Starlaw (2 page)

In a split second that reminded her of an old movie reel, the perpetrator seemed to materialize and run from one side of the clearing to the other. Something shiny came from beneath his flying leather duster. Whatever the object was, it emitted a light beam and a high-pitched, vibrating sound.

The beam shot forward in a straight stream and struck Cory first. She saw his flashlight fly out of his hand and roll away.

More shouts and cries broke what should have been the calm of the midnight air. She finally responded. Nothing she did was fast enough. Nothing anyone did kept the wraith-like being from moving at a speed defying explanation.

Cory's body hit the dirt.

Two detectives tried to jump the suspect but they had no better chance than her partner. They were struck by the suspect's strange beam weapon and both slumped to the ground. Random shots were fired. She knew triggers were being pulled in panic. Logic was lost on the scene as she followed her compatriots' example and shot at the empty space left by the fast-moving suspect. She heard dull thuds as the bullets of other officers hit the man but nothing slowed him down.

Three other detectives fell near Cory. Her distress on their behalf was almost overwhelming. This was what it felt like to face death. She was next.

In the matter of a few seconds—in a scenario playing out in light speed—no one stood but the attacker and her. At least one cop was dead, according to Cory's shouted description.

“Stay back!” she yelled and knew the warning would do her no good, even as she made it. Her brain, body, and emotions were reacting to training. There wasn't anything left from which to draw. Nothing they'd fired slowed the monstrosity down. And when a person could move at some unholy, inhuman pace, and take a shitload of bullets while putting an entire undercover operation on the ground, he didn't have to follow her commands or anyone else's.

It suddenly occurred to her they'd been set up. The thing with her waited until every cop in the vicinity was there.

The dispatch supervisor had to have sent backup but all the yelling and shooting had kept her from hearing what happened through her earpiece. Surely there'd be sirens any moment. But passing seconds seemed like an eternity as their attacker slowly advanced.

“I will feast well tonight,” the gruesome entity rasped out in a grinding, hissing voice.

Laurel swallowed hard.

She opened her mouth to warn him again, as her index finger felt the cold metal of her trigger. There was only one way she'd get out of this.

Warnings had done no good. Following the rules hadn't made a difference. She had no idea who on the ground might be unconscious or dead. And she desperately wanted to live.

“Fuck it!” she whispered as she emptied what was left of her ammo into the tall man.

When he kept strolling forward, grinning as her efforts were a game, she knew all her childhood nightmares concerning Halloween-like creatures were real. There really were things in the night that couldn't be stopped by the best weapons available. There really were otherworldly creatures.

He stopped only a few feet away, seemingly savoring his victory. His glowing eyes looked her over, assessing her. The brightness of them was terrible and menacing. This monstrosity had no fear of anything. If she ran, he'd drop her in the next beat of her heart.

She was out of her league, without any options. This thing was a beast of prey. He enjoyed the hunt and had set the entire scene to suit his taste. A thousand things went through her mind. Chief among these was the thought of her best friend lying a few feet on the ground, and her sorrow for his parents, who'd never really know the truth of what'd happened to their son.

“Very nice … pretty, pretty,” he slowly whispered in broken English. Then he licked his lips and made a loud sucking sound as he did so. “I learn your human words so you will understand … because you are a woman and the flesh of such is always sweeter, I will take you slowly. I will slake my lust on your body as I eat. And it will be
good
,
little enforcer. There may even be enough life left to feel me inside you. Perhaps I'll hear you scream in fear as you lie beneath me.” He nodded. “That would be most pleasurable. Most pleasurable indeed!”

Under the bright light of a full moon, his raised weapon looked like something out of a science fiction movie. Laurel knew she had only seconds left to breathe. But there were ways to go that were preferable than letting this beast take her as he wanted.

She gathered her strength and prepared to lunge. She'd either knock him to the ground or take a chest shot from his space-age looking weapon and end it.

His long, bony finger curled around what looked like a trigger. It seemed like the darkness hid nothing now though she mentally begged for total blackness.

A low whining sound came from the brush. He jerked his head to the left, as if shocked by the sound. Then her would-be killer cried out loud and long; the sound of his feral scream echoed everywhere.

A burst of light sliced through the night. It was similar to the illumination created by the monster's weapon except it seemed far more powerful. Sudden glow lit everything around them almost as bright as noontime.

The horrible entity before her lurched sideways. Long, flowing hair she hadn't noticed before flew around his features as he fell forward yelling in fury.

The muzzle of his weapon was still aimed in her direction. As he dropped toward the dirt, silvery light shot from it and right at her. Sudden, white-hot pain made her cry out in agony. She heard her own voice mingle with that of her attacker's. The sound of her cry seemed strange, as if the outrage it represented belonged elsewhere.

Intense pain flooded every cell of her body.

In weird slow motion that punctuated the agonizing moment, her body flew backward and onto the ground.

Stars shimmered overhead. Except for the breeze coming off the nearby ocean, the night grew silent again. She took one shuddering gasp and pain destroyed her instincts to stay awake. Darkness closed in.

• • •

Darius Starlaw ran forward with his ground crew. Among them were his second-in-command, Barst K'rad, and his medical technician, Gemma Tocurus. All who'd landed on this small rock of a world were chosen because of their previous experience and the knowledge that they'd lay down their lives for one another. In this instance, the danger was most extreme; he'd take no chances.

His weapon was still aimed at his quarry; he didn't dare lower it. Because the criminal he'd just leveled was only stunned, the butcher might still be a threat.

“Hurry,” he commanded. “Their technology is primitive but they'll still locate Goll's vessel soon. Barst, we know the general coordinates … find it and take it out. Sear everything indicating a craft was ever present. There's no time to waste.”

