Atlantia Series 3: Aggressor

by Dean Crawford

  Djimon did not react to Qayin’s flippancy, letting his words carry the accusations he harboured.

  ‘I’d have thought that only a user or dealer would recognise Devlamine in its crystal form if they’d seen it. Somebody with a history of dealing, for instance.’

  Qayin grinned, his teeth bright against his dark skin.

  ‘And somebody like that would also be pretty good at rooting out the same problem,’ he replied. ‘We’ll deal with who’s done what when we find them. Right now our job is to search every homestead inside the sanctuary on our list, clear them of any drugs and arrest the possessors. No hesitations, but weapons cold for those searching the premises. Call out the occupants before entering and keep them under guard. I don’t want anybody else panicking and opening fire on us, okay?’

  The Marines snapped to attention and Qayin turned to the lieutenant.

  ‘Let’s go.’

  C’rairn turned and opened the sanctuary’s entrance chute, and with military precision the Marines jumped inside one after the other, accelerating away as the sanctuary’s motion and gravity pulled them in.

  *

  The light was not the same as it was on Wraithe. Even the stars were not in the same places.

  Kordaz lay across the broad beam of an Etheran pine and stared up at the night sky. Though he knew that it was an elaborate illusion and that the entire sanctuary was a construct of human ingenuity, if their skills could be called that, Kordaz could still reflect that the human condition was no different to his own species, the Veng’en. Deep in space and far from home, both species tried to replicate something of their homeworlds to ease the loneliness of the void, to break the monotony of grey corridors, darkened bridges and harsh electrical lighting. The Veng’en deliberately cultivated dense vegetation to clog the interiors of their battle cruisers, the corridors filled with mist and vapour just like the jungles of home.

  The wind whispered through the trees, cold compared to the hot, humid breath of Wraithe’s vast tropical forests. Kordaz had taken to wearing a thermal layer over his scaled skin since Captain Sansin had allowed to him make his home in the sanctuary, but apart from that he remained much as he had on Wraithe, the trees his domain. Food, disgusting as it was, was provided by the crew and the civilians with whom he shared the sanctuary, though he saw them little. That he was feared and hated by the human inhabitants of the sanctuary was without doubt – the Veng’en and the humans had been at war for decades before the apocalypse that virtually eradicated humanity, each inflicting terrible atrocities upon the other in a seemingly endless series of territorial disputes and major fleet actions.

  Kordaz knew well that his people were war-like, born to survive in the dangerous jungles in which they had evolved, but even so humans were shockingly adept at violence and combat, ingenious in their ability to surprise at the last moment when their defeat seemed imminent. Yet also they proved ridiculously empathetic toward their fellow man, often discarding certain victory in battle rather than abandon their own on the field. Many gains had been made by the Veng’en over the years simply through the act of abduction of senior human officers and negotiations for their release.

  Kordaz glanced down through the forest canopy, through black veils of leaves toward distant homesteads set near the edge of a plain filled with crop fields. The peace of this place seemed at odds with his mental image of humanity and that shared by his fellow Veng’en. Veng’en schooling had taught them that humans routinely raped and pillaged each other’s towns, often delighting in eating the young of their enemies. Kordaz now suspected that some of those stories may have been somewhat enhanced by the retelling, especially as he knew of several human younglings living in the nearby farmsteads that were clearly doted upon even by humans with no family ties to them and…

  A scent drifted across Kordaz’s olfactory and he instinctively tensed, ready for combat. He lay still, his face still staring up at the stars, but his eyes swivelled to the east and his ears twitched.

  Kordaz’s eyes were big, baleful and currently almost filled with an “X” shaped iris that was fully expanded to draw as much light as possible toward the centre of his eye. The adaption allowed for better night vision in misty conditions within the jungle, directing and focusing light in the centre of the eye to better detect movement. Now, in the clear conditions of the sanctuary, Kordaz could see almost as clearly as in daylight on Wraithe.

  He spotted them almost immediately, moving quickly but quietly through the forest toward the clearing to Kordaz’s right. Four men, Marines, all armed. The metal, rubber and plastic of their weapons and armour was what he had smelled even before he’d heard them, the air circulating around the sanctuary drawing their scent toward Kordaz.

