Resurrection

by Jeffrey Burger

  Rikit’s injury was real enough, but that could have just been unintentional in the grand scheme of things. But what were they after? He still couldn’t answer that question. Information was all he could think of, but precisely what kind of information, he couldn’t even venture a guess…

  The sound of a vehicle coming up the street from behind him, suddenly raised the hair on the back of his neck and he admonished himself for losing himself in thought, letting his situational awareness drop. He took a quick right at the nearest corner, turning into a small, nearly pitch black, side street, or was it an alley? He knew better than to try to travel the smaller streets and alleys as many of them were dead-ends or a twisted maze. Others were gang territory and very dangerous. At least that’s what Rikit told him… or was that an effort to get him to stay on the main thoroughfares?

  Hidden in the darkness, he watched the luxury sedan idle past, windows open, four occupants riding in silence. Drug dealers was the first thing that entered his mind. “I really need to get off this planet,” he whispered to himself.

  ■ ■ ■

  Jack hadn’t been sure what to expect when he reached the road that separated the landing field and the edge of the city – but this surpassed all the possible scenarios his mind had devised. “What the hell,” he growled, flattening himself against the crumbling wall of an abandoned building, out of the weak halo of a lone streetlight. Easing himself back along the wall, he found an opening and entered, giving his eyes a few moments to adjust to the darkness of the interior, a few slivers of light from outside playing across the floor and opposite wall.

  Crouching low, peering out of the broken front windows of the building afforded him a fair view of the control tower and entrance of the field, a line of trucks waiting to exit, another line on the street waiting to enter, blocked by armed men thoroughly searching each one. “Oh what fresh hell is this…” he hissed, teeth clenched.

  “Those mercs have been out there for days…” whispered a voice from the darkness. Still in a crouch, Jack spun on the balls of his feet, the slug-thrower clearing leather at speed, his finger indexing on the frame above the trigger. “Easy, mister, don’t shoot me - I’m hiding from them just like you. Shooting wouldn’t do neither one of us any good.”

  “Move into the light where I can see you. Slowly, with your hands in the open,” growled Jack.

  “Sure, sure. Easy now,” the man breathed, “I got nothing, I can’t hurt you.” The man’s face looked pale, smudged with dirt as he passed through the light, grimy hands out in front of him. “If you’re thinking of going over the wall, don’t. You can’t go over anywhere, it’s electrified.”

  “Really…” Jack said deadpan.

  “Yeah. Enough to kill the glider monkeys that try to get over from the jungle side…” He extended his hand in greeting, “Name’s Porte…”

  Jack ignored the hand, taking a quick glance over his shoulder out through the broken glass, “Don’t need to know, don’t care,” he interrupted, turning back, the muzzle of the gun still pointed at the man.

  Disappointed, the man withdrew his hand with a shrug, “Just trying to get back to my ship, the Galixus.”

  “They looking for you?”

  “Oh, I hardly think so…”

  Jack’s eyes narrowed, “Then why are you hiding?”

  “Because they don’t look particularly friendly… and…”

  Steele raised an eyebrow, “And what?”

  The man hesitated, reluctance obvious, “Well… I don’t want to share… what we found…”

  “We?”

  “Me and my crewmates…”

  Jack felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up, “And, where are they?”

  “Dead,” his voice cracked. “I’m the only one that made it out of that horrid jungle alive,” he said, a physical tremor washing over him. His eyes; wide, glazed, wet, told a greater story - one he probably wouldn’t be able to verbalize for some time. “That jungle… it’s an evil place, he whispered, as if something was listening. “Everything wants to kill you… horrible things…”

  “Then you have no crew,” said Jack, rather matter-of-factly.

