The Lost World, page 23
The comm cut out with a harsh buzz. Valerie’s jaw clenched, her earlier bravado evaporating in the face of reality. These weren’t your run-of-the-mill opportunists. These were hardened predators.
The pod shuddered as docking clamps engaged. Valerie stumbled, her weakened legs barely supporting her weight. They must have enveloped the pod within their gravity dampener’s influence. She wasn’t weightless anymore.
Valerie steadied herself against the bulkhead, willing strength into her trembling muscles.
A series of metallic clangs echoed through the hull as the scavengers attached a boarding tube. Valerie positioned herself near the airlock, hydrospanner tucked against her back and belt, out of sight.
The airlock began to cycle. Valerie took a deep breath, forcing her face into a mask of fearful relief.
The inner door hissed open.
The stench hit her first—a nauseating mix of unwashed bodies, machine oil, and something sickeningly sweet that she refused to identify. Valerie fought the urge to gag as three figures stomped into the pod.
The three were a motley crew, each more ragged and vicious-looking than the last. The leader, a hulking brute with cybernetic implants jutting from his skull, swept the cramped space with a heavy pulse rifle.
“Well, well,” he growled, his lips peeling back. “What do we have here? Don’t look like no high-value cargo to me.”
Valerie raised her hands, letting a tremble enter her voice. “Please, I’m just a civilian. Our ship was attacked, and I—”
The leader backhanded her, sending her sprawling. Stars exploded across Valerie’s vision as her head cracked against the bulkhead.
“I said shut it,” the man snarled. He turned to his companions—a rail-thin woman with a shock of neon green hair, and a squat, toad-fat man wearing weird armor plates as if he was some kind of alien. That one had protruding eyes that barely seemed human. Was the sickly-sweet odor coming from him?
“Search the pod,” the first man said. “Strip it bare.”
Valerie struggled to focus as the scavengers tore through her meager shelter. The woman let out a harsh laugh as she rifled through the empty weapons locker.
“Nix on the military hardware, Churgol,” she called out. “This bitch is as dry as a Texel whorehouse.”
The leader rounded on Valerie, his augmented eye whirring as it focused on her face. “You trying to play us, girl? Where’s the valuable cargo you promised?”
Valerie licked blood from her split lip. “I… I don’t know what you’re talking about. The distress call must have been automated, I—”
Churgol’s mechanical hand closed around her throat, lifting her off the deck with unnatural strength. Valerie clawed at the unyielding metal fingers, gasping for air.
“Last chance,” Churgol said. “Where’s. The. Cargo?”
Black spots danced at the edges of her vision. This was it—do or die time.
With the last of her strength, Valerie reached back, fingers closing around the hydrospanner tucked against her lower back, and brought it up and around in a vicious arc. It connected with the side of Churgol’s head with a satisfying thud.
The cyborg howled in pain and released his grip. Valerie dropped to the deck, gasping for air.
“You little bi—” Churgol’s curse was cut short as Valerie slammed the hydrospanner into his knee joint. There was a pop of shorting circuitry, and the hulking man went down hard.
Valerie scrambled to her feet, adrenaline burned away weeks of weakness. She let go of the hydrospanner and snatched up Churgol’s fallen pulse rifle, bringing it to bear on the other two scavengers.
“Don’t,” Valerie whispered, with her abused throat protesting each word.
The green-haired woman’s hand had been inching toward a wicked-looking blade at her hip. Green Hair froze, a look of grudging respect crossing her face.
“Damn, girl,” she said. “You got some fight in you.”
The toad-like man whispered something in an odd tongue. It seemed then as if the sickly-sweet odor increased.
For some reason, that caused Valerie to blink and blink more. She was finding it hard to focus as some of her fight oozed from her.
Green Hair nodded, not taking her eyes off Valerie. “Kresh is right. You ain’t no civilian. Patrol, if I had to guess.”
Kresh had to be the name for the toad-like fat man. What was with him and his protruding eyes? Why did he stink the way he did? The armor plates around him seemed weird, almost like something a giant insect would have.
Valerie fought against her weakening will as her finger tightened on the pulse rifle’s trigger. “Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t burn you all right now.”
