Extinction (43 page)

Without even thinking about it or
hesitating for a second, Fouter used one of his mighty hands for each of the
prisoner’s skulls and crushed them while twisting and breaking their necks. T’Leh
knew that neither of his friends felt any pain; Fouter was too quick and
skilled for that.

The general looked dumbfounded at the
two corpses on the ground, rage building within him. “Why have you killed our
only sources of information?! Why did you willingly endanger the empire?!”

T’Leh stepped down from the dais. “You
DARE question me! I am the ruler of the empire and your master!” Fouter moved
ever so closer to the general, ready to dispatch him if it were so ordered. “Are
you questioning my loyalty? Are you saying that I act for anything other than
the good of my people?”

The general began shaking, as much from
fear as from anger. “No, Your Highness. I apologize for my transgressions.”

He knelt to the floor and offered T’Leh
a view of the base of his skull, submitting his life to the emperor. “I await
your punishment.”

T’Leh wanted him killed but knew that he
could not justify it without making himself suspect to further inquiry. “Although
I need not justify my actions…” He let the words hang in the air for a moment
while he returned to his seat on the dais. “I could not allow those two
traitors to live any longer. They had lied to me for years and betrayed not
only the empire but my trust and love. And because of their actions, one of the
empire’s most loyal and important citizens has lost his family. For my friend D’Bath
and the empire, justice for their actions could not wait a second longer.

“Besides, you said yourself that they
led the underground. With them gone, the rest should be easy to find. That is,
if they even stay together. With their leaders dead, I’m sure that they will
not last long on their own.”

Fouter looked to the still kneeling general
and then to T’Leh. T’Leh realized that although he could not kill the general,
he could still use his public show of anger as an excuse for some form of
punishment. “Warrior, take the general and place him in a torture tube. One
full day should be enough time for him to think about how he will address his
master in the future. And maybe he will have a little more regard for the
citizens of this empire he is sworn to protect.”

Fouter lifted the general from the
ground by his head and then grabbed his lower legs in another of his massive
hands. Reflexively, the general began to resist against the pain he felt from
the warrior. Fouter punched him once in the face and the audible breaking of
the general’s nose, cheek, and possibly jaw reverberated throughout the entire
chamber. The general went slack in the warrior’s grip. Fouter then looked at T’Leh
again. “He lives, master; only his bones are injured. I will take him to the
tube at once.” Fouter then signaled to his remaining warriors so that they
would stay with T’Leh.

T’Leh took a hold of D’Bath and began to
walk him towards the palace shuttle. “Warrior, I want these terrorist bodies to
be taken to D’Bath’s laboratory so that they can be autopsied. We may still be
able to get some information from them yet, so do not harm their bodies any
further.” T’Leh led his friend out the chamber doors and as an afterthought, he
said over his shoulder, “Make sure the general is conscious before his time in
the tube starts. I want to make sure that he remembers every moment of it.”

T’Leh had the warrior bodyguards sit in
a separate compartment in the shuttle for the ride to D’Bath’s laboratory. “I
cannot even imagine the pain you are suffering, my friend, but I need your
help.”

D’Bath only continued to sob into his
hands. After a moment, still not looking at T’Leh, he said, “I told her not to
take our son to one of the meetings. I told her that it could be dangerous. She
insisted that bringing him only made the shop look even more innocent and that
the military wouldn’t take action against children. She just wouldn’t listen to
me.”

T’Leh could barely breathe.
All this
time D’Bath and his wife were a part of the movement?
“Are you saying that
your wife wasn’t there by accident? You knew what she was doing?”

“Yes. And you can torture me all you
like but nothing will compare to the pain I am already feeling. I don’t even
know anything that would be useful to you.”

“My friend, I would never torture you. I
had D’Nerth and P’Tong executed so that they would not have to go through the pain
of being tortured. And also so they could not give my name to General N’thoth
as one of their conspirators.” T’Leh looked into his friend’s eyes as the
realization of what he had just said hit D’Bath. He continued, “I also wanted a
chance to save their unborn child. D’Nerth was three months pregnant. Do you
think that you can save her child?”

D’Bath tried to pull himself together.
He wasn’t sure whether he was relieved that he wasn’t going to be executed or
distraught that he would have to live with this pain he felt for years to come.
“If we can remove the embryo within the next twenty minutes, it should be all right.
But where are we going to put it? We will need a viable host for it.”

