"I'm familiar with it," Tali responded. "Nicaragua rolled El Salvador. It's a blood bath."
"There are reports that super soldiers are chewing up the regular army," she said. "Most recently two squads were taken out."
"Lagartija Ridge," Bit reiterated in confirmation.
"You are building a team of your own," Tali concluded. "To what end?"
"We've got to shut them down," Dorian said. "Can you imagine what someone could do with tens of thousands of soldiers like Jimmy?"
"I thought you said only one in ten million had the gene."
"There's a rumor that gene therapy is being delivered to the slums of Fariza through their drinking water. I've sent a team to capture the samples and analyze this data," Dorian answered. "If true, an entire generation of children have been targeted. They're trying to stimulate the development of this hero gene."
"That doesn't sound so bad," Bit said. "Who didn't want to be a super hero when they grew up?"
"This kind of therapy only works on children and would likely leave those who are compatible with what presents as a crippling disease. Without medication, many would never live to see eighteen stans," Dorian said. "I fear it would be even worse for those children who were not a match for the therapy. I only know of a few people who are suited for such an atrocity. I suspect all of this to be the work of a previous colleague of mine who goes by the name Zoya."
"Can you prove any of what you are saying? There's an international tribunal that deals with crimes like this. You could take what you have to them," Tali said.
"Oberrhein, Fariza and a handful of other independent states don't recognize the Tribunal," Dorian answered. "Care to guess another country that doesn't take part?"
"Nicaragua," Bit answered.
Dorian raised her eyebrows. "You're scary."
"So tell me," Tali said. "Why aren't we headed toward the TransLoc gate to Bethe Peierls? Surely someone with the last name of Anino can get through for free, considering your great, great, great grandfather invented the technology?"
Bit cleared her throat.
"Go ahead, Bertha," Dorian said, sounding tired. "You've obviously figured that out too."
"Little Deuce is equipped with a TransLoc drive that doesn't require a fixed gate to set up the Translocation Wave," Bit said. "Technology Belirand would kill to keep secret. We're headed toward Venus because it gets us out of Mars’ sensor range faster than if we set in for any other major celestial body."
"Now you know my secrets," Dorian said. "Can I still count on you?"
"That was never a question," Tali said.
Chapter 14
Feeed Me
System: Bethe Peierls, Planet: Vermeer, City: Fariza, Belsev Tether
Marek Alexander stepped through the open doors of Belsev Tether's Western Lift One. He brushed lint from the lapel of his hand-stitched, Earth-imported woolen suit and, with a practiced tug, straightened the matching, wide-brimmed fedora.
"Next car," one of Marek's most recent recruits growled, stepping in front of and stopping a surprised, white-coated scientist who sought to join them in the near-empty car.
The reedy scientist's eyes locked on the weapon that hung beneath the thug's arm, held in place by a leather shoulder holster. A quick intake of air was the scientist's only response as he stepped back and looked to the ground, unwilling to make eye contact.
Together, Marek and his thug rode in silence, preferring to stand instead of using the chairs that folded down from the car's sidewalls. Enclosed within a vacuum and buffered by inertial damping systems, the car accelerated quickly, delivering its passengers to Belsev station in less than twenty minutes.
Marek gritted his teeth as he recognized that his blood pressure was elevated, causing an increase of respiration as he stepped from the car into the anteroom of the station's executive level. He paused for a moment to close his eyes, draw in a deep breath, and exhale slowly. There had been so many steps on his journey and so much was riding on the next few minutes. But then, that was always the case. He steeled himself, forcing his body to relax.
A dark-haired young man, impeccably dressed in a shimmering pale blue jump suit, looked up from his work at a translucent vid screen and smiled broadly as Marek approached. "Greetings, Mr. Alexander. It is genuinely my pleasure to greet you today."
