Daria 3

by Martin E. Silenus

  “What’s on your mind Beast,” I ask.

  “I’ve been watching movies and documentaries on the Mexican Cartels,” transmits Beast. “They have a very effective way of discouraging crimes against their cartels by using high shock killing techniques involving decapitation, severing arms, legs, and so on. They like to hang the victims from bridges for everyone to see clearly what’s happening. Seems very Middle Ages crude, but seeing as how the radicalization fools are middle aged in their activities we might ponder on such a punishment for the perpetrators.”

  “Beast, you are brilliant, I love the idea,” says D hugging the big wolf.

  “Damn, why didn’t I think of that,” I ponder.

  “Um, maybe because you are too busy with personal human maintenance and chasing D around,” transmits Beast teasing, as he whacks me across the legs wagging his tail.

  “Can we apply the same technique to say, the top six native gangs. And can we leach in a shadowy nondescript indigenous native straw dog into the video to look like the alleged perpetrator. Make it kind of a lopsided gang war.” asks Frosty.

  “I’m good with that, but can we just toss the decapitated heads in a net and dangle them under the bridge as it’s so much easier than handling the complete bodies?” I inquire.

  “Absolutely, this is grand, we have a plan. Just a few logistics and we are good to go.” grins D.

  “Let’s all go into the Virtual Reality Simulator Deck and run through the various aspects of this operation.” I suggest.

  Chapter 18: Not a Simulation

  It’s evening; darkness is early on the prairies at this time of year. D brings the quad copter to a hover by the back door of the Mosque. We are cloaked of course and invisible to anyone that might be observing. I unclip and climb the back steps.

  “Door is unlocked and all security cameras inside are all looping a peaceful scene. There is no one upstairs or in the basement. All activity is localized in the under basement bunker. You are good to go.” murmurs D in my helmet headset.

  “Dandy, here I go, see you in a couple of minutes.”

  “I’ll set the quad copter on the roof by the dome and try to blend in.”

  It’s low light in the Mosque and quiet as a tomb. The building must have some amazing sound deadening techniques as I can detect no sound from the bunker at all. A fleeting memory of Rachel, dear sweet Rachel hits me in the heart and I stop for a second. God, how I miss that woman, the ache is so strong. Fuck, not now dammit!

  “Matt, you ok, your vitals are jumping around?” asks D softly.

  “A memory of Rachel,” I answer thickly.

  There is no sense to deny or lie to D as she knows and can read the signs.

  “You want to cancel?”

  “No, let’s keep going.”

  I move through the prayer hall to the basement stairs and quietly move down them keeping an eye to my scanners. Dead silence and low soft lights, and no people. The basement is also a prayer hall complete with mihrab, minaret, and fountain. There is a stand with a white marble bust on it of some cleric in the corner by the Qiba wall. I see no door or opening to the lower bunker.

  “Check the underside of the table under the Bust,” murmurs D. “I can detect circuitry.”

  “Roger that”

  I run my gloved finger under the table and on the rear of the table behind the bust I feel a switch. Depressing it I hear a click and clunk and a section of the Qiba wall swings out an inch.

  “Well, well, nice workmanship on the hidden door.”

  “This is not a cheap operation, workmanship and security is above average. These boys do not want to get their nasty habits discovered.”

  The door has to be at least a foot thick, as I swing it open the girls screams and male laughter from the bunker pour up the stair well.

  “Lock the door behind me, please D. I don’t want any of these fuckers to slip away.”

  “Roger that, security cameras show five males and it looks like seven females, most are in the cages. But I can see a couple of the girls are being raped currently, so hurry!”

  I pull the heavy door shut and hear it latch and unsheathe my Kukri knife, it hums up into the ultrasonic. For a moment I think of dropping the invisibility so these diseased pieces of garbage can see the death coming for them. But the girls are going to see me and compromise our position, so I stay cloaked.

