The Ninth Circle (23 page)

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Authors: R. M. Meluch

BOOK: The Ninth Circle
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“Are they better than the banana soup?” Glenn asked.
“Dr. Rose makes his wine out of them,” Patrick said.
The foxes were awake.
A chubby cub was making its first foray from its mother’s pouch. The adults passed around the bowling ball-sized fuzzy bundle and cuddled it in turns.
The baby fox had all the same traits that made warm-blooded infant life on Earth cute—the big heads with oversized foreheads, the pudgy bodies, the big round eyes—round once the baby got used to the light—the chubby cheeks, the little mouth.
From chicks to puppies to human babies, those same features brought out the protective instincts in terrestrial mammals and birds. That specific concept of cuteness didn’t translate to most alien creatures, but the cute factor was in full force here.
“Am I allowed to touch it?” Glenn whispered to Patrick.
“I’m not sure.”
Glenn moved in closer, waiting to see if anyone would pass the baby to her.
And here it came. Mama-san placed the fuzzy bundle into her cradled arms.
It was a heavy little thing. It gave a big yawn with its tiny mouth.
“Puppy breath!” Glenn said, startled. “Patrick! He has puppy breath!”
She nuzzled him. The kit latched on with its tiny mouth and tried to nurse from the tip of her nose.
 
“Police ship secure,” Leo announced over his personal com on board the ship Interpol 2186.
“
Villa Grande
secure,” Galeo announced from the smuggler ship. “You can open your side of the air lock, Nox. Watch your step. Lots of blood.”
Never mind the blood of the new kills of the police officers, the decomposing stench from the smugglers was enough to make Nox want to stop breathing as he passed through the dock from the Xerxes to board
Villa Grande
.
Nox forced a cocky face as he stepped over bodies. It was slick stepping. “What of the hunting, hunter bold?”
“As you see,” said Galeo. He spat blood off his lips.
The Interpol officers had been more cautious than the smugglers. But they died just the same.
Nox tapped Galeo on his brawny shoulder with the bottom of his fist. “Let’s see what we reaped.”
The police ship yielded a wealth of equipment: small arms, riot gear, a corvus, a lot of nonlethal ordnance, some body armor that the police should have been wearing when they boarded
Villa Grande
. The harvest was all the brothers could have hoped for.
“Can we leave now?” Leo asked once all the stolen equipment was on board
Bagheera
.
They were still lurking at the periphery of the Phoenix star system. Even traveling FTL, it was a dangerous place for them to be.
“And can we cut
them
loose?” said Galeo. Them. The Xerxes now had two grisly dead ships in tow. “Mind you, I’m going to mutiny if you say no, Nox.”
“Soon.” Nox checked the soles of his shoes. He had cleaned them eight times. “One more thing before we leave. We need to show off our work. We did this. We need people to know we did this. Fear. We need fear.”
Upon Nox’s instruction, the brothers uncoupled the ships, then propelled
Villa Grande
on a direct vector toward the planet Phoenix.
And waited for Phoenix’s planetary warning system to go off.
 
Glenn took a seat in the meadow grass and made daisy chains from local flowers. Bright hardy blossoms of yellow and orange grew on flexible stems. She laced in some seed husks that looked like a cross between a seashell and a pistachio half shell, and she decorated the young female whom Glenn called Princess.
Princess was a pretty girl-fox, young, sleek, and shiny. She had big bright black eyes, a dainty muzzle, and sharp white teeth. Glenn wove several necklaces and a crown for her, then French braided more blossoms into the long fur of Princess’ tail. Foxes couldn’t braid, but they could comb braids out deftly enough when the flowers wilted.
Patrick stood over Glenn and Princess, his expression fond. “You’re glowing.”
“I am not,” said Glenn fighting down a smile. Lost that battle.
She was glowing.
“Do you want a daughter?” Patrick asked.
“No,” said Glenn. She tufted up Princess’ topknot. “I just want to borrow this one.”
Princess got up to show off her new look. She moved at a twinkling gait. How strange that the traits of girly flirtation translated across alien species.
At first the boy foxes acted surprised and laughed at her, as adolescent males will. But soon enough they were puffing out their manes, strutting, and flexing their muscles.
Princess twitched her tail at them, then ran and hid behind her mother and father.
 
