Insective (Episode Four): New Science Fiction Noir by Mark Laporta

Case Files of Rolkahr Dholztra, Kuzdrohna Department of Public Safety

[Editor’s Note: Read Episode 1, here.]

Dholztra awoke to the whoosh of a large air van, as it lifted off from a crowded lot, on the eastern edge of Kuzdrohna. From the steep angle of the ascent, the savvy detective suspected that his captors had made a hasty departure.

Maybe SWARM caught up with them, he told himself.

But no matter how accurate his analysis, he was still the prisoner of a massive terrorist organization. By now, the Commissioner’s goons had seized his particle guns, his comlink — and crushed any hope of escape. Why then, hadn’t they done away with him? By now, the experienced detective was sure, Director Increalaar would’ve rejected any attempt by Olithcraz to ransom him off. The HCBI didn’t negotiate with terrorists, even to save the life of a law enforcement officer.

Yet an hour of air travel later, when a Department of Safety robotic unit stalked into Dholztra’s compartment, the Commissioner’s motives were still unclear. As the robot released his restraints, the weary detective’s antennae perked up. This unit, he realized, had been assigned to his own office until just last week. In fact, his department’s authorization code still blinked out at him, across a small status display on the robot’s right forearm. Had Olithcraz turned Dholztra’s own assets against him as a show of contempt? Or were the Commissioner’s resources more limited than they seemed?

Regardless, Olithcraz talked as if he held all the cards. Dholztra shuddered as his smug voice oozed out of the ship’s intercom.

“Welcome to the next phase of History,” it said.

“Cut the crap,” said Dholztra. “What do you want with me?”

“I need a reliable witness, Rolkahr,” said the Commissioner. “One with a reputation for honesty.”

“Honesty? That’s ironic,” said Dholztra. “But a witness for what? A wedding? Don’t tell me your hand mirror finally said yes.”

Olithcraz stomped into the compartment, his face consumed by a bitter scowl.

“What I need,” he said, “is someone to testify that we mean business.”

“Testify to who?” asked Dholztra. “Everybody in Kuzdrohna saw that bridge disintegrate. It was all over the newsnets, too.”

“Don’t insult me,” said the Commissioner. “That was just a declaration of intent. You’re about to see Phase One of the new world order.”

Dholztra didn’t like the sound of that. Could there be more than bluster in his captor’s words? All the more reason to make a break for it. As the robotic unit led Dholztra from the air van, across a shallow tarmac to a shadowy warehouse, he craned his neck for a glimpse of a possible escape route. Prospects were slim, but the narrow alley that ran along the east side of the gray, depressing building did offer a glimmer of hope.

One of the Commissioner’s stooges gave Dholztra a shove that nearly knocked him to the pavement.

“Eyes forward, Rubber Neck,” he said.

Though his mind reeled with aggressive comebacks, the downtrodden detective kept his mandibles shut. Olithcraz might want him alive, but there was no telling what a muscled-up thug might do, once his buttons were pushed. Dholztra sighed. The way he figured it, he had one hope: If he survived long enough to discover the terrorists’ mad scheme, he could get the word out before they struck again.

Soon Olithcraz and his dark entourage reached the entrance of the imposing structure. At a nod from its master, the robotic unit keyed-in a pass code and a heavily armored door slid open. Dholztra’s antennae trembled at the sickening smell of antiseptics.

A set of overhead lights flared on. His multifaceted eyes stared out at a surreal landscape of operating tables, oxygen tanks, monitors and work stations. But the lab’s most distinguishing features were several rows of three-meter tall polyglass cylinders. In the artificial twilight that bathed the interior, Dholztra made out distorted humanoid shapes, suspended one-to-a-cylinder in a sickly green liquid.

“Splendid, no?” crowed Olithcraz. “Each one of these disgusting bipeds is in the process of being reborn!”

“As what?” asked Dholztra. “Don’t tell me the new world order is too cheap to use robots instead of slaves.”

“Really, Rolkahr, you sound like a petulant child,” said Olithcraz. “Robots don’t need to be fed. They’re much cheaper than organic workers. But their thinking runs along a rather narrow chain of logic — whereas we need more … flexibility … from our operatives.”