  Kordaz rolled off the tree limb, one arm catching his fall and letting him swing into motion as he plummetted down and across to another large limb. Powerful legs landed and compressed and then launched Kordaz with impressive force through the air two-dozen cubits above the ground. He flashed silently across the sky and landed with all four claws against the side of a thick trunk and listened intently.

  The Marines walked fast beneath him, weapons not activated but held at the ready. He could faintly make out the glowing tattoos of the big man, Qayin. A dangerous individual, Kordaz new, untrustworthy by nature and yet now a leader of men. As Kordaz watched, the Marines hurried out into the clearing and encircled the first of the homesteads.

  *

  ‘Where d’ya think they got the crystals from?’ Soltin asked in a soft whisper as they crept forward.

  ‘Does it matter?’ Qayin hissed. ‘General said that guy we found is now in the sick-bay after overdosing himself, and the one we caught gave the names of his accomplices.’

  ‘There wasn’t any in the prison before it got blown away,’ Soltin pointed out, refusing to abandon his train of thought. ‘Corporal Djimon had a point. Only contact we’ve had with other possible sources since is the Veng’en cruiser we’ve been following and that wreck, the Sylph.’

  The Sylph had been a merchant vessel found adrift some months before, her crew having fallen victim to the Legion. The battle with the Veng’en for possession of the ship’s supplies had almost been the end of the Atlantia.

  ‘Probably the Veng’en cruiser that turned up later,’ Qayin said. ‘They grow stuff inside their ships to make it more like the jungles they evolved in. Maybe somebody picked some of it up in there.’

  ‘But there were no civilians aboard her, except for the captured members of the Sylph’s crew.’

  Qayin nodded thoughtfully. The captain and a small number of senior officers of the Sylph had been liberated from the Veng’en in the aftermath of the battle, and as such they may have been carrying small quantities of the drug upon their person. A small matter to pass a few crystals into the hands of a willing civilian aboard the Atlantia and cultivate more of the drug. Once the crystals were crushed and processed, it would generate a healthy income to the person controlling access to the drug.

  There was no money aboard the Atlantia, much as there had been no cash in the high-security prison Atlantia Five. Yet that had not stopped Qayin from becoming very wealthy as he served his time. Privileges, materials, a private cell and other luxuries were afforded by protection rackets, accumulation of ill-gotten gains and outright theft of weaker prisoners forced to submit to Qayin’s crew. Even drugs administered to sick prisoners could be stolen, accumulated, mixed and sold back to others with sufficient wealth to afford them. Qayin knew the workings of drug management well, and he knew how to root out the problem.

  ‘If they’re growing the stuff here then they’ll need it to be out of sight and out of mind, that’s why we’re not hitting the farm first,’ he said. ‘Most people aren’t into drugs, too afraid to give it a try. It’s the weakest minds that use them, the easiest led. Anybody else would report the runners or the growers and the whole operation would be blown, ‘specially here in the sanctuary.’

  ‘How come that gu
y ended up in the sick bay then?’

  ‘Greed,’ Qayin murmured. ‘Whoever’s growing the flowers has allowed too much to go on sale, hasn’t controlled his market. Drug money ain’t no good to nobody if there’s enough to go ‘round. You gotta make it scarce, keep ‘em hopin’ for their next cut, you wanna make ‘em pay enough to take the risk of growin’ the stuff in the first place.’

  Soltin nodded thoughtfully as they moved.

  ‘Most of ‘em are just ordinary people,’ Soltin said. ‘They ain’t doing the crystal trade.’

  Qayin nodded in agreement.

  ‘Which makes somewhere outside of the sanctuary the perfect place for dealers to hide their gear,’ he replied. ‘They don’t crap on their own doorstep.’

  Qayin had always ensured that no drugs or weapons contaminated his own cell when he was incarcerated aboard Atlantia Five. Such risky items had always been carried by his lieutenants or lower ranking gang members, removing the likelihood of Qayin himself being associated with any crime. Sure, the correctional officers, or “sticks” as they had been known after their liberally deployed electrified pacification batons, frisked Qayin often enough and knew damned well that he had been behind a stabbing or some other heinous crime, but they’d never pinned any of it on him.

