I rolled up the ramp back to my office, the stimulants still clanging in my ear. There was a notice pinned next to the door: some sort of invitation to a cult ceremony or the like. I grabbed it with a tentacle on the way past and crumpled it up without reading it.
My office was a dingy space, the nooks and crannies of the ceramic tile wall filled with the accumulated grime of centuries worth of Worker caste. Before the auto-looms put them out of business, my office was a weaver's workshop, and the limbs of an ancient weaving machine hung from one corner of the ceiling.
Rolling to my desk, I grabbed a pen and paper, the tablet for controlling the screen on the wall, and threw the cult pamphlet into the disposal chute. I put half my focus on the wall and half on the paper. I tried to organize the facts.
Missing; Skaldim, a clerk caste probably involved in some sort of smuggling operation. His wife didn't know about it, and had hired me and Vilsec to look into it. Maybe others, too. And Vil's lead was good, too. Something was up with Pryxxis Mechanics. As I sketched a web of interconnecting bubbles on the paper, I flicked through the mailing lists on the screen, did a little digging on the mechanic's shop. For the area, it was oddly clean-cut, something of an exception along the industrial strip. There was a photograph attached on the list of the workers there, all in friendly, subservient poses around a shining orange speeder. No black-carapaced security caste, that was for sure.
I checked the time in the upper left corner of the screen. It was only mid-afternoon. It would be another fourteen hours until the day was over, so I rolled into my cot and forced myself to shut my eyes and relax. There was no way I could sleep – the stimulants would see to that – but at the very least I could lower my higher brain functions, be less drained tonight. I snaked one tentacle out, snagged a pack of the cheap, low quality plas-sticks that I used in my office, and brought the starter to my mouth, where my digestive acids ignited it. I sucked the plasma gases in and quivered with relief.
This case was going to go deeper than the usual kind, I knew. This case stank of danger, that sort of intuitive feeling that gets your blades up. Unconsciously, as I mulled the details over, I felt my rear talons raising into combat stance. I could feel my brains seething as the stimulant slowly drained out. Well, maybe I could sleep. I set the alarm for twelve hours – barely a nap, but it would be better than nothing – and shut my eyes.
- - -
When I woke up, my alarm was humming at me with an intense vibration and the comedown made my eyes hurt. My mouth was glued shut, the remains of the plas-stick three quarters dissolved between my teeth. My brains ached and my ear was ringing. More by force of will than anything else, I lurched upright, swallowed the lump of gelled acids that had settled in my maw, and clumsily rolled over to my desk. I rifled through the drawers, looking for another stimpack. Already, I could feel my feelers shaking. Nothing. Damn. I grabbed at the clawfull of nutrient tokens sitting on my desk, shouldered my coat and hat on, and rolled out the door. I still had time. I could find a stimpack, settle my nerves, and then I would hit the machine shop.
The evening crowd was rolling in the other direction, for the most part. Nobody paid me more than an eye as I rolled past, the fine mist of the hydroponics bays giving way to the oppressive, corrosive air of the industrial strip. I sniffed out a street hawker, brought my tokens out. The little guy was one of those Seer caste, a lot of feelers writhing in the air, getting a taste of the corrosion.
“Hey, friend, can I get you something?” he chittered. His voice was high pitched, irritating. I felt my rear blades raising in irritation and tried to keep them down.
“Stims.” I said. “Whaddya got?”
The vendor's voice faltered, and he began whining submissively, which only hurt my head more. “I got, uh, accelerators and regulators. What kind do you...you want?”
I shook my head. I really should get regulators, I wasn't keeping it together, but the burning in my brains and eyes was getting overwhelming. “Accelerators.” I growled.
The vendor hesitated, reached into his canvas sack and brought out the product, a fine black cylinder filled with accelerators. Traditionally, this is where we would begin haggling but at just that moment, my anklet began to whine. The shop was closing – and Vilsec was probably going to hit it first. I let out a growl and flung myself down the chute, leaving the vendor staring after me and my eyes burning.
- - -
Not five minutes later I was peering at the front of the shop from the maintenance catwalks. Though the machine shop was closed, two hired thugs, security caste, were waiting in front of the place. Neither looked like the one from before. I considered rolling around to the back and trying my luck with the rear shutters when I heard Vilsec rolling up.
“Hey.” she said. “You look like carrion.”
“Thanks.” I replied. “You were right about this place. Something's up.”
