Star Noir

by Paul Bishop

  Having already lost one merc, the last thing they needed was a fight with antlered jaguar, panthers, or the small rhinos that lived in this alien jungle. The sooner they got vials of goop and petal samples and got the hell out, the better he’d feel.

  At least where it concerned the two scientists. If the truth be told, once he’d gotten over his initial nerves, a part of him felt good about being back. He’d heard other mercs say the Biodome got into your blood like an addiction. The only way to feel okay was to journey inside, stare death down, and enjoy a massive hit of adrenaline.

  God help him, maybe he needed this place.

  At his six, he heard boot soles scuff against the ground and dirt crunch under someone’s weight. He turned to find O’Meara approaching him. The big man’s fair-but-freckled skin was shiny from sweat. His sweat-soaked hair was matted against his skull, pressed down by his now-missing helmet.

  His shotgun rode on a strap, the muzzle canted toward the ground. He held the weapon’s pistol grip in his right hand.

  He spat and released a stream of brown liquid that smacked the ground barely inches from the tip of Sharpe’s boot.

  Scott’s gaze fell to the glob before it eased up to meet the other guy’s gaze.

  The big man grinned at him, the challenge in his expression almost palpable.

  “Wow,” he said and ignored the provocation. “Impressive. Are there any other bodily functions you’d like to demonstrate?”

  The other man’s smile faltered for a second and something dark flickered in his eyes. He blinked once. The emotion faded and his expression turned stony.

  “You have a mouth on you,” he said, “for a guy who spent the last year hiding in a bar.”

  Anger churned in his gut. He ignored it and forced a smile.

  “I was merely taking a break,” he said.

  O’Meara smirked. “Is that a fact?”

  He nodded, “A guy can only spend so much time traipsing around the jungle with steroid-crunching jagoffs like yourself before he needs to go on a year-long bender. After all, even us tough guys need a little ‘me’ time.”

  The man’s eyes narrowed, and Sharpe felt the full weight of his gaze resting on him for a few stretched seconds. Finally, his focus drifted over his shoulder and he jerked his chin in the direction of the scientists. “They need to pack up.”

  “I’ll let them know,” he replied.

  “You do that.”

  O’Meara spun ninety degrees and took a couple of steps away. He called out his name and the merc halted in mid-stride. His arms fell to his sides and he clenched his fists. “Yeah?”

  “Joke about my dead wife again like you did earlier, and I’ll put you in the ground. I’ll douse your rotten corpse in jaguar piss and bury you. Understand?”

  The other man said nothing and walked away.

  Sharpe smiled before he turned toward the scientists. Judging by the horrified expressions on their faces, he guessed they’d overheard the exchange.

  He flashed a smile. “No worries. Merely a little locker-room talk. Nothing to concern yourself with.”

  Priyanka averted her eyes and turned away. Muttering under her breath, she returned to her work.

  Maddie shook her head in disbelief. “That was…um, interesting,” she said.

  “I was simply setting some ground rules,” he said. “It’s the only way to foster true friendship.”

  “I’ll have to take your word for it,” she said. “I don’t have much experience threatening to douse people with piss.”

  “I try to be colorful.” He shrugged.

  “That I believe.”

  She turned her attention to her equipment and slipped her recorder into her suit.

  They’d also collected several vials of goop. She inserted those into a padded sample case about the size of a toaster before she closed and latched the bag.

  They had a small fortune in goop stored in the case. With its anti-aging properties alone, it’d fetch a small fortune in the outside world. But Trask Corp, at least allegedly, only wanted it for research. He guessed that was at least partially true. Maybe the CEO was some shallow, youth-obsessed moron who wanted to inject it into his face. He’d decided years before that the details didn’t matter. As long as the people he escorted into the Biodome weren’t looking to weaponize the goop, he cared little why they wanted it.

  While the scientists finished packing, Sharpe lit a cigarette, took a long drag from it, and leaned his head back and blew a column of smoke toward the sky. As he smoked, he ran a mental inventory of his weapons and ammo. While they’d burned through a considerable number rounds while fighting the plants, they still had enough to last them—assuming they stuck to their timetable—and they also had the dead merc’s share, which the others had already collected.

