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Insective (Episode 7): New SF Noir by Mark Laporta

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Case Files of Rolkahr Dholztra, Kuzdrohna Department of Public Safety:

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

Guided by desperation alone, Dholztra struggled to keep Imogen balanced on “Celia’s” right shoulder, as the robotic unit ran around to the back of the massive HCBI bunker. Fortunately, the bunker had landed just one meter in front of a retaining wall at the back of Halfoorn’s compound. So for now, at least, his rear flank was covered.

The area behind the bunker was surprisingly clear of military personnel. Apparently, the fighting out in front was so intense that SWARM forces relied solely on sensor surveillance for security. Yet what little advantage that gave him was quickly dissipated by the large shell that landed only ten meters to his left and exploded with terrific force.

The blast toppled the already wobbly “Celia,” whose biomechanical knees had been jolted badly by the war-ravaged terrain she’d just crossed. In the wake of the explosion, Dholztra thought fast. He hoisted Imogen off the unit’s shoulders at the last minute, and shielded the fragile human with “Celia’s” carbon nanotube frame. Back at HCBI headquarters, his heart pounding, the detective forced himself to wait a moment longer to make sure no more rockets were headed Imogen’s way.

Only when he believed the immediate danger was past did he bring “Celia” back to her feet, a few inches from Imogen’s trembling body. Through the unit’s eyes, he saw that Imogen had finally regained consciousness.

“You OK?” he made the unit say.

“Should have left me to die with Nyles,” said the human. “Now I’m gonna die anyway — and all alone.”

“Come on,” Dholztra told her. “Let’s get inside the bunker. Once this is over….”

Imogen jumped to her feet.

“Don’t you get it?” she said. “This will never be over. I have to live with this memory the rest of my life.”

Dholztra’s harried mind riffled through its entire catalogue of consoling phrases. But his reverie was cut short by the creak of the bunker’s massive door — which slid open at its midsection to reveal an impatient HCBI agent.

“Craters,” said Grelek. “What’s the matter with you two? Get in here. The Belanthrese are too much for us. We’re pulling out.”

Relief washed over Dholztra’s exhausted mind as Grelek signaled a team of four SWARM soldiers to pull the two humanoids up into the bunker. Before the door had completely slammed shut behind them, the bunker’s powerful engines lifted the huge ship up and away from the battle scene. From the safety of the airborne HCBI substation, Dholztra wondered what would happen to the two battalions of Nolatrid soldiers they were leaving behind.

We’re just as bad as the humans, he thought

“What about Admiral Nethrez?” asked “Celia.”

“Latest intel says the lizards made a strafing run on LunarOne on their way down here,” said Grelek. “If there’s any good news, the Admiral will let us know with reinforcements. Until then, we’re on our own.”

“Well, here’s one cheery thought,” said the robotic unit. “Halfoorn is dead. Imogen saw to that before we arrived.”

“Please,” said the human. “Don’t talk about it. Can’t believe I actually murdered someone.”

“War’s different from murder,” said Grelek.

“How?” asked Imogen. “Halfoorn’s just as dead. I might be glad, but I’m definitely not proud of myself.”

“Give it time,” said “Celia.” As Dholztra knew from twenty-five years on the Kuzdrohna police force, the first kill was the hardest. How strange now to be nostalgic for a “simple” armed suspect, like the two he’d been forced to shoot down with his regulation pulse pistol.

In the distance, “Celia’s” eyes gave Dholztra a view of Jalinoor running toward them from the opposite side of the bunker’s command center. The agent’s breathless message was not reassuring.

“More Belanthrese landers arriving by the … by the minute,” he said.

“SWARM called up five battalions from Okthassia,” said Grelek, “but they won’t arrive until morning. We may have to consider the unthinkable.”

“Nucleonics?” asked Dholztra. “We won’t have a planet left to fight for.”

“No, never that,” said Grelek. “Nanobots. They’ve been banned by the Interstellar Council for two hundred cycles, but we may have no choice.”

The streetwise detective shuddered. As effective as a nanobot attack on the Belanthrese fleet might be, the collateral damage couldn’t be shrugged off as “the fortunes of war.” After the smoke cleared, or rather the data cloud, it might be decades before Nolatre re-emerged as a viable technological society. In the short term, by imposing a strict quarantine on its goods and services, the Interstellar Council would reduce this sovereign world to a bankrupt client state.

“Hey, if you don’t mind,” said Dholztra, “can you comlink me? Talking through a robot wears me out.”

The government agents complied and within minutes, the view screen in the conference room at HCBI headquarters in Kuzdrohna gave Dholztra access to real-time video and audio from the bunker. Once he was online, the conversation immediately turned back to tactics.

“Isn’t there another way besides nanobots?” asked Imogen. “My father told me that Earth used psychological warfare on its enemies.”

As she explained, the idea would be to find out what the Belanthrese feared most and then convince them it was actually happening.

“That might work,” said Jalinoor. “But these days, the only thing the lizards are afraid of is getting too cold. It slows their metabolism and throws them into hibernation.”

