I turned to Bob and slipped her half of a fresh envelope I had purchased from my visor-masked friend, courtesy of my dwindling bank account. “You clear on your part?” I muttered.
“Crystal,” she said. “After this are you going to teach me how to shoot?”
“We’ll see,” I answered. “Depends on how things go. Got your phone?” Bob opened her dress, showing me a phone floating inside her body where a solid person’s torso should be. “Good. Call me once you’re in position, then bail and meet me back at the safehouse. No good reason for you to stick around.” Over Bob’s fake shoulder I spotted the intern hustling towards us with an arm full of caff. “Okay, here he comes. Follow the script this time, no improvising.”
“I have the caff, the caff, I have the caff,” the intern chattered, holding up his prize.
“Good. Escort Agent Blue and execute the mission. Remember, the fate of the free world depends on you,” I said imperiously. The intern scampered off, Bob in her red wig following along behind. I watched for a second and then headed off in the opposite direction towards an abandoned building a few blocks away I had scouted earlier.
I wished I was going with them.
Chapter 15
I
paced back and forth, nervous as a six-tailed Kinto at a rocking chair contest, looking at my phone and mentally willing it to ring. Two minutes. Three minutes. Then five and six. At seven I was gripping Roosevelt and making ready to storm Channel 99 News, halfway out the safehouse door when the phone rang.
“Bob?” I asked, tension making my voice crack.
“Yes, who else would it be?” Bob’s voice said. “I’m all patched in and ready to go. I think something’s wrong with the connection, you sound funny.”
“Must be my sinuses. Did the extra flavoring get delivered?”
“On time and as smooth as banyam pudding. Agent Gopher did his part, I have visual confirmation of successful insertion.” Bob giggled, a weird sound coming from an amorphous blob. “Do you think the No Such Agency is hiring? This is fun!”
It might be fun for Bob, but I was a nervous wreck. Being on the sidelines and calling the shots wasn’t easy, knowing that other people’s lives were on the line and depending on you getting it right the first time. Give me a nice clean shootout any day of the week.
“Agent Gopher, huh?” I said, putting my phone on speaker and tapping an icon to connect to the hacked data feed Bob was providing. A display popped up, giving me visuals of the newsroom and adjoining studio. Live and direct, perfect.
“Well I had to call him something and intern is so demeaning. He’s actually kinda sweet. Oh, and he gave me his report. Lots of juicy stuff in here. Did you know the lead camera technician steals paperclips and chews with his mouth open?”
“Sounds really juicy,” I said distractedly, fingering the override controls and waiting for the right moment.
“Oh, and the Station Manager, Yarrow Barkofit, is a webosexual, married to his cartoon pillow. They had a ceremony and everything. Very plush, I mean posh,” she said, giggling again.
I stopped what I was doing. “Really? So, Yarrow isn’t involved with either Viphres Nechun or Fwunky Moh'na?”
“Viphres Nechun yes, but not Moh'na. Yarrow is Fwunky Moh'na’s distant cousin somehow. Does that make his wife Moh'na’s pillow-in-law?” That weird giggle again. “I wonder what she bought for a wedding gift. Oh, I know! Probably some stuffed toys to keep the pillow company during the day. In any case, Gopher’s report says Moh'na is sleeping with her co-anchor, Dh’oug, and has been since he arrived, about a year before The Event. Apparently Dh’oug and Moh'na used to know each other. They’ve been keeping the relationship quiet, so they won’t turn the nightly news into a soap opera, but everyone in the studio knows.”
My brain skidded around, puzzle pieces I had so carefully slotted together coming apart at the seams. If Moh'na wasn’t involved with Yarrow Barkofit, then that meant... I cycled the cell phone controls, squinting at the small screen. Grabbing control of Camera 2, I forced it to zoom in on the co-anchor. Similar facial construction, different hair, darker skin, but definitely the same species as Moh'na. I cursed at my blind focus, so sure I was right that I never stopped to consider other possibilities.
“Okay, change in plan. We’re going off script,” I warned Bob, my finger hovering over a big red button on my phone. “Get ready to improvise.”
I tapped once, then twice.
Showtime.
