Death Drop (8 page)

“At ease, Sergeant Graale.”

“Yes, sir.” The sergeant’s voice cracked with the same grinding noise he made when he moved, making everyone in the room wonder if his insides were as hard and as desolate as his gritty exterior.

Sergeant Graale gave a slight grin as he leaned over and handed Malo his battle hammer before turning once again to face the colonel.

“What’ve you got?”

“Sir, our lookouts posted on the north and south ridges of the plateau overlooking entrance three have been found,” Sergeant Graale grumbled. “They’re all dead, sir. Two were discovered on the north ridge, one on the south and…one was found
not far from this room
.” Abalias cocked his head in contemplation. “He must have escaped from the ridge and headed for the infirmary to get help. As far as we can tell, it looks like they’ve all been injected with something.”

“DAMMIT!” the colonel roared. “That Mewlatai dog poisoned them too!” Abalias stood shaking in fury, then he fixed his glare on Otto.

“Major, you know more than you’re letting on! When Malo mentioned that the Mewlatai scum showed up in a black Zebulon star freighter, you realized something—WHAT IS IT?!” His formidable upper body was heaving up and down as ragged breaths billowed steam in front of his nose and mouth.

“There is a runner, sir…and he is the very best. Over two hundred runs and he always wins.”

“I’m not following, Major,” the colonel said with angry skepticism.

“This runner, sir, it’s said he pilots a Zebulon star freighter—as dark as a Berudu night.”

Otto had the colonel’s attention now.

“You know ringers, Colonel. They’ll do anything to increase their chances of getting cargo to its destination as quickly as possible—it means a bigger payday for them. So a runner that keeps winning is in high demand and likely to be hired back until he loses or gets captured or…gets…”

“Killed!” the colonel finished Otto’s sentence fervently and punctuated his anger by slamming his fist down on the empty desk he was once again standing behind.

“So you see, Colonel, chances are if this runner has won over two hundred runs, then there’s no doubt that he has some pretty amazing abilities.” Otto paused and looked over at Malo, arching the thin lines of dark fur above his eyes. “And we all know about the physical capabilities of the Mewlatai, don’t we? And, because of his popularity with the ringers, he’s also likely to have smuggled the Serum back and forth a number of times. He may somehow have discovered what he was smuggling and who he was smuggling it for and infiltrated our operation. It’s just a theory, Colonel, but the pieces fit.”

“They certainly do,” the colonel said with a faraway look. His eyes snapped back to their usual razor-edged clarity and he fixed them on Otto again. “How in the hell do you know all this, Major?”

Otto became agitated and rubbed his webbed hands nervously against each other. “Well—um—you see,” he stammered with an uneasy grin, “I like to play the runners in Trillis, Colonel.”

The colonel stared silently back and the uncomfortable pause made Otto feel nauseous. “I can’t believe I pay you enough to bet on anything in Trillis,” Abalias said with genuine surprise. “What a man does with his pay is his own business, and it certainly seems that your extracurricular activities have given us a good lead to follow for figuring out this damnable mess!”

Otto stopped fidgeting with his paws and breathed easier.

“Who do you place your bets on in Trillis, Major?”

“They call him…
The Ghost
.”

Chapter 9: Wretched Army

“I
see two possibilities,” Colonel Abalias continued. “Either this Mewlatai has gone rogue and is acting on his own as this Ghost character, or our Mewlatai allies have turned against us. But in either case, I’ve never heard of a Mewlatai breaking his code of honor for any reason—they’d rather die than be dishonored. It just doesn’t make any damn sense!”

“Mewlatai rogue,” Malo grunted.

The Colonel and Otto stared at the Moxen giant with doubt.

“How do you know that?” Otto said.

“Mewlatai say he find Serum maker and eat him. Say he kill entire house.”

“He
is
a rogue Mewlatai!” the colonel gasped. “Did he say anything else, Malo?”

“Name…
Blangaris
!” Malo spat out the word like it was bile, choking his throat and eating away at his tongue. Suddenly, an inferno ignited in Malo’s brain and the jolt of pain that went careening through his body caused his vision to blur momentarily.

“Malo, are you all right?” Blink said.

He moaned in pain and stumbled into Bertie, reaching out with his immense hands to catch himself. Before the doctor could climb the steps and look into Malo’s large pupils, the pain had vanished as quickly as it came.

