Sucked to be the messenger.
Then General Mattany bounced up. He turned a shade of purple I’d never seen before. He left my side in a cloud of Old Spice and garlic-onion breath.
“What the hell are you talking about!” he shouted to the guy in the doorway.
The open door let in a little cool air into the stifling room. Sweat kept rolling down the sides of my face, though. Maybe it was the two big marines with plasma rifles pressed against my head.
The guy in the doorway was already pale, but he turned a shade whiter at Mattany’s bark.
“The, um, object, sir,” he said, “It’s gone. And Dr. Kincaid’s lab is–”
A deep thump shook the room.
The guy in the doorway swallowed hard. “Dr. Kincaid’s lab’s been rigged to blow. And he’s not in his quarters.”
General Mattany rushed to the doorway. The other man stumbled out of the way. Mattany paused. Looked back to the two marines.
“If he twitches. If so much as farts. Blow his fucking head off,” he said.
He left. The door slammed behind him.
I sat very still in my hard chair. My wrists and ankles burned from the ropes binding them. By body ached. My head pounded. And I realized something horrible.
My nose itched.
Twenty-Six
The two burly marines kept their plasma rifles pressed up against my skull. The small, stifling room got even more stifling with the door closed again. Sweat dripped down my face. I tried not to think about the itch on my nose. I concentrated on breathing.
Tried to process what was going on.
Kincaid’s lab had been blown up. Okay, so Julie and the goon had found a way to do that without using me as a bomb. It was a military base, I took a wild guess and figured there were explosive devices lying around here and there. They could have cobbled something together.
But what was the mysterious object? What the heck was that about? And why was Kincaid missing? Unless they blew him up with his lab. It was possible. I recalled Julie’s contempt for him when we talked in the trailer. I thought of her cold eyes. Murder didn’t seem beyond her.
Not anymore.
The door opened again. I expected a purple faced Mattany, back to scream at me some more. Instead, it was my former fiancé. Speak of the devil.
She held something small and black in her had. The thing hissed twice.
The pressure on my skull eased. Two burly marines toppled to the floor like trees dressed in desert camo fatigues.
Julie sped into the room. Snatched up the marine’s plasma rifles. Behind her came the goon. He grinned at me.
“Miss us, cupcake?” he asked.
He had a large black pack on his back. His ever present plasma pistol was in his hand. Pointed at me, of course.
“Grab him and let’s go,” Julie said.
The goon sighed and rolled his eyes. He picked me up. Threw me over his shoulder like a sack of beans.
“Why are we taking this guy again?” he asked.
“Insurance,” Julie said.
“Wait, don’t I get a say in this?” I asked.
“Shut up,” they both said at the same time.
This was getting irritating.
The goon carried me through the door. He banged my head on the door frame. “Oops,” he said, “Hope that didn’t hurt too much.”
He laughed.
“Knock it off,” Julie said, “The Stickman is still around here somewhere.”
Stickman? The one whose ship I disabled? Yay, someone else who was mad at me. This was turning out to be one of those really bad weeks. I should have called in sick the day before.
The day had started out so well, though.
The goon and Julie ran down a gray, nondescript corridor. It was hard to get a good look at anything with my face bouncing off the goon’s backpack.
“Why couldn’t he send a ship to pick us up?” the goon asked.
They paused at a door. Julie held the small weapon in front of her. The marine’s two plasma rifles were still slung over her back. She looked really dangerous. I tried to reconcile that with the soft, girly image I used to have her. It just didn’t work.
“You know better,” she said, “We have to get the thing to the drop point. It’s called plausible deniability. Humans didn’t invent it, you know.”
Thing? Drop point?
My rattled head started to get a notion things were even more screwed up than I first thought.
“What’s the thing?” I asked.
“Shut up,” the goon said, slapping my leg.
“No, really, what is it? I thought you two were trying to make a point about Dr. Kincaid, or something.”
“Clear,” Julie said.