Chapter 16
“…a
nd in other news, the Fisted Tongues announced a benefit tour for the victims of the Science Facility disaster,” Fwunky Moh'na said, reading from a teleprompter next to the camera and slightly slurring her words. Her perfectly arranged pink feathers were primped to perfection, each one carefully arranged to highlight her features and draw the viewer's eye. “Three days after the disaster, the area remains cordoned off as officials continue to work the scene and search for clues. Still no word yet on a possible cause, but sources within the investigation hint at a possible terrorist plot.”
“But you know that’s a lie, don’t you?” a voice boomed over the newsroom speakers, startling everyone. “There is no terrorist plot, there never was. Tell everyone the truth, don’t be shy.”
“Yes,” Fwunky Moh'na said, looking surprised to be answering the question. “I mean, yes. What?”
“In fact, you orchestrated the whole thing. Organizing the protests, fanning the controversy,” the voice said. Yarrow Barkofit, the station manager, gestured wildly for someone, anyone to cut off the audio feed. He might as well have his pillow do it for him for all the good it was doing. “It must have taken a lot of planning. Go ahead, tell us the truth. Tell us how long it took.”
“Weeks,” Moh'na said, raising her hands to her face, surprised at her lack of control.
“Put your hands down,” the voice ordered. Moh'na’s hands dropped, landing on the table with a thump, her face registering shock and horror at what was happening. “Keep them there. Doesn’t feel so good to be on the receiving end of your own product, does it?”
“No,” Moh'na said, her co-anchor Dh’oug whispering frantically with Yarrow, the two waving their arms at each other and looking around.
“But you couldn’t do it alone, could you Moh'na? You had help from someone. Someone you trusted. Who was that someone, Moh'na?” the voice boomed.
Moh'na struggled to keep her lips together, finally blurting out, “Dh’oug!” Dh’oug jerked around like someone had plugged him into an electrical outlet, his eyes almost popping out of his head.
‘Yes, Dh’oug, your partner, and not just on set. Was it your idea or Dh’oug’s to kill Doctor Kaheck?” Moh'na shook her head, clamping her lips together and refusing to answer, struggling against the chemical compulsion of Wicked Yellow, batch fifty-one. “So, it was yours. Was it also your idea to blow up the facility and hurt all those people, wiping out the best and brightest the city had to offer?”
“It wasn’t supposed to happen!” Moh'na blurted out. “Dh’oung was only supposed to set fire to Kaheck’s lab, destroying the equipment and any evidence while I covered the protest. It was only supposed to be a small fire, spur emergency response to the scene in the middle of a riot for viewer ratings. The building wasn’t supposed to blow up and kill everyone!”
“Shut up, you stupid lintik!” Dh’oug screamed, leaping across the desk to grab Moh'na by the throat. One of the camera crew wrestled him off, leaving Moh'na sitting at the news desk looking shell-shocked. Yarrow the station manager ran off, still waving his arms, his nose in full up-periscope mode.
“Was adding in Holmium part of the original plan?” the voice boomed. “Speak up, tell everyone the truth.”
“No,” Moh'na said reluctantly. “It was Kaheck’s, his way of giving our drug a little something extra, to keep us ahead of the curve. I don’t know where he got it from, he wouldn’t tell us, just that he had access and nobody else did. By the time Dh’oug and I fo
und out it was too late, Kaheck’s latest batch was already on the market and in demand. I tried to stop it, I really did,” Moh'na sobbed, tears running down her face. “I knew what the effects could be, I still remembered enough biochem before switching majors. But the money kept coming in, so we came up with the idea of me doing a report about the new designer drug hitting the streets.” She laughed bitterly. “My own drug, one I thought up my first year at Xeno State but never finished. I’d be looking into myself, a golden opportunity to shape the story, take control of the narrative. Then copycats started popping up, creating an even bigger demand and suddenly Kaheck got scared, wanted to quit before things got out of control. He threatened to go to the police, turn over everything, research, notes, samples, even video of the three of us together.”
“You idiot!” Dh’oug snarled, a boxy Yelmex wearing a security guard uniform rushed into the studio, pushing the cameraman away from his equipment before racing over to grab a now livid Dh’oug. “Shut up! Shut up! Can’t you just shut up for once in your life!”
