by Dana Lyons
“Is there anyone who might want to harm Hilde?” Dreya asked.
“No. Hilde was sweet. I can’t think of anyone wanting to hurt her.”
“Did she hang out with any druggies, or do jobs, you know, off the books?”
“No way. She loved her dragon.”
“She was on the Fly Out list. Why do you think she wanted to go?”
Monica checked to see no one was listening. “Space madness—it preyed on her. Some people can’t live with all that nothingness out there. I’m not surprised she wanted to leave.”
Dreya thanked Monica and rejoined Rhys and Quinn. “We have a notice from Simon. He wants to see us in medical,” Rhys said.
On the ride up, Quinn asked, “Did Monica have anything to say?”
“Hilde was afraid of space,” she answered.
“Madness? But David was going to ask her to marry him. That would mean a lifetime on station,” he said. “So, that’s her motive to leave.”
“Yep,” she said. “After we see Simon, I want to pay another visit to Chuck.”
In the medical lab, Hilde’s body was still on the table under bright lights. A shudder skipped across Dreya’s shoulders. She had seen so many unfortunate bodies on the steel slab; she hated the autopsy table.
Simon catalogued Hilde’s injuries. “Other than a pre-mortem knock to the noggin, she’s covered with post-mortem bruising. Her knee was dislocated, popped out as if it got caught under the body in a fall—which would explain all the contusions.”
He pointed to her neck. “These lacerations are the cause of death. I pulled shards of quartz and aluminum—it’s mirror made here on station. Definitely not a dragon attack.”
Picking up one of her hands, he continued. “There’s fluid settling in her hands, as though she had kept her hands close to her waist for at least twenty-four hours before death, and continuing post-mortem.” He showed them, placing his hands appropriately.
Dreya mimicked him, as did Quinn and Rhys.
They stared at each other trying to imagine the circumstances. She closed her eyes and felt it immediately. “A straight-jacket.” She tilted her head. “Maybe Chuck knows more than I thought. Anything else?”
“That’s it. Toxicology is still pending, but she looks real healthy, not like a druggie.”
“Her co-worker says she had the madness, about space,” Dreya said, not knowing how it was pertinent.
Simon nodded. “I’m not surprised. The psychology of space is a very real problem.”
“Quinn, see who sells straight-jackets on station. Rhys and I are going to talk to Chuck.”
At HR, she and Rhys caught Meyers unawares. She peeked around the door into his office. “Hey, Chuck. We have more questions for you.”
His bleak eyes were like two raisins in a cold puddle of oatmeal. “Yes?”
“Is the travel list always tight?”
“Tight?” he squeaked.
“Yeah. You know. Tight enough that one name coming onto the list causes another name to come off? Would you know anything about that in reference to Hilde Martin’s suddenly scheduled departure?” She followed the pupil fluctuations and muscle spasms in Chuck’s face.
My Noble eyes are showing me the guilty.
She squinted and cocked her head.
“Nothing comes to mind,” he said.
She smiled. She could spot his cold-blooded lie with her eyes closed. “I’ll be in touch,” she said.
In the elevator to Level 3 she leaned against Rhys. “Nobility is exhausting. It’s like I have to filter Nobility through reality.”
He put his arm around her. “Maybe you should filter reality through Nobility.”
“I see difficulty in translation with that plan. I need a drink.”
They went in the End of the Line and sat at the bar. She called the bartender over. “Tequila.”
He came with glasses and poured. When another customer called him, she said, “Leave the bottle.” She sipped on the tequila, wetting her tongue before tipping her head back and letting the shot slide down her throat, bringing that alcoholic burn. “Nothing makes you feel more alive than tequila going down the hatch.”
Quinn came in and she patted the seat next to her. She motioned the bartender to bring another glass. Quinn sat, smiling. “I have a name for you, Leonard Jeffrey. Bought a straight-jacket day before yesterday.”
The bartender set a glass down and filled it. “What’d Leonard do? I don’t picture him needing … or using a jacket. I know they’re popular with some of the crowd.”
