Blood and Fire

by Dana Lyons

  Does the death rate justify the results?

  For his plan to go forward, he needed data. To accept such fatalities, the value on life must be determined. There were many factors for computing this value, usually dependent upon who was paying. Here on Draco, the value of life was strictly metered and determined by Pantheon.

  In the genetics laboratory, he made the decisions about life and its value. For the dragons, the metric of value was easy. The going rate was twenty billion dollars in Vulkillium mined over a twenty-year life span. He could remember when ten billion blew the corporate skirt up.

  This is the kind of greed I would eradicate.

  But for now, Pantheon’s greed was going to destroy Draco. He had been secretly monitoring the metadata, and could, with reasonable accuracy, predict a major event looming on the horizon.

  He was serious when he said he wasn’t responsible, not when Pantheon continued to criminally push the dragons, ignoring his warnings. Let the responsibility accumulate at Pantheon’s feet. He had other plans.

  Time to get out. Draco’s ready to explode in Pantheon’s face.

  His arrangements were made. All he needed was the right opportunity and everything would fall into place. He returned to the spread sheets of collated data on the Nobility effect when his door buzzer announced a caller. He glanced at his watch. 5:35 A.M., and he knew with certainty …

  Trouble has finally arrived.

  6

  Dreams filled Dreya’s mind. She was running with fear. Images rushed by, confusing and disorienting. Am I chasing … what? Or being chased by … what? Blood spilled everywhere. And fire. The fire was blood, the blood was fire.

  Heart pounding and sweat rolling down her back, she bolted upright with a scream in her throat. The bed covers wrapped around her and she frantically pushed them away. The images in her head were scary, like screen shots from one of those gory movies—

  The kind not allowed on station.

  Voices beyond her door told her the boys were up. She was safe in bed and not chasing, or being chased. But something had happened, she knew intuitively.

  Is this my telepathy—expanding?

  “Huh,” she grunted. “Another reason to kill Lazar. I don’t want this stuff in my head. Make it go away.” Being in tune with her boys was one thing, but having this open-ended connection in her head with a free flow of disturbing images was not good.

  While the dream was merely images, the images came with a sense of … past tense. What she saw was real and had already happened, she knew this, she just couldn’t say how. She checked her watch. Early. Barely 6:00 A.M.

  She dipped into the bathroom for a shower. When she emerged, she at least looked better. But a cold fear remained attached to her spine.

  In the front room, Rhys and Quinn sat on the couch, heads together making her think they were doing mischief. She would have to get used to this brotherhood/pack thing. “What are you two doing this morning?”

  Rhys pointed to a stack of papers on the table. “Simon and I went through the metadata last night and we have a list of winners.”

  “Looks like our lucky eight,” she said, reading the list. “Are we going to talk to them again?”

  “Let’s talk to the men who work with the eight, like Lazar said. See if co-workers have seen anything suspicious. First, I thought we’d go eat.”

  She paused. The images in her mind were too fresh. She couldn’t keep them all to herself.

  “Yes?” Quinn asked.

  “I had a dream. No, not a dream. Maybe it’s a telepathy thing. But I saw images of blood, a lot of blood. And flames.” She licked her lips, dreading to say the words. “I think something has happened, as in … another murder.”

  “No one has called us,” Rhys said.

  “Maybe it hasn’t been discovered yet,” she answered slowly.

  “Let’s see what we can find out. You think this is your telepathy?” he asked.

  She shrugged. “Collateral developments from Nobility. This isn’t something I would have wanted. I hope I’m wrong.”

  “You can’t tell anyone about your dream,” Quinn said. “You’ll become the first suspect.”

  They went to the cafeteria and sat together. Dreya’s dream images stole her appetite; she nibbled at a pastry. Simon walked up with his tray. “Can you use some company?”

  She and Rhys made room and he sat between them. “You folks getting anywhere with your metadata suspect list?”

  “Actually, we’d like to speak with co-workers of those on the list,” Rhys said. “Lazar gave us some suggestions.”

