Story #194 - Capital Offence

Capital Offence

The ship hummed with an excitement that Ral Durston didn't feel.

He'd only taken the new intercraft on two cross-galaxy trips, and though it had performed well above his expectations, the fun in both journeys had been lost as he scanned his data-plates for any sign of Capital ships and zealous captains who had discovered just how he had paid for his new travel arrangements.

The theft had been a massive success by any definition, with Ral and the others each walking away a king's fortune richer. The visi-nets had been abuzz with the news since last week, many experts saying that it was the biggest heist ever seen in a single sector. Such praise inflated Ral's ego, especially since he had been the security tech for the job, and getting them in and or undetected had been his responsibility.

Still, the fact that what they had done had made such an impression meant that the Capitals were looking as hard as they could for anyone connected to the crime. He had no record in the sector or beyond it – he hardly looked the part of a hardened criminal – but that didn't mean he could escape suspicion altogether.

Pulling hard on the altitude lever, Ral hovered the ship two hundred feet above the landing pad and considered his options. Another quick flight was tempting, perhaps to a world with even less Capital presence. Of course, if they came looking for him, the fact that he was hiding out on a planet with very little security access would not work in his favor.

He could zip to Gentrea, and take up residence on the Capital homeworld, but that seemed overly aggressive to prove his supposed innocence. It might take the authorities a while to find him there, but if they did he would have nowhere to run.

Ral let the ship drift downward back to its landing pad. The truth was that he believed he'd eventually be caught, that the system would eventually catch up with him. Though others – crew leaders, bruisers and light-fingers alike – had been captured in previous jobs he'd been a part of, his involvement had never been discovered, and he'd never even been questioned about any of the matters he was involved in.

He was sure this time would be different.

The stakes were too high, the amount of credits too great for the Capitals to simply let the matter go. He couldn't enjoy what he'd earned because he was sure he wouldn't have long to enjoy it, sure he would be warming the inside of a cold Capital prison soon enough.

As soon as the ship was settled, Ral popped the cockpit and jumped out. Tanis VI was a fine world, one with vast tracts of unexplored mountain-scape just south of the equator. With the right tools and equipment, he could make a decent life for himself there, at least for the next few years. Once the heat had passed and the sector had largely forgotten about the heist, he could get back to his real life. Ral hated the wilderness, but found it immensely preferable to prison.

“Ral Durston?” A voice from behind startled him as he engaged the ship's locking system. The tone carried a question, but the confidence in the voice made him sure the asker already knew the answer.

“Maybe,” he replied shortly, but didn't turn around, instead fiddling with several controls on the side of his ship, “or maybe not. Why?”

He felt a hand on his shoulder, and stepped forward to get out of the grasp.

“Convalent Mitor, Capital Defense. You are Ral Durston, and I have questions for you.” There it was. He'd known a Convalent would be coming sooner or later, and he had to admit to being slightly impressed that it was actually sooner. Ral knew that his manipulation of the systems in the vault had been nearly perfect; he should have left no trace.

Turning to face the man, Ral found exactly what he expected. Tall and broad-shouldered, Convalent Mitor was exactly like all of the others that Ral had come in contact with. Their training was very tightly focused, and the Convalents took only those who met certain basic criteria – brute strength being one of them.

“Of course, Convalent,” Ral said quickly, “how can I be of use to the Capitals?”

“You are a known tech of some skill, Durston,” Mitor said. “I'm sure you've heard about the recent theft two sectors over?”

Ral nodded. “Hell of a piece of work, that. Their tech must have been incredibly talented.” If he was going to go to prison, the least he could do was have fun on his way there.

“He was good enough, Durston, good enough to get them in – but no so good that he didn't leave traces behind.” Mitor's eyes narrowed.

Here it comes, Ral thought, straightening, maybe I should trying running? No. He'd just shoot me in the back.

“Unfortunately,” Mitor went on, “we can't make heads or tails of them. Whoever broke in made tiny errors, but no one in Capital Defense has been able to order them into anything useful.” The man loomed over Ral. “You will accompany me, Ral Durston, and you will help me track down those responsible for this left. Under Article 56 of the Capital Convention, you are bound to do so as a citizen.”

Ral laughed; he couldn't help it. It actually wasn't out of the realm of possibility that they would come to him for help, but the audacity of it, the notion that he would be helping to catch himself made the whole thing seem surreal.

“Of course, Mitor,” he said brightly, nodding, “I'd be more than happy to lend my skills to your investigation. Together, we'll find the man you're looking for.” Though it won't be me.

