Dominant Species Volume Three -- Acquired Traits (Dominant Species Series)

by David Coy

  She imagined herself in her shelter and seeing the bomb go off from there. She saw the bright blast racing outward at light speed. Part of her liked that idea a lot.

  By the time she got back to the shelter, the dawn’s soft light soaked the air, and things were starting to form in shapes gray and green out of night’s blackness. She went in the back door and stripped out of her net suit. She always made it a habit of sticking the suit out far through a crack in the door and shaking it as hard as she could. This time a couple of big ones flew off it and bounced off the screen; just two more she wouldn’t have to chase around the lights the next evening.

  “How’d it go?” John asked.

  “Perfect. The egg is hidden,” Joan replied with her twisted grin as she sat down.

  “I say we call in as soon as it’s light,” he said.

  “Let ‘em get their coffee first,” Donna said. “They should be fully awake when the shit hits the fan. We want their little minds working well, and we can get a couple of hours of sleep ourselves.”

  They turned in, but no one really expected to sleep.

  Eddie lay on the sofa in the little living area and stared up at the ceiling. He was just starting to doze a little when he heard the commotion outside. It was a mix of angry voices, bumps and banging and then shouting. Long before he looked through the blinds, he knew in his guts what it was.

  Across the alley was another row of shelters, some deserted, a few occupied. He could see one of the shelters about twenty meters down with the lights on, and the front door swinging open. He saw hurried movement inside and could hear shouting. Another pair of soldiers was double-timing toward him. They marched past the one where the commotion was and went up the stairs of the next one in line. They banged on the door real hard; and when the occupant opened the door, they shoved past him and rushed in.

  They were looking for them, shelter to shelter.

  Eddie rushed down the hall and found Donna and John already with their rifles out. “Hey . . .”

  “We know,” John said. “We saw them already. Go unlock the front door, and then sit down in the kitchen. There’s another team coming from the other side. They’ve got one more stop before they get here.”

  Eddie raced down and unlatched the door. Donna took up a position just inside the first bedroom. From there she could step into the hall and cover the entire front section of the shelter. John moved to the rear door entryway and pressed himself against the wall.

  Joan went to the kitchen and sat next to Eddie. She took the detonator out of her pocket. “It’ll be okay. Don’t worry,” she said to him. She pressed two buttons and entered the access code she’d already programmed in. The display read ARMED. She rested her thumb on the DETONATE button.

  So simple.

  “Whew. I need some coffee,” she said lightly to break the iceberg-deep ice.

  “Me, too,” Eddie said.

  “Don’t worry,” she repeated breathlessly. “They’re not stupid. They’re not stupid . . .”

  Joan reached over, took Eddie’s arm, wrapped it around her own arm and put his hand over hers on the detonator. Eddie’s fingers floated over it.

  “It’s okay,” she said. “You won’t have to do anything. This is just in case. Just stay calm. They’re not stupid . . .”

  The pounding on the door made her stiffen, and her thumb went down until it actually made contact with the key. She could feel the sweat from Eddie’s hand on hers.

  “Come in!” she yelled. “The door’s open!”

  Two men in dirty uniforms burst through the door, rifles at the ready.

  “Stop right there!” Joan said to them.

  “Get up!” the first yelled at her. He was young and arrogant, red-faced and cocky, no more than twenty or so. The one behind him was older-looking and didn’t look at all bright.

  “Now, you listen to me, you sonsofbitches,” Joan said in a steady voice. “Do you know what this is?” She nodded at the detonator.

  “Your pussy! I said get up!” he ordered.

  “Listen, you stupid bastard. Look at this.” The open case the nuke came in was on the other side of the table, on the floor, smack between them. She kicked it with her foot. The soldier’s eyes glanced at it, and then went back for a longer look. She watched him scan the contents. “Can you read? Do you know what came in that box?” she asked. “It wasn’t candy.”

  She saw the younger soldier swallow as he studied the case. The remaining components and the warnings were plain enough.

