Toxic (73 page)

Using such words to describe the group of marginalized Lynians to which Jool and others motivated by a sort of late vengeance belonged was an abuse of language. They were amateurs without the talent. But the fact was they existed. Jave confirmed this.

"I know about them."

The Primark retracted his claws and then closed his bony lips. The questions burned his scales, but the etiquette that applied in the presence of a Combinate representative stopped him from formulating them in a direct way. To question the loyalty of a client was to stab a market in the heart with a sure hand.

Not feeling bound by obligations in any way, Jave didn't deny himself the opportunity.

"I've crossed paths with some members of this organization and for them, I'm a traitor, an outcast who decided to place his talent in the service of a Combinate to exploit emerging civilizations in the Three Galaxies. I don't feel nostalgic nor concern about a sort of lost cause from an age long ago. I'm the Combinate Emissary; I represent your client. The Merchant Princes gave me their trust and believe me, before letting me exert an essential business role, they thoroughly examined my life and that of my ancestors for several generations to assure that I wouldn't turn against them. Does that respond to your worries?"

The Primark recoiled slightly, as if backing away from an accusation that he hadn't made.

"I wasn't questioning your loyalty, Emissary Jave. I was simply hoping to obtain information on the identity of the Lynian who arrived on board the ship."

"I don't know who it was. His presence isn't at all due to chance. He helped the humans, without a doubt."

"That's exactly what I think. I'm going to get a team to search for this
raijkin
who sabotaged my operation. Once I capture him, I will nail him onto a table myself before scorching him alive and tanning him. He will adorn the hall of my tamer."

The reptilian got up with a jump, determined to reach his goal and therefore get rid of a part of the anger that he had been feeling for a while. After his departure, the Lynian permitted himself a moment of thought.

When Naakrit found Jool, there was no doubt that he would be in for the same or that he would end up in an oxygenation room. His position wouldn't keep him out of the reach of the Primark's anger when his old friend started to talk under torture. There only existed one solution to save the human race on time: cooperating and finding a middle ground.

Always negotiate, that was rule number one of the Commercial Collective. An axiom.

T
he discovery of a box resembling a remote was welcomed with joy. Alva's eyes shone with excitement when she saw the flat plastic rectangle held by Alison. The girl gave her find to the colonel, who rewarded her with a pat on the shoulder and a brief caress of her head.

"Well done!" he said.

He headed towards the back of the safe room. The device only had one button, so how it worked was no mystery. Masters pressed it, which activated a mechanism. The trunk lowered a few centimeters and then backed into the wall, revealing a secret passage that was barely a meter wide. The singer joined the marine, excited by the prospect of leaving the tiny place as fast as possible. Leaning over the worryingly dark well, she swore.

"I can't see a fucking thing down there!"

Bruce passed her a pocket flashlight of which a turn of the handle was enough to give them a few minutes of light. The beam of light revealed brick walls covered in spider webs and the rusted metal bars that made up a ladder. At the bottom, they made out a room.

"I have the impression that this well goes down to a larger tunnel."

"Which goes where?" Masters asked.

The biologist's forehead wrinkled.

"No idea. I'm not the architect who built this thing, so stop questioning me about the villa as if I had all the answers. I never set foot in the place."

"We don't have a choice anyway," Alva declared. "This is our ticket out of this hole."

Spirits were getting higher, Masters thought. She was right, but they couldn't flee in a panic without a bit of organization.

They allowed themselves a few minutes to get their things together and to distribute the canned foods. Each of them would have a flashlight, but it was a good idea to only keep one lit, the soldier advised.

He offered to go down first. Designated as bringing up the rear of the group, Bruce closed the passage by pressing the button on the remote once again.

"And if we end up cornered, and this is a dead end?" the girl then asked.

"That won't happen," the singer responded with a dry voice.

Masters raised an eyebrow. The diva was sweating profusely. When was the last time she had gotten high? She seemed on the point of exploding and in the middle of a tunnel, with the overcrowding, humidity and the unforgettable feeling of oppressiveness, that could sign their death warrant.

"Alva, you climb down behind me, understood?" he ordered her.

"I'm good," she assured him with a tense smile.

Masters shone the light on an arrow painted on the wall with his lamp.

"I suppose we have to go that way."

He went first.

One by one, the members of the group climbed down the ladder. Alison, followed by Dewei, let out a "yuck" when she spotted the spider webs in the corners. On his knees at the bottom of the well, the biologist pressed the button. The trunk slid back to its original position. A fine dust sprayed down on him. He coughed before wetting his hands on the sticky floor. With a crestfallen face, he moved along on all fours to join the others.

In front, Masters was moving quickly. He wanted to get a bit of a lead to get to know the terrain and most of all, to know where the tunnel led, praying that it didn't end up at a dead end. His clothes absorbed the moisture and his hands and knees trudged in a sort of sticky sludge with a persistent smell.

"Fuck," Alva swore, "this is a real shit hole!"

"It seems like a waste water or storm water drain," Bruce suggested.

"Don't tell me we're crawling in shit?"

It could have been worse, the colonel thought, keeping silent. There was no point in adding anything. Listening to the sound of her panting breath, he felt it: the diva could lose her marbles from one moment to the other. She just needed a trigger to start panicking and screaming.

It was out of the question to go back, he repeated to himself. During his youth, he had read books on what old marines called the "heartbreak" of the Vietnam War. He often remembered stories of soldiers who tracked Vietcong in tunnels as large as this one.