For a moment, Marek was drawn in by the man's beautifully proportioned features and brilliant smile. Even knowing the man's visage had been engineered to someone's ideal of perfection, he found himself wondering what it might be like to spend time with such a creation. The man would have been chosen for his personality traits before his body had been transformed. He'd often wrestled with the notion that it took a seriously stalwart soul to withstand the terrible power such beauty granted.
"I am here to see Dr. Zoya." Marek pushed away the distraction his musings often caused and stopped two meters short of the glossy white reception desk.
"I have queried the doctor's schedule," the receptionist answered. "I have requested an ad-hoc meeting on your behalf."
"That was unnecessary," Marek said, his hand disappearing beneath his suit coat for a moment before reappearing with a narrow laser pistol. Understanding had barely started to register in the young man's eyes when the invisible beam of energy pierced his chest, leaving a finger-sized cauterized hole in his chest.
Marek stepped around the desk and grabbed the dead man's wrist. He pulled the receptionist, still in his hover chair, along with him. Inspecting the walls, Marek's enhanced vision quickly discovered the disguised security panel by the slight trace of residual skin oils transferred to its surface from previous use. He placed the dead man's hand onto the panel and smiled as the hidden door slid open.
He nodded to his companion who dove through the door. Flashes of quiet blaster fire calmed him as he followed a moment later. Combat was always the easy part of any encounter and the rhythm of the fight called to him. At full speed, he spun through the opening and assessed, firing even as he acquired targets. His man was down, an inevitable casualty caused by the nature of attacking a fortified position.
"You were expecting me," he said calmly, jumping off the wall and flipping over backwards, all the while tracking Zoya's enhanced guards. He found it regrettable that he couldn't hold his hat in place as he drilled a hole in the first man's head, wincing as blaster fire reflected off his own suit armor near his hip. The man had tracked him, a remarkable feat. He immediately regretted his shot selection.
Zoya lurched forward, clumsily attempting to flee as he landed next to her. It wasn't an unexpected choice on her part, he thought, grabbing the lapel of her coat and freezing her in place.
"Damn you, Marek. I knew it was you," she gasped, pulling against him.
"Stand down your security forces," he said, "or I'll give you reason for a nice bath in your tanks."
"There was no need to shoot Braedon." She stopped pulling. "He would not have resisted you."
"Sorry to cut into your love life, my dear," he replied as two guards closed on them, holding their weapons menacingly.
"Security override, authorization Zoya. All security personnel stand down. Send medical assistance to Level 3 foyer."
"It's just a flesh wound," Marek grinned as the two remaining guards only partially lowered their weapons. "Oh, and I believe you were given a direct order." Faster than either guard could track, he fired, dropping them where they stood.
"Stop shooting my people!" Zoya exclaimed. "Do you have any idea how much you're costing me?"
"Your people." The tightness in Marek's chest loosened. "We've been successful then?" He placed his pistol into the holster hidden by his suit coat, picked his hat from the ground and placed it back on his head.
"We?"
"I believe it was my agent who destroyed Yedoliv and Alia, placing you in your current position," Marek replied. "An agent, might I add, that I pinned the murders on, brought to justice, and supplied as fodder for your experiments."
; "You should not speak openly of such things," she said. "I might have control of the station, but I still answer to the board."
"You're concerned your board would find it disturbing to discover you were behind the murder of your betters while they received treatment in your facilities? Naiveté does not suit you, dear doctor."
"Of course, they know it was me. What do you want, Marek? You served your purpose and have been paid handsomely for it." She shrugged free of his grasp.
A woman in surgical scrubs cleared her throat, drawing Marek’s attention to a previously concealed door. He hadn't initially recognized her, but she'd been one of Anino's many students.
"What is it?" Zoya asked.
"Tank for your assistant, Braedon? The damage to bay three has us short," the woman responded. "With the new arrivals, we only have room for two."
Zoya's face softened. "Yes. Braedon is not a combatant and Mr. Alexander saw fit to permanently retire my guards."
"Please see to my man as well," Marek smiled amiably.