Suddenly my face bounced off the backpack again as the goon ran. Cool air hit me. We were outside in the dark. It must have been behind the hangers because there weren’t any lights and I heard dirt crunching under their feet.
The goon stopped and tossed me into a vehicle. I slammed up against something soft. It grunted.
The goon and Julie clambered in. The engine roared to life and the wheels spun in the dirt before taking off. I leveraged myself into a seated position. The goon drove without headlights. And very fast, too.
My vision adjusted enough I could see the goon wore some kind of headpiece. Night vision goggles. Moonlight provided plenty of light.
“Where are we going?” I asked.
“Shut up,” Julie said.
The lump beside me groaned. I turned to it. Tried to figure out who my seat mate was. Not that I didn’t already have a suspicion.
“Is that you, Dr. Kincaid?” I whispered.
I had an impression of a balding head, fuzzy cheeks. My suspicion was confirmed when the figure groaned again and said: “What the fuckity fuck happened to me?”
Fuckity fuck. One of Dr. Kincaid’s favorite phrases.
He sat up and rubbed his head.
“Fucking H. What the fuck,” he said, “You fucking people having any fucking idea what the fuck you’ve fucking done?”
He groped in the dark. His hand found my face.
“Hey Dr. Kincaid,” I said, “How’s it going?”
“Oh fucking hell, what the fuck are you fucking doing here, you fucking moron?” Kincaid asked.
“Shut up, both of you,” Julie said.
“Fuck that. Why’d you fucking tranq me?” Kincaid asked, “And why the fuck am I in this fucking truck? And why aren’t your fucking headlights on? You fucking trying to fucking kill us?”
I once edited a grant paper for Dr. Kincaid. It took me a long time because I had to take out all instances of the F-word. There were a lot of instances.
The truck, which seemed to be one of the Grums like I’d hitched a ride on, bounced over the terrain. I was in agreement with Dr. Kincaid, the goon seemed to be trying to kill us with his driving.
“I think we got company,” the goon said.
I looked back. Which was pointless. The vehicle didn’t have a back window.
“Can you identify?” Julie said.
“Negative. It’s airborne, though.”
“I thought you disabled the hoverjets?” Julie said.
“I did. This is something else.”
“It is gaining?”
“Can’t tell,” the goon said, “If it’s not gaining, then it’s keeping pace.”
“Shit,” Julie said. She slammed her hand on something, “We can’t lead it to the drop point. The Dons will freak.”
“You sure it’s not the Dons?” the goon asked.
The Dons? Who were they? The way Julie and the goon had talked earlier suggested yet another alien race. But I wasn't familiar with any races named–or nicknamed–Dons.
“The Dons aren’t going to move from that drop point,” Julie said, “It was hard enough for them to get through the Stickmen’s perimeter.”
Stickmen’s perimeter? That had an ominous sound to it
“Who are the Dons?�
� I whispered to Kincaid.
“That’s fucking classified,” Kincaid replied.
“Shut up back there,” the goon said.
Julie got out of her seat and climbed in the back with us. For a moment I thought she was going to give me a hug. But no, she shoved me aside and reached to the roof of the Grum.
“Julie, what’s all this about?” I asked.
She kicked me. “Shut up.”
She unlatched a door on the roof and hit a button. Motors whirred as a platform raised her up. Cool air rushed in. More motors whined and I heard the unmistakable sound of a weapon being cocked. There was a gun mounted to the roof. My guess was a big one.
“What do you see?” the goon shouted back.
“Drones,” Julie called down, “Two, no three. Shit, there’s an ass-load of them.”
“They locals?”
“Doesn’t look like it,” Julie said.
“Shit.”
“Yeah, shit.”
The Grum bounced over something. It threw me against the metal door. I felt like I was inside a blender.
“Can you take the shot?” the goon called out.
“Negative,” Julie said, “They’re staying out of range. I think it’s time to go wheels up.”
Wheels up? What the hell was that supposed to mean?