“What about a limited nanobot attack, then?” said Dholztra. “You know, target only the life support systems in their landers and encounter suits. If we get control of every Belanthrese thermal regulator, they’d have nowhere to hide from the cold.”

Agent Grelek nodded, then dialed up the HCBI’s remote tech center. After a few tense moments, he had his answer.

“CentralTech says it’s possible,” he said. “But we’re still not in the clear.”

Because nanobot warfare had been outlawed for so long, anyone inquiring about it was immediately under suspicion. As it stood, it was illegal for engineers and physicists to conduct further experiments with the devices. Though a subculture had kept the science alive behind closed doors, any nanobot expert who stepped forward would need and demand immunity from prosecution.

“That’s a lot of maneuvering in war time,” said Jalinoor. “The paperwork’s one thing, but if we can’t get through to Admiral Nethrez, I don’t even want to think about appealing to SWARM.”

“What appeal?” asked Grelek. “Get this through your head, Jalinoor. Neither the Admiral nor the antenna-twirlers in SWARM Admin can ever know about this. If we go nanobot, we go alone — and take all the heat.”

Jalinoor nodded and called up a list of underground programming cells on a secure connection.

“Understood,” he said. “But how do we decide whom to contact? Can’t just, you know, post a job notice.”

“Leave that to me,” said Grelek. “The less you know, the better. Focus on establishing a secure facility that’s stocked with whatever the nano-nerds need. And make sure it’s far away from the battle zone.”

“If this keeps up,” said Dholztra, “the whole planet will be a battle zone. I can’t believe how quiet Nolatre used to be. Couple of major crimes a year, tops.”

“I feel terrible,” said Imogen. “None of this would have happened without the invasion.”

“Don’t kid yourself,” said Grelek. “Guys like Halfoorn come along every fifty cycles or so. If it hadn’t been the invasion, he would have found some other opening. But, come on, let’s focus. Just having a plan isn’t enough. Not to mention, we don’t even know if it’ll work.”

As the bunker continued its flight south to the regional HCBI headquarters in the port city of Pelintherash, Grelek, Jalinoor and Imogen ran off to a secure conference room where they could continue planning, with Dholztra listening in from Kuzdrohna. Before they sat down, Grelek excused himself to make a private comlink connection.

“Still no word from LunarOne?” he asked, when he finally rejoined the others.

“Nothing,” said Jalinoor. “I think we can assume….”

“Assume nothing,” said Grelek. “But for now, we’re still punching above our weight class. Now it turns out the earliest our ‘technical advisors’ can produce a workable intrusive program is two rotations. The folks in aeronautics are already working on a microdrone delivery system, so that should buy us some time. But the way the Belanthrese are eating up our ground troops — and I hear we’re not doing that much better in the air — we can’t afford to wait. There has to be something we can do now.”

Jalinoor looked up from one of the computer screens embedded in the conference table.

“Maybe a propaganda blitz,” he said. “If it’s true that Halfoorn’s dead, we could work that bit of news into a demoralizing ‘Surrender Now’ holovid and flood their sensor array with it, 24/7.”

Grelek nodded.

“I’ll get the media team on it right away,” he said. “Imogen, would you deliver the news yourself and tell those lizards what a — pardon the expression — weak little human did to their First Citizen?”

“Why not?” asked Imogen. “I can’t fall any farther.”

For the next few hours, the airborne HCBI bunker was abuzz with excitement, as the Bureau rapidly relocated its central office. Once the bunker’s trajectory was finalized, Grelek arranged for a supersonic aircar to pick up Dholztra for an eventual rendezvous. At that point, Grelek’s immediate superior, Deputy Director Lotrianka pulled him aside.

“Agent Grelek, really,” said Lotrianka. “Why do we need a broken-down ward detective on this case? This guy … Dholztra? … he’s never even made Chief Inspector.”

Despite the sudden spike in his internal temperature, Grelek kept his voice even.

“Sir, with respect, we owe this whole investigation to the Detective,” he said. “He’s the one who tipped us off to Olithcraz’ schemes. Without his help, Halfoorn would still be alive.”

“And who authorized that execution?” asked Lotrianka. “I’ll tell you: no one. You’ve gone way out of bounds, Grelek. When this investigation is over we’ll hold a thorough inquiry.”

“Deputy Director,” said Grelek, “if we survive this investigation, the only question the Bureau will ask is how Halfoorn built his crazy empire right under your nose. You want an inquiry? Write that up and I’ll submit it to SWARM personally. Just be sure to attach your receipts.”

Lotrianka stared, mandibles open, as Grelek stormed out of the bunker’s command center.

Meanwhile, the battle for control of Kuzdrohna intensified, and the Belanthrese launched a space-based attack on key installations all across Nolatre. But if Nolatrid officials were expecting a surgical strike, they were sadly mistaken. As the damage to residential areas sent civilians scrambling for cover in the planet’s age-old bomb shelters, the initial skirmish metastasized into a planet-wide disaster.