“Maybe we can kill two Yanghus with one
spear.” T’Leh opened a comm channel to M’Tawny’s private quarters. “I need you
to come to D’Bath’s laboratory now. There is no time for questions. Tell the
house mistress that I am very distressed and need comforting and that I told
you to meet me in the laboratory. Be there in five minutes.”

M’Tawny closed the channel and did what
her lover told her to do.

D’Bath, still thinking of his family,
was trying to clear his mind so he could be prepared for what he was about to
do. “T’Leh, I don’t think that I’ll have any problems transferring the embryo
to M’Tawny, but we still have a bigger problem.”

“I know. But we have eleven months to
figure out how we’re going to get through the touching ceremony. For now, I
have a chance to save the life of my best friends’ child and a piece of them as
well. I can give my lover the child that she wants and maybe hold onto the
throne at the same time.” T’Leh looked at D’Bath. “I only wish I could give you
something, my friend, but all I have is gratitude for what you are about to do.”

Once at the laboratory, all personnel
were cleared from the operating room. The procedure went as according to plan
and two hours later, M’Tawny was pregnant. Even though the life inside her was
not created by her and T’Leh, she felt an instant bond with the child she was now
responsible for. She knew that she would love it just as much as if she had
created it herself. M’Tawny knew that she would have wanted the same thing done
if she had been in D’Nerth’s place.

D’Bath spent the next several hours
performing autopsies on T’Leh’s friends. He made sure that there was no sign
that D’Nerth had been pregnant and that there was no forensic material that
could harm the resistance in any way. When it was done, he hugged T’Leh and
M’Tawny and went home. No one saw or heard from D’Bath until the funeral for
his family one week later.

~

A little less than eleven months later,
M’Tawny gave birth to the first and only child she and T’Leh would ever have.
It was the most beautiful thing T’Leh had ever seen in his life.

Two weeks later, D’Bath became the
child’s godfather and T’Leh’s savior. D’Bath had figured out a way to fool the
touching ceremony.

Mouse had just finished his last
run of the day; at least, he hoped it was his last. He had been pulling extra
duty since Johnny got himself arrested three days ago.

Johnny, like all of the other
runners, was under fourteen, so he would be spending a bit of time at juvenile
corrections before they let him go home with a parent or as a ward of the
colony. Any kid over fourteen was considered an adult for legal purposes if
they were caught in the employ of or even slightly connected to any form of a
criminal syndicate.

For that reason, Zinner kept all
of his runners younger than fourteen. If a kid was going to be treated as an
adult and thrown in an adult jail or prison for their crimes, the kid was sure
to crack and turn Zinner over in order to make a deal for themselves.

Zinner used his kids to run
everything he needed: drugs, money, instructions, notes, questions—everything.
Zinner didn’t use phones, the Net or terminals for any part of his business.
Technology was too easy to get around, trace, undelete, or get a warrant for. A
note written by a ten-year-old kid who took a dictation from a thirteen-year-old
kid who was told what to say by another kid who was told by Zinner what to say,
well, that was way too much hearsay for any court and none of that could be
used as evidence. And Zinner made sure his kids got every last word right.
Sometimes he spot-checked the notes to make sure nothing was lost in
translation; if something was wrong, there was hell to pay. It’s amazing how
the game of telephone doesn’t run into any problems down the wire when your
fingers will get cut off if you pass the incorrect message along.

Mouse walked in to the hub,
handed the coordinator a small wad of cash, and then sat down heavily into a
fairly abused beanbag. The hub was where all of the runners got their orders
and returned to after their assignment was complete or with return items from
their assignment. The coordinator was the kid in charge of passing out
assignments and keeping track of who was at the hub waiting for their next run
or to be let off shift.

Today, an eight-year-old named
Jenny was the coordinator. She was a bossy little thing, well suited for her
current task. “Hey, booger head.” She addressed Mouse as he handed her the
cash. “I have another run for you.”

“Jennnnnnnnyyyyyyy! I’ve been
running all day!” Mouse pouted.

Jenny looked at him in a way that
no eight-year-old child should ever be able to. Her face was a barely contained
mask of rage and malice. “No one, NO ONE, argues with the coordinator.” Her
words were punctuated with a stomp to the ground and her little hands balled
into fists.

Mouse put his hands up in a
supplicating gesture. “I wasn’t arguing, Jenny. I’m sorry. I was just, uh,
whining a little bit. I’m tired and hungry, that’s all. What have you got for
me?”

Jenny transformed back into an
eight-year-old little girl and reached back into her pocket and pulled out a
sticky roll of leathery pressed fruit. “Want my roll-o? It’s grape!”