The platform lowered to the floor. Julie latched the roof shut.
“Buckle up, morons,” she said.
I was really not liking the new Julie. I considered telling her I wanted to break up. Then ask for the engagement ring back. Not that it was worth a whole lot. I had gotten it from a vendor in Mexico. It had left a green stain on her finger. I’d promised her I’d get her a better one someday.
Considering she was carrying deadly weapons, I decided to wait for a calmer moment. Should one ever appear.
Julie ducked back up front. She and the goon pulled seatbelts on. Latched them with a solid click. I nudged Dr. Kincaid while fumbling for my seatbelt.
“Dr. Kincaid, I think you should put your seatbelt on,” I said.
“Why the fuck should I?” Kincaid asked.
“Because I think–”
“Hang on!” the goon shouted.
He gunned the engine and the Grum hit something. Everything tilted. Kincaid slid into me and I grabbed hold of him.
The vehicle continued to tilt, going farther and farther over. With a crunch and screech of grinding metal, the roof hit the ground.
Wheels up.
The engine roared for a moment, then stopped. The goon had cut it. The Grum skidded for what felt like forever. It bounced over rocks and brush. I held on to Dr. Kincaid as best I could with my hands tied. He struggled and swore a blue streak. Blue even for him.
Before the truck came to a stop, the goon and Julie unbuckled themselves. They dropped down to the roof, weapons already in hand.
I lowered Dr. Kincaid to the roof. Well, okay, maybe I dropped him. He started describing a fanciful rendition of my ancestry. Mostly involving common barnyard animals. Julie pulled out her small gun and aimed it at him.
“Wait!” I said.
The gun hissed and Dr. Kincaid collapsed into a silent heap.
“Why did you kill him!”
“I didn’t kill him,” Julie said, “It’s a fast tranq. He’ll wake in a couple hours with a nasty headache.” She pointed the gun at me. “You want one, too?”
“No.”
“Then shut up,” she said.
I almost asked her what she’d done with the sweet, loving woman who used to be my fiancé. The woman who used to tell me to leave her alone until she had her coffee in the morning. The one who insisted I give her foot rubs before she would even consider sex. The one who constantly showed up late for our lunch dates and made me late getting back to work. Which got me yet another ass chewing from Dr. Kincaid.
Actually, thinking back on it, it wasn’t the greatest of relationships. There seemed to be a lot of me giving and her taking.
I’d been willing to overlook a lot of that because she was smoking hot.
Yes, I am that stupid. And shallow.
Even Dr. Kincaid had told me she was out of my league. Not that he seemed to mind when she visited the lab. Maybe it was just a coincidence that she always wore tight short shorts and a skimpy halter top three sizes too small when she visited the lab.
Or maybe not.
“They’re coming. I can hear them,” the goon said.
I listened and heard a faint hum. Like a radio tuned to a station broadcasting dead air.
“Get ready,” the goon said.
The flipped the safeties off their rifles. The weapons activated with a whine as power surged through them.
White light flared through the windows.
The goon and Julie started shooting.
Twenty-Seven
The blood rushing to my head made me dizzy. Hanging upside down from the back seat of a military transport wasn’t how I envisioned any part of my life. Hanging upside down, watching my fiancé and her hulking goon of a partner crouch down, and shoot at flying drones...well, that too, was something I never considered happening to me.
The air stank of dirt and ozone. Bolts of energy blasted out from plasma rifles. The bright lights circling the upside down Grum moved back.
“I got a couple,” the goon said, “How about you?”
“Six,” Julie said.
A good shot, too. Why hadn’t any of this ever come up when we were dating? It seemed like the sort of thing that should be discussed. Hey, sweetie, did I ever tell you that my father is like a big muckity muck in the Space Corps, I have paramilitary training and can shoot the ass off a fly at fifty yards? Oh, and I’m either a rabid Xenophobe, or I’m in cahoots with a previously unknown alien species. Hee, hee.