“I’ll bet,” said Dholztra. “So what did you offer these chumps in exchange for their transformation? More video time?”

“We’re giving them a chance to matter in this tail-chasing universe you love so much,” said the Commissioner. “Here, I’ll give you an example.”

Dholztra followed Olithcraz along the rows of cylinders, shepherded by the Commissioner’s operatives and the hulking robotic unit, until he stopped in front of a cylinder containing a male human in his early twenties. While the operatives trained their eyes and hand guns on the lab’s entrance to the rear, the robotic unit shadowed Olithcraz like any bodyguard.

“This, Rolkahr, is a biped you’re already familiar with,” said the Commissioner. “You’ve even met his sister, that impudent Red Disk, who thinks she has a right to interfere with government business.”

Dholztra gasped as Olithcraz switched on the tank’s internal illumination. There before him was Imogen’s brother, Nyles, hideously distorted. His humanoid body had grown to double its normal size, and was now a grotesque mass of sinew and muscle. Nyles’ face, which had once possessed what humans would call a boyish charm, was utterly transformed. It was elongated by a reinforced skull and a thick jawline that, by all appearances, housed a fearsome array of pointed teeth. It was all Dholztra could do not to vomit up his stomach.

“That sure is one lizardly-looking human,” he said. “How’re you gonna break it to the Belanthrese that you stole their genome?”

“That’s the trouble with you, Rolkahr,” said his former supervisor. “You lack vision. I’ve given you a privileged glimpse of a magnificent future, and you insist on clinging to the tired paradigms of the past.”

Olithcraz gestured to his operatives with his antennae and Dholztra felt his four arms pinned back by the robotic unit. Desperation made him forget the futility of struggling, until a tall, reddish member of the Commissioner’s roughneck retinue shoved the business end of a particle rifle into his gaster.

“What now?” he asked. “My head on a pike in the center of town?”

“And make you a martyr?” asked Olithcraz. “On the contrary, you’re about to become my chief ally. A broadcast will go out on the newsnets this afternoon, in which you’ll pledge your unconditional support for our little rebellion.”

“You’d have to kill me first,” said Dholztra.

The Commissioner twisted his antennae to and fro.

“Unlike you, I leave nothing to chance,” he said, “The holovid is already made, of  course. I’m afraid the very snooping that led to your capture enabled us to make a complete video of your rather … robust … physique. From there, it was nothing to create a convincing video avatar that even your mother couldn’t tell from the real thing.”

“Don’t be stupid,” said Dholztra. “Nolatrids know me out there. They….”

“Nolatrids believe their eyes,” said the Commissioner. “But I’m out of time. If you won’t serve my cause, you’re useless to me. As it happens, however, I know a wealthy Belanthrese with a taste for Nolatrid males. A little genetic remapping and you’ll be able to breathe the lizard’s atmosphere. Then you’ll wish you hadn’t been so stubborn.”

“Your new world order sounds a bit kinky, don’t you think?” asked Dholztra.

“You’re so out of your league,” said Olithcraz. “But I can’t expect you to understand. The finer things in life have always been reserved for ambitious sorts.” He motioned to the robotic unit. “Take the Detective back to his berth on the air van until I decide how to dispose of him.”

As the robotic unit lumbered up to Dholztra, a glint of afternoon sun, through a cracked skylight, bounced off the robot’s right forearm and caught the detective’s multifaceted eyes. If Dholztra had had any doubts before, now he was absolutely certain: This was the same unit that had served his precinct and even his own office many times. The serial number was … unmistakable.

“Override Command: Dholztra 579024!” he shouted. “Target Olithcraz, Commissioner!”

The robotic unit swung into action and grabbed the Commissioner by his four forearms, but not before firing warning shots at his other operatives.

“Get this thing off me,” Olithcraz shrieked.

But his operatives, wary of getting shot at again, were slow to react. Dholztra took advantage of the confusion and ran out of the ghoulish genetics lab, nearly crashing into several of the towering polyglass cylinders on his way to the door.

Out in the late afternoon air, the wily detective ran down the narrow alley he’d spotted on his way in and put as much distance between himself and the warehouse as possible. Head down, he dodged pedestrians and oncoming traffic, as he zigzagged his way across an unfamiliar sector of town. His first thought was to head for the nearest precinct office, until he remembered the video, which the Commissioner had told him would be airing any time now.

