Analog Science Fiction and Fact - 2014-04

by Penny Publications

  Then, as quickly as it had begun, the assault was over. The spiders vanished back down their holes, and light trickled back into the nest. The ground was littered with clay-red corpses. A few of the larger gulls were also wounded and bleeding, but Hugh saw no wounded chicks. Apparently, once the spiders got a hold of one, they didn't let go.

  "Fascinating," Hugh said. "Have you ever..." He turned to look at Crowder, whose face was almost as green as his armband. "Ah, maybe that's enough for one day."

  Crowder nodded in relief, and the two men walked out, leaving the cry of the gulls behind.

  The rush of his work had driven all thoughts of intrigue and danger out of Hugh's mind. He spent the long elevator ride to the bottom punching furiously on his tablet, intent on all the data he had collected.

  Then they reached the bottom, stepped out into the pale sunlight, and found intrigue waiting for them.

  "Mayor Herd, Boss Simon, Boss Groper," Hugh said, greeting the three in turn. He tried to keep the dismay out of his voice. "Wonderful to see you here. And your assistants, of course," Hugh said, indicating the thirty or so guards with them. Ten each stood behind Groper and Simon, in red and blue, with another ten behind the mayor, all women wearing white armbands, which Hugh assumed meant they were her personal outfit. Dozens of Crowder's men stood about as well, faces as blank as Crowder's, and everybody was caressing their weapons in a way that sent a cold ball of fear into Hugh's gut. Was there anyone in this town besides Hugh who wasn't constantly armed?

  We received word that Boss Crowder was showing you around," Mayor Herd said. Meaning, they had been following him. "And we were hoping for an update."

  "Everything was surprisingly calm, considering the reports. Crowder tells me there have been no attacks here."

  "That is surprising," Simon said, his fake smile beaming out of his fat chin. "And perhaps a smidge outdated. Why, Officer Hunt was just telling me his cousin was attacked here last night. Isn't that right Officer Hunt?"

  "Yes, sir," replied a tall, broad-shouldered guard.

  "Strange that I haven't heard of it," Crowder said softly.

  "Covering it up more like," Boss Groper barked. Hugh blinked. He wasn't shy, Boss Groper.

  "I'm sure you don't mean that, Boss Groper," Mayor Herd said.

  "You there, Officer Hunt," Crowder said. "Your cousin is Jana Hunt, works the compressors up on Station Twelve?"

  The man blinked, clearly startled that Crowder knew his staff that well. "Uh... yes, sir. That's her."

  "I'd like to hear about this attack myself," Crowder said. "And I'm sure it will be helpful for Ecologist Hacker's investigation. Officer Grant, will you see to it? Hustle up now."

  A woman who must have been Officer Grant saluted and set off at a run. Boss Simon's smile had turned sour. He hadn't been counting on an actual interview.

  But Hugh never got to hear Jana Hunt's story, for not thirty seconds after Grant left, there came an unmistakable sound from the east, drifting on the cold wind.

  It was the sound of a woman screaming.

  And above that, harsh and high, floated the cries of the gulls.

  Hugh was the first one to break, setting off at a dead sprint, arms pumping. In less than a minute, he had crested a small ridge, and looked down on the attack.

  The gulls had cornered the woman against the cliff face, surrounding her in a small arc of five birds. Despite his run, a handful of miners had beaten Hugh to the scene, but they were locked in battle with a second group of five gulls, shock sticks buzzing. The miners were getting the worst of it; one was already down, bleeding from a vicious slash across his chest, and the others seemed barely able to defend themselves, much less reach the woman.

  Hugh took in all of this in a moment. Then he was walking calmly into the chaos, his FCP training taking over. Authority without pride. Love without subjection. The gulls towered above him, far bigger than the ones he had seen in the nesting grounds, nearly three meters tall he guessed, with enormous, muscled chests and thick necks. All males. Two hissed at him as he approached the outer ring, their front talons slashing. Hugh didn't slow. He simply walked forward, in command, and the rending attacks turned suddenly defensive, the gulls backing away as if from some great menace. There was something... off about them, something out of place in the way they moved and called. But Hugh had no time to think about what it was. The woman's screams pushed him forward.