  As I emerge from the stair well a cleric has his back to me, his thwab is yanked up and his bare hairy ass is pumping as he rapes the crying girl bent over the table. He has her by the hair and her head is pinned to the table. He is sweating, grunting and spitting and yelling scripture in Farsi. I casually swing the Kukri and his head thumps on to the table and rolls off onto the floor. Blood streams in pulsed arcs from the severed neck.

  The girls are still screaming but the men are not laughing and yelling encouragement any more. There is a frozen quality, looks of disbelief on their faces, denial. The next cleric is sitting frozen with a drink in one hand and a pipe in the other. Smoke dribbles out his nose, then puffs out in a cloud as his head pops free of his body and rolls onto the floor.

  Two of the diseased filthy rats are taking turns fucking a young teenager on the other end of the table. One has his back to me and is pinning the girl’s arms down. A casual backhand swing and off comes his head spraying blood into the face of the other rat as he lunges his hips against the teenager. I stop the backhand swing rotate the Kukri blade and swing forward slicing the second rats head off.

  The last fat depraved filthy rat drops his hash pipe, his drink and runs for the stairwell. I swing the Kukri knife downwards across his thorax and his intestines and stomach slop out onto the floor as he goes down screaming. I let him scream and thrash in the guts and gore as I walk over and smash the locks on the cages of the girls. Christ some of them barely look twelve years old. They’re all dirty, bruised, matted hair, with dried blood on their legs, shaking and cowering in fear. I walk back to the screaming rat and lop his head off. The screaming stops. Pulling the net bag out of my equipment belt I collect the five heads rolling around on the floor.

  “Unlock the door will you D?”

  “Got it, send the girls up.”

  “Keep them on the main floor until the police arrive.”

  “Roger that”

  My voice seems frighteningly loud in the silence that is broken only by the girls whimpering and sobbing. It doesn’t require a second asking; the girls grab one another and scoot up the stairs like frightened deer. I stop them on the main floor in the prayer hall. Tell them the police are on their way and reassure them. But as much as I want to I cannot drop the cloaking. There is nothing more I can do for them. It breaks my heart to see them like this. Fuck I could kill another fifty of these fucking diseased filthy rats.

  D has the quad copter ready at the back door and I clip into the harness with my bag of heads. Five heads are heavier than you might imagine. Up we go into the night and head for what looks like a freeway bridge. Underneath the bridge I flip a rope around one of the supporting girders and dangle the bag of heads down some thirty feet so they are easily visible. Blood still drips from the heads into the river below staining the water. I wonder absently to myself what kinds of predators inhabit the river. The sirens are howling and I can see four police cars and a couple of ambulances heading to the Mosque.

  Chapter 19: Who’s Next

  “Are you still in a killing mood?” asks Frosty

  “Oh hell yeah, I need another fifty of these Islamic Muslin radicalization diseased rats to kill just to quench my thirst. One look at those poor girls and I’m ready for war!” I growl.

  “I have locations on four of the local indigenous native gang hangouts if you are interested. The Terror Squad, Indian Posse, Warriors, and Native Syndicate, all of which are dealing in drugs, prostitution and violence. Beast is on the ground keeping an eye on things at your next location to ensure no one slips away.”

  “Excellent, I’m on the way.�
�

  I arrive at the Terror Squad hangout; I am disappointed, I expected a well-organized gang with security and look-outs around their squat house. Beast could find no look-outs at all, I walked right in to the house and found a collection of inbred, half-wit, drug addled, Indians slumped drooling and passed out. I matched them to their police profiles, and identified their gang tattoos. Something wasn’t right, not even close. This was no damn gang; this was a collection of belligerent out of control drug addict teenage Indians. Just street scum not even worth recycling body parts. We needed more data as the pieces were not adding up to what we expected.

  “D;’

  “Yup”

  “There’s something way out of whack here as all I can find is teenage hoodlums more dangerous to themselves. We need to check some of the other sites to see what’s there before we make a move with the beheading program.’

