Death Drop (The D-Evolution)

by Sean Allen

  Bertie retracted his arms to his sides and Malo slowly stood up. He rolled his shoulders and then flexed the fingers of his left hand as he felt the last of his pain subside. He rotated his arm in a gigantic circle and his finger tips lightly brushed the ceiling, sending a small wisp of dust fluttering down and landing gently on Bertie’s flat surface.

  Bertie gave three distinct brushes at the grains of dirt; then pointed an outstretched finger and shook it indignantly at Malo.

  “Malo feel good.”

  “You could put that arm through the hull of a star freighter without hurting yourself,” Dr. Blink said.

  “Um—er—DO NOT put your arm through the hull of a star freighter, Malo—Doctor’s orders!” he amended sternly, looking up at the roguish grin on Malo’s mouth before turning to face Colonel Abalias.

  “Thank you, Colonel. I don’t think I would’ve been able to save his arm without your quick action.”

  “Don’t mention it,” the colonel said dismissively.

  “Are you all right?” asked Blink.

  “It’s really nothing—I’ve done much more than that in my time,” he said with a mischievous glint in his eye.

  Blink had a thousand more questions about the colonel’s powers burning in his mind, but before he could start his inquisition, Otto beat him to the punch.

  “Now I know why your office is always so damn cold!” Otto exclaimed. “That was amazing, Colonel!”

  “Well, my body gives off cold like yours does heat. So, the room isn’t actually colder, my being in it just makes it that way. I actually prefer the heat—I’m permanently cold, so being anywhere warm is like a nice vacation.” He allowed himself a rare bit of humor and it worked flawlessly as everyone, except Malo and Bertie, shared an enthusiastic chuckle.

  “Malo kill Mewlatai now.”

  Malo’s solemn words brought the colonel, Otto and Dr. Blink crashing back to the grave reality their laughter had momentarily released them from just seconds before.

  “Yes, Malo,” Abalias said. “Tell me what happened with the Mewlatai after you posted on the plateau.”

  “Fish man and Malo cover entrance. Wait for Mewlatai. Ship land…”

  “What kind of ship, Malo?” Otto interjected. “Do you remember?”

  “Black—dark—Zebulon,” Malo growled.

  “Zebulon?!” Otto said with disbelief. “A dark black, Zebulon star freighter?”

  Malo nodded in confirmation and then snorted in disgust.

  Otto slowly lifted his hand to his mouth and placed his first three fingers to his lips. He stood there silently as Colonel Abalias continued the debriefing, and he had the appearance of someone who had figured out the deepest, darkest secret of the universe but didn’t quite believe it yet.

  “Then what happened?” the colonel continued, casting a curious, sideways glance at Otto.

  “Mewlatai land. Inject fish man…inject…fish man…with poison. Try to inject Malo. Malo try to SMASH!” he roared, and this time it was the colonel’s turn, along with everyone else—including Bertie—to jump in surprise. “Malo fail. Mewlatai too fast, too strong. Hurt Malo’s arm, knock down. Inject Malo…”

  “Injected you?” All three questioned him simultaneously.

  “How could he have injected you? If the Mewlatai had injected you with poison, you would be dead!” the colonel said adamantly.

  “Not necessarily,” Dr. Blink countered as he approached Bertie’s side once again. “There are several possibilities that we may consider. First, the Mewlatai may not have injected Malo with enough poison to kill him. Given Malo’s size it’s possible but unlikely, because he hasn’t shown any symptoms of poisoning…” Dr. Blink paused and looked up at the Moxen giant. “You haven’t felt sick or thrown up since you were injected, have you, Malo?”

  Malo shook his head.

  “Then we must consider the possibility that the Mewlatai injected him with something else.”

  Otto and Colonel Abalias looked at each other with a shared expression of concern.

  “But, gentlemen, we won’t know what it is or if it’s dangerous or if it’s contagious until I draw some of Malo’s blood and run some tests.”

