Drop Team Zero

by Jake Bible

  “I’d like to die if you don’t hurry up and get on with what you’re planning on saying,” Mug snapped.

  “Right, yes, sorry,” the Thin Man said and looked honestly apologetic. “You see, we blew your teammates into submission. They managed to escape, but not before we put a hurt on them so bad that I will be surprised if they can limp halfway back to that off-grid wormhole portal they came through. Ballsy move that, using a portal that has a fifty-fifty chance of turning them into nothing but protons.”

  Mug didn’t respond. Her worst fears were being confirmed and she didn’t want the skinny bastard to hear any pain in her voice.

  “But, hey, there’s always hope, right?” the Thin Man said. “Drop Team Zero does have a reputation for defying the odds. Maybe they’ll defy these odds and actually get out of this System.” He smiled and smacked his forehead. “No, wait, sorry, I just remembered that they don’t stand a chance in Hell. I watched their approach and they had one heck of a time getting away from three of the Klatu System’s lesser nightmares. Seriously, those big beasties gave them a lot of misery, wait until the really big ones come crawling out from behind their little nebulas and gas clouds.”

  Mug still remained silent. The Thin Man waited. He stood there, his bony back pressed against the wall. After a couple of minutes, he shrugged and pushed away, taking careful steps around the green beam.

  “I’m going to ask you one question before I go and I do so hope you give me a sincere answer,” he said. “Dylan Keer. Did you extract the data or not? That’s all I need to know. I really don’t care about anything else.”

  The Thin Man waited, but Mug didn’t say a word.

  “Well, I can take it by the look on your bear face that you have absolutely no idea what I’m talking about,” the Thin Man said. “This is good. If you don’t know then the Fleet doesn’t know. That means Councilman Keer might actually have a chance of seeing his boy alive again. Might. I hate to make promises I can’t always keep. I’m a stickler for keeping promises. It’s my thing.”

  Mug only stared.

  “Right, well, good talking to you, Sergeant,” the Thin Man said as he stepped out into the hall. He nodded his chin at the tray of piled food. “Eat up now. A bear like you needs her strength. Trust me. You will need it when the fun really starts for you.”

  He smiled and held up a hand. The wall moved back in place and was bright white once again. Mug blinked a few times as the green beam from above winked out and she was free to move once again. She looked down at the food, but already knew she wouldn’t touch a bite. Not that she was worried it was drugged or poisoned, her nose already told her it wasn’t, but damn if she didn’t hate raisins and there were raisins throughout the pile as if someone had known she hated them and was playing a cruel joke.

  Considering how much the Thin Man seemed to know, Mug wasn’t exactly certain the joke wasn’t real.

  While the encounter with the Thin Man brought up more questions than answers, one thing she did know for sure was that Sha Morgoal was being held on the same detention hall as she was. Mug could smell his fear sweat as soon as the cell had opened. That meant he was not only close, but his cell wasn’t nearly as secure as hers, otherwise she wouldn’t have even caught a hint of him considering how tightly sealed the cells were.

  She started up with the pacing again, her mind running over everything the Thin Man had said. She processed all of the information and came to one conclusion. Unless she was horribly mistaken, she’d just spoken to Gorma Collari, the eldest son of Gachu Collari, patriarch of the Collari Syndicate. The thing that had her confused was that Gorma didn’t look anything like he was supposed to, yet his personality and way of speaking was well known and the man she’d just met fit that description to a tee.

  “People can change how they look,” Mug said to herself. “People ain’t always people, beings ain’t always beings, the truth ain’t always the truth.”

  It was a bit of homespun wisdom her Maw Maw used to say to her when she was a little cub. It never made much sense until Mug had joined the Fleet Marines. Then it quickly made brutal sense.

  “Data in the Keer boy. Gorma Collari not looking like how Gorma Collari should,” Mug muttered. “I’m in it deep and it ain’t because I’m stuck in this damn cell.”