  “This thing in my hands came out of the little slot in the upper left-hand corner of the case. Can you see what the label says on that little slot?”

  The soldier took a cautious step closer, his rifle aimed squarely at them. When he’d read the label, he stepped back. His eyes had lost their confidence; his demeanor all arrogance.

  “What is it?” the second asked.

  The first didn’t answer. Joan could see his mind racing behind his eyes. It gave her satisfaction, and she smiled.

  “What is it?” the second insisted.

  “Shut up!” the first said.

  “You’re getting it,” she smiled. “You’re a little slow, but you’re getting it.”

  “It’s bullshit,” the second said. “Shoot her.” He raised his rifle and aimed it at her.

  The first batted the rifle away. “No!”

  Joan laughed. “Good choice.”

  “What are you gonna do?” the first asked her.

  “Fuck you. You’ll find out. Put your weapons down.”

  “Fuck you,” he said. “I’ll never put my weapon down.”

  Joan smiled her twisted smile and looked at the soldiers standing in her kitchen with their big, vicious guns. They were dangerous men, stupid men, and greedy men. They were men without moral fiber. They were hired killers and torturers. They were the reason she was living in fear. They were the enforcers of someone else’s hideous will by hideous means. They were traders in blood and evil. She hated them. She looked at them and soaked up the hate, let it feed and strengthen her dark purpose. When the young soldier looked into her eyes and saw not fiery resolve, but cool certainty, he felt real fear for the first time in his young and arrogant life.

  Then, slowly, Joan’s smile lost its crazy edge and changed to one of kindness. She leaned over and kissed Eddie’s cheek. She closed her eyes. Eddie’s were wide, and he was trembling. The muscles in Joan’s hand prepared to do what her mind had already willed.

  “Stop!” the first screamed. “They’re down! Our weapons are down!”

  He put his rifle down so fast the motion was little more than a blur. The second hesitated just a second, then planted his on the floor with both hands. They both raised their hands and took a step back.

  Joan blinked and looked at the rifles on the floor like she didn’t recognize them. As if coming out of a trance, she blinked sleepily and stared into the red and fearful face of the young soldier.

  “Good,” she said with a twisted look. “That’s good. You did the right thing.”

  John came out from the back hallway and flanked the soldiers, his rifle pointed at them. “Get down,” he said. “Sit against the wall and shut up.” He picked up their weapons one at a time and leaned them in a far corner.

  Donna came down the hall followed by Rachel.

  “I guess you know who’s got the power now, huh, assholes?” Donna seemed to ask, but was really making a statement.

  The older one stared straight ahead. The younger, some shred of arrogance still left, met Donna’s gaze. “We’ll see,” he said.

  “Watch your tongue or you’ll get on my bad side,” Donna replied.

  “I take it you’re looking for us,” John said.

  “That’s right,” the younger said.

  “Looks like you found us,” Donna said. “Too bad for you.”

  The soldier smirked.

  “How many are out there?” Donna asked.

  “Twelve,” he said calmly. “Six te
ams.”

  “What happens when you don’t check in?"

  “Fuck off.”

  Donna took a step closer and put her rifle’s muzzle a few centimeters from the soldier’s nose.

  “You know,” she said, “I’ve been lied too and screwed over since I first heard of this goddamned planet. I’ve been dropped into the green from a goddamned shuttle by two fucks who thought it was funny. Then I marched through that fucking jungle for five days with nothing but the clothes on my back and muddy roots to eat. I’ve put up with bugs and rain and fucking monsters and parasites and bullshit ever since I got here. And on top of that I’ve killed four or five people.”

  “You won’t shoot.”

  “Why not?”

  “Guns make noise.”

  Donna laughed. “John, hand me that hammer from the tool bag. It won’t make much noise.”

  John plucked the hammer from the canvas tool bag on the counter and exchanged it for Donna’s rifle. She squatted next to the young soldier, hammer in hand.