“You know him?” Dreya asked.
“Yeah, he works down in purgatory, been on station for years. But he’s leaving, at least that’s what I heard a little while ago.”
“When did he mention he was leaving?”
“Last week.”
“Before the travel list came out?”
“Yeah. He was real superstitious, didn’t want to say anything till the list was posted. But he expected to be on the next flight. Come to think about it, I haven’t seen him since—”
Dreya shot a quick glance at Rhys. “Pay the bill, I’m going to the Ladies room.”
After she walked by his table, David Armstrong looked up from holding his head in his hands.
Leonard Jeffrey. What does Leonard and a straight-jacket have to do with Hilde?
He got up from the table and left. In the Directory, he found Leonard’s name. He went straight to his residence and pounded on the door. A man answered, looking disheveled and half drunk. David barreled through the door and knocked him to the floor.
“What did you do to Hilde?” He sat on Leonard’s chest and pinned his hands to the floor, snarling into his face. His rage was overwhelming; he would shift and rip this human’s throat out if he hurt Hilde. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a splash of color. A red shoe.
That’s Hilde’s.
He rose and dragged Leonard up by the throat so he could feel his pulse. Behind Leonard, the bathroom door was partially open and he saw blood—
“No,” he whispered. He dragged Leonard to the bathroom and kicked the door full open. Blood was everywhere. He saw a dog collar and a straight-jacket with a cable attached to the wall.
His breath caught in his throat as he strained to process what his eyes communicated to his brain. Comprehension came slow, and then suddenly. He shoved Leonard up against the wall and squeezed his throat. Looking him straight in the eye, he squeezed harder.
Leonard grunted and thrashed, kicking. But David applied more force to crush Leonard’s windpipe. The kicks slowed as Leonard batted weakly at David’s face, but he used his free hand to knock Leonard’s hands away. He watched as the life slowly blinked out in Leonard’s eyes. When Leonard was dead, he let go and the body dropped to the floor.
All around him was Hilde’s blood. Her beautiful body destroyed by this animal. “No!” he screamed. He was worth billions, but she was worth ten times more to him. His life without her suddenly held no value. He picked up one of the shards of glass coated in her blood.
“Don’t.”
He didn’t look up. He recognized the FBI woman’s voice. Ignoring her, he tightened his grip on the shard, staring as his blood welled up where his flesh parted against the glass. His blood mixed with Hilde’s. He smiled.
“This is tragic,” Dreya said. “Ending your life will only make it more tragic. Please, put the glass down and step away.”
“We’re sensitive, us Demons,” he said. He choked and his tears dripped from his chin. “Our emotions … we feel deeply, we intuit, we sense, we understand. We attach and we form bonds that can’t be broken. Do you know what that means?”
His words quivered with pain; his emotions bombarded her mind. “I do,” she replied. Empathy clogged her throat and her words; she knew exactly what he meant. Her voice came out like gravel, causing him to examine her face.
He grunted with pain. “They call us animals. But we’re more human than the animals who made us, aren’
t we.”
“I know,” she pleaded. “Prove them right. Step away. Live, if not for Hilde, then for another day. You’re young, another woman waits for you to make her happy.”
“Could you? Could you do what you’re asking me? I see in your eyes—you’re different. Tell me, if our positions were reversed, could you?”
She knew he waited for her to lie to him, to try and talk him down. But she clamped her lips together and shook her head no.
“Good. Then you understand.”
He jabbed the mirror shard into his jugular.
12
Dreya set the Infinity screen for five hours of sleep. She fell into bed, exhausted. Rhys was already on the headboard, while Quinn and Simon jockeyed for room, crowding over to her side of the bed. Soon comfort squeaks came from Rhys. Quinn’s tongue flapped in a half snore. Simon purred, his vibration rocking the entire bed.
The bond was strengthening. When she told Armstrong today she couldn’t do what she asked of him, she spoke the truth. The relationship between her, Rhys, Quinn, and Simon was symbiotic and nurturing, protective to the point she felt she couldn’t survive without them. They were her strength—and her vulnerability.