  The platoon slowed as it approached the assigned cabin, and Qayin raised a clenched fist and pulled it downward twice. The Marines melted into the shadows as they crouched down. Qayin waited for a few minutes, listening for movement within the cabin but nothing stirred, the occupants either absent or asleep.

  ‘Now!’

  Qayin’s voice hissed in the silence of the night and instantly two Marines rushed to the front door of the homestead and attached a small device that automatically unlocked the door. The door opened and the two men hurried in, Qayin listening as the two soldiers rushed into the cabin’s bedrooms with weapons held at the ready and cornered the occupants before they had even realised their homes were being invaded.

  Silent, swift and without drama.

  ‘Close them down!’ Qayin whispered into his microphone with satisfaction.

  A brief, muted commotion of shouts were cut short and silence reigned once more. Qayin watched and waited as a man was led from the homestead, his wife behind him holding a baby and a small child being led behind them, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

  ‘Okay, search everything,’ Qayin ordered.

  The man, a tall and robust looking civilian with a thick beard, pointed at Qayin and his voice boomed out into the night. ‘Who the hell do you think you are?!’

  ‘We’re just following orders,’ Qayin replied.

  ‘You’re convicts ransacking my home!’

  Qayin spotted a light go on in a homestead some distance away.

  ‘Please sir,’ Soltin said calmly, ‘we’re not accusing you or your family of anything, but there is a need for us to search very premises and…’

  ‘There is a need for you and your damned captain to keep us in isolation and treat us like second-class citizens!’ the man roared. ‘You’ve already killed one man and now you’re here tearing up my home, and for what?!’

  ‘We’re searching for illegal contraband,’ Qayin insisted.

  ‘Illegal under whose laws?!’ the man shouted. ‘Ours or yours? And what contraband?’

  ‘I’m not at liberty to say, sir,’ Qayin replied.

  ‘The hell you aren’t,’ the man snapped and reached out to push Soltin aside.

  ‘Take it easy, sir,’ Soltin said as he pushed back.

  The man’s clenched fist swung in the darkness for Soltin’s face, and Qayin jumped in and blocked the blow as he twisted the man sideways and slammed him onto the ground.

  ‘This is harassment!’ the man seethed.

  Qayin placed manacles on the man as Soltin tried to keep the wife and child calm.

  ‘Get the search done as quickly as possible,’ Qayin ordered, ‘and keep things quiet before everybody knows we’re here.’

  Soltin ushered the wife and children away as Qayin hauled the man up onto his feet and propelled him away from the farmstead. He guided the irate citizen toward the cover of the trees and into the deep shadows. Qayin grabbed the man’s shoulder and spun him about as he gripped him around the throat and slammed him against the unyielding trunk of a tree.

  ‘Give me one good reason I shouldn’t gut you like a fish right here and now,’ Qayin hissed.

  The man’s eyes bulged but he managed an awkward grin. ‘Because you need me as much as I need you.’

  ‘Not now I don’t,’ Qayin growled and squeezed harder. ‘I told you, supply and demand rules all. You sold too much Dev’ and some idiot overdosed and is now in the sick-bay. If he survives, he’s going to start squealing about who supplied him.’

  The man choked, his body shaking as his skin flushed a deep, unhealthy shade of red.

  ‘It wasn’t me who sold out,’ he gasped, his hands trying and failing to dislodge Qayin’s. ‘Everything was fine but then one of my guys got greedy.’

  ‘I don’t give a damn who it was, it was your responsibility.’

  The man gargled his reply.

  ‘Yeah, well it’s yours now, ‘cause if they come for me then I’ll send them straight to you.’

  Qayin grinned in the darkness and with his free hand he raised his rifle up to the man’s neck. The plasma magazine hummed into life.

  ‘What makes you think you’ll be in a fit state to do anything?’

  Qayin squeezed with all of his might and the man’s throat collapsed beneath his grip. The man’s eyes widened and he grasped desperately for Qayin’s face. Qayin released the man’s throat and stepped back as the man collapsed to the ground, his mouth gaping as he tried to call for help. But his throat was too tightly constricted and nothing came out but a whistling, wheezing breath.

