by Steve Voake
‘That certainly is unusual,’ said Joey. ‘No doubt about it. But then again, maybe your guys just had the good sense to wear some industrial strength insect-repellent.’
‘Well,’ said Bobby. ‘I’m definitely gettin’ me some of that before I walk out through those doors again.’
‘I wouldn’t bother,’ said the Colonel, peering out through the window. ‘There’s no sign of them now. They’ve completely disappeared.’
Joey was thoughtful as he gunned the motor back along the dirt track. He watched the clouds of dust kicking up in his rear-view mirror and ran his mind over the day’s events once more. Whatever those insects were, they didn’t resemble any biting fly he’d ever come across before. Glancing over at Bobby, he saw that he still held the glass sample tube with the dead insect safely wedged inside.
‘You take good care of that little critter now, Bobby,’ he said. ‘Don’t you lose him. When we get back we’re gonna find out exactly what he is. And then we’re gonna go back up there and give all his little friends the good news with a few hundred gallons of bug juice.’
He scratched irritably at the bites on his arm and spun the steering wheel around to bring the truck parallel to the edge of the quarry.
‘I’m telling you, Bobby. There ain’t no insect on the planet who’s going to get the better of Joey Pestralis.’
Unfortunately for Joey Pestralis, however, this was some way short of the truth. Because at that moment, the thick carpet of flies which had lain hidden beneath the seats of the truck rose into the air with a fearful buzzing and descended upon the terrified men like a plague from hell. And as Joey screamed and clawed at his eyes, the truck skidded off the road in a screech of tyre rubber and crashed over the precipice, its wheels spinning wildly in the air.
The only small consolation – if it could be described as such – was that, as they plunged towards the quarry floor two hundred metres below, the two men remained unaware of the sharp rocks that were rushing up to meet them. Unaware, that is, until they tore through the windshield and smashed their world into a million pieces, puncturing the fuel tank and turning the truck into a white hot fireball of smoke and flame.
Twenty-two
As the explosion filled the screen, a huge cheer went up among the assembled members of Vermian Strategic Command.
‘Well done, everyone,’ said Field Marshal Stanzun into his headset microphone. ‘Excellent job.’
He smiled and took off his headset. With the war against the Resistance in Aurobon progressing so effectively, Stanzun had found himself spending increasing amounts of his time overseeing these Earth-based operations. Since taking on this job, he had realised that the Earth campaign gave him much greater freedom to make his own decisions. In the war against Vahlzi, every movement of troops or insect squadrons had to be sanctioned by Odoursin. But as far as Earth was concerned, all Odoursin cared about was the annihilation of the human race and didn’t concern himself too much with the detail. As long as Stanzun could show that progress was being made, he was more or less free to make whatever strategic decisions he thought necessary. And that was something which suited Stanzun just fine.
Glancing across at General Martock, he was pleased to note that his senior officer was clearly delighted with the success of the operation.
‘Brilliant work, Field Marshal,’ he was saying, clapping his hands together in a show of enthusiastic appreciation. ‘Quite, quite brilliant.’
‘Thank you, General,’ said Stanzun, acknowledging this rare morsel of praise with a slight bow of the head. ‘We’ve got a great team of pilots working on this one.’ He flicked one of the many switches on the control desk in front of him and the image on screen changed to a close-up of the smoking wreckage.
‘What are we looking at now?’ asked Martock.
‘This is one of our search and rescue teams,’ replied Stanzun. ‘They’re going in to retrieve the pilots.’
‘Ah yes, the ant squadrons,’ said Martock. ‘Tell me, have we solved the problems with the parasites now?’
‘Oh, absolutely,’ replied Stanzun. ‘Largely thanks to your Miss Blin, General. She’s turning out to be quite a find, I believe.’
Martock smiled. ‘Indeed she is, Field Marshal. But according to Major Krazni, she is also, perhaps, someone to be watched.’