  “What do you think of Lazar?” Dreya asked abruptly.

  Simon shot her a knowing glance, but took his time answering, delivering the words in pieces. “I sometimes wonder what goes on in a brain that smart.”

  She squinted at him, trying to discern the difference between what he said and what he didn’t say. Answers that didn’t tell her anything always brought her back. “Do you think he’s sound of mind?” His answer showed in his eyes, he glanced off and she could see him preparing to backpedal.

  “Hey, I’m not qualified to judge,” he protested, holding his hands up.

  Unwilling to let the subject go, she dug in. “Then do you have an opinion?”

  He inspected his tray, a dour expression slowly filling his face. “Boy, you really know how to kill a guy’s appetite.”

  A scratchy quiet settled around the table as everyone waited for his answer. “Lazar likes to remind us, ‘You don’t want to know what fills a dragon’s mind.’ He’s right about that. But if there’s a mind on station that truly scares me, it’s Lazar.”

  * * *

  Lazar answered the door. As soon as he saw Givens, he knew the long-anticipated trouble had finally come. “Nate, what are you doing here? It’s frightfully early, you know.”

  “I need to talk to you, Doc.”

  Lazar motioned him in. “What’s going on?”

  Givens waited until the door was closed. He glanced nervously about, obviously anxious. “I’ve been flying,” he blurted.

  The hot reek of dragon poured off Givens, even in his human form, igniting Lazar’s fears. “Let me help you. Come, sit. I’ll get something to calm you.”

  Once Givens was settled on the couch, Lazar retrieved his medical bag. He drew out a syringe and loaded it. “Roll up your sleeve.” Once he injected the solution into the vein at the elbow, he swabbed the entry and applied pressure. “Hold this for a few minutes.”

  Lazar knew why Givens was here. He placed a fatherly hand on Givens’ back. “You killed Sean Murphy, didn’t you?” He had injected Givens with a mix of specific vitamins and a tranquilizer. It was already calming him down. The wild, open-eyed look on his face faded and he blinked repeatedly.

  “I did, I killed that boy. I couldn’t stop myself. The overtime—”

  “It’s okay, I understand. I told them not to push you. You don’t have to worry, Pantheon will take care of you.” He soothed the dragon, stroking his arm and reassuring him, all the while figuring out how to turn this fiasco into the opportunity he needed. “We can fix this, Nate. Don’t you worry.”

  “Flying is the only way to relieve the pressure,” Givens explained. “But when I fly—”

  “I know, the thirst comes.” He looked off, holding a finger to his chin. “They’re looking for a flyer in the metadata.” He pulled another syringe from his bag and loaded it. “This will mask your biometric reads, and give you relief from the need to fly.” He injected this syringe into the bulky muscle of Givens’ opposite arm.

  He massaged the injection site. “Do not fly. If you feel the need, come see me immediately. But no more flying, understand?”

  Givens grabbed Lazar’s arm. “He’s not the only one I killed.”

  Lazar closed his eyes and ran a hand over the back of his neck. “What do you mean?”

  “I’m here because I killed again, a plumber.”

  “Where’s the body?”
r />   “In my residence.”

  Lazar stood and began pacing. Too much had happened, damage control would have to be repurposed towards survival of him and Nobility, no matter the cost. First order up, dispose of the body and destroy the evidence. “When did this happen?”

  “A couple hours ago.”

  “So perhaps the death of this individual is not discovered yet.” He paced in earnest, putting the pieces together. He had to keep the party going until the next flight to Earth.

  “Go home. I’ll bring you a body bag and we’ll clean up the mess. I’ll jettison the body.” He grabbed Nate by the arm. “You have to keep it together. Take the day off. Stay in your residence.”

  He dug a bottle of pills from his bag. “Take these, one every six hours. Now go home, I’ll see you shortly.”

  Givens left and Lazar closed the door, pondering how to use Nate’s killing spree to his advantage. “Never let a good crisis go to waste. This might just work out perfectly.”