Dr. Peter Szaszy’s team returned from their fourteen-day field trip outside of camp. Absorbed in his data, Szaszy strode into camp without even taking off his environmental suit, his gaze locked on his omni. He almost walked into a white vicar tree.
Dr. Aaron Rose watched him advance on the unsuspecting tree and called, “Good trip, Szasz?”
“Very,” Szaszy said. Looked up. Regarded the tree before him with some surprise. Then he waved his omni earnestly in the air. “Where’s Ham? I need him to check out these vocalizations.”
Dr. Rose coughed, confused. “Ham? You mean Patrick Hamilton?”
“Yes, of course Patrick Hamilton,” Szaszy said, nearly a snap, impatient. “Where is he?”
Aaron Rose turned about face and sang out, “Izzy! Oh, Izzy!”
Director Izrael Benet emerged from his tent, annoyed by the summons. “What? Oh.” He saw Dr. Szaszy. “Welcome back, Peter. Successful field trip?”
Aaron Rose told Director Benet, “Szasz wants to know where Patrick Hamilton is.”
Benet’s face fell slack. He stared at Peter Szaszy. Insisted, “He’s with you.”
Uneasily, on a rising note, almost a question, Szaszy said, “No.”
“And Glenn Hull. Glenn Hamilton,” Benet said. “She’s not with you?”
Szasz shook his head. “No.”
“They were supposed to go on trek with you, Peter.”
Dr. Szaszy drew his shoulders back, head high. “Well. They didn’t show up when we were ready to embark. I don’t tolerate disrespect for my time.”
“You left without them,” Benet translated.
Szaszy answered, defiant, “I certainly did.”
Sandy Minyas paled behind her freckles. Breathed into her hands, “Oh, hell, they’re lost.”
Director Benet demanded of whoever in shouting distance might have the answer, “Where do the Hamiltons’ homers say they are!”
Other expedition members were gathering. Sandy Minyas was fastest to check her omni. “Not getting a signal. Are they even carrying? Do we know? Do we know?”
No one knew.
Benet thundered at everyone. “They’ve been unaccounted for for two bloody weeks! Find them! Find them!” Then he singled out Szaszy. “You. You find them. This is your task.”
“What if they’re dead,” Sandy Minyas breathed into her hands.
Benet heard that. “What if they’re—!” He raked a big hand through his thick mane. “
Merrimack
’s coming here. If they’re dead—
Somebody just shoot me if they’re dead!
”
“We don’t have guns, Izzy,” said Dr. Rose.
Benet stalked back to his tent, speaking in tongues.
Junior ecologist Elton Langer asked Dr. Szaszy, “So what impact will it have on the environment if they decompose outside the perimeter?”
 
Phoenix’s horizon guard intercepted a runaway ship on collision course with the planet. Several news craft shadowed the chase ship and got some ghoulish images from the
Villa Grande
’s interior. It made for a sensational story.
Following up on that incident, investigative reporters uncovered the fact that
Villa Grande
’s last known contact had been Interpol ship 2186.
Villa Grande
had been boarded by the police.
Thinking they were on the trail of a police atrocity, reporters raced each other to uncover the truth about Interpol 2186, only to discover that 2186 was missing.
Now they had either a police cover-up or another victim of the same unknown horror. Interest in the story expanded.
The League of Earth Nations’ bureau on Phoenix sent out a broadcast asking anyone with information on Interpol 2186 to contact them. They posted a special resonant harmonic to receive leads. There was a reward.
“What do you want to do?” Galeo asked Nox. “Tell them ‘I did it. I did it?’”
“Basically,” said Nox.
“I wouldn’t trust the harmonic,” said Nicanor. “The League may not be able to trace a res pulse, but we know Rome can. If Rome decides to help the League with this, and we send a message on that harmonic, they will know where we are.”
“They will know for that instant,” Nox agreed. “But we
are
slightly mobile.”
The Xerxes was fast as death.
“Anyway, Rome won’t get involved. They would have to acknowledge that we exist.”
Pallas was still wary. “Why is this message coming from the League and not from Interpol?”
“Because of the reward,” said Nox. “Interpol can’t deal.”
“I’d be afraid to touch the reward,” said Leo.
“I’m not touching it,” said Nox. “I just want to make them give it.”
The LEN was no doubt receiving a barrage of hoaxes and reward-hungry false leads on their specified harmonic. The brothers needed to send a message that would immediately penetrate the fog.
Nox’s message was a one-second long visual image of the Interpol officers’ dog tags, along with the printed designation of a different harmonic on which to send a reply.
Soon they had a LEN representative on their given harmonic, quietly pleading, “Whoever you are, don’t hurt them. Just give us our people back. In the name of mercy.”
Nox returned another one-second visual. A printed message, in English:
That will not be possible. We are not merciful, and your people are dead.

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