  Mug’s pacing continued and she went over everything again and again until her brain hurt. Not because she thought she’d come up with an answer, but because she needed something to take her mind off what may have happened to her teammates.

  Twenty-Five

  “Yes, Father, all is well here,” the Thin Man said as he lounged in a plush chair that sat in the center of an empty room. There was a wavering holo projection of an aged human seated in his own chair, but it looked considerably more utilitarian than the one the Thin Man sat in. “A Drop Team tried to make a play, but we held them off. They’re spinning off into infinity right now. If they don’t run out of air soon then one of the big uglies will get them.”

  “You did not give chase?” the aged man snarled. “That is sloppy, Gorma, very sloppy.”

  The Thin Man’s face took on a feigned expression of hurt. “Oh, Father, please don’t say such things. Your approval means everything to me.”

  “Your sarcasm does not become your station in this family, Gorma,” the aged man said. “You would do well to remember that or I might rethink who I have setup as my successor.”

  “I think we both know that you don’t exactly have a deep pool of candidates to choose from,” the Thin Man laughed. “Garpo? Graba? Gerbo? Do not make me laugh, Father. Even if the three of them combined their intelligences, they still wouldn’t be a match for one of my bowel movements.”

  The aged man sighed. He shook his head and looked off at something that wasn’t within view of the holo. “I am being summoned,” he said. “We will revisit this later. I am trusting you know what you are doing, Gorma. I expect that all loose ends will be neatly tied by the next time we speak to each other.”

  “Of course, Father,” the Thin Man replied. “That is exactly what I intend on doing. You will be the first I call when the last knot is fastened.”

  “Good,” the aged man said and the holo blinked out.

  “Goodbye to you too, old man,” the Thin Man snarled.

  He spat where the holo projection had been and stood up from the chair. He was Gorma Collari, the Thin Man, and heir to the vast Syndicate that controlled most of the crime business in the galaxy. If they didn’t control it directly then they had a grip on whomever did. It was rare that a deal went down without some type of Collari Syndicate involvement.

  What angered the Thin Man most was that his father had chosen him as heir, but did not trust him yet enough to reveal everything that was behind the curtain. It made the Thin Man’s skinny arms and legs shake with suppressed anger. And they were certainly skinny, almost stick-like. It was a side-effect of his time spent in the Klatu System all those years when he was younger.

  But that time also gave him certain—

  “Sir?” a woman’s voice asked from the doorway. “You asked me to fetch you if progress had been made on the data?”

  “Yes, indeed I did ask you to do that,” the Thin Man said, pulled from his thinking. He regarded the extremely attractive Slinghasp that stood in the doorway. It was hard for him to understand how a thing of beauty such as her could be in the same race as a disgusting lump of scales like Sha Morgoal. “Thank you, Vexia.”

  “Would you like me to accompany you to the interrogation wing?” Vexia asked.

  The Thin Man crossed the distance between them in three long-legged strides. Vexia held her ground and waited patiently as he took her chin in his hand and leaned his face close to hers.

  “No, thank you, dear,” the Thin Man said. “I can make my way there on my own. How about you make sure my dinner is being prepared and join me in my quarters soon? Can you do that for me, dear?”

  “I can, sir,” Vexia replied. “It would be my honor
to dine with you.”

  “Would it also be your honor to have dessert?” the Thin Man asked as he leaned in closer and slowly licked her cheek with his grey and narrow tongue. “Or is that too forward of me?”

  “I live to serve you, sir,” Vexia said, showing no sign of emotion on her face as to how she truly felt. “Dinner, dessert, perhaps more, would please me immensely.”

  “That is what I like to hear, dear,” the Thin Man said and kissed the spot where he’d just licked. “You always know the perfect things to say. Dinner, soon, but for now I attend to business.”

  “Yes, sir,” Vexia said and stepped out of his way.

  The Thin Man was out the door and halfway down the hall before he stopped and spun about. “Please make sure no one is getting complacent after out victory against the Drop Team. If I know the Fleet, they’ll have a backup Team already on its way here. I know they have spies in the family business, so it is hardly a secret anymore where we are. Just make sure there is a very warm and friendly reception waiting for whichever Team it is that comes looking, will you, dear?”

