Alien Chronicles 1 - The Golden One (16 page)

“Stop!” he said, his ears straining for sounds of the Viis patrollers outside. He panted for air, then jerked himself free with a violent twist of his shoulders.

As he did so, he heard a rip of cloth, and his new coat became a casualty.

“I need a way out of here,” he said, his voice low and urgent.

Although he half expected them to rush him in the darkness, they stayed back.

“The only way out is the way you came in,” one of them replied. Her voice was throaty for a Kelth. She had a way of speaking that made every word suggestive.

But he was too worried to think about that now. He had to get out before the room became a trap.

“They’re in the hallway, searching the rooms,” the other twin said. Her voice was thin and high, but she spoke softly. “I can hear them. I think they’re questioning Tenia.”

Panting, Elrabin listened through the door to the harsh, authoritative Viis voices and soft female replies.

Dismay leaked through him. He wanted to race around the room, to fight, claw, bite. He wanted to howl. He wanted to sink to the floor and curl himself into a tight ball.

But he could do none of those things. He was a male, nearly grown, and supposed to be able to handle himself.

“I’m wanted,” he said, spilling his secret. “If they scan me, I’m—”

“Too young,” one of the twins said.

He bristled at once. “I’ve been on the streets since I was a lit. I know about—”

“Illegal, but plausible,” the other twin replied as though he hadn’t spoken. “He’s old enough. And what’s another minor charge on our record sheets?”

Elrabin glared, wishing he could see them in the darkness. “What are you talking about?”

“A stupid one, but cute,” the low-voiced one said with a sigh. Her partner giggled, and a flush of embarrassment spread beneath Elrabin’s hide. “For seventy credits, we’ll save you.”

“Done,” he said without hesitation. “But how—”

They swarmed him, giggling in a way that gave him his answer. Pulling off his coat and belt, they pushed him into a soft pile of cushions and snuggled up against him, just a split second before the door circuits fried and the panel was shoved open.

Light spilled into the room, momentarily dazzling Elrabin and revealing to him how narrow and cramped the space actually was. The bed cushions filled most of the area, along with a couple of wooden chests and a small curtained alcove off to one side.

Squinting, he stared at the patroller looming in the doorway. The Viis seemed to go all the way to the ceiling. The black visor of his helmet permitted no glimpse of his face. His crimson stripes of sergeant rank stood out boldly against his black uniform. Slung about his hips was a heavy belt holding his comm, sniffer link, stun-stick, and a standard-issue sidearm. Body armor protected his tail, and he held a circuit-cutter in his hand.

Smoke from the ruined door control pad curled its tendrils about the patroller, who stared down at Elrabin in silence.

Sprawled on the floor with the twins, Elrabin found himself frozen with terror.

“Name!” the sergeant demanded.

Elrabin opened his mouth. He couldn’t speak, couldn’t think. At any moment, he knew, he would be scanned. Then the patroller would have his identity, his record, and full knowledge of the illegal drug in his system.

The bolder of the twins giggled, and her pink-furred hand gripped him unexpectedly in a way that made him yelp. He sat bolt upright, gasping, while both of them giggled harder.

The other one stroked his muzzle, opening a tiny vial under his nostrils with a quick, practiced motion. The world suddenly went blue and white. He opened his mouth, feeling his eyes cross, and his terror floated to one side as though it now belonged to someone else.

He watched the sergeant approach them as if he were covering a great distance.

“Get away from him,” the sergeant commanded. “Now!”

Someone giggled as the twins complied, and finally Elrabin realized that he was the one laughing. He dropped back bonelessly into the cushions and smiled up at the Viis.

The scan buzzed through his body, and he enjoyed that too.

“Get up,” the sergeant said, kicking him with his boot toe.

Elrabin waved at him with his foot and let his gaze wander appreciatively over the pink twins. The light was very strange, making them seem more purple than pink, and they shimmered at the edges.

“What did you give him?” the sergeant asked.

The twins circled each other before one stood behind the other and rested her chin on her shoulder. “The usual.” she replied. “He was nervous, the stupid lit. Like they all are their first time here.”

“He’s not legal age.”

The twins shared dumbfounded looks. “He’s not?”