You would think I would have gotten some hint of it.
A blast rocked the Grum. The metal plating on the belly rang like a bell.
“Shit, they have offensive capability,” the goon said.
“And more range that we do,” Julie said.
Another blast rocked the vehicle. The Grum spun around. I held my poor head. I was already dizzy enough. Two more blasts hit near the open windows where Julie and the goon crouched. They pulled back, plasma rifles held ready.
“What are they doing?” the goon asked, “Why don’t they come in and get us?”
Julie had a pensive look. It was still kind of cute on her. “They’re holding back for something. Reinforcements, probably.”
“Who do they belong to?” the goon asked.
Julie reached up to the dashboard. A moment later the headlights came on. “Take a look at that,” she said.
I angled over so I could see. About thirty feet away sat a pile of spindly black sticks. Smoke rose from one side.
“Stickmen,” the goon said, “How did they get authority to run drones in Earth space?”
“They didn’t,” Julie said, “These must be run by the rogue that got the professor.”
The rogue? Azor? Wasn’t he at the base? I assumed he was in custody, but maybe that wasn’t the case.
“So we’re screwed,” the goon said.
“Not necessarily,” Julie said, “We have something they want.” She looked at me. “We have two somethings they want.”
The goon shook his head. "You're not thinking of double-crossing the Dons are you?"
I didn't like the way this was heading. Sadness washed over me. Up until yesterday, I thought my life was going pretty well. I had a good job at a prestigious lab, a beautiful fiancé, a classic Jeep, and an eighty-inch wall screen. Things were great.
Except they weren't. The job was beneath my skills. My boss was an asshole. My fiancé was cold and demanding. My Jeep was costing me a fortune in gas and maintenance. And my eighty-inch wall screen? Okay, that was still awesome, but I hardly ever had time to watch anything on it.
I would have slumped in my seat, feeling morose and depressed. But I was hanging upside down like a bat.
>
And I was getting shot at by aliens.
And my fiancé seemed to be considering handing me over to the Stickmen. Which, considering my last contact with Azor...well, there seemed to be only one option left.
“Why not? What have the Dons done for me?” Julie asked.
She made some motions with her hands. It baffled me, but the goon seemed to understand. He nodded.
“Yeah, but you don’t want to piss them off,” the goon said, “They never forget.”
“Well, if the Stickmen have a perimeter around the planet, how are the Dons supposed to find us?” Julie asked, “Besides, maybe the Stickmen will cut a deal. After all, it would be a shame if my plasma rifle went off and blew a hole in this artifact.”
It finally got through to me what she was doing. She and the goon must suspect the hovering drones were listening in on their conversation. She was trying to strike a deal with the enemy.
My fiancé wasn’t a xenophobe. Or a patriot. She was a mercenary.
A voice boomed out at us. “Humans! Do not harm the artifact! Repeat, DO NOT harm the artifact!”
A cold smile curved Julie’s lips. “What’s it worth to you?” she asked.
“It is worth your entire world,” the voice boomed, “Destroying it would be considered an act of aggression against SixUnion. Destruction is not recommended.”
“What the hell is this artifact?” I asked.
“Shut up,” Julie said.
That was one shut up too many. It pissed me off.
“Human, the Perseus Clan is willing to negotiate a reasonable fee for the artifact,” the voice said.
“We’re not going to negotiate with drones,” Julie said, “Show yourself.”
My anger, simmering below the surface, started to bloom. I welcomed it. Maybe it would blow up half the state, but at least it would give me control.
“My presence is not required for us to negotiate,” the voice said.
“We’re not negotiating anything until you call off those drones,” Julie said, “Now get them out of here!”
I stoked the anger, thinking of the last few hours. I felt the raw spots on my wrists and ankles where the rope rubbed my skin bloody. Knots tied by the goon–or even by Julie. My fiancé. The supposed love of my life. Ready to throw me under the bus without so much as a kiss goodbye.
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