It was in this climate of panic that the HCBI’s flying bunker touched down in Pelintherash. Imogen was startled to see the city’s police force out in strength to keep fleeing citizens away from the service’s gated compound. As she learned later, recent sightings of a second, unknown space fleet had made emotions flare up even faster than before.

“Could they be the ships Halfoorn was warned about?” she asked, when they were safely inside the compound. Without Dholztra there, who was still enroute, Imogen almost regretted her blurted question. For the two HCBI agents were taken aback and struggled not to accuse her of concealing evidence. But she was quick to report Epilosaah’s words of caution.

“They thought the ships might be a data ghost,” she said. “Whatever that means.”

“It means the mystery fleet must have been several folds out of optimal sensor range,” said Grelek. “Did Halfoorn’s flunky say anything else?”

When Imogen recounted that Halfoorn had extended an invitation to Earth, and that the data ghost had appeared soon after, Grelek decided that the timing was too close for coincidence. He slammed his hands down onto Jalinoor’s shoulders.

“Compile all data on the specs for the Human ships,” he said, “and run a cross check. If there’s a chance this is the human fleet, we need to know ASAP.”

“Right,” said Jalinoor. “By the way, shouldn’t the Detective be here by now?”

But Grelek was engrossed in his comlink, as he tried to get an update on his clandestine nanobot team. For the moment, Dholztra was the farthest thing from his mind. It might have been just as well, for the Detective’s supersonic air car was experiencing technical difficulties.

At first, Dholztra thought nothing of what appeared to be classic atmospheric turbulence. When that familiar rocking sensation was joined by a high pitched whine and followed shortly thereafter by a horrific grinding sound, the air car’s sole passenger reached for its intercom.

“What’s going on up there?” he called out. Come to think of it, although Grelek hadn’t specified that this was an autocar, Dholztra now realized that he’d rushed into his compartment without giving the pilot a thought, much less stopping by the cabin to say “hello.” Either way, his reverie was cut short by the realization that the car had become eerily quiet as if….

The forty-something Nolatrid felt his stomach heave from a sudden shift in his center of gravity — as the air car began plummeting down through the clouds.

“Pilot!” he yelled. “Pull up!”

His pleas were greeted by a deep chuckle that echoed out over the car’s intercom.

“You’re pathetic,” said an equally deep voice. “A veteran detective who doesn’t even check out his ride before strapping in. And don’t pretend that trusting the HCBI is any excuse. Used to be, you trusted no one.”

“Like you’d know,” said Dholztra. “So what, anyway? Whoever you are, if you’re working for Halfoorn’s outfit you have nowhere to hide from your own failings.”

“Comet gas,” said the voice. “Where’s a film crew when you need one? That could’ve been a scene in a feature holovid — or even a hologame, though I doubt many parents would let their kids play with a scruffy reprobate like you.”

“Can you get to the point, whoever you are?” said Dholztra. “I’m running out of time.”

“So you are,” said the voice. “But it doesn’t have to be that way. We used to have rather enjoyable conversations, you and I, back in your precinct office. I’d miss that.”

Dholztra’s antennae stuck straight up.

“Halfoorn?” he asked.

“In a sense,” said the voice. “Only now we meet for real. So far, you’ve been dealing with my cyber proxies. The one at my compound was especially convincing, I think you’ll agree.”

“Right,” said the detective. “Now I’m convinced you’re insane.”

“A sharp wit, even in the face of danger,” said the voice. “So much talent wasted on grubby police work. Really, Rolkahr. Just say the word and I can elevate you to the position in life you deserve.”

Dholztra’s multifaceted eyes caught a glimpse out of the nearest window — of the planet rushing up toward him at alarming speed.

“Mind explaining that?” he said. “Why would you, of anyone in the three galaxies, want to keep me around?”

The voice let out a soul-withering sigh.

“I can’t expect you to understand,” it said. “But the fact is, the upper echelons of a new world order are a lonely place. Being surrounded by eager subordinates, and all that that implies, is a fleeting comfort. I lack the true companionship of a near-equal — if only to bounce ideas off from time to time.”

“I’m touched,” said Dholztra, “but unless you elevate this vehicle, pronto, the only thing you’ll be bouncing is me — right off the pavement.”

“Tsk, tsk,” said the voice. “The way you underestimate me … I have to say, it hurts. To think that I would ever dream of wasting a state-of-the-art air craft on a SWARM lackey.”

With that, the scene out of Dholztra’s window changed. His breath came up short at the sight of a massive gateway opening up in the ground below. The air car’s engines kicked in hard and the sudden breaking effect snapped his head back into his chair. Eyes wide, he watched the car being swallowed up in the yawning maw of a vast subterranean stronghold.

Surrounded by darkness, he tried to settle his racing mind. Whatever plan Halfoorn had in store for him would be revealed in good time. The experienced detective forced himself to search for identifying marks that would pinpoint the stronghold’s location for the HCBI. Assuming, that is, they’d survived the Belanthran onslaught. But that depressing thought, he decided, was off topic — and the only topic was staying alive long enough to escape.