  She had taken shelter in a shallow crevice in the rock. That was likely the only reason she was still alive; the entrance was too narrow for the huge bulk of the gulls, and so they scrabbled at the stone with beak and claw, trying to drag her out. There was a lot of blood. Hugh clapped his hands and whooped, trying to draw the gulls' attention. One turned to look at him, but the others stayed intent on their prey.

  So Hugh charged.

  It was a desperation FCP tactic, something Hugh had never done before—something his instructors had never done before, teaching him only the theory. He slammed his shoulder into the nearest gull, moving at full speed, and he felt the joint dislocate, a shock of pain that nearly caused him to black out. The force of his blow knocked the gull into two of the others, and the group broke apart like a bomb had been thrown into their midst, scattering as Hugh turned to face them.

  Except one, who stayed behind, still intent on the kill. Hugh, desperate now, one arm hanging limp at his side, reached up with his off hand and did something he didn't think any ecologist had ever done.

  He slapped the gull square in the face.

  The creature turned to him, eyes crazed, beak red with blood, and Hugh had a moment to realize that the slap was a mistake, that his trusty FCP had failed, that he was dead, that this creature was going to rip out his heart in seconds and send him home in a flag draped coffin—when there was a sharp crack, and the gull's head exploded in a shower of bone, and Hugh turned behind him to see Boss Crowder, staring down the barrel of a smoking buzz gun.

  Crowder hurried up to him, a number of security guards at his side. "Are you alright, Hugh?" Crowder asked. "That was the stupidest thing I've ever seen."

  "Thanks," Hugh said, gesturing towards the woman. She was still in the crevice, slumped down and likely unconscious; Hugh suspected that she would have fallen if not for the narrow width. "Help me with her."

  "We'll get her," Crowder said, pulling Hugh away gently. "Come on, sit down. Are you hurt?"

  "My shoulder," Hugh mumbled. "There's something wrong with these gulls."

  "Sir!" said one of the guards. "You'd better have a look at this."

  The guards had managed to pull the woman free. She was alive, her breathing shallow, her clothing rent and torn. Crowder bent down, wiping the brown hair out of her face. Hugh noticed she had the orange sclera of heavy po-mum use. Then he saw the expression on Crowder's face.

  "What is it?" Hugh asked.

  It was the guard who replied.

  "This is Jana Hunt."

  Hugh bent low to examine another gull corpse, his arm aching in a sling. Crowder and his men had gotten four of them in the fighting, all with buzz guns. The rest had fled. The shock sticks had been useless. Something was definitely off about the creatures.

  "Told you, didn't I?" Boss Groper said. He, Simon, and the mayor were all still there, though the mayor had withdrawn a little, mumbling something about the blood. Crowder had gone with Hunt, rushing her back to Larus for treatment. They had covered her face immediately, both coming to the same unspoken conclusion.

  Boss Simon had known. Somehow he had expected the attack, even known it was going to be Hunt that was attacked. Yet Simon had spoken of it as if it had already happened. Which was either an insane coincidence... or Simon had planned the whole thing, targeted Hunt specifically, and somehow forced the birds to attack her. The timeline of the whole thing still baffled Hugh, as did the behavior of the gulls. There was too much he didn't know. If Boss Simon was behind the attacks, why attack mine workers, especially his own workers, slowing down production a
nd reducing his own profits?

  "Bound to happen here at some point," Groper continued. "Bunch of dumb, vicious animals that'll kill a young girl without blinking twice."

  "They're not alone in that, I think," Hugh said. It slipped out before he could stop himself.

  "What is that supposed to mean?" Groper growled. "You think—"

  "We'll leave you to your work now," Simon interrupted, voice far too loud. "Come along, Boss Groper."

  Groper swatted Simon's hand away like he was swatting a fly. He strode up to Hugh, and for a moment Hugh thought for certain Groper was going to deck him. He almost welcomed it. An attack on a Federal scientist, in front of dozens of witnesses, many of them Crowder's men, would land Groper in jail for the rest of his life.

  Hugh wasn't so lucky. Groper looked him full in face—and then spat on the cold corpse of the gull at their feet.