  Presently, Priyanka and Maddie had packed their gear and their samples. Now, if possible, they wanted a goop sample from one of the reptiles populating the area.

  O’Meara, Chambers, and the other mercs donned their helmets.

  “C’mon,” the large man said, “it’s time to move.”

  With him in the lead, the group filed onto a winding trail. Chambers was directly behind him, followed by the two scientists. A mercenary stood on either side of the group and Sharpe brought up the rear.

  For the moment, at least, he thought it was the best way to keep an eye on O’Meara, who gave off a deeply disturbing vibe.

  He also monitored the infra-red scanners, even though he knew the system wasn't foolproof. The panthers could somehow bypass them and the antlered jags sometimes managed to do the same thing. Although Damon had tinkered with them to make them more sensitive, he still didn't fully trust the technology. It wasn't that he was a Luddite. It was simply that the creatures—an unpredictable concoction of earth animal and alien DNA—changed and adapted constantly. It was as though they tested humans continually, learned their limits, and determined ways to thwart them.

  The thought sent an icy rivulet of fear rolling down his back. One theory he had heard was that the goop and the creatures that sprang from it were a recon team for the aliens who'd fired their missile at earth. Humans gathered data on the goop and monitored and studied the Biodome's denizens. But the theory held that aliens also used the Biodome as a lab of their own to collect data on humans for whatever reason. Satellites had detected occasional bursts of radio frequencies emanating from the Biodome, as though the goopy ET was phoning home. The satellites had intercepted the transmissions. However, none of the worlds' intelligence, military and space agencies had been able to decrypt the contents, let alone decipher them.

  That was the theory, anyway.

  Of course, it could be more rumor than anything else.

  Sharpe had heard it while pounding beers at METRO. The guy who'd told him all this had been fairly well lit when he'd laid it all out. But Egghead Steve—his real name was Stephen Rodriguez—wasn't the usual barroom crank. When Scott had brought up the whole weird conversation later with Patricia, she told him Steve was a former NASA physicist with a genius-level IQ. He'd taken his ideas to the NASA brass where he'd found sympathetic ears. They took them to the politicians, who'd accused them of fearmongering. With their asses freshly chewed, his bosses had told him to drop the whole thing. Instead of doing as he was told, the genius physicist decided to commit career suicide and contact a half dozen major news organizations and aired his theory with them. He'd lost his job but somehow managed to keep his pension, most of which he spent on drinks at METRO.

  The guy seemed like a crackpot. But his theory? Sharpe wasn't a scientist, but he couldn't dismiss it outright.

  The Biodome really was like an addiction. Once it got into your blood, you couldn't leave it alone. But it would destroy you just the same.

  A sound to his right—a low, persistent growl—caught his ear.

  He keyed his communicator.

  "Hey," he said, "I have—"

  Before he could finish, a black shape rocketed out o
f the foliage. Its bulk pounded into his body and knocked him from his feet. An alarm buzzed in his helmet as though he needed it to tell him he was in trouble.

  The antlered jaguar's face appeared in his visor. It roared and flecks of saliva splattered his face shield.

  Its claws ripped into his chest plate.

  The animal's weight had come to rest on his M4 and now pinned it and one of his arms to his chest.

  With his free hand, he fumbled for his sidearm and hoped he could draw it in time.

  Maddie heard the jaguar's roar and froze. Her limbs suddenly felt heavy and immobile. She knew on some level that she should do something but her heart hammered hard in her chest, her mind blanked out, and her feet seemed rooted to the ground.

  Someone grasped her upper arm to spin her around. A male voice yelled, "C'mon!" That snapped her back to reality. Chambers stood beside her, his fingers tight around her bicep.

  "Move it," he yelled.

  "What about Sharpe?"

  Something dark flickered in his eyes and he yanked her arm harder.

  "You're coming with me," he said. "Shut your damn mouth and do as I tell you."