The sergeant’s tail switched once before he brought it under control. He reached for his comm. “Get in here. I’ve got an underage customer who can’t be scanned.”

The other patrollers appeared at the doorway a few seconds later. To Elrabin they all seemed extremely tall. He wondered hazily how they could fit into the room, but when he tried to ask the question his tongue seemed to wrap around itself, and nothing came out of his mouth but a giggle.

“Take him downstairs,” the sergeant ordered. He opened a small data screen and entered some codes. “I got two Kelth females, prostitute grade,” he reported verbally to it. “Working in the Street of Regard. Owner is an Aaroun named Tiff. License number one-zero-four-four-eight. Violation of city ordinances ten, four, seven, and nineteen. Sixty-credit fine for the prostitutes. Eighty-credit fine for the owner. Other charges pending against owner. Stand by.”

He closed the data screen and returned his attention to the twins. “You will pay those sixty credits within a one-day cycle, or your fine will be doubled.”

The twins sighed. “You make it rough for working females—”

“Silence! Give your compliance, or the fine will be doubled right now.”

Resentment filled their eyes. “We’ll comply.”

The sergeant swung away from them to face his squad and gestured at Elrabin. “Take him downstairs.”

By the time they carried Elrabin down to the opulent receiving room, the scent cones were burning out, the lamps had been switched to bright, and Oma and Tiff were standing silently in one corner while a patroller scanned their transaction records.

Elrabin’s potion was wearing off. He no longer felt any desire to laugh, and nausea boiled in his stomach. Shivering, he lay on the floor where the patrollers dumped him and wondered what the twins had given him. While the substance had protected him initially, he wasn’t sure how long its effects would last. The downside felt so bad he almost wished he’d been stunned instead.

The patrollers herded all the employees downstairs and grouped them in the receiving room as well. It was getting crowded, but Elrabin realized he didn’t see Cuvein anywhere.

Despite his physical misery, he had to admire his da. Obviously Cuvein had slipped out during the initial confusion. He had a gift for avoiding trouble. He could vanish like smoke, without a trace. He knew every side street, every back alley, every sewer main access point. He had taught Elrabin how to take to the rooftops if necessary. How to blend into a crowd, never running to attract attention, always staying calm, always keeping his head.

Right then, lying on the floor with his stomach cramping and his limbs under no control at all, Elrabin felt disgusted with himself. He hadn’t kept his head. He hadn’t stayed calm. Instead, he had run for it, and landed himself deeper into trouble.

The sergeant saluted an officer with a crimson collar of rank and pointed at Elrabin. “He was coming out of the gambling end of the establishment when we first saw him. When he ran from us, we figured he must be up to something. We pursued and made target acquisition upstairs.”

Elrabin groaned to himself. If he’d only stood his ground. If he’d only stayed calm. He could have bluffed his way out. Damn.

“What’s his identity registration tell us?”

“Nothing, sir.”

The lieutenant raised his black visor to reveal dark blue skin and Viis eyes of vivid crimson. His eye color extended on either side of his head in striking contrast, blending purple streaks into the shades of blue and dark green that marked his rill.

“Nothing?” the lieutenant repeated. He flicked out his tongue and turned his cold crimson eyes on Elrabin. “Is his implant in place?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Run a drug scan on him.”

Two other patrollers gripped Elrabin by his arms and pulled him to his feet. Small spasms of returning life ran through his muscles, but he hardly cared. He was finished now. It was all a matter of what kind of sentence they would deal him on-site. Wrist cutters would be the mildest fate he could hope for. Being sold to hard labor would be worse. The labs, he wasn’t even going to think about.

Panting, he tried to face those black visors without showing fear, tried to look brave, tried to look defiant. But he was whining softly in the back of his throat, barely able to keep himself from howling in despair. His bowels were water. His legs wouldn’t support him. Thumping inside him like his own heartbeat were the self-recriminations: you shouldn’t have run; you shouldn’t have come here; even high on dust, Cuvein is smarter than you; he’s free and you’re doomed.

“Lieutenant,” Elrabin said, gasping out the word.

The Viis didn’t even glance at him in response.

The sergeant struck Elrabin across the muzzle with the grip of his stun-stick. “Silence!”