Kresh spoke again in his alien tongue.
“Well?” Valerie shouted. What was wrong with you, you bug-eyed creep?”
A slow clap echoed from the boarding tube. Valerie tensed as a new figure stepped into view—a lean, sharp-featured man with a spiffy jacket and leather pants and boots. He had eyes like blue ice.
“Oh, bravo,” he said. “I do so love a bit of theater with my acquisitions.”
Valerie blinked in confusion before realizing this was the real captain—Marek. He didn’t look surprised in the least.
“Now then,” Marek said, producing an elegantly crafted pistol from his pricy coat. “Why don’t we dispense with the playacting and have a real conversation? I’m interested to hear what a Patrol officer is doing in what you people call the fringe Beyond. And why you’re so desperate to be ‘rescued.’”
Valerie couldn’t understand why she didn’t start burning them down with the pulse rifle. This was her golden opportunity. How many crewmembers could this rust bucket of a spaceship have? That was the goal, right, to find passage back home no matter what?
Valerie twisted her face, hating that sickly-sweet odor and the way Kresh watched her silently. The toad-like man wasn’t the captain. What was he then? How did Kresh fit into all this?
This was weird, and Valerie wasn’t understanding. She swayed, wanting to fire the pulse rifle, knowing it was her best option. Why couldn’t she pull the damn trigger?
-10-
Valerie’s grip tightened on the pulse rifle as Marek continued to stare at her. She wasn’t sure what to do next or what this killer would decide.
“Search her,” Marek said. “Thoroughly.”
Valerie shuddered, twisting her face again at the awful sickly-sweet odor.
While she did that, Churgol yanked the pulse rifle from her.
Then Green Hair and the short fat man patted Valerie down, probing for hidden weapons or tech. Valerie gritted her teeth, fighting the urge to lash out as the invasive fingers lingered too long.
“Clean,” Green Hair announced, stepping back with a leer. “Well, clean-ish. Reeks like a week-old corpse, though.”
Captain Marek’s eyes narrowed. “And the pod? What of our promised bounty?”
Kresh let out a series of weird laughs and spoke in his alien dialect. The green-haired woman translated. “Nothing, Cap. Not a damn thing worth taking. Life support is shot, navigation’s fried. Even the hull plating’s too corroded to salvage.”
“You lying bitch,” Marek said, stepping closer and shoving his pistol against Valerie’s stomach. “Where is it? Where’s the cargo you promised?”
Valerie felt faint, her mind numb. This was just like old Detroit, when Valerie had been a skinny teenager. Weakness had always been a mistake in old Detroit. Despite her failure to gun them all down with the pulse rifle, some of her fight was returning. She needed to use that, and fast.
Valerie sneered at Marek. “Guess the market for gullible idiots is still booming.”
Marek raised his pistol from her stomach, pressing the muzzle against Valerie’s forehead. “Right now, you need to give me a reason why I shouldn’t paint this pod with your brains.”
The pistol meant nothing. Either Marek killed her or didn’t. He wanted a reason, and the best one would be to play on greed. What would Maddox do here? He would lie, spinning a dandy of a tale. So…
“Dead women tell no tales,” Valerie said, knowing it sounded lame even to her. What was wrong with her brain? Why was it so numb? Why did this feel like a B-grade holovid with cringe-inducing dialogue? “And I’ve got a story you’ll want to hear,” Valerie added.
For a moment, Valerie was certain Marek would pull the trigger. Then, slowly, a smile spread across his face. “Oh, you are a clever one, aren’t you?” He stepped back. “Let’s continue this conversation somewhere more… comfortable.”
Churgol the cyborg glowered at Valerie, flexing his mechanical hand. He’d managed to climb to his feet after his fall. “I say we space her. Teach her a lesson about wasting our time.”
Green-haired Liza snorted. “That’s a waste of resources, you ask me. The girl’s got spirit. Bet she’d fetch a pretty price in the flesh markets on Omega Nine.”