  "Dirty. Stinking. Animals," he said. Then he turned and stalked away.

  An idea stirred in Hugh's mind. He realized quickly that it was the dumbest idea he'd ever had, dumber than slapping that gull. But for a second he really did think Groper was about to rip his head off. The man was clearly impatient, volatile, prone to say or do things he shouldn't. Otherwise Simon wouldn't be trying to draw him away. And he clearly hated Hugh.

  It was a terrible idea. But Hugh thought of Hunt's screams, and the smirk on Groper's face, and something inside him splintered.

  Hugh let the bosses get half a dozen steps before calling after them. "Actually, Groper, dear," he said. "Perhaps you can help me solve a mystery. You're clearly quite stupid. But you seem to have a kind of brute cunning that might be useful to me."

  Groper turned back, his mouth thin and tight. "Am I?" he said. "And you're a pathetic, bleeding-heart f—"

  "Watch what you say," Hugh snapped.

  "I can say whatever I damn well please. You can order me to assist with the investigation, and that's it. I know the law."

  "Pick this specimen up," Hugh said, nudging the gull at his feet. "You don't mind getting a little blood on your hands, do you?"

  "No damn way," Boss Groper growled. "A man of my station—"

  "Your station is below mine," Hugh interrupted. "A fact you seem to have forgotten. I am giving you a direct order as a Federal ecologist on investigation. You will obey."

  "I'd be happy to assist you," Boss Simon interposed, stepping in front of Groper. "Boss Groper—"

  "Boss Groper clearly needs to learn some respect," Hugh insisted. "I intend to teach him that respect."

  There was a long silence. Angry mutters passed through Groper's guards like a soft wind. Hugh kept his gaze fixed on Groper. He had assumed the FCP posture without thinking, standing relaxed, yet coiled, radiating calm and authority. He had stood among hungry lions like this before. These men were far more terrifying.

  "Really, Ecologist Hacker, this is highly irregular—" Simon started.

  "I'll do it," Groper hissed. Boss Simon's teeth clicked shut with shock. "Ecologist Hacker is quite right. I don't mind getting my hands dirty."

  Simon's hands fluttered, looking from Hugh to Groper and back again, his mouth working. But Groper had already removed his outer coat, revealing a set of massive, muscled shoulders. He grabbed hold of the gull and grunted, heaving it up into his arms.

  "Good boy. You can drop it now." Groper threw the body down, hard, the gull's neck snapping in a sickening way.

  "How much would you say the specimen weighs?"

  "How the hell should I know?" Groper asked.

  "I thought all you big brutes knew how much you could lift."

  "And I thought all you ecologists could tell everything about an animal with a glance of your high ranking eyes."

  "Yes, you're right," Hugh said. "I'd say it's about 160 kilos. As are all the gulls who were in the attack. Quite a bit bigger than the other gulls I've seen. And all males too."

  "How clever of you to notice," Groper said.

  "Pick up that foot," Hugh ordered. Groper did so, not taking his eyes off Hugh. "You see the talons, there. Go on and touch one."

  Groper touched a fingertip to the talon point. It came away bleeding.

  "Quite sharp, yes? Too sharp, I think. And look here," he said, kneeling down, and running his finger along the talon edge. "There's a strange scoring along the sides, as if they've been scraped by a metal file." Hugh looked directly in Groper's eyes. "What do you think of that?"

  Groper looked right back at Hugh, his mouth twisted in a sneer. "I don't think a damn thing about it," he said. He dropped the dead gull's foot to the ground with a muffled thump. "Anything else?"

  "Yes," Hugh said. "Reach up the specimen's anus."

  Groper's face went white. "What did you say?"

  "Reach up the specimen's anus," Hugh repeated, smiling as broadly as he could. "That's an order."

  "You little—"

  "You can call me whatever you want, Groper," Hugh said, the smile gone from his face. "But unless you're doing it wrist deep, then you are disobeying a direct order, and I'll have the mayor throw you in confinement."

  "You're a fool," Groper sneered. "You think you have friends here, Hacker? You think anyone will stand up for you?"