Stanzun raised an eyebrow in surprise. He had always assumed that the young scientist had a bright, successful future mapped out ahead of her. But if Krazni had sniffed out some hint of misconduct on her part – whether real or imagined – then her days were almost certainly numbered. It was, thought Stanzun, rather a shame. He had been quite taken with her.
‘So tell me, Field Marshal,’ said Martock, changing the subject. ‘Where are we with current operations?’
‘Well, General. As you saw a moment ago, we identified and eliminated two extra targets who were threatening to disrupt our work at the nuclear facility in North Dakota.’
‘Disrupt? How?’
‘We were concerned that if they identified the type of fly we are using, it might have sparked off some kind of investigation. Rather than complicate matters, it seemed easier just to eliminate them both.’
Martock nodded. ‘Of course. What about infection levels?’
‘It’s early days, obviously, but we’re seeing something approaching a 95 per cent success rate on hitting selected targets.’
‘How many targets are left to hit?’ asked Martock.
Stanzun turned to face a row of computer terminals behind him and called to a blond-haired man seated at a desk in the centre.
‘Lieutenant Milsech, can you spare us a moment?’
Milsech tapped a couple more numbers into his keyboard and then made his way over to them.
‘Sir?’
‘Lieutenant, can you give the General a rundown of targets hit so far and an overall picture of what remains to be done?’
‘Certainly, sir.’ He turned to face Martock and saluted smartly.
‘At ease, Lieutenant. Tell us what you know.’
‘Well, sir. Once the research labs had supplied our people with the bio-information on toxoplasma parasites, we were able to adapt our tsetse fly squadrons very quickly. The flies have proved extremely successful in delivering toxoplasma to humans through multiple bite wounds. Infection of all targets has now been completed at the North Dakota base – the one you just saw up there on the screen.’
‘Anywhere else?’
‘Yes, sir. In the past few hours we’ve received positive reports confirming infection of key personnel at bases in Nebraska, Phoenix, Washington, Virginia and Hawaii. But as I’m sure you can appreciate, General, our tsetse fly squadrons have been operating at full stretch for the past couple of days and we’re seeing a lot of exhausted pilots arriving back at the base. So if it’s all right with you, sir, we’re going to stand them down for a day or two before we hit the final targets.’
Martock frowned. ‘How will that affect the timescale?’
‘Not at all, General. Although the parasites should reach the brains of their human hosts within the next ten days, they have all been engineered to remain inactive until the next cycle of the moon begins. When that happens, the bio-rhythms produced in the brain will trigger the parasites into action. By which time, all targets should have been successfully infected.’
‘You say the parasites will become active during the next lunar cycle. When is that exactly?’
‘In twenty-one days’ time,’ replied Milsech. ‘Three weeks from today.’
Stanzun looked at Martock nervously. ‘I know this is not happening as quickly as the Emperor Odoursin would like it,’ he said. ‘But we want to make sure that we get it right this time.’
‘I’m sure you do,’ said Martock. ‘And,’ he added pointedly, ‘I’m sure you will.’
‘You can count on us, sir,’ said Milsech, who was hoping for a promotion at his end of year review.
Martock recognised the young officer’s ambition and sm
iled. ‘I’m glad to hear it, Lieutenant. Well, gentlemen, much as I would like to stay, I am afraid I must leave you to your own devices. You see, there is a small matter that Major Krazni and myself must attend to rather urgently.’
‘Of course, General,’ Stanzun replied, and saluted.
As he watched him leave, Stanzun remembered what Martock had said about the young scientist, Miss Blin. He imagined the girl’s frightened eyes as she heard whatever accusations Krazni would level against her and – just for a moment – he felt a pang of regret.
She had seemed so very promising.
It was strange, he thought, how quickly in life triumph can turn itself into disaster.
It was past midnight when the cab delivered Alya to the steps of her apartment building. The wind had dropped and she noticed that the blanket of snow which had lain across the city for so long was gradually turning to slush. Paying the driver with the last of her change, she made her way wearily up to the third floor. The last few days had been exhausting and she was looking forward to a hot bath and a good night’s sleep. Yawning, she pushed her key into the lock and let herself into her flat.