The HCBI air car alit on a broad. circular landing pad. Dholztra’s seat belt and shoulder straps clicked open on their own, as did the side door to his left. Knowing full well that it was either walk out of the car or be dragged out, he made his best show of saving face and strode into the immense landing bay with his head held high. He didn’t have to wait long before he was approached by a dark green android with an unusual ovoid design.

In spite of himself, Dholztra stared at the unit admiringly. In place of legs, treads or rollers, it floated on what Dholztra would have assumed was a maglev cushion, if it weren’t for the absence of the standard composite tiles used in cargo bays and factory floors across the three galaxies to generate the required e-mag field.

Lost in thought, Dholztra jumped back nearly half a meter at the voice from the air car, which seemed to emanate from speakers on all sides of him.

“Gravity modulation is just one of the many gifts I plan to share with your backward people,” said the voice. “Provided, of course, you’ll stop this foolish resistance.”

Despite his fury, Dholztra resisted the urge to engage this … being … in a war of words. Instead, he forced his fear-worn legs forward to explore his surroundings. There had to be a weakness in this underground structure that he could exploit to his advantage — if only to broadcast a homing signal to the outside world.

“The detective at work,” said the voice. “Inspiring. But you must get out of the habit — however it may be supported by casual observation — that you’re the only intelligent mind in the room. The android to your right will now conduct you to a sterile transfer station, where your consciousness will be uploaded into our systems. After that, you’re free to go. While I have no need to kill you, I also have no need to give you free room and board.”

“My ‘consciousness’?” asked the weary detective. “What are you talking about?”

But try as he might, Dholztra’s stalling tactics failed. The android’s gentle but firm hand on his arm told him he would either comply voluntarily or by force.

“Please don’t concern yourself,” said the voice. “I’m simply completing the work that idiot Olithcraz neglected to carry out instead of pontificating. That’s my dilemma. Imagine trying to revolutionize society with a gaggle of associates who, at best, are suited only for the petty intrigues of local politics. You, however, have the rare quality of mind I need to institute my reforms on a galactic scale.”

“You know, it’s a funny thing,” said Dholztra,  “I’m not the least bit flattered.”

The detective looked up to see that the android had led him to a parabolic archway blocked by a pair of sliding doors. The android entered a command string into a keypad on the threshold and the doors whooshed open, to reveal an impressive, high-ceilinged facility in brilliant white with chrome accents. Dholztra’s lower mandible dropped at the sight of the intricate array of computer systems and the bustling staff of Nolatrid and Belanthrese operatives who tended them.

Nudged forward by the stubborn android, Dholztra plopped down into a stark, white chair that wouldn’t have been out of place in the cockpit of a military assault ship. Within seconds, he was strapped in and helpless, as the chair’s back tilted a good ninety degrees, until he was lying flat. His heart racing, he watched as an ominous sphere floated over from an unknown location to cover his head.

This is it, he thought. Didn’t even get to see Treldraah one more….

From that point on, for the next twelve hours, conscious thought was impossible. Much later, he’d have the distinct memory of being in two places at once, with each version of himself able to perceive the other in a mental hall of mirrors.

Nice life, his other self seemed to say at some point. But there was nothing to be done about that now. In one fateful day, all his years of striving to uphold justice and the rule of law came to nothing, as his powerful mind would now and forever be in the service of the galaxy’s greatest evil.

When the process was complete, the android wheeled the semi-conscious detective into a holding cell, where he eventually awoke, groggy and disoriented. Soon the chair returned him to a seated position and the straps that bound him came undone automatically.

“Good morning,” said the voice. “You will now be escorted to an air car, which will take you to a local hotel, where you may stay as long as you like, with my complements. Within its confines, you will be safe, come what may. Venture out of it, and you will be subject to the ravages of the battles to come. The choice is yours.”

“What’s it to you whether I live or die?” asked Dholztra.

“Now that you’ve so callously rejected my offer of friendship, it’s immaterial,” said the voice. “However, should my system need refreshing at some point, having you close at hand would save me the bother of retrieving you again.”

Dholztra shook his head.

“Forget it,” he said. “Just let me out of here.”

The echoing laughter that followed grew from a deep, quiet rumble into an ear-splitting cacophony.

“Have it your way,” the voice said at last.

A massive scraping sound startled Dholztra as, to his left, a gigantic side panel opened to the outside world. The determined detective raced out of the complex and into a searing expanse of desert. Faster than he would have thought possible, the huge panel slammed shut again with a loud clang.

“Enjoy the weather, you fool,” said the voice.

Dholztra stared out at the desolate landscape in front of him. How in the craters of LunarOne, he wondered, would he ever survive in this hostile environment?

(To be continued – Read Episode 8)

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.

Design by Steven S. Drachman, from an original image from Jeremy Cai, Unsplash.