  “I will attend to that immediately then deliver your dinner to your quarters,” Vexia said and gave a slight bow.

  “What an absolute treat you are!” the Thin Man exclaimed. “An absolute treat!”

  He turned and continued on his way, saying variations of “an absolute treat” over and over again as he made his way to the interrogation wing. It was a long walk, with more than a couple lift switches, but the Thin Man had such long legs that he hardly noticed the distance between his sparse office and the wing where he considered the real magic happened.

  “Kinchminch, my good Ferg! What do you have for me?” the Thin Man asked as he burst into Interrogation Bay 17. “Please tell me we have made progress on the data. Vexia was only supposed to come and get me if you have, so have you?”

  “I have, sir,” Kinchminch replied. “It is not a full breakthrough, but I believe I have found the keyhole in the door.”

  Kinchminch was about a meter and a half tall. Being a Ferg, he was bright green with insect-like limbs sticking out from a plump, hairy torso that was topped with a bucktoothed rodent head. Behind him, hanging limply, since it was strictly vestigial amongst Fergs, was a paddled tail. Basically, he looked like a cross between a praying mantis and a beaver.

  “The keyhole in the door, eh?” the Thin Man asked. “That leads me to believe the door is still shut because we do not have the key.”

  “True, true,” Kinchminch replied. “But now all we need is to locate the key and we are in. I consider that progress.”

  “Yes, I am sure you do,” the Thin Man said.

  He moved closer to the subject that was strapped tightly to the interrogation chair that stood in the center of the deadly looking room. A thousand implements of torture lined the walls, covered the walls, leaned against the walls, but the Thin Man did not care to look at them. His eyes were on the Keer boy before him.

  “Hello, Dylan,” the Thin Man said. “Do you know who I am? We met briefly when you were first delivered here.”

  Dylan looked up at the Thin Man with bloodshot, watery eyes. Deep, dark circles pooled under those eyes and his upper lip was crusted with snot and blood. Dylan did not look well, but he did not shy away from the grey-skinned man that loomed over him.

  “Yes,” Dylan croaked in a pained whisper. “Collari.”

  “Yes, I am of the Collari Syndicate,” the Thin Man said. “My name is Gorma Collari, heir to the vast and unstoppable family business.”

  Dylan did not reply, just shifted his gaze away from the Thin Man.

  “I know, I know, it doesn’t sound impressive to be an heir,” the Thin Man said. “I am sure you understand, being the son of a Fleet councilman. We are two that live under our parents’ shadows, unfortunately. But, my dear boy, I am here to free you from that shadow. You are very lucky I have you in my custody and you are not with the Fleet or the Skrang Alliance. They would not be so kind.”

  Dylan laughed which turned into a cough. A spray of blood flew into the air and the Thin Man recoiled quickly. His head snapped around and he glared at the Ferg that stood a few paces away.

  “He is damaged, Kinchminch,” the Thin Man growled. “If he dies then we lose everything. I made that very clear.”

  “Yes, sir, you did,” Kinchminch replied. “I have taken precautions to avoid an early death, but each individual and species is different. It is hard to know what their bodies will tolerate. I can assure you he will not die before he has revealed the data.”

  “Fo…off,” Dylan whispered.

  “Spirit! I like that, Dylan,” the Thin Man said as he regarded the boy again. “Keep that up and you might live through this, yet.”

  “Sir, if I may have a word away from the subject?” Kinchminch asked, bowing so low that he almost doubled over to the floor.

  “Stand up,” the Thin Man said, his tone not even trying to hide his disgust. “This kowtowing proves nothing, Kinchminch. Do your job if you want to show your loyalty and fealty to me.”

  “Yes, sir,” Kinchminch said.

  The two walked to the far side of the room before Kinchminch spoke again.