  Dr. Blink signaled to Bertie to prepare a syringe and his mechanical hand enthusiastically dove into another compartment. Suddenly the room vibrated again, only this time it shook more vigorously than when Malo had approached the outer door. Powerful booms cascaded down the corridor and slammed into the outer wall, sending a fine mist of rock dust floating from the ceiling. The sound grew louder as the room shuddered uncontrollably; and just when Colonel Abalias, Otto, Dr. Blink, and Malo seriously considered that the worn timbers supporting the excavated chamber might collapse under the strain of the quaking, the sounds stopped. At that moment, something knocked heavily at the examination room door.

  Boom! Boom! BOOM!

  “Come in,” the colonel said firmly.

  The door opened and something that looked like it had fallen from the rocky disks around the seventh moon of Aldeen trundled through the door. For all the weight of his footsteps, the figure was average in size and just short of Abalias’ full height. Now that he was in the room, the pounding of his walk was accompanied by the dull, dry sound of stone grinding against stone. Jagged spikes jutted from his brow and encircled his entire head, leaving a shallow crater in the center. He had sharp cheeks and dark eyes that were too small for his long features. If he had a nose, it was not visible in the countless cracks and indentations that adorned him, and a large portion of his face, just below his left cheek, looked like it had been broken off. A strap ran the expanse of his barreled chest and held an enormous gun in place across his back. He was carrying a large battle hammer in his big, rough hand and he used the other to raise a grinding salute to the colonel.

  “At ease, Sergeant Graale.”

  “Yes, sir.” The sergeant’s voice cracked with the same grinding noise he made when he moved, making everyone in the room wonder if his insides were as hard and as desolate as his gritty exterior.

  Sergeant Graale gave a slight grin as he leaned over and handed Malo his battle hammer before turning once again to face the colonel.

  “What’ve you got?”

  “Sir, our lookouts posted on the north and south ridges of the plateau overlooking entrance three have been found,” Sergeant Graale grumbled. “They’re all dead, sir. Two were discovered on the north ridge, one on the south and…one was found not far from this room.” Abalias cocked his head in contemplation. “He must have escaped from the ridge and headed for the infirmary to get help. As far as we can tell, it looks like they’ve all been injected with something.”

  “DAMMIT!” the colonel roared. “That Mewlatai dog poisoned them too!” Abalias stood shaking in fury, then he fixed his glare on Otto.

  “Major, you know more than you’re letting on! When Malo mentioned that the Mewlatai scum showed up in a black Zebulon star freighter, you realized something—WHAT IS IT?!” His formidable upper body was heaving up and down as ragged breaths billowed steam in front of his nose and mouth.

  “There is a runner, sir…and he is the very best. Over two hundred runs and he always wins.”

  “I’m not following, Major,” the colonel said with angry skepticism.

  “This runner, sir, it’s said he pilots a Zebulon star freighter—as dark as a Berudu night.”

  Otto had the colonel’s attention now.

  “You know ringers, Colonel. They’ll do anything to increase their chances of getting cargo to its destination as quickly as possible—it means a bigger payday for them. So a runner that keeps winning is in high demand and likely to be hired back until he loses or gets captured or…gets…”

  “Killed!” the colonel finished Otto’s sentence fervently and punctuated his anger by slamming his fist down on the empty desk he was once again standing behind.

  “So you see, Colonel, chances are if this runner has won over two hundred runs, then there’s no doubt that h
e has some pretty amazing abilities.” Otto paused and looked over at Malo, arching the thin lines of dark fur above his eyes. “And we all know about the physical capabilities of the Mewlatai, don’t we? And, because of his popularity with the ringers, he’s also likely to have smuggled the Serum back and forth a number of times. He may somehow have discovered what he was smuggling and who he was smuggling it for and infiltrated our operation. It’s just a theory, Colonel, but the pieces fit.”

  “They certainly do,” the colonel said with a faraway look. His eyes snapped back to their usual razor-edged clarity and he fixed them on Otto again. “How in the hell do you know all this, Major?”