Insective Episode 6

Insective (Episode 6): New SF Noir by Mark Laporta

, , , , , , ,

Case Files of Rolkahr Dholztra, Kuzdrohna Department of Public Safety:

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

Dholztra’s first experience with the humanoid robotic unit developed by LunarOne was a disaster. As expected, it was hard to keep the carbon nanotube simulacrum upright. Worse, each time “Celia” fell over, technicians rushed to check for abrasions on her pseudo skin, an ingenious mix of silicon-based fibers, integrated with cloned organic material. All told, the robot’s natural look was an impressive achievement. Especially, that is, because Nolatrid biologists had learned almost everything they knew about the human epidermis from studying battle-scarred cadavers.

One surprising outcome of that study had been the realization that there were many more human phenotypes than they had originally thought. To simplify matters. the roboticists on LunarOne had modelled their humanoid unit on Imogen’s phenotype. That way, they reasoned, she’d find it easier to pretend that “Celia” was a relative, or merely another Red Disk from Humantown.

Fortunately, after a day of constant practice in the LunarOne robotics lab, Dholztra’s control over the unit improved dramatically. By then, Agents Grelek and Jalinoor had updated Imogen and brought her over to consult with the detective. Though she was initially enthusiastic, her confidence faded when she saw the robotic unit in action.

“You’ve never seen a human female walk, have you?” she asked.

In fact, “Celia’s” clomping steps created the impression of a pour soul of either gender with extensive nerve damage.

“We’re born to walk on two legs,” she said. “Stop trying to control every step.”

Dholztra’s thorax tightened.

“Walk for me,” he told Imogen.

The human smiled to herself, then made a complete circuit of the robotics lab. She also demonstrated walking backwards and a number of different strides: confident, hesitant, relaxed and formal.

“Be here forever,” said Dholztra.

“Maybe not,” said Imogen. “My body reacts to my emotions. Doesn’t yours?”

That flash of insight gave the wily detective the confidence to try again — with much better results.

“We’ll have to hope our boy Halfoorn isn’t such a keen observer of human kinetics,” said Grelek.

Admiral Nethrez, who’d sat silent through this entire exchange, rose to her feet.

“Whatever,” she said, “we’re officially out of time. Detective, if you’re going to make this work, it has to be now. The Belanthrese fleet is getting closer every nanoblink.”

Dholztra glanced at Imogen.

“Ready?” he asked.

Though Imogen nodded, Dholztra read profound sadness in her expression. Would the outcome of their mission, he wondered, bring her an ounce of comfort? But there was no more time for speculation, as they were now called to the LunarOne launch bay and shuttled back to Nolatre with the humanoid robotic unit.

The HCBI agents used the trip to create a counterfeit metadigital record for “Celia.” They needed to make her appear as real as possible to Halfoorn’s inevitable sensor sweep. Meanwhile, the Nolatrid detective concentrated on making “Celia” speak. At first, his biggest problem was editing his thoughts, so the robotic unit wouldn’t blurt out whatever was on his mind. Imogen suggested he practice having a real conversation. After all, even if Dholztra said as little as possible, he had to be able to improvise a response to any comment from Halfoorn or his crew.

Dholztra nodded and “Celia” spoke up. But in spite of the unit’s female voice, its speech patterns were too reminiscent of the detective himself.

“Maybe try a little acting,” said Imogen. “You know, pretend you’re a human female, like me.”

“That’s a heavy lift,” said Dholztra. “Pretending to be human is one thing, but pretending to be female … well, you know what I mean.”

“But you have a girlfriend, right?” asked Imogen. “Could you model Celia on her?”

Dholztra’s antennae drooped.

“Might work,” he said. “Except Treldraah’s not exactly a diplomat.”

“Is it true that Halfoorn’s holding her hostage?” asked Imogen. “That must be awful.”

“Yeah,” said the detective. “Don’t know what I’ll do if I find her in his compound.”

“No problem there,” said Grelek. “Halfoorn has her on house arrest in Romnexia. Sorry to say her sister’s trapped in there, too, with mercenaries guarding the door. Don’t worry, we’ll get her out.”

Dholztra took a deep breath and shrugged his four shoulders.

“Forget it,” he said. “Let’s get back to work.”

His fears shoved aside, the dedicated detective took Imogen’s suggestion and tried to imagine how Treldraah would talk. A few hours later, “Celia” was ready for casual conversation, just in time for Dholztra to feel the jolt of Grelek’s air car, as it touched down at HCBI headquarters on Nolatre. Though they could have shipped “Celia” out in a crate, The savvy detective wanted to practice controlling the unit in the real world.

As it happened, the real world wasted no time in testing him. The moment they were out of the air car, a raggedy human teenager ran up behind them and called out to “Celia.”

“Hey, Babe, why you hanging with those bug boys?” he said. “You needa get yourself a real man.”

“Where would I find one?” said Dholztra through the robotic unit. “The only humans I see are my friend here and a skinny kid who’s late for dinner.”

The human boy scowled, his eyes flashing.

“Big Brian was right about you Red Disks,” he said. “You let the ‘sectoids rip out your heart and replace it with a bag of bug juice.”

A nod from Grelek to an approaching security guard and the human teenager was hustled off the HCBI campus.

“How did that kid get in here?” asked Dholztra.

“We don’t live in a police state, Detective,” said Grelek, “not yet. The high security area is straight ahead. I don’t doubt he’s one of Halfoorn’s operatives, though. Consider yourself warned.”