  “You’d kill me if you had the chance, wouldn’t you?” she asked. “You wouldn’t even bat an eye. You’d do it because you’re tough. You’re tough inside. Well, I’ve got news for you. I’m twice as tough as you, and I’ll kill you twice as fast. What happens if you don’t check in?”

  The young soldier looked into Donna’s blue-brown eye. It was the strangest eye he’d ever seen. But he’d been scared enough for one day. And it just wasn’t part of his nature to be scared. Plus, he’d already given in once today and felt like a weakling because of it. She could kill him if she wanted.

  “Lyle Fabino, BCF88497,” he said with a smirk. “That’s all you’ll get from me.”

  Donna raised the hammer high and held it there for a second. Lyle Fabino looked up at it and figured that he had better than an even chance she wouldn’t bring it down on his head.

  He was right.

  Donna brought the hammer down on the soldier’s elbow with a crunch that made his mouth spring open in a silent scream. He grabbed the elbow with his hand, doubled over and started to rock, his eyes clamped shut.

  “Answer me,” Donna said.

  “We have to . . . to call in . . . after we leave each shelter” he croaked. “They check it . . . off the . . . list. That way they know . . . which ones have been covered . . . and which haven’t. It’s . . . no big . . . deal.”

  “It is now. Call in and tell them this one is clear,” she said, flipping the microphone up to his mouth. “Do it.”

  Fabino switched the unit on.

  “This is Fabino,” he said into it.

  “Go,” the voice at the other end said.

  He turned to his partner. “Uh, which one is this?” he asked innocently.

  “Uh . . . B9, I think,” the older one said.

  “B9’s clean,” Fabino said.

  “Roger,” the voice said. “Proceed to B12. No, wait. Go to B13. B12’s done.”

  “Roger.”

  “Turn it off and keep it off,” Donna said to him.

  He shut the unit off.

  “Good boy,” Donna said. She put the hammer on the table and took her rifle from John. She aimed it carelessly at the two men. “Now we have some time to think without interruptions,” she said with a self-satisfied smile.

  “Are we ready to make the call?” she asked Joan.

  “I’m ready.”

  “Then let’s do it.” She removed Joan’s pad from its kitchen mount and handed it to her. “You’ve got his number, right?”

  “Yeah, it’s there,” Eddie said. “I got it last night.”

  Joan turned the device on and brought up the speech they had prepared the night before. It wasn’t very long. She propped up the pad where she could read it.

  “Here goes,” she said, reaching for the phone.

  “You people are nuts,” Fabino said.

  “One more word, and I’ll castrate you with that hammer,” Donna said to him.

  “Yeah,” John added. “Shut up.”

  Joan plugged the phone into the pad for a visual link. She wanted Council member Theodore Ryder to see her face when she read the ultimatum.

  “Ready?”

  “Ready,” Donna said. She looked over at Rachel who was leaning against the wall in the hallway, arms folded. “Rachel?

  Are you ready?”

  “Oh, sure. I’m ready," she answered though everyone knew she wasn't ready at all.

  Joan called up Ryder’s name and dialed.

  The call was answered a moment later by a lovely and sleepy-eyed young woman. She was dressed in a house robe and her close-cropped hair was still wet from a shower.

  “You’re who?” she asked.

  “Joan Thomas,” Joan said firmly. “Get Ryder on the phone right now.”

  “You’re nobody. I can’t do that,” she said sweetly. “And how did you get this number?”

  “What’s your name?” Joan asked.

  “Elizabeth,” the girl sighed.

  “Well, Elizabeth, I may be nobody to you, but I guarantee you Council Member Ryder will want to hear what I have to say.

  “Oh, go away,” the girl said and broke the connection.

  “Did you see that!” Joan said. “That little bitch . . .”

  A moment later the phone in Council Member Ryder’s suite rang again. This time Elizabeth was greeted with a large red and white danger sign and the words NUCLEAR WEAPON. Just as the big ugly words were sinking in, that Joan person’s face came in from the side.

  “That’s what’s gonna explode,” Joan’s face said at an angle, “not five hundred meters from where you are—if you don’t get Ryder on the phone. Right now.”