Who was the hunter and who was the hunted? That hadn't always seemed to him like just a question of point of view. In the end, the moral game of hide-n-seek happened in their heads. Victory was constructed in their minds first.

Masters contorted himself so that he could direct the beam of his flashlight at the singer, who was crawling on her forearms. Her face was nothing but a mask of mud framed by a mass of dusty hair.

"You're doing really well," he encouraged her.

"Yeah... Stop talking; let's get out of here as quickly as possible."

"If you feel the slightest problem or if you feel on the verge of exploding, tell me."

Alva interrupted him suddenly.

"I know what you're thinking."

"I'm not thinking anything."

"You're telling yourself that it's been so long since I had my last hit that I'm going to jump ship on you guys at any time, right?"

Masters scowled. "The fact that you take drugs isn't my business. That's your problem. On the other hand, I'm not going to allow you to put the group in danger. Understood?"

"I'm telling you that I'm OK!"

"Hey! What's the problem up there?" he heard.

"It's nothing, Bruce, we're moving," the marine responded.

With the butt of his gun, Dan exploded what remained of a dresser, which leaning against the wall and spattered with bullets.

He was in a rage. He was boiling. He wanted to have his go at them, now and once and for all. His men had come back from the villa twice. And nothing. The bastards who had killed his friends had disappeared, flown away.

"We missed something," he said, clenching his teeth. "We must have."

The Reverend took off his hood and let himself fall down on the couch, which groaned under his weight.

"It seems like it to me. They couldn't have left the property; we would have spotted them, without taking into account that there is only one exit, the bridge."

"Yeah. The obvious conclusion is that they're still here, buried in some corner."

The blonde-haired leader agreed with a movement of his head. Dan then addressed his two henchmen.

"Ok, guys, let's get started again. We're going to go through this damned villa, from floor to ceiling, every square inch, every corner. A visual inspections isn't enough; take down false ceilings, rip out insulation, take down wall partitions. OK?"

"We're going to need tools, boss," one of the men said. "Axes and hammers."

Dan raised his hand in agreement.

Elaine touched a recovery vat, as the Lynian called them. The cold penetrated her palm and she felt the humidity on the glass wall. On the other side, the flesh-eaters got to work in the middle of the insides of a disfigured woman. She was missing a part of her scalp and the skin on her face was turned inside out, revealing her network of blood vessels, her face muscles and her eye socket.

"If I understood correctly, the antidote stops the effects of the virus. So, you put the zombies in these tanks and these creatures take care of repairing them?"

From the neighboring row, Jool confirmed that her summary was correct.

"We carried out tests before reaching an acceptable result."

Experiments, that meant failures. Lots of them. And a whole lot of test subjects. She leaned to the side to catch a glimpse of the creature.

"Where did you get the L-Ds?"

"That was the job of humans. Not mine. They made a deal with the members of a clan to guarantee the supply of infected."

Of course, the nurse told herself. Everything was beginning to make sense. She put her question aside.

"Once the process is complete, what happens next?"

The alien's eyes hardened and the two vents in the middle of his face remained closed for a moment.

"Follow me."

The tank room contained a door to a hallway, which they followed to another staircase. On the lower level, dozens of vats took up a plateau that was as spacious as the one they had just left. Elaine remained at the guardrail at the bottom of the stairs.

"Oh my God..." she whispered before daring to take a step towards the first row.

"We store the repaired individuals in cryotechnic sleep," Jool explained.

"Why don't you wake them up?"

"I... We don't know how."

"Have you tried?"

"Humans who came out of the sleep plunged into a lethargic state, didn't react to stimuli and are incapable of thinking, talking and moving around. I don't know exactly why, but I suspect that it is an effect of the cryogenic preservatives, which cause damage to the cortex."

Elaine walked up to a coffin covered with a fine, white dust. With a religious delicateness, she dusted it off. The man, African-American, seemed to be sleeping. He was intact. She put her hand over her mouth.

"My God... is this possible?"

She turned towards the alien, who was watching her movements.

"Why don't you wake them up directly?"

Once again, his nasal vents closed and his hands closed around a sort of notepad.

"There are two explanations for that. The first is that the bodies are previously drained of their blood, which must be re-injected. You of all people should know that seven liters per unit are required, and we're not yet in a position to synthesize a large quantity of it. Next, if we place healthy humans back on the ground, that will around the suspicion of the mercenaries. During the wait, the only reasonable option is to store a small number for experimental purposes."

Before the invasion, the supply of blood products was already a common and recurrent problem.

"How many?"

"Two thousand seventeen coffins were spread over three level A sites."

That was unbelievable, pathetic. Elaine went back to the stairs. She collapsed on the first step.

"We also have another problem," the Lynian admitted. "We are out of stock of the precursor."

"I... I don't understand."

The information and stakes bounced around in her mind. The reality was exposing its full self. They were leading Earth to a dead end. Jave was right. Salvation was to be found elsewhere.

"The sunken boat contained the stores of the precursor, the first stage of the antidote."

The nurse straightened up. "I know who has some."

"Jave?"

"Yes. He grabbed a sample and saved it from the shipwreck."

The alien crouched down.

"I need that sample."

"Call him."

It seemed to her that Jool's eyes were growing larger. Elaine recoiled. The powerful, animal fragrance saturated her sense of smell.