Dholztra’s mandibles clenched, but he was determined not to let Imogen down. How was it, he wondered, that she seemed so brave? He had his answer soon after they’d settled into a secure, windowless conference room that was paneled in dark neo-wood and decorated with polished brass trim.

“You know,” she said. “I’ve nothing left to lose. When my father boarded his ship on Earth, he was a soldier in a proud tradition. I was born here, but at least I had my family. Now Dad’s dead and Nyles … I know I’ll never really get him back again. But you have a career and a lover to protect. What’s in it for you?”

Dholztra glanced up at her tear-stained face and shifted his gaze to the view screen on the far wall, which displayed a computer animation of the approaching Belanthrese fleet.

“The stakes are the same for me,” he told her. “If we don’t stop Halfoorn my life won’t be worth a sack of comet dust. So we have to pull ourselves together. Go wash your face, or whatever humans do. No matter what, your best defense is knowing you can win.”

Dholztra walked “Celia” across the room and made the unit take Imogen’s hands.

“Besides, Sis,” she said, “we have each other’s back, right?”

Imogen smiled, kissed “Celia” on the cheek and left the conference room. A few minutes later, when she returned, looking refreshed and calm, Dholztra wished he could say the same for himself. If they made it through this mission, he realized, it would be due to the courage they took from each other.

Agent Jalinoor poked his head into the room.

“It’s time,” he said. “We’ve located Halfoorn’s headquarters. And get this, it’s still under construction.”

“Where?” asked Dholztra.

“Ask ‘Celia’.” said Jalinoor. “LunarOne built a complete sensor array into the robotic unit, so it knows everything we do. You’ll also find a map and schematics for Halfoorn’s compound.”

Dholztra closed his eyes.

Halfoorn’s location, he thought. Almost immediately, a GPS map appeared in his mind, with Halfoorn’s headquarters marked in red.

“Got it,” he said. “So … what? We just walk in?”

“Seems like it,” said Jalinoor. “According to the intel we yanked out of a captured operative, the ‘First Citizen’ is so over-confident that he leaves the whole compound open to the public. He tells everybody he wants to be ‘transparent.’”

“Guess he succeeded,” said Dholztra, “’cause I see right through him. Just one more question. Won’t the compound’s AI pick up my signal?”

But as Jalinoor explained, “Celia’s” inner workings were encased in a chameleon field, which masked her sensor array behind the vital signs of a young human female.

“Hope you’re right,” said Dholztra. “I don’t relish getting my brain fried if his tech team finds me.”

“Just try not to stand out,” said Jalinoor. “The quieter you are, the better the chameleon circuits will work. You’re only going in to observe and be a transmitter.”

“That’s great for me,” said Dholztra. “But Imogen will actually be inside Halfoorn’s … palace.”

“We’ve done what we could.” said Jalinoor. “Imogen, how’s the microtransmitter we implanted in your arm? Giving you any trouble?”

“It tingles a lot,” said Imogen, “but it’s fine. Will you really be able to message me once we’re inside?”

“That’s the idea,” said the HCBI agent. “As soon as we’re ready to move in, we’ll send you coordinates to a safe location within the compound.”

“Safe?” asked Dholztra. “Not with that lunatic. Maybe I should go in alone.”

“No way,” said Imogen. “Halfoorn thinks he knows me. That should give ‘Celia’ better cover. Anyway, it’s like I said: I’m at the end of my rope and the one last thing I want out of life, is to see the monster who took my brother burnt to a crisp.

“No need to jump the gun,” said the detective. “I’ll make sure you get out alive.”

Imogen hung her head.

“Thanks,” said Imogen. “Not sure I care.”

Dholztra watched as Imogen left the secure conference room with Jalinoor and the humanoid robotic unit that, he hoped, would give him the opportunity to finish off Halfoorn personally.

A lot easier if they’d built a pulse pistol into that thing, he told himself. Too late, he realized his mistake and heard “Celia” repeat his thoughts remotely. Seconds later, Imogen’s remote whisper echoed in his mind.

Stop it! she said. Control yourself.

Dholztra’s first impulse was to apologize, but he thought better of it. Instead he said through the robotic unit,

“Oh, Sis, I’m glad you talked me into this. Halfoorn only wants what’s right for us.”

Through the unit’s eyes, he saw Imogen smile at him, then put a finger to her lips. Of course, she was right. The less “Celia” said, the better.

By now, Imogen and her robotic sister were within a few meters of Halfoorn’s headquarters. As predicted by the HCBI, the massive gate that faced the street swung open easily, and they stepped into the grounds of Halfoorn’s main compound unopposed. It was only when they reached the short flight of stairs leading to the main entrance that they were accosted by a reverberant female voice.

“Welcome. State the nature of your business with the First Citizen,” it said.

Dholztra’s mind exploded with sarcastic remarks, but he distracted himself by analyzing the layout of the compound, in case they had to escape in a hurry.

“We’ve seen the light,” said Imogen. “We want to spread the First Citizen’s message to all humans on Nolatre.”