“Oh yeah?” Vilsec was curious. My old partner, back when the fleet was harvesting a system called Glrxon, Vilsec was administrative caste and her carapace was the lustrous red of a highly aggressive strain, which was at total odds with her personality. Sharp wits, keen senses and sharp blades, she always had a sympathetic, even pitying attitude about me. I never found out why she chose this sort of life, but then, maybe it was simply because she was good at it.
“Staked the place out earlier today. Suspicious guard caste, black carapace and nondescript utility belts came to the back and dropped off a package in one of the bays.”
We talked as we rolled out to the back. We both produced our binoculars and I pointed out the bay in question. “I went to check it out, found a tripwire rigged to a phase disruptor at the shutter. Heard someone moving in the bay so I didn't barge right in, but something seemed real suspicious about this.”
“Well.” she said “What are we waiting for?”
We dropped from the catwalk and onto the rear bay's lot. Vil landed with considerably more grace than I did, and I had to shake myself off for a moment before the two of us snuck up to the shutter. I gestured with a feeler quizzically.
“I don't hear anything.” Vil said, and she reached out and grabbed the shutter, forcing it upwards. I crept forward, my eyes trying to adjust to the contrast of lit lot behind me and dark garage in front of me. Feeling around, I discovered the tripwire and disarmed it with ease. My time in the SiZreckSec was not entirely wasted.
The bay was dominated by workbenches and tool racks: welders, protective lenses, discarded thermal wraps for various shapes of tentacles. Vilsec found a dial and turned the lights up, and that's when the guy crouched in the corner rose up and lashed out.
I took two gouges, thankfully on the carapace, and I felt him gouge an eye out. I rolled backwards, my rear blades instantly erect, and he came at me slashing with four blade tentacles, a pipe wrench in one of his fine manipulators. Don't get me wrong, I can handle myself in a fight, but security caste, or guard caste, they don't mess around. From behind, I saw that Vil was occupied with a guy of her own, so I went into a defensive crouch and blocked the flurry of cuts this guy was laying on me. Despite the stimulant withdraw, the sheer adrenaline cocktail this guy coming up on me released made me feel good. I saw him come at me with the pipe wrench, intent on shattering my carapace, but I grabbed his feeler with one of my own and severed it with a swipe. He growled in rage and leapt onto me, which was a mistake. He was inaccurate, clumsy, relying on his natural superiority to carry him through the fight. He did sever a manipulator of mine, but he had overextended himself. Well, too bad, pal. I cracked him over the head with the pipe wrench and severed one blade after another until he was twitching on the floor with only a couple feelers left. Vil spectated with some amusement, since she had finished up long ago.
He trilled, telling me he surrendered.. Him and his buddy crept into the corner of the bay slurping up their spilled fluids and lost limbs, leaving Vil and I to search the place. The package was lying on the workbench, shiny, silver and wrapped in a sort of foil to shield it.
“What do you think?” I asked Vil.
“Information, probably. Electronics.” she said. “Let's use your office.”
I gestured at our friends resting in the corner. “What about them?”
“Eh, forget it. They're dormant. We won't get anything out of them, they're not likely to be sensible for a few hours.”
I shrugged. “All right.”
On my way out, I snagged my severed feeler and slurped it up. I could already feel it slowly starting to grow back.
- - -
In my office, Vil flung herself down at my desk while I popped the case open. It was her habit as an administrative caste to let others do the work when it wasn't necessary. This was hard-wired into us, so I didn't resent her for it. Under the foil there were several diskettes, coated in the protective foil. Floppies were our biggest storage medium, but the radiation our Fathership was exposed to meant that unless they were well shielded, we'd often lose information on them. I was expecting to find grooved disks, but my wall had a floppy drive. I sunk the first disk into the wall and an image came up.
Vil hissed in revulsion. It was an alien. The tentacles were out of proportion, the front being much larger than the back. It had only four manipulators, each ending in several fine digits for better control, but it lacked a carapace. For a moment, I thought perhaps it was composed entirely of vulnerable membrane, but I realized that it couldn't live like that – the membrane must be thick and inflexible. It seemed unreal, sinister. It reminded me a little of a parasite, but the most unnerving thing about it was the eyes. It had two dark eyes set on a head on top of the body, both front facing, both staring straight ahead with an unreal intensity. This creature, whatever it was, only focused on one thing at a time with an expression of total hatred, of battle focus and intent to kill, and I found myself backing away from the screen involuntarily.
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Topic: War of the Planets : Invader thread : Review Q3 2025 (Read 32075 times)