"Doctor?" The woman looked away from Marek, her questioning eyes coming to rest on Zoya.
"Do as he requires."
Four unarmed staffers entered and sorted out the fallen, placed them onto gravity assisted litters, and removed them from the room.
"Scotch?" Zoya asked, her hand shaking as she reached for the etched crystal bottle on the simple white sideboard. It was half filled with an amber liquid.
Marek didn't answer beyond sitting in a chair at the round meeting table next to the doctor's desk. He understood her desire to not talk further until the room was clear. He set his hat on the table and crossed his legs, waiting patiently.
"Sixty-two stan Macallan," she said, sliding a crystal glass to him as she joined him at the table. Her hand was still trembling as she lifted the glass to her lips and drank deeply.
"How many times have you rejuvenated?" Marek asked, unable to determine the woman's real age. From outward appearances, she looked to be in her late twenties, a choice she'd made.
"Why Marek, did you learn nothing from your time with Dr. Anino? A lady keeps such mysteries to herself," she said, relief at the mundane conversation apparent.
"Let's not mince words, shall we? In your grab for power, you weakened your organization," Marek said. "I will be your partner now. Together we will be stronger than we could ever be apart."
"Do I have a choice?"
"You need me, Zoya," Marek replied. "There will be no end to those who want to share in the power your research brings."
"Like you?"
Marek smiled. "Touché, mon amie."
"Are we friends, Marek? I called because I thought you could help me," Zoya said. "Now you're inserting yourself into my business."
"Your business? Since when did this become yours? You've stolen research from Anino. Research, might I add, you have yet to perfect. Tell me those guards weren't your best. Tell me you've surpassed the great Dorian Anino."
"I've isolated the gene and we're growing an entire generation to choose from," Zoya responded. "We're on the brink of raising an army of super soldiers, the like humanity has never seen. I just need a little more time."
"Tell your committee you've taken on a partner," Marek said. "An equal."
"They won't like it."
"Then you need to sell it. You can't stop me and now I know too much. Do you really think the North Americans will allow your base in Guatemala to remain? One data stream from me and they'd lay that entire base flat with enough nukes to blow up Earth's moon. After that, they'd bring the entire fifth fleet to Vermeer and knock this laboratory from the sky."
"You wouldn't," Zoya whispered.
Marek smiled. His information on Guatemala was weak, but she'd spent no effort to deny it and that was as good as an admission.
"Partners?" he asked, holding out his hand.
"You know what they say. You should be careful what you wish for," she said, finishing off her drink. "You might just get it." She shook his outstretched hand.
"What about your board of directors?"
She laughed mirthlessly. "They've threatened to knock down my station. Can you believe that? They're not getting a fast-enough payback on their capital. Killing Yedoliv and Alia bought us some time, though. They're afraid of me, but that won't last, especially when I have to go back to them for more money."
"Your security lacks. Give me access," he said.
"How many people do you have?" she asked as she flipped through virtual pages on her HUD.
"Aside from the cannon fodder I brought along?" Chimes sounded in Marek's ears as his AI informed him of security codes and personnel files being downloaded.
"Yes."
"Just me, darling," he said.
She shrugged. "What about the rest of your team?"
"All dead," he said. "Except for Jimmy."
"Can you get him?"
"Would you believe he's running a wild west melodrama in Texas back on Earth? Doing a bad job of it too. I approached him, but he wouldn't even talk to me."
"He blames you for Maria's death." It was a statement, not a question.
Marek grimaced, not wanting to discuss ancient history. "Any luck with that woman I shot last week? Katriona Petrev?"
"Ninety-six percent match," Zoya said. "I've got her on ice with three others. Are you ready to start being useful?"
"Sure. I find my schedule has recently freed up. Why on ice?" he asked as she led him to another hidden panel in her office. His AI outlined a security panel, showing he had full access. He palmed the panel and a hatch slid open, revealing a closet-sized elevator car.