  Over at the Posse, and Warriors hangouts it’s the same story as the Terror Squad, just a complete embarrassment to call a gang. Street scum punks that must have problems even dressing themselves they were so pathetic. By now it is looking to me like the authorities are as big a problem as these pathetic Indian drunks and druggies. It sure as hell doesn’t take much of a presence to collect and eliminate these fools. So someone somewhere is controlling the authorities and allowing the gangs to run unchecked. Good Christ a neighborhood watch group run by anyone with a military background could have run these pathetic hoodlums out of town. Yet two levels of Police have proved ineffective against them. That’s just bullshit.

  I arrive at the Native Syndicate house it’s in a better neighborhood, with look-outs in cars a block away from the house. This looks more like what I would call a gang. No guards at the house outside, so they must be inside. Not the best practice, but I remind myself that it gets to -50 below zero out here in the winter and anyone outside freezes to death. D takes care of the security, Beast and I slip into the house. We have heat signatures for eight people, four in basement and four in the bedrooms upstairs. We check them against the police pictures and make sure they have the gang tattoo. Most of them are asleep, not sprawled passed out drunk like the other fools, but asleep all the same. One of the members is in an office. This guy looks like he might have a clue about what’s going on as he is counting piles of money and the door to his safe is open. I watch him as I stand there, him counting away and making journal entries, counting some more, completely absorbed in his task. Maybe it’s a struggle for him to count; most of the so called native gangsters we have seen so far this evening seemed to be illiterate, innumerate, drug addicts.

  Frosty and D, are on the horn.

  “Given that all you are finding is errant teenagers and all of them combined would not make one decent criminal I think our beheading program is halted.” says Frosty.

  “We figure that the local and provincial authorities have reached a balance with the Indian gangs, and in all likelihood have even infiltrated them with Native officers.” adds D.

  “It would be in everyone’s best interest to leave this situation completely alone and let the balance of so called criminal and authorities stay as it is. And that includes leaving any illicit gains of crime alone. Just walk away and let it ride.” says Frosty.

  Chapter 20: Back at the Ship

  “Ok, so let me get this all straight. You are telling me that these errant teenagers and their petty crimes are being allowed to exist by the authorities to keep a situation of balance and relative peace in place. Is this what you are telling me?” I ask.

  “Yup, there are no real serious criminals here at all, but there are enough natives to form a never ending war if the authorities decide to ‘clean it all up’. Hell the province doesn’t even have the jail space they need now never mind after cleaning up a crime wave.” says Frosty.

  “There is a huge racial issue out here between the Indian and the white people,” says D. “Almost to the point where no Indian can be arrested as it is racial segregation and profiling.”

  “Well I may not be in total agreement with this strategy, but I can recognize the strategy when I see it. I can also see that beheading the various gang leaders would really throw the fat in the fire and trigger a racial war.” I concede.

  Oh well we did what we came for with the radicalization extremists, so it was a dandy evenings work.

  “Ok, so what is our head count for the nights work?” asks Frosty.

  “A subtle play on words Boss,” transmits Beast.

  “Five diseased cleric rat heads hanging under the freeway bridge. Not too shabby for a nights work!” I say.

  “I think we have made a very public and vivid statement,” says D.

  “However both levels of Policing out here, local Police and RCMP appear to be just toothless old dogs that would rather lick a criminal than bite them.” observes Frosty.

  “I concur, now can we have breakfast, I need a big plate of bacon and eggs, with toast and lots of coffee.” I announce.

  The local and provincial news service exploded over the discovery of a bag of Islamic Muslim Fundamentalist heads dangling under bridges.

  In the midst of all the media hysteria the regular Islamic Muslim members tried their best to distance themselves from the hideous activities. It was impossible as it was their building, their Mosque where the obscenity has been conducted. Their most vehement protests were ignored. If you were part of the Islamic Muslims you were guilty as hell and alienated accordingly. Not such a bad thing as they had migrated to multiply and conquer, not to integrate as Canadians.

