Smiling, Laorcq put his index finger to his lips to indicate that Torg and Mallory should keep quiet. “It’s me!” he said simply.
“Why are you home so early?” the harpy continued. “Did you get fired again? You filthy…”
Without stopping her chatter, she triggered the remote latch.
The recipient lived on the thirty-seventh floor. The elevator smelled stuffy, but it did have the virtue of being large enough to accommodate the cybrid. With a last jolt, it opened onto a carpeted hallway with minimal lighting.
This corridor led them to Geekler’s apartment. Laorcq rang the bell in vain. Mallory turned to her bodyguard and pointed at the apartment door. “Torg, a little help, please?”
He stepped closer and took hold of the doorknob with his steel claws. With a rotation of his arm, he ripped the entire handle away, along with a large piece of fake wood.
The pilot pushed at what remained of the door panel. “Since we’re here, we might as well take a look.”
Nodding his head, Laorcq added, “I see you’re starting to enjoy yourself.”
The apartment’s one advantage was that it was huge. Dirty and cluttered, it was overflowing with equipment more suited for a lab or a hospital. The best was in the kitchen. Cages of various sizes were piled up, containing small, stunted forms: animals in agony, giving off a rotten stench.
Mallory pinched her nose in a vain attempt to protect herself from the sickening smell. “What a madman! How can he live in such a pigsty?” she cried out in disgust.
“He doesn’t live here,” replied Laorcq. “Well, he doesn’t just live here. He works here. This confirms my suspicions concerning your cargo.”
A murmur came from the main room. The scarred man signaled to Mallory and Torg to be quiet. Then he slid a hand into his jacket and gripped his weapon. They heard footsteps stop, then start again.
A feminine voice ruined by years of tobacco smoke and strong alcohol creaked out, “Mr. Geekler… it’s your neighbor. I would appreciate if you could stop making such a racket when you come home! You woke up my poor little treasure! Mr. Geekler?”
Laorcq sheathed his pistol and left the kitchen, followed by Mallory and Torg. They found an old woman wearing an outrageous amount of makeup, fake jewelry, and a graying nightgown.
Although briefly startled by the sight of the red and black colossus, the elderly housewife wasn’t all that flustered. “Are you his family?”
Laorcq was about to say yes when the pretentious old bag continued, “What an idiot I was! You have keys to his apartment. You must be relatives.”
Wondering how she could have missed Torg’s handiwork on the front door, Laorcq kept a straight face and hoped Mallory would do the same.
The old woman continued, “If he’s not here now, you may be in for a long wait. He must have already left for the Strovoka. That’s where he gets drunk at night before coming home and making an unbelievable racket!”
Draped in her nightgown and her outrageous pride, she turned her back on them and went to calm a yipping animal.
Mallory and Laorcq looked at each other and shrugged simultaneously.
“At least we know where we’re going next,” he said.
He went into the bedroom and searched it quickly. It was the only room that wasn’t a shambles. In a heavily worn chest of drawers, he found what he was looking for: an ID with a photo of the resident. He made a copy with the navcom embedded in his watch. Since the apartment held no further secrets, they left.
The autonomous car that had brought them there was still waiting at the curb in front of the old building. Without pausing, they got in and ordered the AI to take them to the Strovoka. The sedan drove down squalid streets that zigzagged between tall, grayish buildings. Detritus lay everywhere possible and seemed endowed with a life of its own. Despite the closed windows, an odor that was both fickle and constantly unpleasant penetrated the interior of the vehicle, underlining the sad décor.
The automobile arrived at a street that was slightly less dirty: their destination. The Artificial Intelligence maneuvered into a spot across from the nightclub. Laorcq noticed that the walls were covered with Orcant graffiti. It would be difficult to find a worse omen…
The Strovoka occupied a building that was half hangar, half office, the remains of a company that had disappeared long ago. Laorcq passed through the revolving door behind Mallory and Torg. Noting the sensors near the door, Laorcq congratulated himself for bringing his serag pistol.