“What the hell happened?” the colonel asked.

“Malo head hurt.”

Colonel Abalias and Otto both turned to Dr. Blink with concerned stares.

“Don’t get too excited, gentlemen. Malo has been through a tremendous physical, not to mention emotional, ordeal. It’s not uncommon to feel some after effects.” Dr. Blink was unruffled and his calm reaction soothed all of their doubts.

“Can you contact your Mewlatai correspondent and ask him about this Blangaris?” Otto asked Abalias.

“No, Major. The frequency is set to work one way only—from the Mewlatai to me. That’s all. We need to find out what he injected Malo with, and then I think I have a plan to find this Mewlatai and uncover the truth.”

The colonel turned to Dr. Blink, who was standing next to Bertie. “Artie, are you going to tell us what he’s been injected with?”

“Um—well—yes, you see—the problem—unfortunately, with the medical unit being evacuated…”

“Spit it out, Artie!” The colonel had reached the end of his fuse.

“I’m sorry, Colonel, I seemed to have used up my last syringe.”

Colonel Abalias found it hard to believe that Bertie didn’t have a syringe hidden somewhere in his seemingly endless array of storage bins and compartments. He was about to express his disbelief to Blink, but the words didn’t have time to materialize; instead, they were forced from his mind by pure instinct and reflex.

Abalias heard the shell hurtling through the air overhead before the explosion rocked the base. The frosted viewing panes of the examination room erupted in a splintering shower of razor sharp fragments and the heavy door, bent inward from the blast, ripped from its recesses and hurtled through the air as the colonel pounced on Dr. Blink, shielding him from the onslaught. He grunted in pain as the sharp quills on Blink’s back pierced his uniform and stabbed mercilessly at his torso.

Otto was only a fraction of a second slower than Abalias as he dove to the other side of the desk and rolled beneath it. Once securely inside the desk’s cubbyhole, he pulled his gun from its holster at his hip and prepared to return fire.

Malo was neither light nor nimble on his gigantic hoofed feet. Instead of resorting to impossible acrobatics, he tucked the upper portion of his snout in the crook of his elbow, defending his eyes from the blinding projectiles with his now armor-clad arm. The Moxen’s skin was tough and Malo suffered only a few nicks and scratches.

Sergeant Graale simply closed his eyes and let the debris bounce harmlessly off his impenetrable body.

Bertie had wheeled around toward the entrance and had his flat expanse elevated vertically again as if he was protecting the rest of the room’s occupants from another blast. His compartmentalized flanks were open, and he quickly removed the manacle device, the lighted attachment, and the inter-scanner and replaced them with hands.

The attack alarm for the base had sounded and was wailing with amazing ferocity down the corridor and into the disheveled examination room.

“Are you all right, Doctor?” Abalias shouted over the alarm as he stood upright and fingered the spiny objects that jutted from his abdomen and chest.

“Um—I—don’t,” the doctor stuttered.

“Are you hit?”

“Hit—er—I don’t
—
”

“Dammit, Artie! You’re a doctor—you should be able to tell me if you’re injured or not!” The colonel was in survival mode and his combat instincts did not allow for the time-wasting formalities of polite address. There was only time enough to keep everyone alive.

“I’m—um—not injured. I’m—I’m okay…but
you
!” he stammered, straightening his half-moon spectacles now hanging sideways from his snout and motioning toward the quills in Abalias’ torso. “I’ll get some forceps and some disinfectant and something to stop the…”

Abalias frowned at Blink and then ripped out the quills in large handfuls, exhaling in uncomfortable grunts as each batch of red-tipped spikes hit the floor.

Dr. Blink could see the blood, a vivid crimson against the colonel’s perfectly white skin, begin to pool and then trickle downward. But then the advancing blood trails slowed and thickened, turning dark before vanishing: subsumed under a layer of ice that shimmered beneath the perfectly round holes in Abalias’ uniform.

“There, that ought to stop the bleeding—don’t you think, Doc?”

“Yes, yes…that should be sufficient,” muttered Blink in a disapproving, medical tone.

Abalias pulled his gun from its holster and cocked back the heavy hammer. “Artie, you’re a helluva a doctor, but you’re in my world now. You’ve got to trust me, okay?”