  Sharpe sprawled several yards away with a jaguar on his chest. Its jaws were open, and strings of saliva dripped from its teeth onto his visor.

  She jerked her arm free from the man’s hold. "He needs help, damn it!"

  "I said you're coming with me!"

  Frustrated, she batted his hand aside and ran to the downed man. Chambers hung back, but she swore she saw a wicked smile playing on his lips.

  Before she'd taken a half-dozen steps, more shapes emerged from the foliage. Jaguars, she realized. She should've expected them. They always hunted in packs.

  She drew the survival pistol she'd been issued and cocked the hammer. Maddie had grown up on a farm. While she'd never been much for hunting, she'd spent hours with her father, shooting at old cans and other targets and could handle a pistol.

  A series of gunshots drew her attention to Sharpe. His Beretta was smoking, and the jaguar looked unsteady on its feet. Blue blood geysered from bullet wounds on its neck.

  More gunshots rattled behind her. She turned, assuming the other mercs were firing at the jaguars. What she saw made her gasp. Priyanka had fallen, her torso peppered by gunshots. Liam stood over her and smoke curled from his shotgun.

  His mouth was turned up in a wicked grin. Her gaze lighted on Chambers next, who aimed his assault rifle in her direction.

  His voice buzzed in her earpiece. "Sorry, sweetie. Nothing personal. Simply business."

  Acting on instinct, she raised the pistol and squeezed off a couple of shots. He flinched and swore. She couldn't tell if her shots had actually pierced the armor and injured him or merely surprised him. A heartbeat later, though, he readjusted his aim. At the same time, a jaguar stood to her right, hunched with its muscles coiled and ready strike. Then, someone pushed past her.

  Sharpe had his M4 at hip level. He squeezed the trigger and he whipped the weapon in an arc. The fusillade of slugs chewed into Chambers' torso until his body fell in a boneless heap.

  Even as the corpse collapsed, a snarl to his left was followed by a grunt. He dropped to his knees and the heavy form of one of the alien jungle cats soared overhead and its razor-sharp claws raked through the air above his head. It landed, whipped around, and surged at him. His M4 chattered again and peppered the attacking beast with bullets. By the time its body slammed into his, the animal was dead.

  Its weight knocked him off his feet again and he lost his hold on his assault rifle. It landed beneath him, still on its strap, but he ignored it as he needed both hands to shove hundreds of pounds of dead jaguar off his legs.

  He'd barely freed himself from the big corpse when another of the mercs attacked with a machete poised over his head. The soldier of fortune slashed down with the blade. Sharpe rolled to one side and the sharpened metal cleaved uselessly through empty space. Cursing, the mercenary raised the weapon again, ready for another assault. A pistol cracked to his right and the assassin stiffened and fell heavily. Scott turned to Maddie, who stood a few yards away, the pistol still leveled in a two-handed grip. From what he could tell, she seemed frozen, probably overcome with shock after shooting a human. It was a totally normal reaction but under these circumstances, it would get her killed.

  "They were going to murder me," she said. "They brought me here to kill me. They already killed Priyanka and they want to do the same to me."

  He activated his communicator. "Maddie!" he said. "Maddie, move!"

  She lowered her arms and took a step in his direction.

  Beyond her, O'Meara stood with two dead jaguars at his feet. The big man swung the shotgun toward them.

  "Like that wanker Chambers said, it's nothing personal,” the merc stated coldly. “At least not with the girls. But you, Sharpe? I'm gonna enjoy watching the Biodome suck your rotten goddamn corpse up."

  Sharpe raised the Beretta and fired. The slug drilled through the face shield and into O'Meara's eye. The big man teetered on his feet before he collapsed.

  He holstered his Beretta and ran to Maddie's side.

  "Are you okay?" he asked and she turned toward him. After a moment, he saw the focus return to her eyes, and she nodded.

  "Yes," she said.

  "Good," he said, "let's get you out of here."