  Elizabeth felt like hanging up and switching off the phone unit completely. She wanted to go back to bed. That’s what she usually did after her shower, just until she woke up completely. She’d wanted to masturbate, too, and think about that boy she saw in the elevator yesterday. He’d had a nice butt and a nice smile from a full mouth. She’d seen him before, but never up close. Up close he made her tingle. But she couldn’t go back to bed and masturbate now because of this angry contractor woman. Elizabeth knew what a nuclear weapon was and didn’t care to know any of the details about this person’s. All she knew was that this was getting kind of scary and maybe she should go get Ted.

  “Fine,” she huffed. “I’ll get him for you then. Geez!”

  “You do that,” Joan said.

  Joan squared herself in front of the camera and straightened her collar. She adjusted the screen and put the speech in one frame and the image of Ryder’s suite just below it. She could see enough of his living quarters to tell how wealthy he was. Nearly all of the sect’s members had given up their possessions during the move, but Ryder, and most of the other Council members had kept theirs. She watched as Ryder strode up to the phone and sat down. His demeanor was typical of the Council members—self-important and condescending. She could see it in his face before he spoke. He wasn’t physically ugly like Jacob, but Joan found him somehow as repulsive. He sat down in front of the camera and leaned in toward it, one eyebrow slightly up.

  “What is all this about?” he asked.

  “Is your recorder on, Council member?” she asked with stone in her voice.

  “It’s always on,” he said. His tiny mouth barely moved when he spoke.

  “Good. Let’s get something straight from the beginning. I’d like to tell you not to take any of this personally, but I can’t do that. I can’t tell you that because I take it very personally. So I want you to take it personally, too. I . . .”

  “What are you talking about?” he asked with a scowl.

  “Don’t interrupt me again,” her voice was as smooth as polished stone. The coolness in it made Ryder sit still and listen.

  “As I was saying,” she went on, “I take all this very personally. None of it is a matter of—of what do you call it?—abstraction or theory. It’s more . . .”

  “I don’t mean to i
nterrupt you,” he said almost gently, “but could you get on with whatever it is you want to say.”

  Joan paused and looked into the face on the screen. She couldn’t tell, to save herself, couldn’t put words to what it was she hated about him. She had felt the bottom of this man’s shoe on her back for as long as she could remember. It was there when she was born. It had been there on her father’s and mother’s back, her sister’s and brother’s, too. It had been there on her grandfather’s back and her grandmother’s. It had been there, pressing down on them for as long as anyone could remember. Was that it? Was it that simple?

  She smiled and almost giggled. Maybe the reason for her hate was simply in the look of Ryder’s teeny mouth. He had the thinnest lips she’d ever seen, so much so that the impression was of no lips at all. Across the space that should have been a top lip was a paltry and ridiculous mustache. It was blond and the texture of short, thin grass.

  It might as well have been that because it could have been anything, really. Her hate was so virulent and so persistent, it could have found root in any soil.

  “I hate your guts,” she said in a matter-of-fact voice. “And I hate your goddamned mustache. And I don’t give a goddamn what you think about it.”

  “You may at some point,” Ryder said.

  “I don’t think so.” She held up the detonator. “Do you know what this is?”

  Ryder studied it. “I can only imagine.”

  “Then I hope you have a good imagination—one good enough to imagine the destruction of the entire settlement.”

  “I see.”

  “Do you?”

  “I think so,” he smirked.

  “It’s power. It is the power on this planet right now.”

  “Is that so?”

  “Yes.”

  “We’ll see, won’t we?"

  “Yes, we will.”

  “You have a list of demands, I suppose,” he said with a frown.

  “Oh, yes.”

  “What are they?”

  Joan looked at the speech and skipped over the preamble they’d so carefully drafted the night before. It would be a waste of time to read it to him. She scrolled down to the list of demands. She might as well start at the bottom line. She cleared her throat, not out of nervousness but out of a desire to speak very, very clearly. She had no intention of repeating herself.