Formerly occupied by administrative offices, the floor’s walls had been removed in order to accommodate a bar along its entire length. Private rooms filled the rest of the space, separated from each other by glass partitions that formed cubes. On the low table in the middle of these enclosures, touch-sensitive controls camouflaged by decorative patterns made it possible to darken the walls or to project videos in order to create relative intimacy.
The two Earthlings and the cybrid sat down in one of them and ordered drinks. The lighting was limited to wall fixtures and to the animated pictures plastered on the ceiling.
The waiter accepted Laorcq’s generous tip and answered his question. “Geekler? Yes, he’s a regular! He should be here soon.”
At the end of the large room, past the glass cubes, there was a concrete guardrail that overlooked the old storage area, which was occupied by a wide octagonal ring in the center. A battery of projectors hung over it, ready to turn it into the center of attention. Tables, currently unoccupied, were laid out around it. On the far wall hung disproportionately large screens showing images taken at random in the establishment.
Mallory favored Laorcq with a smile. “I’ve never boxed in a ring with eight corners. We could put ourselves on the list of fighters!” she suggested, before finishing her glass in one fell swoop and putting it back down noisily.
Laorcq barely heard her. Focusing on the door, he noticed that two ten-foot-tall Spican bouncers were now standing on either side. They quickly evaluated potential undesirables, ready to throw them out. Their task was facilitated by their four arms, whose muscles bulged under thick coppery skin.
The Strovoka welcomed a number of species and social strata. That meant two things: the ring was used regularly, and the fights were brutal. Only the attraction of a violent spectacle could successfully erase the disparities between individuals.
Mallory’s good mood evaporated. Since they had sat down, Laorcq had not taken his eyes off the door. She had the impression that he wouldn’t react even if she took her clothes off. Then the moment passed, and Laorcq finally remembered he wasn’t alone.
He wet his lips with his drink, then declared, “As soon as he shows, we’ll grab him quietly and take him to the Inata. His testimony, added to our package, will be more than enough to take Morsak out of the game.”
Becoming sullen in response to the scarred man’s attitude, Mallory countered, “Tell me again why you’re convinced he’ll agree to talk? And we aren’t a hundred percent sure about what’s in our cargo. Maybe it’s not so terrible…”
“I still have my detective credentials. Before leaving the hotel, I sent a request for information to the local police. I just received the reply. Our man is a doctor who lost his license. Given the state of his apartment, though, I’d say he didn’t stop practicing. When I threaten him with extradition to Earth to be tried and convicted, he’ll do what I tell him.”
“A mere PI can do that?”
Laorcq shrugged his shoulders. “Not really, but I can easily convince him that I can. Don’t delude yourself about our merchandise. If it’s not really dangerous, Lebrane wouldn’t have set up such a devious plan to get it here.”
He went back to observing the tide of new arrivals. “Well, well… Look over there,” he said, indicating the direction with a furtive movement of his head.
Mallory saw a sloppily dressed man forging a path through the heterogeneous crowd: Geekler. He was tall and thin, with the exception of a prominent paunch. She noticed h
is waxy skin, typical of those used to seeing the sun only on postcards. Slicked back on his skull, his yellowish hair emphasized his wrinkled forehead and his bloodshot eyes.
He came straight toward them and worked the opening control on the glass cube. Standing in front of the table, he asked, “Why do you look surprised? You wanted to meet me, no?”
Torg let out a growl. This turning of the tables was the last thing Laorcq and Mallory had expected. The man didn’t seem the type to brag, although he did exude a solid confidence.
He sat down next to them and let his gaze travel over the crowd. “I have an interesting little recording where you can be seen visiting my apartment. I noticed that you met my neighbor. A delightful person, wouldn’t you say?” Confident that he had caught his audience’s attention, he continued, “Did you really think you could force your way into my studio without setting off an alarm? The best part is that the old lady from across the hall told me where you’d be. So I took precautions!”
He lifted his right hand and made a gesture. The nightclub’s clients parted before an Orcant. Its four claws hammered the floor as he came toward them.