  Quick as a flash, Hugh stepped forward, bringing himself face to face with Groper, close enough to smell his stinking breath. The guards behind him started forward, but Groper kept them back with a single, outstretched hand. "And you think she's a special friend to you, do you Groper?" Hugh said, letting the anger through. "You think she's going to stick her neck out to save an ugly, arrogant hobgoblin from the justice that's coming for him?"

  "You're a dead man," Groper hissed.

  "What did you say?"

  The blood drained from Groper's face. He had said too much. But he was still furious, furious at Hugh's mocking, furious that Hugh had gotten him to make a real threat. It was now or never.

  Hugh leaned in even closer, jabbing his finger into Groper's chest.

  "You know what I think," he whispered. "I think these birds are big and male because someone bred them that way. I think their claws are razor sharp because someone filed them that way. And I think you might know something about that."

  Hugh could see the muscles standing out in Groper's neck, his eyes bulging, teeth clenched like a vise. He was vaguely aware of Groper's hand, quivering over the stock of his shock stick, and, for a moment, Hugh thought he was going to do it—going to shock him to the ground, or pound him there.

  But then comprehension washed slowly across Groper's face, and the mining boss smiled.

  "I don't know what you're talking about," he said. "But if you're right, I'd be careful. Because whoever it is, they might come for you next."

  He put his coat back on, made a mocking bow in Hugh's direction, and stalked off. The others followed, walking away with more than a few backward glances. They topped the small ridge to the west, and vanished behind it.

  So now everyone knew the game. And Hugh felt that the air had, very suddenly, grown deathly cold.

  They came for him that night.

  He was awake, sitting on the bed, Crowder's shock stick charged and ready in his hands.

  He never got a chance to use it.

  There was a crash from his window, a tinkling of glass, and Hugh caught a brief glimpse of a dark ball bouncing across the floor before the world went red.

  He crumpled down, the shock stick slipping from his frozen fingers, every nerve in his body aflame with pain.

  A bio-electric disrupter. Hugh had used them before, in field work, usually to disable large animals in dens or burrows. Never again. Every part of his body felt numb and frozen, except for his skin, which crawled and burned like it was covered in acid.

  Dimly, Hugh heard the door splintering, and the sound of boots. Somehow, he flipped himself over, onto his back. Then a black masked man seized his arm, pressed a jet injector against it, and pulled the trigger. He heard the dull thunk of compressed air.

  Then he
slipped into darkness.

  He awoke trussed up like a calf for slaughter, hands and feet tied. Everything hurt. His injured shoulder felt like it had been dislocated again. He raised his head as best he could, and looked around. He was in a small, dark room, walls bare, floor smeared with what he pretended was not his blood.

  He heard a door open behind him, and the sound of several booted feet. Then he felt the bonds on his feet give way, and rough hands hauled him up. Hugh stared into a pair of bright, green eyes.

  Boss Crowder.

  "You?" Hugh whispered. He felt like he had been punched in the throat. "It was you?"

  Crowder shrugged. He even had the decency to look a little embarrassed. "Sorry, Hugh," he said. "It's nothing personal."

  He gave orders to the men with him, but Hugh barely heard them. He felt himself half-carried, half-prodded down a featureless hallway. Crowder?

  You think you have friends here, he heard Groper say again. Hugh thought he had been referring to the mayor. But Crowder? How could he be the one?

  "We needed you to trust one of us," Crowder said, and Hugh realized he had spoken his last thought aloud. "We were hoping you would give the order to wipe out the gulls on your own, without needing to resort to... this. But then Simon's fiasco with Jana Hunt..." He hesitated for a moment. They had come to a steel door, labeled in red with the words NESTING AREA.

  "You didn't do yourself any favors," Crowder continued. "Groper wanted to string you up on a hook after your little display of authority, and I couldn't keep him and Simon off you any longer."

  Crowder nodded to someone behind Hugh, and he felt another injector gun pressed against his neck.

  "This is a shot of pomum, " Crowder said. "Our gulls have been trained to attack people with high amounts in their blood. It's amazing what you can do with positive reinforcement. Especially when you get them young."

  Someone put a strap over Hugh's shoulder. It was his field bag. "You're going to make it look like an accident," Hugh said, realization dawning.