on who started the VB scare?”

  #

  I tagged Sheila at a time when I knew she wouldn’t be on the air.

  “I’m concerned about the rising popularity of the Humans Only organization.”

  “So am I,” she replied. “But you wouldn’t call unless you had something. Whatcha got?”

  “I have a vid recording of a strange meeting.”

  “Who?”

  “Of Coocher and a man, who I know from other sources is a hybrid. And the hybrid passed a package to Coocher two days before the outbreak of VB.”

  “Come on, Jake. I can’t suggest what you’re thinking.”

  “But you can show the recording.”

  “Where’d you get it?”

  “I can’t tell you that, but you can have your technicians verify the vid is real.”

  She was quiet for a few seconds. “Send it. I’ll need the original, not a copy. I’ll look at it.”

  After we disconnected, I went up to Vincent.

  “Can you make sure none of your fingerprints or DNA are on the vid of Coocher and Getner? The original, not a copy. Make copies for us. And drop the original off at the Channel One station. Mark it for Sheila Fish.”

  “All right!” Vincent smiled. “We’re fighting back.”

  “Jake,” said Zetto from his hospital bed in the planning room. “I think you ought to see what’s on Channel Four.”

  “Put it on,” I said.

  The wall opposite him lit up with his recording. The telly showed large pumps and several tanks bearing the words “Zor Water Works.” A man dressed in a gray suit and wearing a white hard hat with the organization’s name spoke to the camera.

  “We installed four radiation beams over streams of water. We looked into using reverse osmosis and carbon black filters but found them too expensive. Radiating the water kills all the bacteria and viruses. We assure you that safeguards are in place to protect all our citizens from VB contaminants in the water.”

  Yeah right. And what about the few viruses that survive the radiation treatment? Are we training the virus to mutate?

  Zetto said, “I’m not sure how much to believe him.”

  I agree.

  One broadcast showed a reporter asking people on the street what they thought.

  One lady said, “I think it comes from some damned terrorist. Have they arrested that guy at RUFF yet?”

  Craig Horton of RUFF was taken in for additional questioning by the Zor Metro Police. I saw a guy speaking on the steps to the justice building.

  “Mr. Craig Horton protests he is innocent. He has threatened to sue the city. But the police assure me he’s not under arrest at this time.”

  Two hours later, Channel One showed Horton himself as he walked down the steps of the justice building. A reporter thrust a microphone at him and he said, “Has anyone looked at Humans Only? Or is Coocher’s being a minister in Parliament affecting their judgment? RUFF is not a terrorist organization! HO on Earth is. Has anyone looked at HO here?”

  So much for the palsy-walsy relationship between RUFF and HO.

  #

  Over and over again, I thought of how I could fight HO and keep my name out of it. I reached a decision and tagged Sheila Fish.

  “What about my writing as Albert Poors? Poors had a good reputation after his interviews on Channel One as a slave. He could write a series of columns to express his opinion? It could be just opinion pieces. That way Channel One would not be responsible for what was written.”

  “Hmm, I’ll have to think about that.”

  “You’d have to take extra precautions to protect his identity.”

  “Yeah, I know. That could get to be a problem,” she added.

  “How so?”

  “The biggest shareholder by far of Channel One is Venisio Enterprises. If they say no, I can’t do it.”

  That meant Gancha Morentoss, James Venisio’s heir.

  “Maybe I can get that threat off your back,” I added.

  “How so?”

  “Never mind, Sheila. Let me get back to you.”

  After we disconnected, I tagged Gancha.

  “I have a favor to ask you.”

  “Well, well,” she replied.

  I could almost see her grin in my mind’s eye.

  She added, “Favors cost favors.”

  I sighed.

  “What kind of favor do you have in mind?” I asked.

  “You know that. Dinner at least. I’m buying. Say seven this evening?”

  Oh boy. Solve one problem and get another.

  That would be the third time in as many weeks.

  A guy could get used to this real quick.

  Chapter 31

  I viewed Channel Three, the York Broadcast Corporation, or YBC for short. They seemed to favor the opinions of the rural folks. It was best to get a wide range of opinions. Somewhere in between them hid the truth.

  I read with special interest the long article by Guy Coocher in which he blamed the poisoning of the public water on the mercons. He did not come out directly blaming them. After ranting about the evils of aliens amongst us, he wrote, “Who gave a talk just before the water was contaminated? And who had a team of bodyguards, any one of which could have slipped the virus into our public drinking water? Who would have the nerve to kill off thousands of humans in one fell swoop? Who wanted the planet Rossa rid of human presence so they could claim it as their own? We don’t have far to look to find the mercons.”

  “Vincent, see if you can find out who owns Channel Three.”

  Vincent nodded and turned back to his laptop.

  An hour later he reported that YBC was owned by a shell of companies, but it appeared that the Humans Only organization owned sixty percent of the station.

  Well, I’ll be darned.

  #

  I put on my best blue suit and pale yellow shirt for my dinner date. No tie, of course. Guys stopped wearing them decades ago.

  Before Gancha and I entered the main dining room of The Top of the Town, I read the notice, “Prepare for a blast of air as you enter the dining room.”

  As we crossed the threshold, my hair got tossed.

  At least they were taking some precautions, even if for only the benefit of those customers who wanted to believe the air blast kept out the
virus. Since they didn’t ask us to strip, I knew some viruses might sneak in on the folds of our clothing.

  Oh well. I guess many customers wouldn’t strip anyway.

  Booths lined the outer walls of the restaurant, most with windows that provided a view of the city below. At this hour, lights glowed in most of the buildings. Rivers of white and red snaked through the streets, revealing headlights or taillights. We sat on the side opposite the Ambassador Bridge and I could make out the double arc of lights on the suspension bridge over the Oreo River.

  In the middle of the room rested a dozen tables, each a little rectangle of white table cloth with tubes of black indicating tableware in front of each chair.

  I estimated that half the seats were filled. Maybe more diners would come later. But with the virus spreading, maybe this was as full as the Top of the Town would get on this midweek night.

  Our waitress came to our table and stood by my arm. A little too close. I knew my body was eye candy to most women, but, for crying out loud, I was sitting with another woman dressed to the hilt.

  Come on. Have a little sense.

  Gancha had a light blue evening dress on that showed cleavage. We looked like brother and sister in blues.

  It was all I could do to keep my eyes level with hers. They kept slipping down to her cleavage.

  Hang in there. I know you’re hungry, but this is dangerous.

  “Care for anything to drink?” said our waitress with the super long legs with most of them showing just inches from my eyes.

  “I’ll have some Yarley’s,” said Gancha.

  “Same here,” I added.

  Our waitress turned and left.

  Whew! One down and one to go.

  Gancha had the barest eye make up on, the current fashion. Except for the young. I had watched old movies in which girls in their late teens wore a lot of dark makeup around their eyes. They might have been trying to look serious but all that said to me was “Look out! I’m jail bait.”

  I have to say Gancha had a nice tone to her skin. She must be close to fifty by now and must work out because I didn’t see any wrinkles.

  “What favor did you have in mind?” she asked.

  Back to reality, boy. And the reason for this dinner.

  “In the next few days, Channel One online is going to publish some articles of opinion,” I said. “Sheila Fish has asked me to ask you if you will assert the independence of Channel One.”