Not sure I understand how to live with them.
She closed her eyes and let Simon’s purring massage her to sleep. Five hours later the Infinity screen woke them with a chime. “Oh,” she moaned, dragging her body from the bed. “This better work,” she grumbled as she ducked into the shower.
Dressed, she waited for her men. When they all filed out, she asked, “You’re sure this will work?”
Simon answered, “Never doubt the power of ego. You just get him to open the door and the chloroform will do the rest.”
They gathered outside Lazar’s residence. “Let him see your eyes. Cry if you can. Tell him you need Daddy.”
She leaned on the door bell while the boys stepped out of sight. Lazar cracked the door open, bleary eyed. “Agent? What is it? It’s 4:00 A.M.”
“I need to talk to you, Dr. Lazar. It’s about Nobility. Can I come in? Please,” she pleaded with urgency. “I’m having dreams—”
“All right. Come in.” He stepped back.
Simon pushed through the door with a cloth of chloroform. “Remember me, Doc?” He smacked the cloth over Lazar’s face and they dragged him away from the door. When he came to, they had him dressed and cuffed. “What’s the meaning of this?” he mumbled.
“One of your children requires an intervention, and you’re invited. Let’s go,” Rhys said, pulling Lazar to his feet. Lazar twisted to see Simon, but Rhys jerked him back around. “Don’t bother him. He’s not too happy with you. Come to think of it, I’m not happy with you either.”
They rode down to Level 4 and headed toward the outback wild lands. The supervisor chased after Dreya. “Wanted you to know—”
Dreya held her breath.
“Everyone’s accounted for.”
“Thank you,” Dreya said. She ignored the woman’s curious looks at the cuffed Lazar. They marched him out to the place where Givens appeared and settled in. Rhys removed Lazar’s cuffs and set him on the ground. “Why am I here?” Lazar protested.
“Because Nate wants to talk to you,” Rhys said.
“Because you have responsibility you need to own up to,” Dreya added.
“Because I want to know why I shouldn’t kill you out here,” Simon growled.
Lazar sniffed, seeming unconcerned. “You have no appreciation for what I’ve done.”
Quinn retorted, “You have no comprehension of what you’ve done.” He unzipped his suit, stripped and transitioned. Head lowered, fangs revealed, he stalked over to Lazar.
“Easy,” Dreya said.
Lazar jumped up, not frightened, but enthralled. “I saw you in the video, but the image does you no justice.”
Justice. What do you know about justice?
“He thinks you know nothing about justice,” Dreya said.
“You are telepathically connected? Fascinating. How soon did it develop after exposure?” He reached to stroke Quinn’s head in spite of the visible fangs.
“Feeling brave, Doc?” Rhys commented. He stripped and transitioned. He took flight and soared out above the trees. Maybe seeing me will bring in Givens.
“They are exceptional,” Lazar said. He beamed with great satisfaction and pride.
Simon transitioned. He crept over to Lazar, his tail twitching madly.
“Easy,” she repeated.
“They understand your speech as well as the telepathy?”
Simon approached, one lip lifted. Dreya feared the cougar would react to his human emotion, but Simon sat, cocked his head and stared at Lazar. She wondered if the oh-so-brilliant Lazar was smart enough to feel a moment of trepidation. Apparently, she thought, he’s not.
Lazar cupped Simon’s head and rubbed under his chin and behind the ears. Despite Simon’s animosity, he began purring.
“See,” Lazar said. “I know Dr. Sinclair wants to tear me apart. He has been robbed of his full humanity and that generates a lot of anger within the ego. And yet—” He continued to stroke Simon until the big cat lay at his feet.
“What you don’t understand is Nobility subjugates the ego. That’s Nobility’s secret and primary metric for its value. There is no trouble known to man that didn’t come from ego. I caged the human ego with animal DNA. Were God as smart as me, he would have done the same.”
She shook her head. Lazar apparently hadn’t noticed his own ego. She glanced up and saw Rhys land in a nearby tree. Her watch indicated sunrise, when the artificial lights came on, was due to happen. Already the great bank of lights hummed with building energy. Maybe Givens wasn’t going to show. “What about the dragons?” She asked. “Would God have created them as you did?”