The pilot noticed the numerous scratches covering his shell. Most were located on his forearms, shoulders, and chest. “This bastard took the time to hire a bruiser before coming here!” she grumbled quietly.
She noticed that Laorcq was trying secretly to get hold of his weapon. He froze suddenly. Mallory understood why when she saw the screens at the back of the room: the cameras were pointed at them! A drone-camera was filming a wide shot of the extraterrestrial’s arrival, depriving them of the initiative.
She stifled a curse and tried in vain to darken the walls of the cube. It would be impossible to avoid the lens’ inquisitive eye: the controls had been remotely locked.
The disc jockey’s voice explained, “Welcome to the Strovoka! Tonight, an extraordinary guest is visiting us: the Orcant fighter Domar! He’ll be watching today’s fights to see if anyone might be able go up against him. A round of applause for our undefeated champion: Domar!”
The fighter was close enough for his characteristic odor to irritate the pilot’s sinuses. He sat down close to her.
At the other end of the sofa, the doctor took the floor again. “Now, you know what you’re in for. Tell me who sent you, and why.”
“We’ve brought your delivery,” replied Mallory. “Your cargo is waiting in my ship’s hold.”
“You have strange ways for transporters. Does bashing down your recipient’s doors allow you to stand out from the competition?”
Geekler sighed disdainfully and continued, “Doesn’t matter. Lebrane told me about a woman. Instead, what shows up at my house is a freak who looks like a plainclothes policeman, a gorilla, and a little girl. I think we need some explanations.”
Mallory cast a dirty look at him, and her companions remained silent.
Irritated by their reticence, the doctor grew impatient. “Enough! You’re trapped between Domar and the camera pointed at us. My employer will be delighted to get his hands on you, I’m sure. While we wait, since you’re delivery people, you’re going to give me my package without any funny business. I’m determined to finish the work I’ve been paid to do. If necessary, my Orcant friend will easily take care of the big furry guy, a kid who wants to play tough, and a guy who’s too old for her.”
A shot of adrenaline overwhelmed Mallory in a burning wave. Her sensitive tattoos shuddered on her skin, thornier than ever.
Adding to Lebrane’s blackmail and the attack on the Sirgan, Geekler’s condescending tone acted as a detonator for a time bomb. A black wave of anger overtook her.
The Strovoka looked like a second-rate club. She was sure that its champion had never fought a trained opponent. And she was sick of playing a bit part. “You’re disgusting!” she yelled, before standing.
Her outburst had been loud enough to be heard over the brouhaha in the club. Some of the guests turned toward their little group and looked at them with interest. She seized her glass and poured the contents over the Orcant’s head. “You stink! You dirty piece of crap! You make me want to puke!”
Mad with rage, the extraterrestrial threw over the table as he rose from his seat. The cocktail was still trickling down the length of his carapace while he moved menacingly toward the impudent woman.
The opportunistic DJ had cut the music and was filming the unexpected spectacle using his drone cameras. Certain she had drawn everyone’s attention, Mallory screamed in Domar’s face, “We’re getting into that ring and I’m going to crush your cockroach face!”
XI
MALLORY VERSUS DOMAR
A heavy silence fell on the Strovoka. Everyone was flabbergasted. Laorcq heard one of the clients ask, “Am I dreaming, or did that pretty little brunette just threaten the club champion?”
When it recovered from its shock, the crowd exploded into thunderous applause. It was going to be a first-class show. The scarred man was impressed by Mallory’s bold move: Domar couldn’t refuse without ruining his reputation.
Before Laorcq or Torg could move a muscle, the club’s employees surrounded Mallory and led her to the dressing rooms, barely giving her the time to tell her companions, “Don’t worry, I need to blow off a little steam.”
Geekler wilted in horror. “She’s crazy enough to need a straitjacket! She wants to go up against an Orcant warrior in single combat? He’s going to crush her to a pulp…”
“If I were you,” replied Laorcq, putting his hand on his shoulder as if they were old friends, “I would worry about my own situation.”