  ‘Give it to me, now,’ Qayin demanded.

  The man reached beneath his jacket and produced a small, densed block of a crystalline structure that was encased in a sort of gel and wrapped in clear plastic. Qayin grabbed the Devlamine and stuffed it beneath his body armour.

  ‘Where’s the rest of your stash?’

  ‘I don’t have any more,’ the man gasped.

  Qayin aimed his rifle at the man’s head and he covered his skull uselessly with his hands.

  ‘Okay,’ he cried out. ‘It’s in barrels, astern down in the keel access tunnels. We stored it in coolant containers to disguise it!’

  Qayin raised his rifle, and as the man looked up Qayin brought the weapon’s butt crashing down across the man’s temple. The man’s head snapped sideways and he slumped onto the soft earth, his breath rattling in his throat as he whimpered in pain.

  Qayin lowered the rifle and looked over his shoulder at the homestead. The Marines were guarding it as their companions exited the building. Qayin could see by their body language that they had found nothing of use inside, which was what he had expected.

  Qayin’s hand rested instinctively on a bayonet attached to his webbing belt, but then he turned and saw the man’s wife and children being questioned by Soltin. Qayin thought for a moment and then he shouldered his rifle and stood back.

  ‘Get up,’ he ordered the man slumped at his feet. ‘Get inside your house and clean yourself up. You ever breathe a word of this to anybody, I’ll arrange a real nasty accident for you and your family, you feel me?’

  The man nodded, scrambled to his feet. Qayin grabbed him by the collar and pulled his face close as he snarled at him.

  ‘There’s a dealer in custody already, one of yours most likely,’ he growled. ‘He sold you out, so he takes the rap for dealing and supplying? Tell him that I know where his family lives. If he squeals names, they die. That way, we both get free of this, understood?’

  The man nodded frantically. Qayin released him and shoved him away. Qayin saw his wife spot him and rush across to his side, heard her gasp of despair at her husband’s facial injury as she threw her arms about his neck a
nd led him toward their home. Qayin walked back toward the Marines and Soltin glanced at him.

  ‘What he hell happened to him?’ he asked.

  ‘He tried to escape into the woods,’ Qayin replied. ‘I had to bring him down hard.’

  ‘You find his stash?’ Soltin asked. ‘We didn’t find anything inside the home.’

  ‘No,’ Qayin said. ‘I’m pretty sure he’s dealing, but maybe the threat of arrest will be enough to turn him around.’

  ‘If he’s a dealer we should be arresting him right now,’ Soltin pointed out. ‘Captain’s orders, remember?’

  Qayin gestured to the homestead.

  ‘He’s got a family,’ he replied. ‘We arrest him then they’ve got nobody here to help them. It’s not the dealers who are the priority, it’s the source.’

  Soltin raised an eyebrow. ‘Man, you’ve actually got a heart? I thought there was nothin’ but hot air in that chest.’

  ‘Who knew?’ Qayin uttered. ‘Let’s move out.’

  The Marines departed the homestead and began marching toward the next in the line, Qayin at their head.

  The big sergeant never saw Kordaz watching them from up in the trees. The Veng’en watched as the Marines led their captives away, and then a soft beeping alerted him to a communicator attached to his belt. Kordaz opened the device and immediately wondered why he was being summoned to the launch bays.

  ***

  XXI

  ‘This is your chance to shine and win friends.’

  Kordaz stared down at Lieutenant C’rairn and said nothing.

  ‘You’ll be the toast of the ship,’ C’rairn added.

  ‘I’ll likely just be toast,’ Kordaz growled, his guttural dialect translated by a throat-mounted vocal resonator.

  Kordaz had made his way under the captain’s orders to the launch bay as soon as he’d seen Qayin’s Marines leave the sanctuary. The launch bay was dominated by a single shuttle and a platoon of Marines boarding it, along with canisters being loaded aboard that would return filled with whatever resources could be scavenged from Chiron’s surface. In addition, the shuttle’s lower hull had been fitted with a large, flush-fitting tank with which the pilots could scoop water from suitable fresh-water lakes while in flight.