As Barst hurried to do his bidding, Darius looked at the carnage around him. There was nothing to be done. It took none of Gemma's skill to deem everyone around them was dead. Blood and gore littered the area.

Gemma picked up a metal tube still rolling on the ground. Light came from one end. There were several such devices lying scattered across the dirt. Apparently, these objects were what provided the primitives light in darkness.

Another crewman knelt beside Goll. “He's unconscious, sir. The threat has been mitigated.”

“Get that bastard aboard our light shuttle and back to the
Titan
,” Darius commanded. “Make sure the decontamination units are on before you enter. Just as we didn't bring any microbes to this backward world, we can't bring as much as a speck of dirt back. Is that clear?”

“Yes, sir.”

While the first crewman picked Goll up, threw him over his shoulder, and trudged to his ground transport with another officer assisting, Darius considered the damage. Barst arrived back in record time and made his report.

“Goll's small ship is history. Not so much as a bulkhead bolt is left. No one on this world will know it existed.”

Darius nodded. “Good. Before we return, let's get a clear image of what happened here. It can all be used against the prisoner and I want it all to count.”

Barst gazed around the clearing even as Darius knelt to get a closer look at the carnage.

“They never had a chance, did they, sir?”

“No … they didn't,” Darius muttered. “At least Goll will do no more killing
this
night.”

“These victims are physically like you, sir.”

Darius's brow rose. What his crewman said was true enough. None of the dead had blue skin or shocking white hair like Gemma. None bore the round-headed and brown, furry countenance displayed by Barst. “Looks are deceiving. On my world they haven't the strength even a child could summon. At least that's what I've been told.” He sighed heavily and shook his head in sadness. “Why, by Cronos's balls, would they attack an entity so obviously superior? Surely they must have seen he wasn't like them! Why didn't they back off?”

“Why are some of the victims in similar clothing?” Gemma asked.

Darius sadly shook his head. “I hate to say it, Gemma, but I think they're some kind of enforcers.”

“What a terrible end to our quest,” Barst offered sadly.

“Barst … follow the others back to the ship. Take personal responsibility for putting Goll in enviro-stasis. I want no mistakes,” Darius ordered as he re-holstered his weapon.

Gemma still moved among the victims, making one last check for life signs. Assuming she might find a survivor, Darius knew they wouldn't last long. Earth's technology wasn't advanced enough to undo the damage Goll wrought. He silently cursed himself for not getting to Earth sooner.

“Two still live,” Gemma announced. “But one is more seriously injured. If my communo-chip is translating properly, this tag on his clothing says … Martinez. The second one is a woman. Goll's weapon may have been drained by the time he shot her. She's not so badly burned as the others.”

Darius moved and knelt beside the surviving male that Gemma identified as
Martinez
. The stricken enforcer opened his eyes and stared straight up at him. Moonlight in the small clearing was quite bright now. It was as if the darkness fled, coinciding with cessation of hostility and the capture of the one responsible for the slaughter.

The Martinez man grabbed the front of his uniform tunic and pulled him closer. Darius didn't fight what was likely to be a whispered last request. He simply gazed back into the dying man's eyes. Life was quickly leaving this injured fighter.

Darius let the man whisper into his ear. The croaked appeal was the same he'd have made to anyone if the situation had been reversed. He only understood the message because his communication chip was attuned to their current surroundings—Earth English, a place called Balboa Park.

Sadly, he couldn't say anything in comfort. The dying human had no such communication device embedded in his body. But he
could
hold the man's shoulders and upper body in such a way as to convey friendship. He wasn't even sure the tubular lighting devices lying on the ground or the moon overhead allowed the victim a good look at
his
face, but body language and gentle physical contact might offer some comfort.

Darius listened intently as a seemingly last request was made. After it was done, the man referred to as Martinez closed his eyes and went limp. He breathed his last.

Gemma tried to revive him, but she soon stared into the darkness, whispering her version of a prayer.

As commander of this sad scene, there was nothing Darius could say or do. He swallowed down a sudden knot that lodged in his throat, and gently lowered the dead man back to the ground. Gemma was the first to speak.

“Commander … what did he say?”

Darius sighed heavily, ran one weary hand across his face and the back of his neck. “He wanted me to ‘look after my partner … the woman who was with me.' Those were his exact words.”

“Assuming there are no other victims in these woods and that this is the female he spoke of … her life signs are barely stronger than his were,” Gemma told him. “I don't know how much longer she can survive. I can barely read in the light from these primitive tube-illuminators, and we can't turn on our own ready beams without summoning every constabulary in the area, but I think the tag on her uniform says …
Blake
. Is that a name or some kind of unit designation?”

“I don't know. I think it's probably her name. Just like Martinez,” he surmised.

Gemma glanced at her portable wrist bio scanner then moved closer to the one survivor. “The blast entered this woman's left shoulder and went all the way through. Her breathing has been compromised. She won't survive the night if the primitive physicians here cannot treat this kind of laser injury, and I find it inconceivable that they could.”

Piercing alarms tore through the stillness.

“I think those are warnings coming from conveyances. If memory serves, they're called sirens,” Darius said. “We're out of time. I don't want to encounter innocents not knowing if even stunners will do permanent damage.” He looked down at the unconscious woman. “We need to go now, Gemma.”

“Sir, we can't leave her. She'll die if we do,” the medical technician insisted.

He slowly shook his head. “You know our orders. We've interfered all we dare. ”

“Sir …
please
. We can't leave her. You said she's probably an enforcer … like us.”

Darius touched the unconscious human woman's face. She was shivering, indicating shock was taking hold.

“Sir? Let me try to help her,” Gemma pled.

“Orion's blood!” He gazed down at the still figure before them and made a decision for which his entire crew might suffer.

A dying man had begged for this woman's life. If someone he cared for were lying there, what would he do to give them one more chance?