  Twenty minutes later he called on Givens’ residence with a satchel of supplies. “How do you feel?” he asked once inside. “You look better.”

  “Yeah, Doc, those shots and the pills. I’m much better.”

  Lazar pulled out a thin body bag, a UV light, and several bottles of bio-cleaner. “Where’s the body?”

  Givens led him to the bathroom. Lazar paused on the threshold, swallowing hard. Suddenly, he faced what he hath wrought.

  A dragon driven by blood thirst was unstoppable, evidenced by the amount of blood covering the walls. The blood spatter shouted dragon, for a human could not have produced the violent ferocity necessary for such a kill. Givens must have ripped his victim’s entire throat out with his bare hands. The FBI Agent’s speech about responsibility echoed briefly in his mind.

  He unzipped the body bag. “Help me.”

  They got the body inside the bag along with the tools and ID badge, and placed it in an airlock bag marked refuse. It took another hour to strip the room of blood using a cleaner from the laboratory.

  “Stay home today. Any more absence and you’ll attract attention—and keep taking the pills. They’ll erase the biological evidence of your flying. I’m taking this—” He tapped the body bag. “To the airlock.”

  He loaded the bag onto a cart and backed out of Givens’ residence, turning to take the freight elevator around the corner. At this hour, traffic should be low. He could jettison this bag and reach the lab before anyone becomes suspicious.

  Hold everything together a few more days.

  * * *

  In the wee hours, Hilde woke to David’s sensual ministrations to her body. He planted delicate kisses across her shoulder and down over her breasts. She moaned as the warmth in her body stirred, parting her legs in silent call for him to touch her.

  His hands always knew where to go, always knew how soft or hard, how long. As soon as she had a thought of what she wanted, he responded. His fingers slipped between her lips and massaged her clit while he kissed her shoulder, her neck, her collar bone.

  Her head thrashed side to side as the intensity of his actions fed her needs. Suddenly the heat flickered and her hips bucked. He rubbed her clit a little harder, circled a little faster. Her breath became ragged. She bucked against him, riding his fingers perfectly as the first tendril of ecstasy rose from her core. “Ahh,” she moaned.

  Perceptive, he placed one finger to her rosy butt hole and lightly pressed, pushing her over the edge. She cried out and bucked harder, drawing each erotic pulse to its ultimate release. The orgasm ripped through her body and she stiffened and collapsed.

  She panted, and shivered with erotic tremors. He kissed her breasts, and her hips twitched in response. Never had she been loved so well—he satisfied her perfectly every time. This was why dragons mated for life. What woman would be happy with a human after loving a dragon?

  She pulled him up and he kissed her lightly. She fought a tear threatening to slide down her face.

  Don’t cry! The travel list is almost out. Keep cool.

  “I’ve got to go in early. I’ll see you tonight?” she asked, stroking his shoulders. She kept his attention on her, afraid he was going to reach for the hidden ring.

  “You know it, baby. I’m coming straight home.”

  He hugged her. She held her breath against the tears, and begged …

  Just a little more time.

  She showered and dressed for work, grabbing her bag. She quietly slipped out and paused with her back against the door. At the end of the hall, a door opened and a man came out. He pushed a cart that looked like it contained a body. She shivered with a chill raking down her backside.

  It’s a wonder there aren’t more bodies.

  * * *

  “That was productive,” Dreya said after interviewing workmates of the eight dragon suspects. She dropped her notes on the table and sat with a huff.

  “In many ways, yes,” Quinn said. “We have no witnessed violations, but—”

  “We have one of our eight called in sick today. Nate Givens,” Rhys said.

  She looked at the days-off record for their eight dragons. “By company policy, days off are encouraged. There’s nothing probative in this time-off pattern.”

  “Let’s get Simon and pay Givens a call,” he suggested.

  Quinn stood and brushed his pants off. “Excuse me if I dare mention, but this feels a little like déjà vu.” He cocked an eyebrow. “Should we offer Simon a warning?”

  “Not without spilling our secret,” she said.

