Blood Siren (Chronicles of the Orion Spur Book 1)

by Michael Formichelli

  About three quarters of the VoQuana walking about wore nothing but strange pieces of jewelry and oddly shaped circle and line-tattoos on their thin bodies. Even their openly displayed genitalia were likewise decorated, and some elaborately so. None of them seemed to have any discernible navels which made them look like something made, not born. The rest wore a tight synthetic body glove that was the same color as their skin.

  The blend of human and alien features turned any sexual feelings Nero might have had at the sight of the naked females, who had breasts and at least the suggestion of curves in their hips, into something entirely disturbing. All of the VoQuana Nero had dealt with in the past had been in military uniforms, or in battle armor while they shot at him and he hadn’t truly had the opportunity to be repelled by the stretched-thin proportions of their figures before.

  “What’s with the nudity?” he said.

  Not all cultures are as prudish as others. The VoQuana, I believe, are not known to have any nudity taboos in theirs.

  “Not that I’m prudish, but I wouldn’t exactly call them a group you want to see naked. Most of them look like the walking dead.”

  Keep that to yourself. We have a job to do, and I don’t want your barbaric, insensitive comments ruining it.

  “Alright.” He climbed out of the car and headed into the sparse crowd.

  Up close he could see that the VoQuana’s skin was unusually smooth and rubbery. There was an odd smell in the air about them like powdered latex. Nero crinkled his nose and tried not to make eye contact as he headed for the base of the massive building above that loomed like a mountain.

  The climb up the stairs was not easy. He grunted with every step, not from the effort, but from the annoyance at having to actually ascend stairs in this day and age. He wondered why some cultures insisted on maintaining the old and largely abandoned practices of their past instead of adopting the clearly more convenient ways of the present.

  Perhaps it is because they build character and help ground the individual in the larger—

  “Shut up.” He hated stairs, which resulted in his avoidance of many of the old monuments on the planets he had visited. It took a lot of coaxing to get him to climb a staircase that didn’t move. He was not going to be in a good mood for this meeting.

  By the first level of the ziggurat his thighs were burning, but he was glad to have a break from the ascent. His genetic enhancements gave him an abundance of dense muscle, but hadn’t given him more endurance than the average human. If he was to be honest with himself, he was pretty lazy and figured it a consequence of never having to work out to maintain his physique. Why bother when he didn’t have to?

  I suppose that reasoning is sound as long as you never have to climb stairs again or move for extended periods of time. Why do you think I remind you to exercise every morning?

  “Are... you scolding... me?” He said as he began the ascent of the second wrapping staircase.

  A VoQuana in front of him covered in tattoos of concentric circles and jagged lines looked puzzled and flattened himself against the ziggurat wall as he started on the second flight of stairs.

  I’m just saying that it might serve us one day to have you actually have some endurance. You may be stronger than the average man, but you haven’t been as fit as you should be in years.

  He grunted. The stairs temporarily robbed him of the power of speech.

  No I will not simply shut up about this, Nero. It’s my body too—

  “The hell it is.” He stopped, panting heavily.

  Let’s examine this, shall we? I’m physically located within your body. The ethereal construct created by my synthetic neurons shares the same intangible construct created by yours. I receive sensory data from the same organs you do—

  “Shut up.”

  Since we’re on the subject, your continued insistence on this inefficient verbal communication is most frustrating.

  “This again?”

  Oh why, oh why was I bonded to a thoughtless moron? Daedalus delete me!

  “Just shut up,” he said between pants. He continued his ascent, stomping on the stairs as he climbed.

  Fine, I shall enjoy the break from your stupidity while it lasts.

  On the second level he took a long break, leaning against the wall of a shop selling what appeared to be some kind of food. The bowls on the shop counter looked full of slimy, translucent gray bubbles over brown rice and smelled like wet charcoal. The storekeeper handed them out to a family of four, who accepted them and moved over to an area with what appeared to be low metal buckets turned upside down around a hovering disk. There were no utensils that he could see.

  Nero groaned and made himself move on. He didn’t need to watch them consume the foul stuff.

  You may be disgusted by their sustenance, but you have to give them at least some credit. Their children are perfectly behaved; listen to how quiet it is here.

  He paused between two more shops, hearing only the wind.

  “You’re right, and it’s not just the children. No one is talking.”

  All around him in this roof-top bazaar people were going through the motions of buying, selling, and haggling, yet the only sounds in the air were those of goods tapping tables. Nero rubbed his sweaty palms against the silky material of his jacket. Something wasn’t right here and he was determined to be done with his business as soon as possible.

  Adrenaline got him to the top-most roof in short order. The VoQuana here were checking machines and consulting crystal squares with glowing patterned lines on them. They looked like bees buzzing about a hive. He counted twenty-two of them, and all but one of them were moving.

  An impulse deep within his brain made his hand find the comforting handle of his gauss pistol.

  “You won’t be needing that,” the VoQuana said. His voice was like the echoes of creaking of trees.

  The little hairs on the back of Nero’s neck went up.