But as she closed the door behind her, she sensed that something was wrong. Something, was different. With the hairs prickling on the back of her neck, she reached anxiously for the light switch, but found to her dismay that it was no longer working. She was about to make her way across to the kitchen when suddenly the table lamp came on with a click and – unable to help herself – she let out a cry of shock and surprise. For there, sitting alone in her comfortable blue armchair, was Major Krazni.
‘Hello, Miss Blin,’ he said. ‘Welcome home.’
And in the soft glow of the lamplight, she saw the silver glint of a long and very sharp knife.
Twenty-three
By tipping his head back slightly and peering down through the bottom of his blindfold, Sam could just make out the black, polished boots of his captors. When he had attempted this in the early days, the guards had quickly worked out what he was doing and rewarded him with a beating. But he had since learned to be more subtle about it, tilting his head so slowly that the movement was virtually indiscernible. Not that it achieved anything very much, but Sam had discovered that when your freedom has been taken from you, even the smallest of victories becomes important.
There were three of them and they were doing their old routine of leaving him to sweat in silent suspense. Over the past few weeks, the lack of food and sleep together with the constant interrogation sessions had weakened Sam to the point where sometimes he found it was all he could do just to stand up.
But something had changed.
In spite of their constant efforts to wear him down, he found that – mentally – he was actually becoming stronger. A week ago he had been close to breaking point; one more night without sleep, he thought, one more night at the hands of these thugs and he would probably have told them anything. But then, just when it seemed that the darkness would finally engulf him, a young woman had emerged from the shadows. Her name was Alya Blin and she had promised to help him. She had brought him a piece of chocolate one night, which he had hurriedly crammed into his mouth while the guard was busy having a smoke at the far end of the corridor. Days later, the rich sweet taste still swirled around in his memory like a dark, milky blanket. But Alya had brought something else too, something he had thought was gone for ever.
She had brought him a spark of hope.
And now, even as he fell to the floor and the boots of the men tried to stamp and smother it, he curled himself around it and felt its warmth burning inside of him. This will end it whispered, this will end, this will end, this will end…
Somewhere far away, a voice said, ‘Enough. Pick him up.’
Hands seized him roughly under the arms and lifted him up onto the chair again. He slouched forward, but a pair of hands gripped him tightly by the shoulders and pulled him upright. As the blindfold was pulled from his eyes, the world swam back into focus and he became aware of a new figure in the room. Cold green eyes stared at him through horn-rimmed spectacles and Sam knew immediately that his life was of no consequence to this man; it was merely a commodity that he would dispose of when it suited him.
‘Ah, Sam Palmer, isn’t it? So nice of you to drop by and see us.’
Sam said nothing.
‘Oh, I’m sorry,’ said the man, extending a hand in greeting. ‘How rude of me. Major Krazni, Head of Intelligence.’ He looked down at Sam’s handcuffs as if seeing them for the first time, and then retracted his hand again.
‘Oh. Oh, dear. Well – never mind.’
From the corner of his eye, Sam noticed the guards grinning nastily at the Major’s little joke. This was obviously as good as it got for them.
‘The thing is, Sam, I am responsible for identifying and removing threats to national security. In your case, that would appear to be fairly straightforward. Here you are, we’ve identified you and so now it just remains for us to remove you, doesn’t it?’
‘Kill me, you mean,’ said Sam.
Krazni smiled. ‘We don’t like to use such vulgar terms here,’ he said. ‘I like to think of it more as letting nature take its course. After all, those marsh dogs do get so terribly hungry – and who am I to deny them a little treat now and again?’
Sam stared at Krazni with a mixture of fear and contempt.
‘You’re sick,’ he said. ‘You’re all sick.’
Krazni’s lips tightened into a thin, angry line and he stepped forward so that his face was inches away from Sam’s.
‘If we are,’ he said, ‘then it is because we are infected by people like you. But the good news is, I think we may have found the cure.’