  Otto became agitated and rubbed his webbed hands nervously against each other. “Well—um—you see,” he stammered with an uneasy grin, “I like to play the runners in Trillis, Colonel.”

  The colonel stared silently back and the uncomfortable pause made Otto feel nauseous. “I can’t believe I pay you enough to bet on anything in Trillis,” Abalias said with genuine surprise. “What a man does with his pay is his own business, and it certainly seems that your extracurricular activities have given us a good lead to follow for figuring out this damnable mess!”

  Otto stopped fidgeting with his paws and breathed easier.

  “Who do you place your bets on in Trillis, Major?”

  “They call him…The Ghost.”

  Chapter 9: Wretched Army

  “I see two possibilities,” Colonel Abalias continued. “Either this Mewlatai has gone rogue and is acting on his own as this Ghost character, or our Mewlatai allies have turned against us. But in either case, I’ve never heard of a Mewlatai breaking his code of honor for any reason—they’d rather die than be dishonored. It just doesn’t make any damn sense!”

  “Mewlatai rogue,” Malo grunted.

  The Colonel and Otto stared at the Moxen giant with doubt.

  “How do you know that?” Otto said.

  “Mewlatai say he find Serum maker and eat him. Say he kill entire house.”

  “He is a rogue Mewlatai!” the colonel gasped. “Did he say anything else, Malo?”

  “Name…Blangaris!” Malo spat out the word like it was bile, choking his throat and eating away at his tongue. Suddenly, an inferno ignited in Malo’s brain and the jolt of pain that went careening through his body caused his vision to blur momentarily.

  “Malo, are you all right?” Blink said.

  He moaned in pain and stumbled into Bertie, reaching out with his immense hands to catch himself. Before the doctor could climb the steps and look into Malo’s large pupils, the pain had vanished as quickly as it came.

  “What the hell happened?” the colonel asked.

  “Malo head hurt.”

  Colonel Abalias and Otto both turned to Dr. Blink with concerned stares.

  “Don’t get too excited, gentlemen. Malo has been through a tremendous physical, not to mention emotional, ordeal. It’s not uncommon to feel some after effects.” Dr. Blink was unruffled and his calm reaction soothed all of their doubts.

  “Can you contact your Mewlatai correspondent and ask him about this Blangaris?” Otto asked Abalias.

  “No, Major. The frequency is set to work one way only—from the Mewlatai to me. That’s all. We need to find out what he injected Malo with, and then I think I have a plan to find this Mewlatai and uncover the truth.”

  The colonel turned to Dr. Blink, who was standing next to Bertie. “Artie, are you going to tell us what he’s been injected with?”

  “Um—well—yes, you see—the problem—unfortunately, with the medical unit being evacuated…”

  “Spit it out, Artie!” The colonel had reached the end of his fuse.

  “I’m sorry, Colonel, I seemed to have used up my last syringe.”

  Colonel Abalias found it hard to believe that Bertie didn’t have a syringe hidden somewhere in his seemingly endless array of storage bins and compartments. He was about to express his disbelief to Blink, but the words didn’t have time to materialize; instead, they were forced from his mind by pure instinct and reflex.

  Abalias heard the shell hurtling through the air overhead before the explosion rocked the base. The frosted viewing panes of the examination room erupted in a splintering shower of razor sharp fragments and the heavy door, bent inward from the blast, ripped from its recesses and hurtled through the air as the colonel pounced on Dr. Blink, shielding him from the onslaught. He grunted in pain as the sharp quills on Blink’s back pierced his uniform and stabbed mercilessly at his torso.

  Otto was only a fraction of a second slower than Abalias as he dove to the other side of the desk and rolled beneath it. Once securely inside the desk’s cubbyhole, he pulled his gun from its holster at his hip and prepared to return fire.

  Malo was neither light nor nimble on his gigantic hoofed feet. Instead of resorting to impossible acrobatics, he tucked the upper portion of his snout in the crook of his elbow, defending his eyes from the blinding projectiles with his now armor-clad arm. The Moxen’s skin was tough and Malo suffered only a few nicks and scratches.