  The gray man was a little shorter than him and wore a body glove that, unlike similarly dressed VoQuana, was a few shades darker than his skin. His black hair was greased and pulled back into a short, severe tail, and his rail thin form was lined with muscles that looked like they were made of steel cords.

  The VoQuana’s eyes narrowed. Nero felt a brief dizziness, and splashes of color played over his vision. He managed to half draw his pistol before his legs shuddered and sent him into the odd cylinder structure beside him with a ringing crash.

  He blinked away tears several times before he managed to stand up straight. A moment later the phantasmal vice squeezing his head passed. “What the hell?”

  Initiating combat protocols, Prospero said.

  “Please accept my apologies, Praetor Graves. That was uncalled for. I should have realized that a man such as you would be unnerved by my appearance.” The VoQuana male walked towards him.

  Nero managed to get his gun clear of the holster and pointed it in the direction of his assailant. “Unnerved? Like hell I was. You attacked me, I think.”

  “I am Maskhim Sinuthros. When Baron Mitsugawa’s writ arrived I was assigned to this matter by the Matriarch herself. It is a pleasure to be in your company.” The alien seemed entirely unconcerned with the weapon pointed at him.

  “What the hell did you do to me?” Nero half-growled the words. He’d fought these beings before, but he’d never experienced something quite like what just happened.

  They may have a new weapon or technology they didn’t have during the war. I will compile a report for Daedalus.

  “I again offer my apologies. Now may we retreat into the bowels of the temple? This matter should not be discussed in public.”

  Maskhim Sinuthros did not appear to relax but with the initial tension apparently diffusing, Nero took a deep breath and decided to get on with things. He didn’t have to be comfortable with his job; he just had to do it. He slowly holstered his weapon, though the urge to use it on the thin, little man remained.

  “I take it Baron Mit
sugawa’s writ included my name and purpose here?”

  “Yes, as well as some detail about what you found. May we please enter the temple complex?” Maskhim Sinuthros said.

  “Lead the way.” Nero swept his hand forward. He made sure Prospero understood to keep the combat protocols active, just in case.

  Maskhim Sinuthros nodded and led him through the entrance of one of the strange little buildings and down a blissfully short staircase. The room at its base was a dead end with metallic walls, covered in some kind of glowing writing that looked like it was made with a wedge shaped tool. The Maskhim stood in front of one of them and stared at the inscriptions.

  “Are we waiting for something?” Nero asked.

  “Yes, what you would call a lift,” Maskhim Sinuthros said.

  Oh no. Nero, let it go.

  “You mean to tell me I went up all those stairs for nothing?”

  If I could sigh with exasperation, I would.

  “There are no lifts on the outside. You went up the stairs because there was no other way,” Maskhim Sinuthros said.

  “Why don’t you put a lift on the outside?”

  “Tradition is important, Praetor Graves. Our buildings are also religious structures and must conform to a certain aesthetic,” the Maskhim responded.

  “But you can have lifts on the inside?”

  “Yes,” Maskhim Sinuthros said.

  Nero nodded and looked around the room. Three walls covered in that odd writing and a staircase, but no lift.

  “Where?”

  “It is currently on the fourth level. It will be here soon after the workers are done with it.”

  Nero looked at the wall in front of Maskhim Sinuthros. “How do you know? I don’t see any indicators. Do your people use personalized interfaces like the Confederation?”

  “No. VoQuana do not rely on computers. We try to keep our machines to the minimum necessary to do the job. I am only taking you in the cargo lift because you are so tired from your climb, otherwise we would be using the internal staircase.”

  “How do you know that? Are you up linking with me without my knowledge? That would be a violation of—”

  I am detecting no uplink.

  “No, we don’t work that way. Here is the lift.”

  The wall split into four pieces, each rotating to open like the vents on Nero’s air-car. Beyond was a large metal square hovering slightly below the level of the floor. Maskhim Sinuthros stepped down onto it. Nero followed and once they were securely on the hovering plate the wall rotated shut and the floor began to silently descend.

  By counting the lines in the smooth stone, which he assumed marked each floor, he determined they descended five floors before the lift coasted to a stop. Maskhim Sinuthros led him through another vent-like doorway and down a long stone corridor lit by seashell-shaped sconces. After a series of intersections they came to a room with a long ornate couch and a few simple chairs. The centerpiece of the chamber was a low table holding a glass pitcher of ice water and four intricate cups around it.

  “May I offer you some refreshment?”

  “Sure.” Nero sat down on the couch.

  The maskhim hesitated a moment, then said, “please sit.”

  Oh great, you insulted him. This will end well I see.

  Once the water was served Maskhim Sinuthros sat and took several quiet sips of water. Nero took the moment to sniff at his. It smelled alright so he took a sip. Its good taste was a pleasant surprise considering the smells of the food above them.

  “Why don’t the others of your kind talk?”

  By the Will, Nero! Be diplomatic!

  Maskhim Sinuthros took another sip of his water. “We don’t usually need to speak. Many of us are out of practice with it. It is a relic from our Solan ancestry. We only speak with species and cultures like yours.”

  “How do you communicate? Body language?”