The doctor twisted to get away. Laorcq spoke to the cybrid. “Torg, help me convince this man to stay. We have the best seats.”
Approaching the doctor, the cybrid took one of his arms. The grip of his six steel-reinforced fingers forced a yelp from Geekler. Subdued, he didn’t move another inch.
Mallory stood up straight in the dressing room she had been given. She moved her joints and muscles to warm up. Her anger had subsided, replaced with the intense concentration that precedes combat. She needed to get herself into the right frame of mind, halfway between apprehension and over-confidence, since either extreme would lead to defeat.
The nightclub’s owner, a short little man with dark skin, came to see her in person. He threw open the door with full force and said, “Follow me. Your new friend is impatient.” On the way, he added, “Sorry to have made you wait. I put the news out on the network. These few minutes should have been enough to sell out. Business is business. On that note, I hope you don’t expect me to pay you. After all, I didn’t ask you to do this.”
Mallory heard him, but wasn’t listening, occupied as she was recalling what Jazz had told her about Orcants. Their carapace protected them, and their four limbs made it difficult to put them on the ground. That said, they weren’t strong fighters because their lack of speed and cleverness offset their other advantages.
In reality, regardless of how impressive they looked, a series of well-placed blows could get the better of them. The challenge lay in delivering them before getting killed.
Absorbed in thought, Mallory joined the alien in the ring. The projectors flooded the scene with harsh light, plunging the rest of the club into darkness.
Domar’s hatred for Earthlings could clearly be seen on his face. According to Jazz’s briefing about Orcants, Mallory knew that being defied by a woman had made him raving mad. Among his species, females only served for reproduction. He stared at her, stewing and snorting rage that boiled just below the surface, waiting to explode in an excess of violence.
Facing the insect-like alien, Mallory evaluated his size and the reach of his carapace-covered limbs. From experience, she knew that confronting such a strong opponent would leave no room for error. The price of a moment’s distraction could be fatal. In a place like the Strovoka, the loser rarely escaped the morgue…
Mallory and Domar appeared from several angles on the wide screens hanging on t
he walls at the end of the room. The prominent thorns on the young woman’s tattoos were displayed in close-up. The cleverly programmed drone-cameras were perfectly positioned.
There wasn’t an inch of free space near the octagonal ring. Despite the air conditioning, the building was bathed in body heat from the packed crowd. The blended stench of alcohol and sweat permeated the air.
Mallory turned her attention to the Orcant. He was pacing in the ring. The four bony, crab-like claws that served him as feet hammered unpleasantly on the floor. His exoskeleton, a gleaming brown in the artificial light, formed a chitinous armor. When a high-pitched bell announced the beginning of the fight, his six green eyes shone with fury. The alien and the pilot began their deadly dance.
Certain that technique alone would not be enough to defeat the Orcant, Mallory decided to distract the creature with taunts. “You dirty cockroach!” she screamed while they circled each other. “Your face looks like you live at the bottom of a toilet! I’m going to crush your nasty balls!”
She wondered if the overly colorful image had overwhelmed the capabilities of the translator box attached to the base of the Orcant’s skull. Then, suddenly, he rushed at her and tried to crush her with a single blow.
He encountered emptiness.
Quick and agile, she had dodged the elephantine attack at the last second by throwing herself to the side. Apparently, it had taken the translator box a few seconds, but it had managed to get the message across in the end.
She rose nimbly and mumbled through her teeth, “Perfect, keep him angry.”
Although she never stopped moving, she also took care to breathe regularly. Under the weight of his supporters’ boos, who were disappointed in his performance, the enraged alien charged the human like a bull. Mallory had expected the attack. Given his size, he must have been used to defeating his enemies with brute force.
With each pass, Domar whiffed and Mallory hit him, with each blow punctuated by a cry from the spectators. The audience seemed to appreciate her skill. The pilot methodically targeted the alien’s joints and struck with all her strength, seeking to limit the Orcant’s mobility.
The Kenval Incident Page 9