  The man’s eyes stared blankly for a moment before he nodded towards the gate, “The Chief. He stayed back on the Galixus - waiting for parts. He thought we were all crazy,” smiled the man, briefly. “He may have been right, it was an insane idea. We were stupid, naïve, we thought it would be a great adventure… Our little expedition to search for lost treasure - gold, precious gems…”

  “Did you find any?” Jack had to face the fact that this man might be the only survivor by design as opposed to circumstance. A murderer instead of a survivor. He made a conscious move to angle the slug-thrower down to a low ready position, his forearm drawn back against the side of his body, not ready to return it to its holster yet.

  “Yeah, sure. But it wasn’t worth it. I lost my brother and two of my best friends in that jungle…” Tears streaming down his face, he suddenly looked more like a frightened college kid, than a hardened, professional, interstellar traveler.

  “How many were in your group?”

  “S-s-seven,” he stuttered. “Eight… s-s-seven.”

  “Which was it then? Seven or eight?” asked Jack, suspiciously.

  “There were eight of us altogether, s-s-seven were lost…” he heaved a sob, his body wracking.

  Something was off; Steele felt an uneasiness within himself; doubt, suspicion, a nagging in the back of his mind, a little voice… Having adjusted to the darkness, his eyes scanned the deep shadows behind the man, several shapes on the floor looking like backpacks or duffel bags. His ears buzzed with the sudden silence, a prickly sensation running up the back of his neck. A low, almost imperceptible growl caught his attention, his eyes darting back to the man, who’s entire persona had changed to something more primal, animalistic. Eyes wide, mouth open, breathing ragged and deep…

  “Not for you,” he snarled angrily, his teeth gnashing, the depth of his voice having dropped to something subhuman. “Mine. MINE. Belongs to ME.”

  “Easy, kid,” soothed Jack, taking a step back, “I don’t want any…”

  “Everybody wants,” snarled the young man, spittle flying, seething with rabid anger, any last vestiges of sanity disappearing in a blink.

  Jack wished he had made a point of catching the man’s name instead of dismissing it, “Look, kid, I don’t want anything from you, I don’t need anything from you…” he took another step back, wanting to increase the distance between them, knowing there wasn’t enough space in the room to give him proper response time - he didn’t want to have to shoot him. “I only want to get to the tower to see if I have a message…”

  It was like watching a short circuit in slow motion, first one eye blinked, then the other, the face and expression suffering from a series of twitches and spasms. He didn’t even look human anymore and Jack felt a certain amount of pity for him - though not to the point that he let his guard down, continuing to ease away, remembering well the Tueller Drill from his police academy days, where a man can cross twenty-one-feet in a second-and-a-half. And what about a half-man, half… whatever this guy was turning into. He reached back behind him angling for the broken wall where he came in, feeling his way out, backward. “I’m just going to go out and get a breath of fresh air…” he said calmly, reassuringly. “You just try to relax and take it easy.”

  The kid took a quick glance to his right, out the broken front windows, his attention snapping back to Jack, “You’re going to go tell them about my treasure!” he hissed.

  As much distance as Jack had created, as much as he was expecting it, as much as he was prepared for it, he’d been right, it wasn’t enough. The Tueller Drill be damned, the kid cleared the gap with one, unhuman leap, that shouldn’t be physically possible. But crazy can be like that.

  It was so fast, Jack couldn’t even sidestep or bring the muzzle of the slug-thrower up enough to hit the blur that drove
over him like a bus running behind schedule. Landing on the concrete floor hard and fast, his vision filled with stars, fighting to take a breath. Barely managing to maintain his grip on the slug-thrower as they crashed to the floor, he was reduced to pure defense, holding off his attacker with his left arm, his gun-hand trapped under the shin of a madman who clawed at him, trying to bite his face. Foam forming around the corners of his mouth, clawing hands, the kid tried to pull himself closer, Jack fighting to keep him at arm’s-length, holding him up off his body. Muscles burning with exertion, his arm began to shake and give, the dirty face drawing closer. Filthy teeth, exposed in the ghoulish grin of the insane, exhaling a cloud of noxious stench, discouraging Jack from taking the breath he needed to stay conscious.