  8

  Hours later, Sharpe wheeled O'Meara's Mercedes to the curb outside Damon's and Sarah's home. He'd stolen the dead SOB’s car for a reason. Although he'd moved too quickly to check, he guessed Hawkins or his people had planted a tracker on the panel van. His suit contained a homing beacon. He didn't want to be found so he'd left everything at the warehouse and hot-wired O'Meara's car.

  When he had the chance later, he'd drive it into the desert and leave it for the buzzards.

  Maddie was seated beside him in the car but had barely said a word since they'd emerged from the Biodome. She looked out her window at the small house before she turned to him, her brow furrowed. "What is this place?" she asked.

  "Some friends of mine live here," he said. "I want you to stay here for a while.”

  "I thought you were taking me to my hotel."

  He shook his head.

  "Whoever hired these people to kill you have lost contact with their assassins, thanks to us. There's now a good chance they'll watch your hotel. At least until they have some kind of confirmation that you're dead."

  She shuddered. "Why is someone trying to kill me? Why did they kill Priyanka? What did we do to them? We've never hurt anyone."

  Sharpe took one of his hands from the steering wheel, placed it on her forearm, and gave it a gentle squeeze. "I doubt it has anything to do with you," he said. "It's probably related to your work somehow. You and Priyanka were merely pawns in all this. Think about it. This is a fairly elaborate scheme for someone to kill you two. Right?"

  After a long moment, she nodded.

  "C'mon," he said. "Let's get you inside.

  He exited the vehicle, walked around to the passenger side, and scanned his surroundings as he moved. In spite of the afternoon heat, he'd slipped a light jacket on to cover his Beretta. They walked up the driveway to the front door.

  He knocked and heard Sarah yell, "I'll get it," followed by the tap of feet against the floor as she approached. The door opened a few inches, held it in place by a security chain. He could see her face through the gap. Her eyes looked red and swollen as though she'd been crying.

  Her expression morphed from surprise to relief. She shut the door quickly. From inside, he heard the chain being removed before it swung open again. She stepped outside, threw her arms around his neck, and hugged him.

  "Thank God you're okay," she said. She stepped back and studied him for a moment, her eyes moist with tears. "We heard they'd lost your whole team in there. No homing beacons, no bodies or equipment. Nothing left behind."

  Sharpe nodded. "I assume that was by design," he said. "Can we come insid
e?"

  Her face reddened. "Of course you can. What's the matter with me?" She stepped out of the doorway and waved them in. They gathered in the foyer and she closed the door behind them.

  She offered a hand to Maddie. "I'm Sarah," she said.

  The other woman took her hand and introduced herself.

  "They mentioned you," Sarah said.

  "Who's they?" he asked.

  "Interpol agents," she replied. "They stopped past a couple of hours ago, asking Damon and me questions about you and your trip into the Biodome."

  "Why the hell would they do that?"

  "C'mon," she said, "Let's go to Damon's workshop and discuss this."

  He nodded, but the request made him uneasy. It wasn't that he didn't trust his friends. Instead, he knew Damon had outfitted his workshop with special jammers to prevent electronic eavesdropping. Sarah wanting to go there meant she was worried they were under surveillance.

  She led them into the workshop where they found Damon seated at a computer. "Who was at the door, honey?" he asked his gaze fixed on the computer monitor.

  "Why don't you tear yourself away from the Internet porn for a second and look?" he said.

  His friend turned and his eyes widened before he bolted up from his seat. "Holy shit," he said. "You made it out! Thank God you're alive!"

  Sharpe grinned. "Thanks, man. By the way, the equipment you loaned me got shredded in there."

  "Goddamn it."

  "But thank God I'm alive, right?"

  Damon smirked. "Way to play it. And you must be Maddie."

  She nodded.

  "She's been through a lot today," Sharpe said. "I was hoping she could stay here for a while. Maybe rest and recuperate. She saw way too much shit during her brief time in the Biodome."

  "Of course she can," Sarah said. "You can stay, too, if you'd like."

  He shook his head. "I have some things to deal with."

  "Do we want to know specifics?" Damon asked.