Reeling back from the blow, Elrabin bit off a yelp of pain. The patrollers lifted him higher on his sagging legs, forcing him to stand. Gasping, he struggled to master the pain and ran his tongue gingerly along his mouth where blood was trickling, hot and salty.

He couldn’t give up, he told himself. He had to think of something. And he would.

The scanner buzzed across him, making him dizzy. The sergeant looked at the readout. “Traces of Venoyl and Dlexyline.”

“Illegal,” the lieutenant snapped with harsh satisfaction. “Venoyl rates a fine. Dlexyline usage is a major offense, meriting sale to hard labor.” His gaze bored into Elrabin, who had forgotten to breathe. “I could change that sentence if you tell me the name of your supplier.”

Elrabin nearly blurted out Cuvein’s name, then bit it back, horrified at his own weakness. He wasn’t going to betray his da, who’d given him a home of sorts, raised him, taught him how to make his own way. It was what the Viis always wanted, he thought bitterly, trying to turn abiru against abiru, trying to keep them divided and suspicious of each other.

“You have one chance,” the lieutenant said to him sternly, flicking out his tongue. “Who is your supplier?”

Elrabin’s gaze shifted around wildly before he mastered himself. He shivered in the patrollers’ hold and forced himself to meet the lieutenant’s gaze. “Go fertilize a Toth,” he said.

Someone in the crowded room gasped. The lieutenant’s gaze grew still and cold. Because of the confines of his helmet, he could not extend his rill, but its folds turned a bright crimson that matched his eyes.

The sergeant drew his sidearm, but the lieutenant stopped him with a gesture.

“Do not waste your ammunition,” he said, and his voice was very calm and brittle.

Elrabin swallowed, flicking his ears back, aware that at any moment the patrollers would beat him to a pulp.

“Run the scanner again. Burn through the Dlexyline on maximum setting if you must. I want this creature’s identity.”

Elrabin cursed silently to himself. The lieutenant could not be rattled or deflected, it seemed, not even with insults.

“I will have your name,” the lieutenant said coldly to him. “I will have your lodging address. I will locate every friend, every acquaintance, every contact you—”

“Save the speech,” Elrabin said rudely. “My registration code will tell you my name and not much else. Most of your central data banks are old, out-of-date, corrupted, or not working. So why not charge me, give me my fine, and let me go?”

He was struck again, hard enough to make his ears ring. Sagging back, he let his head loll on his shoulders while little black dots bounced across his vision.

By the time he could blink, remember his name, and determine which way was up, the scanning was over. His skin itched under his fur. His mouth felt dry, with a queer, metallic taste. His eyes burned, and he had a headache.

“His name is Elrabin, sir,” the sergeant reported. “Born to Kelth registrants, Cuvein and Magathin. No known street address. Magathin is listed in the dead registry—”

“No!” Elrabin burst out, too shocked to keep quiet. “She—”

“Silence!”

His protest stopped, and Elrabin lowered his head with his ears flattened. Inside he had to fight an unexpected surge of grief. He hadn’t seen his mother in years, not since the day he’d walked out and abandoned her and the younger lits. He hadn’t called her in all this time. Hadn’t spoken to her. Hadn’t sent her a single message. Now he felt ashamed of himself, realizing he had been cruel to leave her that way. Had she worried about him? Had she searched for him, walking the streets until hope left her? Or had she been relieved that there was one less mouth to feed?

A burning sensation filled his throat. He wanted to tip back his head and unleash the grief howl, but he choked it back.

The lieutenant was watching him like a predator, merciless and intent. “What else?” he asked.

“Wanted for petty theft. Arrest evasion at least ten years.”

The lieutenant’s thin tongue flickered out, and his cold, crimson eyes dilated slightly. “Ah. That alone warrants the wrist cutters. Take him outside to the street, where he can be an example.”

Elrabin’s ears roared, and all the strength melted from his body, along with his defiance.

Someone else in the room spoke out, and the lieutenant turned sharply to sweep the room with his gaze. “Viis justice is swift,” he said to everyone. “Viis justice will not be mocked.” His gaze flicked back to Elrabin and lingered there just long enough for Elrabin to see the cruel satisfaction in his eyes. “The arrest evasion plus usage of Dlexyline indicates a hardened criminal mentality. He cannot be reformed, but he can be stopped. Sergeant.”