“No, thanks. I’m just gonna sit
here until you have my run ready.”

Mouse curled up into a little
ball and tried to take a power nap before his next run. He had just turned
thirteen. He only had one year of work left in him before Zinner gave him a wad
of cash and threatened to kill him if he ever showed his face in or near the
hub again. Zinner was much harder on the veterans with only a year left of
service; he wasn’t losing much if he happened to disable or kill an almost
retired runner.

Short of the never-ending threat
of possible abuse, police raids, and all other sorts of potential violence, the
hub was a pretty nice place to hang out, even on a runner’s day off. It had
video games, TV, pool tables, a skateboard ramp, gymnastic equipment, and tons
of toys. The hub was always stocked with food and drinks—never any candy,
though. Zinner didn’t let his kids have candy; it wasn’t good for them. Not
that he cared about their overall health or dental issues, but he found that
feeding the kids healthy food and keeping them hydrated kept them from getting sick
or tired too quickly. Keeping his runners healthy kept his business healthy and
that’s all he cared about.

Mouse closed his eyes and let his
mind drift away for a little bit. He was half tempted to go check in on his
little brother before he made his next run but decided his current position was
much more comfortable. Besides, Zach could take care of himself; he was almost
nine, for God’s sake. Today was Zach’s day off but Mouse knew he would be
skateboarding until late into the evening.

Too few moments had passed before
Jenny unceremoniously dropped a small package on Mouse’s stomach. “Thanks,
Jenny.”

“This one needs a receipt.” Jenny
was back to business.

“Of course it does.” Mouse rolled
out of the beanbag and stood. “I’ll see you in a bit.”

Receipts were a pain in the ass.
The runner had to get the person receiving the package to lick a piece of
paper. The runner brought that paper back and it was given to Zinner through a
long line of intermediaries. Zinner would then run it through a stolen law-enforcement
DNA scanner to determine whom the package was delivered to. There could never
be any question or argument from these people whether they had received their
package or not. That meant that whatever was in this three-inch square box was
very important, expensive, or both.

Mouse left the hub after looking
at the recipient’s name and location. He didn’t recognize either. Based on the
numbers, the location had to be somewhere in the tool district but nowhere Mouse
had ever been before. He scampered over to a bus terminal and used its mapping
software to locate the address. Mouse knew that using any form of traceable
technology to make a run was strictly forbidden but he was tired and didn’t
feel like getting lost or taking an absurdly and unnecessarily long route to
his destination.

When the map pulled up the
location, Mouse knew exactly the best route to get there. He realized he had
been in that area before; something seemed familiar but he couldn’t quite place
it. It didn’t really matter. He now knew where to go and how to get there so he
was off to get it done.

As Mouse trotted through the
streets, he decided that he should’ve taken Jenny’s roll-o, even if it did have
hair and pocket lint stuck to it. He was getting hungry and he wasn’t even
halfway to his drop-off. He had a few dollars in cash, enough on him that he
wouldn’t need to commit any crimes to get some food. He just needed to decide
what he was in the mood for.

A quick detour and he stepped out
of the alleyway and onto a market street that had dozens of food vendors. The
first few he passed because the food they served was deadly to humans. No
Trizite food today—he had shrimp yesterday. He passed a new booth he hadn’t
seen before; it was run by an alien that he had also never seen before and
couldn’t identify. The food actually smelled good and didn’t look horrible, but
he didn’t want to take any chances with it.

When he ran into the tall and furry
immovable object, Mouse was still concentrating on the alien he couldn’t
identify. He turned to apologize to whomever he had run into and had to look
up, and up some more to see the face of the angry Shirka whose leg he was now
wrapped around. Shirkas kind of always looked mad but Mouse was pretty sure
this one actually was.

“Get off me, you dirty cub!”
Saliva dripped from the angry maw of teeth.

“I’m, uh, sorry, sir”, Mouse
stammered and realized that maybe this was a female Shirka. He wasn’t good at telling
the difference sometimes. When he saw the military uniform the Shirka was
wearing, he figured it probably was a male.

Mouse was backing away and
apologizing only so that he could now bump into another man that he wasn’t
paying attention to. This startled him so much that he flipped around and ended
up almost giving the man a hug. Luckily this being was human and of a much
nicer disposition than the Shirka.

The man wearing a marine uniform
with lieutenant bars and no name tag said, “Hey there, son, it’s okay. My
friend here won’t eat you; he just likes to act tough.”