“You can’t, can you Moh'na?” the voice boomed. “You can’t shut up. You have to keep talking. And talking. And talking. Because that’s what batch fifty-one of Wicked Yellow does, doesn’t it? Makes it so you can’t resist doing what you’re told, no matter how much you want to do otherwise. At some point you’re so far gone you can’t do anything on your own, free will completely gone. Just like it happened all those years ago on Inzae-5. Then all it takes is someone without a shred of decency to tell you to…”
“No!” Moh'na screamed, standing up from the news desk so fast her chair rocketed backwards and cracked the wall screen behind her. She covered her ears with hands, pink feathers in disarray. “No, no, no, not that, no, no, please Space no.”
“Moh'na stop breathing!” Dh’oug yelled out from where he was struggling with the security guard, carefully made up hair undone and a fresh cut over one eye. “Stop breathing right now!”
“No, no ,no” Moh'na chanted, collapsing to the floor, her hands still over her ears. “No, no, no, please, no.”
The feed vanished.
Chapter 17
“B
ob, what’s going on?” I demanded, mashing the screen with my thumb.
“They cut the power!” Bob replied, her voice stressed. “The whole station is dark. I can’t see anything!” A banging noise came over the phone. “Jazz, I think someone’s trying to break in!”
I scooped up my phone and bolted from the room shouting into my phone. “The air ducts! Find an air duct and get out like you did last time.”
“There isn’t any! It’s a server room with all their data and backup files, it’s fully sealed in case of a fire!” Bob cried, rising panic in her voice. “There’s no way out!”
I hit the stairs running, holding onto a wobbly banister with one hand and my phone with the other. “Keep it together, I’m on my way,” I said, crashing through the outside door and bowling over a pedestrian.
“Jazz, I’m scared. This isn’t fun anymore,” Bob said, real terror coming over the connection.
“You’ll be fine,” I said soothingly, trying to believe it myself. I ran into traffic, hoping automatic guidance systems would do their jobs and keep from turning me into red jelly. Three blocks, then two. Why did we have to pick a safe house so blasted far away? What was wrong with the caff shop and free refills?
“Find a box, a drawer, an empty cup, anything. Squish inside, hide. I’m almost there,” I said, legs pumping, breath coming in ragged gasps. The Channel 99 News building loomed ahead, people spilling out from the open doors and looking confused. Everyone was standing around and jabbering, yapping into their phones and wondering if maybe they should call someone.
I hit the crowd hard, knocking people aside. “Make a hole! Make a hole!” I bellowed. They weren’t moving fast enough so I pulled Roosevelt and cranked off a round, aiming upwards and not giving a damn where the bullet landed. The boom of exploding gunpowder combined with forty grams of lead breaking the sound barrier made it clear I wasn’t asking nicely. The crowd got the message and bolted, vanishing as quickly as their feet and flippers could take them.
I burst through the front entrance of the station, waving Roosevelt around in the lobby and barking into my phone. “Which way, right or left?”
“Left, then right, and left again,” Bob said, her voice muffled. “Down a hallway with green stripes. Hurry, I think they’re almost through!”
“Going as fast as I can,” I grunted, bouncing off a wall as I ran, dim emergency lighting practically useless. Left, then right. Or was it right then left? Space it, pick one. Green stripes, that’s a good sign. The mangled door yawning open was an even better one, and I skidded to a stop next to it, peeking around the opening to get a look before bursting in unannounced.
Yarrow Barkofit was nosing around, his impressive schnozz doing most of the work. A security goon holding a pry bar in a three-fingered hand was hovering nearby, trying to look helpful.
“I know somebody was in here,” Yarrow said angrily, poking at the outfit Bob had left behind. “I heard talking while you were breaking open the door. If you had used the key card like I said, we could have grabbed them before they escaped.”
“Key card didn’t work,” the goon rumbled, his large ears flopping back and forth.
“Because you cut the power to the whole station instead of just the studio, you idiot! Oh, never mind. This is a waste of time. Go get the power turned back on. I’ll stay here in case whoever it was shows back up,” Yarrow ordered. I turned and ran as lightly as I could back the way I had come, ducking into an alcove just as the goon entered the corridor. I held my breath as he lumbered by, floppy ears swinging back and forth. I counted to ten before checking to make sure the coast was clear and then headed back to rescue Bob.