  “This data we are to retrieve,” Kinchminch began, “I am worried that it is too large to extract.”

  “I’m sorry, Kinchminch, but have you gone completely stupid in the past fifteen seconds?” the Thin Man snarled. “Because you are talking like you have. How could data be too large to extract? If it can be embedded then it can be extracted.”

  “That is not always true,” Kinchminch said. “Especially with cerebral caches. While I say I have found the keyhole, I am not sure the door is large enough to get all of the information out at once before the boy dies. It must be taken out slowly, cautiously.”

  “So, what? The data must be retrieved in batches?” the Thin Man asked. “Then retrieve it in batches.”

  “I cannot do that in the timeframe you have asked for,” Kinchminch said. He held up his insect hands in anticipation of the rage that quickly colored the Thin Man’s face. “I don’t need much more time, but I do need to be able to space out the retrieval sessions once I have the key.”

  “I am a patient man, Kinchminch,” the Thin Man said, “except when it comes to this project. You have a deadline. Meet that deadline or what happens to that boy will be a much kinder fate than what I will have in store for you. Are we understood, Ferg?”

  “We are understood, sir,” Kinchminch whispered.

  “Good,” the Thin Man said. “Now, get the key. I don’t care how you do it, but I want that key by the morning and I want the data retrieval process done within forty-eight hours as you have been instructed. I say this not just to keep you alive, Kinchminch, but to keep us all alive. The Klatu System is not for everyone and for any of you to stay beyond that time would be extremely harmful to your long-term health.”

  “Any of you?” Kinchminch asked, the interrogator in him unable to refrain from seeking clarification. “You said any of you. Are you not included in the danger, sir?”

  “No, I am not,” the Thin Man said. “I can remain in this moon for as long as I need to. The issues with the Klatu System do not affect me the same way they affect you.”

  “That is interesting, sir,” Kinchminch said. “Perhaps when we are done with this task I could ask you some questions and perform some studies? Non-invasive, of course.”

  “I do not think so, Kinchminch,” the Thin Man responded. “But I do admire your dedication to the art of discovery. We need more like you.”

  “Thank you, sir,” Kinchminch said and bowed again, but not as low as previously.

  “Of course, there will be none of you if you do not get me what I want,” the Thin Man said. “So get me what I want, Kinchminch.”

  “Yes, sir,” Kinchminch said. “I will do that.”

  “Excellent,” the Thin Man said and turned to leave. He paused at the door. “Do not hesitate to wake me in the night, if need
ed. I want to be here the second the retrieval process starts so I can make sure the Keer boy is indeed holding the data I need.”

  “Yes, sir,” Kinchminch aid. “I will, sir.”

  “Good,” the Thin Man said.

  He left quickly, his long legs taking him from the interrogation bay and down the hall so fast that a couple of guards walking the hall were startled and began to raise their weapons.

  “At ease, gentlemen,” the Thin Man said. “No need to be alarmed.”

  They gave him a deferential nod and moved against the wall to let him pass.

  The Thin Man retraced his steps from the interrogation wing and back up to the administrative section of the moon base. He almost went straight to his quarters where the delectable Vexia waited for him, but he had one more task to complete. His father had sowed a seed of doubt in his head and he wanted it plucked before he settled in for an evening of rest and relaxation.

  “Do you still have a reading on the Drop Team ship?” the Thin Man asked as he walked into the base’s main control room. “Bring up a holo and show me where it is.”

  The room was lined with control consoles, holo projections of the Klatu System rotating constantly as techs maintained the base operations while also making sure that the space-dwelling monsters did not get too close. The moon had been chosen specifically because of the monsters’ natural aversion to it, but one could never be too careful when dealing with interstellar nightmares.

  A tech cleared his throat and stood as the Thin Man approached him. “I am sorry to report, sir, that we lost sight of the damaged ship about ten minutes ago.”

  “Then find it,” the Thin Man ordered.

  “We have tried, sir, but there is interference from the Cog’soth Nebula,” the tech said.