“The dragons are what Pantheon asked for, designed for a specific purpose. It’s not my fault Pantheon insists on running them into the ground.”
A rustle in the brush and Givens stepped out. “Could you not have stood up for us, Father?”
Everyone rose and faced Givens. He was filthy and covered in blood, his clothing in tatters. Dreya pressed her fingers to her temples as his boiling emotions reached out to her.
Pain and betrayal; disappointment; horror; blood and fire.
Lazar approached Givens. Dreya shook her head.
He does think he’s God. He’s insane.
Lazar took one of Givens’ hands. He peered into his face. “Nate, you can return to work and finish your contract. Pantheon will forgive you.”
Givens was crying. Rage emanating from him pummeled Dreya. She rubbed her temples; the pressure was rising.
“The two humans I killed, will they forgive me, Dr. Lazar? Will the value of their lives be subtracted from my value at the end of the spreadsheet labeled Nate Givens? I took their lives—I am worth less because of my actions.”
“Pantheon—”
“Pantheon,” Givens growled, “are the workers of a wicked, evil business called profit sharing. You made me a dragon, but Pantheon made me a demon.”
Dreya stepped back. Loneliness and pain and anger were building in Givens. In the corner of her eye, she saw Rhys had gone to ground and transitioned. He reached for his clothes.
The lights came on at thirty percent, gently bringing light. She advised Quinn and Simon, Get dressed.
They softly padded over to Rhys.
“Let me help you, Nate,” Lazar pleaded. “I’ll take you back to Earth—”
“No!” Givens shrieked. He pushed Lazar away. “You don’t care about me. You can’t take me back to Earth; I’m a genetically modified human being. You make me laugh talking about ego. You have the biggest ego of all. What have you done to subjugate your ego? You don’t care anything about me.” He pointed to where Dreya joined with her men. “They care more about me than you do.”
He dropped his pants and transitioned. His scales glowed red-gold and his great wings spread out with a crack.
“You made me a dragon,” Givens said. His voice was broken. “You made me tough enough for Draco Prime.” Tears flowed down his face. “But nature made me sensitive and fragile.” His fists were clenched at his side in contrast to the tears dripping from his face.
“Never again will I be able to touch a woman with love without wanting her blood. Never will I appreciate the beauty of another human being—because I drank the blood of two humans and I enjoyed every moment.” He looked up, eyes burning with anger, lips twisted with rage. “I want more blood,” he screamed. “How do my human sensibilities live with that?”
Dreya’s heart jumped. He’s going to kill Lazar.
But Givens didn’t attack Lazar. Instead he lifted into the air. The artificial lights were on full, clearly illuminating the red-gold dragon hovering above them.
“Blood and fire,” he roared from deep in his expanded dragon chest. Graceful and ferocious, he turned and sped off, rising higher and higher towards the lights.
“No,” she whispered.
He hit the lights with an explosion of fire and blood.
Alarms went off and fire retardant operations kicked in to contain the explosion and fire. A sense of tragic loss followed Dreya as they located Givens’ charred body on the ground. Simon had the dragon’s remains bagged for transport to the med lab.
Lazar appeared appropriately sad. Dreya was actually mystified why he hadn’t returned to the genetics lab or his office, or wherever folks smarter than God go after watching a suicide.
Why is he still here?
She cocked her head and squinted, beginning to see subtle signs in Lazar’s face …
But Rhys approached with his jaw set and his fists clenched. He went straight to Lazar and spun him around. “Anthony Lazar, you’re under arrest.”
Lazar didn’t fight. But he wailed, “For what?”
Dreya snorted with disgust. Never responsible, never culpable, never guilty. That’s about to change.
Rhys snapped the handcuffs. “For starters, we have destruction of evidence, obstruction of a murder investigation, and aiding and abetting a fugitive. Oh, did I mention claiming to be smarter than God? And I’m just getting started. Let’s go.”