  “Non-verbally, something like body language, yes. I doubt you would understand. It is beyond the comprehension of most speaking species that a biological organism could communicate without the use of sound or chemicals.”

  Nero nodded. “So that’s why you have such big eyes.”

  “Something like that,” Maskhim Sinuthros said.

  “Really?” He was surprised his joke was received as a serious point.

  Prospero groaned in his head. Unusual energy fields were recorded around several detained VoQuana during the war. It could have something to do with what he’s talking about, a kind of communication system. I’ll include it in my report to Daedalus later.

  “Let’s get down to business. What is it your masters want from us?” Maskhim Sinuthros said.

  “I have a nanomachine here with design aspects that make it look like it was VoQuana made. I would like to know if your scientists recognize it.” Nero produced a data strip and handed it to the maskhim.

  He turned the strip over with his long fingers a few times then placed it on the table.

  “Aren’t you going to look at it? Do you need a reader?”

  “The devices in the table are examining the data now. Give it a moment,” Maskhim Sinuthros said.

  A hologram appeared above the water pitcher. It showed several colored spheres connected by black lines in long, twisting bundles—a representation of the molecules that made up the nanomachine. The maskhim looked it over as several groups of molecules in the structure flashed orange.

  “This image is being re-transmitted to our technicians on the home world. They agree with your assessment, Praetor Graves. This nanomachine does resemble some of our genetic work. More disturbing, however, is that it appears to be based on a sample of genetic material stolen from us nearly ten years ago.”

  How is he getting this information? I am detecting no communications signal from him. It is known that they have communications devices capable of instant contact like Daedalus’ quantum communicators but—

  Nero willed Prospero silent. “Did you ever catch the culprit?”

  “No, though we surmised that the culprit had to be an artificial, based on the evidence. That indicates a non-VoQuana thief, since my species does not use artificials.”

  “Where did this happen? Here on Kosfanter? On Quae?”

  “No, not on the capital. The incident occurred on a planet called Thein where there is a famous genetics lab and storage facility. For your information, Thein is close to the home world of the Cleebian Greater Prosperity Sphere.” Maskhim Sinuthros took another sip of his water.

  Nero sighed, he was not looking forward to another long space trip, but he knew the best chance to prove who killed Baron Mitsugawa Yoji would be to track the thief back to its master. Conspiracies were always long-haul operations, and he did not relish the idea of working one, especially with the stakes so high.

  “Did your people register the theft with the Xeno Affairs Bureau?” he asked.

  “We did, but of course the treaty signed with your people after our war in the seventh year of your confederation prevents us from investigating crimes off of our own worlds. Our leads soon dead-ended on Thein and we have been unable to pursue the crime since. Am I correct in assuming that you are going to investigate this as part of a larger case?” Maskhim Sinuthros tilted his odd head to the side.

  Wait, don’t say it Nero—

  “Treaty?”

  You’re so ignorant.

  “You don’t know?” Maskhim Sinuthros’ expression shifted. His looks were human enough that Nero could read honest surprise into them.

  The Quae-Sol treaty of Seven ended the war between both sovereignties and made the VoQuana Remnant part of the Tri-Terra Republic. It also deprived them of their sovereign ability to expand into new star systems and maintain their own intelligence agency. It limited their fleet to two major starships per planet as a defense force.

  “Oh, you’re referring to the Treaty of Seven. How could I forget?”

  The shock on the Maskhim’s face shifted to indignation. “Yes, how could you.�
��

  The real question is your willful ignorance.

  “If I’m going to go to Thein, can you get me access to those labs?” There was an edge in his voice he blamed on Prospero. If the damn SMC would just let him work—

  Oh sure, it’s my fault, blame the computer. That’s so human of you.

  “Of course, Praetor Graves. I look forward to working with you.”

  “I’m sorry?”

  “I look forward to working with you. This is an inter-sovereign matter and joint cooperation is assured according to the treaty. If you are going to pursue this matter, as old as it is, I have a right to join your investigation and share information.” Maskhim Sinuthros crossed his wrists in his lap.

  He’s right, Nero. The Treaty of Seven gives him that right.

  “Alright, if I do wind up going, I’ll meet you on Thein then. There’s—”

  “We should travel together,” Maskhim Sinuthros said.

  Nero swallowed. Having to work with this freaky emaciated alien was going to make the investigation more difficult than it already was.

  “I assume the other destination you are considering taking the investigation to is Cleeb?” Maskhim Sinuthros said.

  He blinked. “Why do you assume that?”

  “Our laboratory reports that the other parts of this molecular structure resemble those made by BioCorp. As BioCorp is a division of Agro-Worlds Corp, and controlled by powerful Barony interests, you can’t trust any laboratory on Kosfanter to render a fair analysis. There is an excellent bio-molecular laboratory at Cleeb University that has both the capabilities and the political leanings that will allow us to investigate this matter there. Am I mistaken?”

  Nero ground his teeth. Khepria’s analysis had missed the BioCorp angle. This VoQuana was sharp, sharper than he would’ve given him credit for, which made Nero even more uncomfortable around him.