Yarrow was pawing at the dress and wig Bob had been wearing, rubbing them between his fingers and sniffing them. “I know someone was here,” he muttered. “I can smell it. Why can’t I find them?”
“That’s because you’re useless!” I said loudly, coming through the busted door and letting Roosevelt lead the way. “Completely and utterly useless!”
“You!” Yarrow said, turning to look at me and falling backwards in surprise. “Who are you?”
“Like I said last time, if I told you, I’d have to shoot you.” I pulled the hammer back on Roosevelt, the metallic sound loud and nasty in the darkened server room. “Do you really want me to shoot you? No? Then let me ask the questions.” I took out a clear plastic envelope half full of yellow powder, contents glittering in the weak emergency lighting. “Do you know what this is?” I demanded, waving it in front of him. “Sure, you do, since you’ve been making it along with Fwunky Dh’oug and Moh'na.”
“That’s a lie!” Yarrow said, his nose wiggling back and forth.
“Is it?” I said, tossing him the envelope and pulling out my phone. “Special Branch has been watching you for a long time, Yarrow. Have to admit, it took us a while, but we finally figured it out,” I said, thumbing away at it one-handed. “Your wife was a big help,” I bluffed, flipping the phone around to show him a picture of a cartoon pillow from an online shopping site.
“Don’t hurt her!” Yarrow gasped, reaching out for my phone, his nose going slack. I pulled it back and showed him the business end of Roosevelt instead.
“Pretty clever scam, creating a need and filling it,” I said, moving around the server room and keeping Yarrow’s attention on me. One of the drawers slid open and a tentacle peeked out. I shook my head and Bob disappeared, the drawer sliding closed with a soft click.
“At first, I thought it was you and Moh'na, then just Dh’oug and Moh'na, and finally maybe you and Dh’oug. But then it struck me – why not all three? You for the startup capital and a way to launder money through the station, Dh’oug for the sleaze and charm, and Moh'na for the pretty face to keep the plebs tuning in.” I kept talking, half bluffing and half putting the puzzle
together in real time.
“Once I had that the rest was easy. All the parts were there, ready to be picked up. Unhappy biochem researcher with bills to pay, overlooked by his coworkers who were getting all the fun jobs trying to resurrect lightspeed tech. A restless population growing increasingly worried about being cut off from the rest of the universe, out of work spacers causing their own problems and looking for a way to fill the empty hours. A captive consumer base but dwindling ad revenue, nobody willing to pony up enough credits to keep the station on the air and broadcasting without any fresh off-world programming to feed the masses.” I rattled off, stepping to one side to keep Yarrow focused on me and not the drawer Bob was hiding in.
“That’s not how it happened, it was…” Yarrow tried to interrupt, but I wasn’t giving him the chance. I was on a roll and feeling it, the pieces slotting into place nicely.
“So, when Dh’oug and Moh'na mentioned an old biochem friend dabbling in designer drugs you didn’t waste a second, did you? All that money must’ve sounded pretty good to a desperate man with a fresh pillow at home. But that wasn’t enough, was it? You had to take it up a notch. So, you stirred up some civil unrest, got Moh'na to cover the protests and let everyone know your fancy new drug was behind things. The ultimate in fake news, create the controversy and get paid for it. Everyone’s a winner.” I kept moving around as I worked through my theory, attention completely focused on Yarrow and brain cranking along in overdrive.
“Yes,” Yarrow gasped, his nose slack and eyes glassy, the plastic bag of yellow powder gripped tightly in one hand. “But it wasn’t me, it was Dh’oug. It was all his idea, not mine. He set things up, brought Kaheck in, gave him Moh'na’s old formula. I didn’t want to have anything to do with it, Dh’oug made me, forced me,” Yarrow whined. “He found out I was cheating on my wife with Viphres Nechun and threatened to tell everyone unless I did what he said. It was all his plan, not mine. I just went along with it. Can’t you see, I’m the victim here!”
Sour Notes Page 9