Instead, he hurried off toward Bak Reltoor where, with luck, he could find his ground car and a loose brick heavy enough to smash the driver’s side window. With his handheld gone, his only other option would be to rely on voice commands. But once that video got out, it was likely his own department would scrub his voice off the car’s safe list.

It was a desperate ploy, but a step up from the fate that had awaited him a moment before. Yet if that thought granted him any comfort, it was short lived. A moment later, he ran smack into a team of no-nonsense HCBI agents.

“What a coincidence,” said the taller of the two agents. “We were just looking for you. I’m Agent Grelek this is Agent Jalinoor. Come on, you’re going downtown.”

“Downtown to what?” asked Dholztra. “A holding cell for your brains? The Commissioner is plotting to.…”

“Work with us, Detective,” said Grelek. “If we don’t play along with his clumsy deception, he’ll know we’re onto him. That holovid he sent out? Phony as Hell. Our AIs spotted the non-congruent speech rhythms in the first fifteen subunits. That was no more you talking than my Auntie Larianthrez.”

Dholztra’s eye-facets misted over as he followed the two muscular agents down the sidewalk to their unmarked air car. For the first time in hours he felt like himself again.

“So you … what? …” he asked. “You know what the Commissioner’s next move is?”

“We were kinda hoping you could fill us in on that point, Dholztra,” said Jalinoor.

They reached the ground car and the two HCBI agents made a show of handcuffing Dholztra, reading him his rights and shoving him into the backseat.

“A little rough, don’t you think?” he asked.

“Tough guy like you can take it,” said Grelek. “Now, this car’s secure. Why don’t you tell us what you learned in there?”

“Not secure enough,” said the savvy detective. “I’ll tell Increalaar or no one.”

“Good luck with that,” said Jalinoor. “The Director got her thorax slit up real bad on her way home from Humantown last night. Don’t count on her being able to hear you again.”

Dholztra’s tubular stomach clenched. Events were moving faster on this case than any he’d ever handled before.

“So who’s leading the H.…” he said.

A horrific blast off to the left of the groundcar’s driver’s side knocked every last idea out of Dholztra’s head. His neck strained with the effort to look up at the six armored landers that were descending on the center of town.

“Belanthrese!” he shouted.

“You wish,” said Grelek. “Those, Detective, are Nolatrid military. The Hexagon just declared martial law. Come on, we need to debrief you with the Acting Director.”

Dholztra flinched as another blast from the landers set off a barrage of alarms and sirens unlike anything heard in Kuzdrohna since the humans invaded twenty-five years before.

“Wherever you’re taking me,” he said, “I hope it’s underground.”

Jalinoor flashed a wan smile, then fired up his engine.

“Right,” he said. “But not the underground you’re expecting.”

Dholztra sank his weary head into the aircar’s plush back seat and tried to imagine how this disturbing day would pan out — as the air car made a rapid ascent away from the raging street battle.

“You’re taking me to LunarOne aren’t you?” he asked.

“That’s classified,” said Grelek, “but yeah. You’ll love the cozy ambiance … unless the Belanthrese or their partners find it first.”

“Partners?” asked the detective. “You mean Olithcraz?”

Jalinoor snorted.

“The Commissioner likes to puff himself up,” he said, “But he’s strictly minor league. The real mastermind is a shadowy figure most people have never heard of. You’re the lucky one. You’ve met him several times.”

“Wait … no,” said Dholztra. “You can’t pin this on me. I know nothing about any rebel leader.”

“Relax,” said Grelek. “You were played. Craters, we all were. The psych team has him pegged as a Class One telepath. Mentallic controls — the whole nine orbitals.”

“Who?” the detective yelled. “Who the quibbling quarks are you talking about?”

“The ring leader?” asked Jalinoor. “His name is Halfoorn.”

(To be continued – read Episode 5 here)

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Mark Laporta is the acclaimed author of the Changing Hearts of Ixdahan Daherek series and the new novel, Probability Shadow, which was published in October by Chickadee Prince Books, available now in paperback or ebook on Amazon, Barnes & Noble or at a bookstore near you.