Dr. Blink did not answer but nodded dazedly in consent.

“Good. Now get on my hip and stay there. I don’t want…what in the HELL!”

Blink was shaking his head from side to side in disagreement and Abalias was certain the doctor was either scared out of his wits or had taken a hit to the head from the explosion.

“Are you saying that you
won’t
get on my hip and stay there?” Abalias asked indignantly. The colonel was looking at Blink like he was torn between concern for an injured friend and loathing for a mutinous traitor.

“With all due respect, Colonel,” Blink said as he motioned to his mechanized assistant. “Bertie.”

Bertie flung all four hands into a separate compartment and pulled them out again like he was drawing down on a lone gunman at high noon, but instead of a six-shooter in each of his robotic hands, Bertie clutched enough firepower to subdue a small enemy battalion.

“Hmph.” The colonel stared admiringly at Bertie. “And that table of his?”

“Should easily take anything short of anti-ship mortars,” Dr. Blink replied proudly, his confident tone somewhat restored by the asset he had provided to the group.

“Well, Doc, why didn’t you say so? Everyone on Bertie’s hip! Malo, we’re going to try and keep this at a distance. I don’t suppose Bertie has an extra gun he can spare?”

Without waiting for Dr. Blink’s response, Bertie handed one of his guns to Malo, who grabbed its frail handle in his enormous hand and slung his battle hammer across his back. Bertie immediately reached inside a compartment and was brandishing a firearm in each of his four hands once again.

“Oh, I like him!” the colonel said ardently. “Okay, here’s the deal. Dr. Blink rides on Bertie along with the major. Malo, you make an awful big target, so I need you to crouch as low as you can behind them. After we emerge from the corridor into the open, Graale and I will move to the left and right flanks and draw any enemy fire away from you. Bertie, head straight up the middle between the rows of ships. We need to get into the yard and procure a ship before they’re all gone or destroyed. Got it?”

The colonel was looking at blank stares and scowled at the confused lot of them. “What the hell don’t you understand?”

“The part where you draw away enemy fire without cover!” Otto responded vehemently. “I mean, I can understand Graale—he’s…well…look at him!” Graale rumbled a small chuckle and slid the firing mechanism back on his cannon with the edge of his hand. “But you—Colonel, you’ll be killed in an instant!”

Abalias shot Otto a cocky grin and the mischievous glint was back in his blue eyes. “Trust me,” he said, smirking, and then gave Otto a wink. “Now, there may be Durax out there. Has everyone had the Serum?” Everyone nodded in agreement that they had and Abalias paused for a moment, a small trace of concern flitting across his face, before issuing the final instructions of his escape plan. “Okay, stick together and make for the first ship available, got that?”

KABOOM!

Before anyone in the room could reply, an explosion ripped through the shipyard and the concussion came barreling down the corridor. This time there was nothing to absorb the energy as it rushed past the spaces where the viewing panes and the large door once were, hitting them full force.

Once the shockwave passed, Graale and Bertie were the only ones still standing upright. Blink and Otto, being the smallest, were thrown the farthest and mercilessly greeted by the rear wall of the room. They rose at almost the same time, coughing and sputtering in the haze stirred up by the explosion. Malo had only been moved a few feet from where he had been originally standing, and he got up snorting, due to anger more than the blanket of dust that hung in the air. Abalias pulled himself to his feet and picked up his gun again. “Everyone okay?”

An assortment of muffled groans, coughs and a snort were all the confirmation that Abalias needed. “All right, now I’m PISSED—let’s move!”

Bertie led the way into the long passage leading up to the shipyard, his four arms each wielding a gun and poised for the battle sure to come in just a few hundred yards. Dr. Blink rode in the channel between Bertie’s flanks, pushed close against the back side of Bertie’s elevated table, with Otto directly behind him on one knee, carefully aiming the barrel of his gun over one side of Bertie’s treads and then the other. The rest were forced by the narrow confines of the cavern into a single file line in Bertie’s wake. Malo was first, crouching low as ordered. Next came Graale, whose noisy footsteps were barely detectable over the echoes of gunfire and small blasts that ricocheted down the tunnel. Abalias, with his service revolver at the ready, brought up the rear.