"You don't know," she said, inspecting his face. "The hero gene isn't the only marker for the process Anino invented. It's accompanied by several other bio markers. Existence of the gene is enough to get an exceptional soldier. To have a full set, or a royal flush, as we used to call it, results in, well, people like you and Jimmy. You're a hundred percenter, Marek. Jimmy is the only other person I was aware of who had this same capacity."
"Ninety six percent pretty good?" Marek asked.
"Those guards you knocked down in my office were mid-thirties," she answered as the elevator started moving upward. "Oberrhein sent me an eighty-five percenter several weeks back. She was the best I'd seen to date, by twenty points. That is, until the others arrived. Funny how these things happen in streaks."
"You're talking about Katriona?"
"Her, a Mexican solider captured by our forces in Guatemala, and a man from Nuage." She led him down a long hallway. On either side, rooms were packed with medical tanks, holding children that appeared to be healthy, if not overly thin.
"Royal flushes?" Marek asked.
"Close, upper nineties. Good enough that you'd want to be on your A-game if you ran into one of them," she said. "We'll get them into the tanks in the next few weeks."
"What's with all the kids?" Marek asked idly, his mind dwelling on the idea of having his team back.
"I like to think of them as my bright lights," she said. "We engineered a virus that mutated their genes while they were in the womb. Mostly, we're getting five to ten percenters, but it gives us fodder to test with. Don't underestimate these children. Once activated, they come out of that tank ready to fight and mean as hell. Let's call them insurance."
"What happens to them?" he asked.
"For now, they stay in the tank, frozen in time. Once they're released, they will lead healthy, productive — if short — lives," Zoya said.
Marek chuckled, not sure if he was horrified or impressed. "How'd you manage to find so many?"
"Don't drink the tap water in the slums. It'll give you more than the runs. Trust me."
"Short lives?"
"Eighteen percent survival rate after a year. Numbers drift a bit lower after that. We haven't had one make it to eighteen months yet. Hence the suspended animation. It's a better life than they could have expected. At least here, we're giving them a chance to be something." She pushed
her way through a swinging door at the end of the hall.
The room they entered was filled with gurneys. Atop each rested the naked bodies of limbless men, women and children, although most were children. Over each, a semi-opaque blanket had been laid and the atmosphere sucked out. Marek had seen a lot of death in his time, but the surprise of this sudden exposure took him off guard.
"Bring a chair," Zoya barked, noticing that Marek was swaying.
"No," he said. "I'm fine." He bit into his cheek, the coppery taste of blood steeling him. "They say you shouldn't ask how the sausage is made," he said. "I suppose this is what they mean."
"Never cared for sausage, myself," she said. "If you think this is bad, you should be here when we're preparing the bodies."
"You mean removing their arms and legs?" His voice sounded squeaky to even him.
"I believe you called me naïve earlier today. Just how do you think you got re-engineered arms, legs, spine, and all that? You think the AI just dissolved them behind the screen of the bio tanks? No, my staff and I remove those limbs."
A lab-coated assistant appeared, pushing a chair in front of her. "Maybe you should have had your first meeting here," she quipped as Marek closed his eyes.
"Damn." Marek sighed as he blew out a hot breath. Zoya was right. If he'd started in this room, her guards would probably have had a chance.
"You all right, Marek?" Zoya asked. "We can go into the hallway if you want."
"No." He pushed his feelings back down into that hole he reserved for especially dark moments. "I assume this isn't what you wanted to show me."
"That's officially scary," the assistant said. "His blood pressure just leveled out and respiration is returning to normal. I assume that since he showed up on my security list, he's one of us now?"
"I'm standing right here and your little horror show here doesn't make my top ten," he said. "I'm just out of practice. And yeah, we're one big happy family."
"How do you want it?" the assistant asked, looking to Zoya. "Warm fuzzies first or angry, blame the messenger stuff?"
Zoya looked to Marek. "It’s on you, Marek. It feels like you're calling the shots today."
On a Pale Ship: A Privateer Tales Series Page 16