  “While we’re here can we go have a look at the Rocky Mountains, I understand they are absolutely stunning?” asks D.

  “Fine with me” says Frosty as he peers at a circuit board.

  “Dandy” I mumble between mouthfuls of breakfast.

  The ship rises up, changes direction, and begins to accelerate all without slopping my coffee.

  Chapter 21: The Rocky Mountains

  From out on the prairies it was an easy overnight cruise to the Rocky Mountains. We had to detour well away from Calgary as that place was just a flurry of aircraft coming and going. But once we got into the mountains proper past Canmore there was plenty of room to “park” a ship of our size and remain undetected. We slipped quietly up an unnamed valley and followed it up in altitude to a lovely meadow. At that point we settled the ship down on the landing gear and just drank in the stunning view. It was time for a little down time and to address the inevitable “do list”. The ship and its’s bots maintained itself very well, but there is still a bit of human inspection that is required to ensure the “best practices” are being followed. An ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure as the saying goes.

  The next morning as the sun comes up D is excited and poking me awake.

  “Matt, Matt, wake up”, D is urgent.

  “Ok, Ok, I’m awake, what is so important out here in the mountains?”

  “Matt, come and see, the ground has turned white.”

  “Likely snow at this altitude I would bet D.”

  “I’ve never seen snow Matt, look it’s still falling out of the sky in big flakes. Oh my god it’s so beautiful.”

  “Well skiers and snowboarders sure like it.”

  “Matt you have to go outside in the snow I need to feel the snow.”

  “Geez D, that means I have to get up, get dressed and go out in the cold and snow.”

  “No, don’t get dressed; I want to feel the snow on your skin.”

  “Oh come on D, you go outside.”

  “You know I don’t have a physical presence Matt, now come on help me out, I want to feel the snow and I can only do that by feeling what you feel on your skin”

  “Ahhh D...”

  “Come on Matt, if you love me you will go out in the snow for me. Do that and I’ll warm you up the way you really like when you come back in!”

  Sighing and groaning I get up naked from a perfectly good warm bed and wander down the hallway to the clos
est exit. I meet Beast who looks at me and cocks his head to one side and in my mind I hear him say;

  “You could use a bit more hair and fur before you go out in the snow, Boss.”

  “Very funny, very damn funny, the things I don’t do for that woman.”

  “I can hear you two, quit complaining and get out in the snow before it quits coming down.” says D.

  Beast is crooning, and beating me with his tail, which is his way of laughing his ass off at me. We drop the exit ramp and naked as a jay bird with my junk hanging out I walk out into the snow with beast lunging out and immediately rolling in the snow and shoving his face into piles of it, snuffing and cavorting.

  “Oh my god it feels so delicious on your skin, Matt. Walk around and wave your arms and skip in the snow for me.”

  “Are you serious woman?”

  At that very moment Beast comes tearing by in a blur of motion spraying snow over me and the race is on. I’m going to catch that bloody great Wolf and rub his face in the snow. Beast is howling and crooning and tearing around giddy to have someone chase him, I’m yelling threats at him and trying to corner him to tackle him, and D is hysterical at the spectacle we are making of ourselves and the feelings of the snow on naked skin. Good grief I hope no one is in the vicinity watching this commotion. Of course I don’t have a hope in hell of catching Beast and he knows it, but the chase is good fun anyway. He lets me get very close to him, just out of reach, the bugger, but we sure stirred up a cloud of snow. I’m puffing and huffing and plodding up the ramp back into the ship. Beast is tracking smells in the general area, cavorting, and rolling in the white stuff.

  Back in the bedroom D is naked and hugs me, instantly we are transported into a reality construct she has created. It’s a deck somewhere with a hell of a mountain view, no snow, but a huge hot tub which we immediately get into. Oh yeah, this is more like it.