“Enter,” said the voice. “You will be scanned.”

Imogen nodded at “Celia,” and Dholztra summoned every ounce of concentration to climb the stairs — the one thing he’d forgotten to practice. But luck was with him and before long, the two humanoids stood in the lobby of the compound’s main building. A purplish-red light bathed them and the entire lobby for what felt like an eternity of silence.

“Cleared,” said the same female voice. “Though it appears the human designated ‘Imogen’ has an elevated heart rate. Explain.”

“Please,” said Imogen, “this is the most exciting moment of my life. I can’t wait to learn how I can help.”

“And you?” said the voice. “The human designated ‘Celia,’ are you not excited to meet the First Citizen?”

”His plan fills me with the serenity of the just,” said Dholztra. “I know that all of history has led to this point, and I am content.”

“Poetic,” said the voice. “In time, you must learn to speak in the cadence of the common people. The First Citizen’s message is for all.”

Dholztra’s mind reeled at the prospect of keeping up this subservient patter. Fortunately, he was soon spared by Halfoorn himself, who flung open the doors to his inner sanctum.

“Extraordinary,” said Halfoorn. “But not unanticipated. The message behind a great political movement is always infectious. Come in, my children.”

Dholztra let Imogen take the lead, as he walked “Celia” into an immense office space, decorated in a bizarre mix of Nolatrid, Belanthrese and human artifacts. On the wall opposite the room’s ovoid doorway, he saw a traditional Nolatrid coat of arms. To his left, a suite of office furniture in the Belanthrese style, with its satiny upholstery and elaborate copper metal work running up and down its legs, back and arms. Not knowing what to expect, he made “Celia” look left and saw a human tea service. It was a collection of porcelain and silver objects that the detective couldn’t quite identify.

While it was doubtful that Halfoorn knew much of anything about human customs, the intent was clear. The leader of the self-described New World Order was trying to show solidarity with the roots of three contrasting civilizations. For her part, Imogen made a special point of gazing about in wonder

“Magnificent, First Citizen,” she said. “I’m more convinced than ever that yours is the one true path.”

“Please, child,” said Halfoorn. “No need to be so formal. We go back a long way, don’t we? Why don’t you introduce me to your friend?”

Imogen looked over at “Celia” with surprising nonchalance.

“This is my sister, Celia,” she said. “Celia, the First Citizen.”

“I’m … I’m honored, Sir,” said “Celia.”         .

Halfoorn turned his multifaceted eyes to face the robotic unit.

“And have you, too,” he asked, “come to help me spread the truth to your fellow humans?”

“Yes, First Citizen,” said “Celia.”

“Superb!” said the besotted dictator. “Let’s put you two to work. I’ll introduce you to my … my head of marketing, I suppose I should say. Come along.”

A loud clang sounded and Halfoorn reached for the silvery handheld that lay prone on his oversized hardwood desk.

“What is it?” he yelled into the device. “I’m busy with important guests … What? Oh, stop babbling. No, there’s no truth to that rumor … What? … Well that’s why it’s a rumor, now isn’t it?” Dholztra’s former informant closed contact and tossed his handheld back on his desk. “Honestly, Imogen, you don’t know how glad I am to have you here. Most of my operatives are a tad too dense for their own centers of gravity, like that idiot Olithcraz. Now … this way.”

The self-described author of The New World Order pivoted on his four feet, opened a door embedded in the wall to the right of his desk and hurried off down a brightly lit corridor. Imogen glanced at “Celia” and followed. Dholztra did his best to keep up, despite being distracted by his curiosity about Halfoorn’s comlink call.

What rumor could possibly get that maniac so riled up? he wondered.

Regardless, they now entered an imposing war room, filled with computer workstations, and decked out with an interlocking array of gleaming view screens.

The screens, Dholztra noticed, were labelled with place names. While the majority of them referred to locations on his homeworld, some tracked sites on Belanthra and a few other strategically placed worlds. Trouble was, most of the work stations were unoccupied. Halfoorn stopped, spread his four arms wide and swept the air with his wiggling antennae.

“This is it,” he said. “The heart and soul of The New World Order. I can track anyone of importance from here and, of course, issue commands instantaneously to every corner of the three galaxies. Impressive, no? I’ve spared no expense to ensure our rise will be swift and permanent.”

“It’s … it’s overwhelming,” said Imogen.

“We’re still staffing up, mind you,” said Halfoorn. “Because of the resistance I’ve encountered, most of my recruiting efforts have gone to securing ground troops and air cover. Change takes time and Nolatrid society is, shall we say, complacent. In fact, I may need you as much to drum up support among my own people as yours.”

“Oh First Citizen, you’re … you’re such a visionary,” said Imogen. Though Dholztra knew the lump in her throat was from terror, he was dead certain that Halfoorn interpreted it as awe.

“Thank you, child,” said Halfoorn. “But realizing a vision takes dedication and plenty of hard work. Are you ready, both of you?”