Ral was already brainstorming as they moved away from the spaceport. There were a few techs he could think of that he wouldn't mind putting behind bars. This was going to be fun.

- D

Story #193 - Hounds

Hounds

Three.

There were at least three chasing him from the sound of the hooting calls that echoed off the ancient trees nearby. Trill had been foolish to come into the woods alone, but it wasn't as though he'd done it on purpose. Julie had been furious and unreasonable again, and in his haste to put some distance between them, he'd taken a wrong turn up Old Mill Road. One of the things had savaged the right rear tire as he drove past, and suddenly he found himself running; the metal and plastic of the door would do nothing against the razor-sharp teeth of the beasts.

Duskhounds.

They had another name, but no one in the city knew it any longer. For at least a year they'd been prowling the woods, killing all the local wildlife and any humans who happened to stumble into their path. Rumors were that they'd now turned on each other with no reliable food source left, and there had been no reports about litters of the things being born; the company who had created them claimed they were sterile.

Trill didn't care about that – he'd have preferred if they were mating instead of trying to run him down, the fate of other animals in the area be damned. In less than five minutes he knew he'd be overtaken, and his would be just one more corpse for the duskhounds to scavenge in the forest.

A fourth call joined the three behind him, and he felt his heart beat faster. He had an entire pack on his heels, and that meant there was no chance they were giving up. Once a pack had a scent, the chase did not end until the prey died or one of the hounds themselves dropped dead from exhaustion. Either way, the pack ate.

Images of their snarling faces churned through his head as he ran; of the slick teeth and wide-open maws they'd displayed as they tore his car to pieces. It was clear why those in town had named them duskhounds – they had fur in shades of amber and dark yellow, short and spiky tufts that prickled from their bodies. Had they not been trying to chew the steel of his car and swallow him whole, he would have called them beautiful and ferocious. As it was, they were just terrifying.

The lead hound snapped at his heels as he rounded a corner, and his feet nearly failed him. A single fall and he would be dead, torn to pieces before he had a chance to rise again. Craning his neck, he looked quickly over one shoulder and saw that all four were only a few steps behind him, dark saliva flying from their mouths as they ran.

By the time he turned back to the forest path in front of him, it was too late.

A hole in the ground had opened up in front of him and he fell, arms going out in a desperate attempt to save his face. Years of minor-level martial arts training kicked in, and he pulled in his arms and rolled forward as he hit the ground. Even under threat of a quick death from the hounds behind him, he was sure the hole he had landed in was not natural; the surface underneath him was too cold and slick to be forest floor.

Climbing to his feet, he spun, but the the hounds were nowhere to be seen. Looking up, he could see four dark shapes outlined against the edge of the hole he had tumbled into, low growls rising in their throats. They could easily make the jump down – why didn't they?

It was a flickering light to his left that gave him the answer. Under its wan glow was a metal sign, blue background marked by raised gray lettering.

“Unified GenCorp, LLC”

He had found the lab.

It was no wonder the hounds wouldn't return to the place of their creation. They were born of a need for genetic experimentation and control, not the natural processes that should have controlled their evolution. Early reports from government studies of the company showed a complete disregard for both the safety of their workers and the animals under their care, and it appeared that even duskhounds were not so desperate for a meal that they would return to the scene of their making.

Climbing up out of the pit was not an option. The sides were too steep, and Trill knew he would find a gaping mouth waiting for him at the top. Scanning the wall in front of him, he saw what looked like a protruding metal handle, and a few experimental tugs produced a squealing protest but movement just the same. Hauling hard pulled the door open and revealed a hallway lit by flickering emergency lights like something out of a B-horror movie. As the snarls of the duskhounds faded behind him, he had to admit that perhaps an A-grade was warranted – Unified GenCorp had done some truly awful work.

Three branching hallway intersections later and he was lost. There was no signage on the wall to indicate where he might be going, or how far he was from his destination. The company did have an above-ground entrance, somewhere, but it was becoming apparent that their underground operations were much more robust than their surface presence.

Laughter stopped him at the next hallway crossing.

It came again, a mad hooting that reminded him eerily of the hounds he had left behind, but with an all-too-human tone. A light at the end of the hallway to his right told him that someone was still alive and working down here, and that someone might just know the way out.

By the laughter, they might also gut him as soon as talk to him, or unleash some new creation to feast on his bones, but he had no chance down here alone. Slowly, Trill moved through the hallway to find the source of such hilarity in the midst of chaos.

- D