“I’m sorry, sir, I just, uh. I’m
hungry, trying to find something to eat.”

The lieutenant started to reach
into his pocket to fish out some money and Mouse realized what he was doing. “Oh,
no, sir, I have money. I wasn’t trying to beg. I’m just hungry, just a little
off my game, that’s all I meant.”

“You sure, son? I have plenty.
The military gives us a pretty good per diem when we’re on a business trip.”
The lieutenant started to reach again but Mouse actually physically stopped his
hand from going into his pocket.

“No, sir. My father would be very
mad at me if I took your money.” And with that, Mouse turned and walked away,
forgetting that he needed to eat.

The real problem with the lieutenant
offering him money was that Mouse had already stolen his wallet. When he
accidentally bumped into him, his hand landed on the marine’s wallet. When
Mouse felt the bulge of the wallet, his hand automatically did what years of
training had taught it to do and it took the wallet from the pocket. Had the marine
reached into his pocket to give Mouse some money, he would’ve realized what had
happened.

As Mouse ducked down another
alley, went through three yards, over two low roofs and back into another alley,
he thought about how he had broken another of Zinner’s rules. Never commit a
crime, no matter how small, while running a job. Damn. He had now committed two
offenses that would get most runners caned badly, but a runner this close to
retirement might get worse. He shuddered to think about what worse could be. He
had seen worse and no one ever wanted worse.

Mouse made it to his target
location and didn’t find anyone waiting for him. He looked at his watch and saw
that he was within the fifteen-minute time period he was given for the exchange
to take place. There was nothing unusual about having to wait a few minutes to
pick up or drop something off, so Mouse wasn’t worried yet.

He was, however, careful, so he
kept walking past the meeting place as though he had just stopped for a moment
to check his watch. He then turned down another alley and circled around a
large building and crept into the shadows overlooking the exchange location.
His nickname was earned from years of sneaking through buildings, shadows, and
deadly places without ever being seen or hurt. And though he was tired and
hungry, once he found his hiding spot, he opened his senses to the world around
him and focused as best he could.

It only took a moment for a man
to show up, looking as though he were expecting to find someone waiting for
him. Mouse was about to make contact when he realized that something just
didn’t seem right. The man was waiting for someone, not something. Mouse had
seen enough dirty deeds to know that this man was aiming to misbehave.

Mouse waited a few moments longer;
he wanted to wait just past his scheduled delivery window to see what would
happen. Almost on cue, the man looked at his watch and shook his head. Mouse
knew the man was there for him, but he didn’t know why. It couldn’t be for his
two transgressions on his way here; this hit was set up well in advance of
those happening.

Mouse was close to retirement but
he had never heard even rumors of Zinner taking out runners before or after
retirement in order to keep them quiet. Mouse did have a little more knowledge
of the business than other runners because his brother was a private runner for
Zinner and Mouse’s girlfriend was one of the other coordinators. But still, was
that enough to kill him?

Johnny. Johnny was the answer.
Johnny and Mouse were pretty good friends. Maybe Johnny had given him up; accidentally
or on purpose, it didn’t matter which. If the cops thought Mouse had
information that could help take down Zinner, and one of Zinner’s paid cops
told him that, Mouse was as good as dead. There would be no reasoning with
Zinner, no plea-bargaining, nothing.

Mouse slowly removed the box from
his pouch and opened it, revealing a wad of cash and a small photo of Mouse
taped to the outside of the roll of cash. His fears and theory confirmed. He
slowly slid the money back into his pouch and thought about what to do next.

On the positive side, because Zinner
didn’t use any electronics at all, the hitman couldn’t just call him up and say
that Mouse had gotten away. Also, the hitman wouldn’t have direct access to
Zinner; he’d have to go find a runner to get a message to Zinner and that
process wasn’t all that fast. The flow of information to Zinner was almost
completely secure but the downside was that it was very slow.

The negative side was that Mouse
couldn’t let Zinner know he was still alive. Once he got back to the hub, Jenny
would want her receipt from the drop. Mouse smiled to himself. Zinner was
pretty smart. You had to pass the coordinator in order to get in or out of the
hub. If Mouse returned without a receipt or said the recipient didn’t show and
that’s why he didn’t have a receipt, then Jenny would raise all holy hell and
alert Zinner at once. And if Jenny was given a receipt, she would hand it to a
personal runner who would take it directly to Zinner. Again, he would be
alerted right away that Mouse was back, and worse, he would know the attempt
failed and Mouse was on to him because he shouldn’t have a receipt in the first
place.