  “Poor bastard,” he commiserated.

  Simon was in the medical lab closing up for the day. They caught him as he was leaving. “We want to take a look at Nate Givens,” Dreya said. “He’s on our short list and called in sick today. Thought we could accompany you on a house call.”

  “Called in sick, did he?” He unlocked the door and grabbed a medical bag. “Dragons are encouraged to take a day off when they feel tired. No crime there.”

  “I just want to see the whites of his eyes,” Dreya said. They followed him to Givens’ residence and stood behind him when the door opened.

  “Hey Nate. I was down the hall and thought I’d check on you. You doing okay? I see you took a day off.”

  “Yeah, Doc. Staying home, sleeping all day. That overtime on the surface is exhausting.”

  “You haven’t been flying, have you?”

  “Not me, boss.”

  Simon shined a light back and forth in front of Givens’ eyes. “All right. Get some rest.”

  Givens closed the door. They stepped away. “He didn’t look like a murdering psychopath,” Dreya said.

  “No, that’s because he’s medicated,” Simon added. “And I smelled something. It’s a solution they use in the lab to break down organic matter. From what I smelled, a lot of this cleaner was recently used in Nate’s residence.”

  They walked off with Simon frowning. “If I didn’t know any better, I would suspicion ol’ Nate has cleaned up a crime scene at home.” He stopped and put his hands on his hips. “Has there been a murder I missed?”

  Dreya’s lips were sealed tight. Before they all looked complicit, Rhys said, “Not that we know of. But that doesn’t mean one hasn’t happened. Is there a Missing Persons department?”

  * * *

  Leonard Jeffrey took a seat in the corner and signaled the waitress. She brought him a napkin and left. “The End of the Line, what a crap hole,” he muttered. In a few hours, the travel list would be out with his name on it and he could file this place under memory—as in bad memory. The waitress returned with his beer and sauntered away, not bothering with small talk.

  Short timers. When your name hovers the list, you develop this unspoken aura identifying you as a ship jumper. No one’s interested in you when you’re getting ready to bail. He tipped his beer bottle to the station. “Hasta la vista, baby,” he crowed under his breath. “That’s me.”

  At the front of the line.

  * * *
>
  Dreya took a seat at a table at the End of the Line. Quinn sat while Rhys went for a bottle of tequila and glasses. She pinched the bridge of her nose. “I think this place is driving me to drink.”

  Rhys sat and distributed the glasses. He pushed the bottle towards her. “Driving you to drink, that’s a short trip.”

  She shot him a quick glance; his warm smile was infectious in spite of his comment. “We have no real leads, you realize that.” She poured a shot in her glass and passed him the bottle.

  He poured his and gave the bottle to Quinn. “I thought the metadata was going to give us something.”

  “It did give us something,” Quinn said. “It gave us the same list of eight we already had.”

  “I’d like to get into Nate Givens’ residence,” Dreya said. “He’s my personal favorite. Unfortunately, I think breaking into his place is not going to happen.”

  “You really feel there’s been another murder?” Quinn asked.

  She exhaled heavily. “I saw powerful images in my dreams; images of blood and fire. Sounds like what Lazar warned us about. He said, ‘You don’t want to know what’s on a dragon’s mind’.” She shook her head, wanting to kill Lazar. “I’m not so sure about this aspect of Nobility.” She downed her first shot and poured another.

  “How would you dispose of a body on a space station?” Quinn asked. “It’s not like you can dump it on the side of the road, although this place is certainly big enough to hide one. At least until it begins to stink.”

  Rhys passed the bottle around again. “They must have trash, and I guess it gets shot out the airlock.”

  “Maybe they have security video,” Quinn suggested. “Simon can probably get that for us tomorrow.”

  Dreya was quiet, thinking about her dreams.

  Damn Lazar.

  “I’m ready to go back to our room; I like that Infinity screen. Wish I had one at home.” Preoccupied, she led the way, hearing their chatter behind her. She was certain there had been another murder. That conviction brought a shiver across her shoulders.