Sam looked Krazni in the eye and managed a weak smile.
‘You think you know everything,’ he said, ‘but you’re wrong.’
This time it was Krazni’s turn to smile.
‘Perhaps,’ he said, ‘but I bet I know what you’re thinking. Shall I tell you?’
Sam made no answer.
‘All right, then. It goes something like this: you’re thinking about how you’ve held out from telling us where your friends are hiding so that they can attack us. And you think that, perhaps, somebody has told your friends where you are and maybe – just maybe – they will come and rescue you.’
Krazni paused and raised his eyebrows. ‘How am I doing so far?’
Sam said nothing, but inside he was worried; Krazni’s assessment was pretty close to the mark.
‘Now I know the truth is important to you, Sam. And I would hate to think of you misleading yourself in any way, believing things to be true when they’re not. So I thought to myself, how can I help the poor, misguided boy? And then it came to me.’
He nodded to one of the guards who opened the cell door and shouted down the corridor. There was the sound of footsteps approaching and then two soldiers entered the cell dragging a thin, dishevelled figure between them. Although his face was bruised and swollen, Sam thought there was something about the man that he recognised. The soldiers relinquished their grip and the man fell in an untidy heap against the wall. Slowly, he raised his head and stared at Sam as though he had seen a ghost.
‘Sam,’ he said at last. ‘Sam… is it really you?’
And when he heard the familiar voice and looked again into the man’s troubled eyes, the tears he had managed to hold back for so long ran down his cheeks as he whispered, ‘Yes, Commander. Yes. It’s me.’
Sam gazed at the shabby figure of the man who had once led the Vahlzian forces to victory during the first war, and when he saw what they had done to him he felt as though his heart would break. But Firebrand was shaking his head and staring hard into Sam’s eyes, and Sam saw a flash of the old spirit once more.
‘Keep the faith, Sam,’ he said, ‘it’s not over yet.’
‘How touching,’ said Krazni, turning to Sam. ‘He’s right of course. I mean, as long as there are people whom you can trust, people y
ou can put your faith in, then that’s what matters isn’t it, Sam?’
Sam glared at him. ‘What would you know about faith?’
Krazni smiled. ‘Enough to know that it is the talisman of fools.’
‘At least I believe in something,’ said Sam. ‘And nothing you say or do can ever change that.’
‘Well, I’m delighted to hear it,’ replied Krazni. He began to walk towards the door and then turned back. ‘Oh I nearly forgot. There’s someone else who would like to see you.’
He nodded to one of the guards who disappeared out into the corridor. Sam felt his stomach churn and he shot Firebrand a frightened look. Then the door opened and a young woman walked in.
It was Alya.
‘Well, well,’ said Krazni with a smile, ‘look who it is. Miss Blin, let me introduce you to Sam Palmer. Although – forgive me – I believe you two may already have met.’
‘Yes,’ she replied, ‘that’s right. We have.’
And when Sam looked at Alya and saw how she was unable to meet his eye, he knew that he had been betrayed.
‘And tell me Miss Blin. What did you talk about?’
‘We talked about the location and layout of the Resistance base. He told me that the only way to get into the secure underground storage section was via fingerprint and eye recognition. He told me that his details are now stored in the central system and that he is able to gain access by this method.’
‘She’s lying!’ shouted Sam, leaping to his feet. ‘She’s making it all up!’
Strong hands pulled him back into his chair and held him firm.
‘On the contrary,’ replied Krazni calmly, ‘I think we both know that Miss Blin is telling the truth. And by your reaction, I can see that it is so.’
He turned to Miss Blin and put a hand on her shoulder.
‘You see, Sam, Miss Blin works for us. Your precious notions of faith and trust are nothing but illusions, byproducts of weak and wishful thinking. They are mirages in the desert, nothing more. Strength is what matters, Sam. Strength and power. And that is why your people will be destroyed and forgotten, and the Vermian Empire will rule for ever.’