  Sergeant Graale simply closed his eyes and let the debris bounce harmlessly off his impenetrable body.

  Bertie had wheeled around toward the entrance and had his flat expanse elevated vertically again as if he was protecting the rest of the room’s occupants from another blast. His compartmentalized flanks were open, and he quickly removed the manacle device, the lighted attachment, and the inter-scanner and replaced them with hands.

  The attack alarm for the base had sounded and was wailing with amazing ferocity down the corridor and into the disheveled examination room.

  “Are you all right, Doctor?” Abalias shouted over the alarm as he stood upright and fingered the spiny objects that jutted from his abdomen and chest.

  “Um—I—don’t,” the doctor stuttered.

  “Are you hit?”

  “Hit—er—I don’t—”

  “Dammit, Artie! You’re a doctor—you should be able to tell me if you’re injured or not!” The colonel was in survival mode and his combat instincts did not allow for the time-wasting formalities of polite address. There was only time enough to keep everyone alive.

  “I’m—um—not injured. I’m—I’m okay…but you!” he stammered, straightening his half-moon spectacles now hanging sideways from his snout and motioning toward the quills in Abalias’ torso. “I’ll get some forceps and some disinfectant and something to stop the…”

  Abalias frowned at Blink and then ripped out the quills in large handfuls, exhaling in uncomfortable grunts as each batch of red-tipped spikes hit the floor.

  Dr. Blink could see the blood, a vivid crimson against the colonel’s perfectly white skin, begin to pool and then trickle downward. But then the advancing blood trails slowed and thickened, turning dark before vanishing: subsumed under a layer of ice that shimmered beneath the perfectly round holes in Abalias’ uniform.

  “There, that ought to stop the bleeding—don’t you think, Doc?”

  “Yes, yes…that should be sufficient,” muttered Blink in a disapproving, medical tone.

  Abalias pulled his gun from its holster and cocked back the heavy hammer. “Artie, you’re a helluva a doctor, but you’re in my world now. You’ve got to trust me, okay?”

  Dr. Blink did not answer but nodded dazedly in consent.

  “Good. Now get on my hip and stay there. I don’t want…what in the HELL!”

  Blink was shaking his head from side to side in disagreement and Abalias was certain the doctor was either scared out of his wits or had taken a hit to the head from the explosion.

  “Are you saying that you won’t get on my hip and stay there?” Abalias asked indignantly. The colonel was looking at Blink like he was torn between concern for an injured friend and loathing for a mutinous traitor.

  “With all due respect, Colonel,” Blink said as he motioned to his mechanized assistant. “Bertie.”

  Bertie flung all four hands into a separate compartmen
t and pulled them out again like he was drawing down on a lone gunman at high noon, but instead of a six-shooter in each of his robotic hands, Bertie clutched enough firepower to subdue a small enemy battalion.

  “Hmph.” The colonel stared admiringly at Bertie. “And that table of his?”

  “Should easily take anything short of anti-ship mortars,” Dr. Blink replied proudly, his confident tone somewhat restored by the asset he had provided to the group.

  “Well, Doc, why didn’t you say so? Everyone on Bertie’s hip! Malo, we’re going to try and keep this at a distance. I don’t suppose Bertie has an extra gun he can spare?”

  Without waiting for Dr. Blink’s response, Bertie handed one of his guns to Malo, who grabbed its frail handle in his enormous hand and slung his battle hammer across his back. Bertie immediately reached inside a compartment and was brandishing a firearm in each of his four hands once again.

  “Oh, I like him!” the colonel said ardently. “Okay, here’s the deal. Dr. Blink rides on Bertie along with the major. Malo, you make an awful big target, so I need you to crouch as low as you can behind them. After we emerge from the corridor into the open, Graale and I will move to the left and right flanks and draw any enemy fire away from you. Bertie, head straight up the middle between the rows of ships. We need to get into the yard and procure a ship before they’re all gone or destroyed. Got it?”