  Turning his face away as they grew closer, Jack’s arm muscles failing under the strain, he managed to lift with his legs enough to twist his hips, freeing his gun-hand as gnashing teeth passed so close, he could feel the moisture on his face. Half-rolling to the left, facing each other, Jack couldn’t hold him away any longer, his arm too fatigued to offer any resistance when the kid pulled him in… PWOM! The contact-shot painted half of the slug-thrower red as the round blew through the kid’s hip, through his pelvic girdle and out his back, the floor stuccoed with pulverized bone fragments and blood.

  Screaming in agony - a wounded wild animal howl, the kid released his grip and rolled on his back, allowing Jack time to scramble himself backwards across the floor, still reeling from the viciousness of the attack, flashbacks filling his mind of a similar horror with something called a Volken. He backpedaled on his butt and hands, resting back against some anonymous piece of furniture he cared less to identify. Pulling his knees up, his arms resting atop them, he tried to clear the stars from his vision, get some clear air and shake some feeling back into his numb left arm, pins-and-needles creeping into his left hand.

  “You’re fucking nuts,” rasped Jack, still sucking air in gulps. The kid rolled up on one elbow and snarled at him. Hands still draped over his knees, Jack raised the muzzle of the slug-thrower, pointing it in his direction, “Stay the fuck over there…” he warned, “or so help me…” Flipping over on his stomach, the kid scrambled wildly with his arms, his mostly-useless legs trailing behind him, his mouth open in a frothy, animalistic screech.

  The slug-thrower barked as Jack launched himself vertical, aided by another spike of adrenalin as he stumbled to one side, firing as he sidestepped from teeth and nails, PWOM, PWOM, PWOM!

  The final round finished it, a rotten pumpkin-esque mess spread across the floor, long stringy bits squirming through the mush, a foul stench instantly filling the room. “Oh, you poor bastard,” gagged Jack, catching himself on a wall. He held himself up as he wretched, spilling the entire contents of his guts in great heaves. “You,” he spat at the corpse, pointing the slug-thrower in its direction, “this is your fault! I didn’t want your damn treasure…” His tone had switched from anger to sympathy. “What the hell happened to you, anyway?” Holstering the gun, he glanced over at the bags on the floor, “What was so valuable you were willing to die for?”

  Pulling a bag over to the sliver of light from outside, crouching down, Jack had to know… Obviously something had happened to the young man in the jungle; infection? Animal bite? He had clearly lost his mind. Or been driven mad… He unzipped the long duffel…

  “HOLY SHIT!” he screamed, scrambling backwards on his hands and butt for the second time in as many minutes. On a bed of raw diamonds glittering like ice, three eyeless skulls in various stages of decomposition stared up at him, each eye socket plugged with lumps of gold or diamonds. Humanoid teeth marks could be seen on what remained of the facial flesh. Jack vaulted to his feet, his skin crawling, trying unsuccessfully to erase what he’d seen by wiping his hands vigorously on his pants. “You sick fuck,” he breathed, “you ate them?” He glanced back at the corpse on the floor, “You ate your friends? What the HELL is wrong with you?”

  “Where? Where?”

  “Over here! The shots came from over here…!”

  Ears still ringing, Jack whipped around, the voices coming closer from outside the front of the building, a cadre of heavy footfalls accompanying the shouts.

  “Son-of-a-bitch,” he growled, glancing down at the corpse as he headed for the opening in the wall through which he’d entered, “You’re on your own you freaking nightmare.” He sprinted up the street, back the way he’d came, “How the hell am I going to get to the tower now, dammit?”

  CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN

  UFW REVENGE, BYAS-KUYOL : BAD NEIGHBORHOOD

  Continuing to operate under Dark Cover protocol, the Revenge descended through the atmosphere from the lone navigation beacon, down towards Byas-Kuyol spaceport as the Raven.

  “Skipper, incoming comm from Byas-Kuyol tower.”