“Enough,” Marek said. He grabbed Valerie’s chin and forced her to meet his gaze. “You’ve piqued my curiosity, Officer. But my patience has limits. You’ll tell me everything: who you are, what you’re doing out here, and what makes you think you’re worth keeping alive.”
Did these space hobos watch B-grade holovids and practice the lines in their spare time? Why didn’t toad-like Kresh do or say anything?
Kresh had backed off and seemed to be watching everything and everyone. He noticed her studying him, and he twitched as if he didn’t like that.
The sickly-sweet odor strengthened again, coming in a wave.
Valerie wrenched her chin out of Marek’s grip, wanting to spit the sweet taste out of her mouth. She felt lightheaded. She needed food, real food.
“You listening to me?” Marek said.
Valerie had to think to recall what he’d said just before that. Oh, yeah. She allowed fear to creep into her expression. It wasn’t hard. “I… I can’t tell you here. The pod might be bugged. Patrol failsafes, you understand.”
Marek’s eyes narrowed. Then he nodded sharply. “Kresh, Liza—escort our guest to the brig. Churgol, strip this wreck. If there’s so much as a spare bolt hidden away, I want to know about it.”
As green-haired Liza and toad-fat Kresh pushed her out of the pod, through the boarding tube and then the ship corridors, Valerie tried to memorize corridors, access panels, any important details. She was finding it hard to walk for this long. She’d been weightless for at least a month. Her legs were trembling by the time they reached the brig.
It was little more than a storage closet with bars hastily welded across the entrance. Liza shoved Valerie inside, the door clanging shut behind her.
“Better start praying to whatever gods you believe in,” Liza said through the bars. “Cap’s not known for his mercy. Or his patience.”
As their footsteps faded away, Valerie sagged against a bulkhead. Her body ached, fatigue seeping into her bones. But she couldn’t afford to rest. Not yet.
Valerie forced herself to focus, to think and analyze what she’d witnessed.
Marek was in charge, it seemed, but his control didn’t seem complete. Cyborg Churgol resented taking orders. Green-haired Liza struck Valerie as opportunistic. Kresh was hard to read. He was an unknown, a joker in the deck. He seemed to defer to Liza, but that could be false, a deception. There was something weird going on with the toad-fat man.
The ship creaked and groaned around Valerie, the sounds of her pod being torn apart drifting through the bulkheads. Valerie closed her eyes, picturing the scavengers’ growing frustration as they came up empty-handed.
Good. Let them stew in their anger. Angry people made mistakes.
Hours crawled by. Valerie dozed fitfully in the brig, always alert for approaching footsteps. Her parched throat burned, reminding her how long it had been since she’d had a drink of water that wasn’t recycled swill.
Finally, the brig door swung open. Marek stood there, flanked by his mismatched crew. His earlier composure was gone, replaced by barely contained fury.
“Last chance,” he said, leveling his pistol at Valerie’s head. “What game are you playing? Where’s the cargo you promised us?”
“There was never any cargo,” Valerie said. “But I wasn’t lying about having something valuable. I do. It’s information about a threat that could wipe out every miserable rock and station in the Beyond.”
“You have one minute,” Marek said. “Make it count.”
“Ever hear of the New Men?” Valerie asked. Why were they all talking this way, like bad holovid actors? Valerie found herself continuing despite her secret question. “Because the New Men are coming,” she said theatrically. “And trust me, you don’t want to be here when they arrive.”
-11-
The Bloodtooth’s mess hall reeked of stale sweat and rancid cooking oil. Valerie’s stomach churned as Churgol shoved her into a chair bolted to the grimy deck plates. The cyborg stared at her with predatory intensity.
“Don’t get any bright ideas,” he said. “I’m still itching to space you for that stunt with the hydrospanner.”
Once more, Valerie reached back across the years to her youth in Greater Detroit. She could hardly remember that time, and she remembered it all too well in another sense. Along with those memories was the idea that this ship was too much. She’d never seen or even heard of such a pigsty for a spaceship. The ambience seemed contrived or inhuman somehow. For some reason, that made Valerie think of Kresh.
He was in back, watching with his protruding eyes, his gaze shifting from person to person.
“Did you hear me?” Churgol snarled at her.