  Commander Brian Carter slid out of his Captain’s seat to stand in the center aisle between them, doing an unconscious adjustment of his jacket. This was quite possibly the most important mission he’d ever had and for both professional and personal reasons, he was filled with trepidation; he did not want to fail Jack, if it truly was Jack, but he also realized the Revenge would be a great prize - if he put it, and his crew, in a position of capture. “On screen, Ensign…”

  “Sir, it’s voice only.”

  Brian glanced sideways, “You’re kidding.” It was more a statement of disbelief than a question.

  “Negative sir - looks like they have no video communication capability.”

  Almost disappointed, a sliver of suspicion crept into his mind and Brian slid back into his command seat, “Let’s hear it.”

  “Raven, this is the Byas-Kuyol control tower, what is your business here?”

  “Greetings, Control. We need some ground-time for hull inspection and possible maintenance. Maybe a day or two.”

  “Raven, be informed we have little in the way of equipment or services for those kind of needs…”

  “Understood, Control. We are confident we will be able to complete any maintenance required with the equipment and manpower on board the Raven. We simply felt it would be easier on-ground than in zero G.”

  “Copy, Raven, you are cleared to land. No current traffic; pick your approach lane, pick your pad. Welcome to Byas-Kuyol.”

  “Comm-link closed, Skipper.”

  Brian nodded his acknowledgement as he paged through systems tabs on one of his holo-screens. He turned toward Raulya at tactical, “Lieutenant, any word from our shuttle or the Reaper?”

  Raulya ran her fingers through her thick golden mane as she turned her seat, “The Reaper is station-keeping out of sight on the fringe of the jungle bordering the back side of the landing field, her ARC system active. With the onset of darkness, the shuttle has dropped in on the far side of the city and is working its way toward the visual signal we detected.”

  “Any indication that the control tower is aware of either of our birds at this point?”

  “None, sir.”

  Brian took a deep breath, a mixture of hope, apprehension, and dread swimming through him. “Just as we discussed - three security teams - one on the apron at the ramp, the second as the inspection team and the third on me for our little visit to the tower…”

  “Commander,” reminded Raulya, “I would be remiss if I did not object to you leaving the bridge. I should be the one to go with the security team to conduct the interview with the tower personnel.”

  “Heh,” chuckled Brian, “you’re not leaving tactical, Lieutenant. If it gets messy, I need the best I’ve got, covering our ass…”

  “Aye, Sir.”

  “Gunners at stations?”

  “Aye, Sir. All manned, all power cells at full charge, main guns loaded heavy with HE. All stations in standby mode, passive power is non-detectable…”

  ■ ■ ■

  Several ships sat scattered on the field, a ring of hand-placed lights around each one providing functional but inadequate illumination. A service
truck had just departed the Raven, the ground crew having deposited about a dozen lights for the same purpose.

  Sitting on a pad less than a hundred yards from the tower, Brian glanced over his shoulder at the machinations set in play to allow his crew to kill time while searching for Jack. A security team hung around the ramp, fully armed and armored as another group, discreetly armed, went about the act of inspecting the hull with hand-lights in the darkness, inch-by-inch, their long shadows cast by the port’s field lights, crisscrossing back and forth.

  With a discreetly armed and armored team of three, Brian strode toward the tower, looking exactly like the freelance ship owner he pretended to be, with a protection team of trained professional mercenaries in attendance.

  ■ ■ ■

  Moving over to the command chair allowed Raulya to monitor all the tactical challenges as well as ship operations.

  “Lieutenant, comm coming in from the shuttle…”

  “On screen, Ensign.” A comm square flickered and winked into clarity on the main screen, the shuttle pilot’s helmeted face appearing in the glow of his instruments, “Raven, Rescue One; that infra-red beam you picked up on scans, is a pretty weak signal, I’d estimate a homebuilt, but it actually has a flash pattern…”

  Raulya cocked her head to one side, “Is it a repeating pattern?”

  “Affirmative, Raven. It appears to be intentional.”

  “Rescue One, forward us the pattern and stand by…”

  ■ ■ ■