Valerie felt compelled to play along like a B-grade holovid actor. “Aw, did I hurt your feelings? Want me to kiss your little owie better?”
Churgol snarled, raising his fist.
“That’s enough, cyborg. Stand down.”
Valerie looked to the hatch. A burly man with a thick face strode in. He had obvious steroid-enhanced muscles and a crew cut, wearing a heavy jacket and boots. Where Marek exuded icy control, the newcomer radiated violence.
“Raven,” Churgol said, stepping back from Valerie with obvious reluctance. “The captain said—”
“I know what the captain said,” Raven interrupted. “And now I’m telling you to back off from the prisoner. Or do we have a problem?”
The two men stared at each other.
Is this really happening? Valerie thought. They were like junkyard dogs, seeing who was tougher or meaner, or had bigger balls.
After a long moment, Churgol looked away. “No problem,” he muttered, turning and leaving the mess.
Raven watched the cyborg leave, a satisfied smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. Then his attention moved to Valerie.
“So,” he said, circling her chair. “You’re the Patrol bitch who led us on a wild goose chase. Gotta admit, you’ve got some brass.”
Valerie kept her expression neutral. Did people really talk like that, or was it as odd as it felt to her? Why was this spaceship so filthy? Even cutthroats should know that a clean ship ran so much better than a junk heap like this.
Valerie realized they were all watching her. What had the new guy said? Oh, yes, that needed an answer. “Hey, just trying to stay alive. You know how it is out here in the void.”
“Yeah, it’s eat or be eaten.” Raven leaned in, his breath hot on Valerie’s ear. “And right now, you’re looking mighty tasty.”
Before Valerie could roll her eyes, the mess hall hatch hissed open. Marek swept in, followed by Liza.
“That’s quite enough,” Marek said. “I believe I made it clear our guest was not to be harmed. At least not yet.”
Raven straightened, turning to face the captain. His face was a mask of deference, but Valerie caught a touch of hatred in his eyes.
“Just getting acquainted,” Raven said. “No harm done.”
Marek’s lips thinned. “Indeed. Well, now that we’re all here—”
“Churgol isn’t,” Valerie said. It was either say that or she would bray with laughter at their stilted banter.
Marek scowled at her. “Fine, no Churgol. We’ll make do without him. Now, it’s time for you to elaborate on your earlier claims.”
He must mean the New Men. She’d been thinking about that, about what to say. This was thin, but it was something at least.
“The New Men are moving into this fringe area of the Beyond, once more expanding their territory in the direction of the Commonwealth. And trust me, they’re trouble.”
Liza snorted, toying with a wicked-looking knife. “Please. We’ve all heard the stories. The New Men ain’t that bad when you get right down to it.”
“Tell that to my crew,” Valerie said. “The ones who aren’t dead probably wish they were by now.”
Marek leaned forward. “Explain.”
Valerie launched into her story, weaving truth and lies. She told them about her Patrol scout responding to a distress call, walking into an ambush. About the New Men’s tech and ruthless efficiency.
“They’re not human,” Valerie added. “Not anymore. Why do you think the Patrol is sending scouts out here? Star Watch is getting ready to send its fleet, to strike before it’s too late.”
“What do you mean?” Liza asked.
“In their quest for excellence,” Valerie said, “the New Men have begun tampering with themselves, becoming more machines than men. And I don’t mean some flash like Churgol, but deep cyborg. Worse still, they want to ‘upgrade’ or eliminate everyone they come across.”
“How fascinating,” Marek said as Valerie finished. “But that still doesn’t explain why we shouldn’t simply kill you and be on our way. The Beyond is vast, after all. Plenty of places to go before the New Men get here, if you’re telling the truth.”
“Do you really think you can outrun them?” Valerie asked. “The New Men have tech that makes your rust bucket look like a horse and buggy. And they’re not going to stop until they’ve assimilated every human in the spiral arm.”
For some reason, Kresh made a croaking sound, shifting uncomfortably. It seemed to Valerie that she was the only one who noticed what Kresh was doing. The others waited as if needing her to finish her data dump. It was almost as if they were actors in an invisible play or holovid scene.