“Yes, First Citizen,” said the two intruders in unison — though Dholztra had a tough time getting the words out. Halfoorn, eyes sparkling, headed back to the corridor they’d just exited.

“Come on,” he said, “I’ll give you a private tour. It won’t give you the complete picture, because I’m afraid we’re still under construction. But I’ll bet you’ll catch the spirit of the thing right away.”

What followed was a mad scurry through all six floors of Halfoorn’s administrative complex, including the two above ground and the four subterranean levels. Like the room they’d just left, every other section of the vast compound was laughably empty, as if Halfoorn had planned a large coming out party and then forgotten to send out the invitations. True to Halfoorn’s disclaimer, there were signs of incomplete construction work everywhere, including tool belts, heavy equipment and discarded scraps of various building materials. All the while, the would-be ruler of the civilized world gave a running commentary, which Dholztra hoped “Celia’s” sensor array would pick up in full.

Finally, after two exhausting hours, Halfoorn returned them to the large open office where they started. Despite a small crew of operatives working intensively at a wide variety of tasks, the room was eerily quiet.

“Here’s where you’ll work,” said the self-styled First Citizen. “You see how it is, don’t you? I don’t tolerate fraternization. Now, where’s Epilosaah?”

Imogen and “Celia” watched as Halfoorn rushed to a wall-mounted comlink. Within seconds of Halfoorn’s petulant summons, a squat female scurried up to greet them. Dholztra was surprised to see she was one of the very few Nolatrids who wore large, rounded glasses over her multifaceted eyes.

“I leave you in good hands, my children,” said Halfoorn. “Now I must rush off: The universe beckons!”

“Welcome, humans,” said Epilosaah. “You can think of me as the First Citizen’s Chief of Staff. Though, frankly, he thinks of me as his slave. I’m afraid I’m short on human-compatible equipment, so you’ll just have to make do. This way, please.”

The bespectacled Nolatrid set off along a winding path between numerous workstations before leading the two intruders to an unoccupied module, filled with equipment that even Dholztra didn’t recognize. He could only imagine how perplexing it must be to Imogen.

“Based on the First Citizen’s somewhat abbreviated comments,” said Epilosaah, “you will be assisting Tralkilarn, our Propaganda Chief. She processes all the information that flows in and separates real news from, you know, rumor.”

Suddenly, Dholztra remembered the angry comlink conversation Halfoorn had in his office.

“What about the latest rumor?” he asked. “Think it’s true?”

“What? That an unidentified fleet is approaching?” asked Epilosaah. “Some think it’s real, some think it’s a data ghost. Who knows? Even if the fleet’s real, it’s too far out for a positive ID.”

“Well, why would a fleet come out of nowhere?” asked “Celia.” “Does Nolatre have any enemies I don’t know about?”

Epilosaah shrugged.

“Maybe it’s a coincidence,” she said. “But we didn’t pick up any activity in the vicinity of those ships — or ghosts — until after the First Citizen formally invited Earth to join The New World Order. But nobody seriously thinks the humans would come back here. Not after the way we trounced them. Besides, from everything I’ve heard, their ships were barely space-worthy.”

“Funny how the battle lasted as long as it did, then,” said “Celia.”

“Well, when you’re dealing with barbarians, no offence,” said Epilosaah, “anything can happen. Anyway, the boss will have my gastor if I don’t get you two settled. Take a look at the workstation and see if you can start it up with your tiny hands. I’ll be back later to check up on you. And I’ll let Director Tralkilarn know you’re here.”

Epilosaah hurried off faster than Dholztra would have thought possible.

Fear does that to you, he thought.

Imogen grabbed “Celia’s” forearm.

“You think an Earth fleet could be heading to Nolatre?” she whispered.

“Even if it arrives,” Dholztra replied through the robotic unit, “there’s no telling whose side the humans will be on. We better assume the worst. Let’s see if we dig up more intel — and stop talking. You heard that nut-job. Silence is golden.”

Imogen nodded and between them, they managed to get the workstation running. Dholztra dialed up his favorite news outlet. There on the front page was an image of Commissioner Olithcraz, surrounded by HCBI agents.

KUZDROHNA POLICE COMMISSIONER

ARRESTED ON CHARGES OF CONSPIRACY

While he found the news heartening, Dholztra now knew that Olithcraz was merely one tiny cog in Halfoorn’s mad scheme for cosmic domination. He was about to continue searching when Imogen sat bolt upright and whispered to Dholztra.

“It’s Agent Grelek,” she said, “through my transmitter implant. They’re storming this facility now. We have to get to safety.”

“Lead on,” said Dholztra. But he was keenly aware how much finesse it might take to leave their assigned seats without being stopped. Worse, he could already feel the impact of the HCBI assault even though, by his count, they were four stories below ground. Imogen, it seemed, was receiving clear instructions from Grelek; she navigated Halfoorn’s vast headquarters as if she’d been born and raised there.

“To the left, up ahead,” she was saying. Dholztra saw an entryway looming before them, and assumed the spiral ladder just inside its arched framework would lead them to a deeper, underground bunker. But no sooner had he wrapped his fingers around the top of the railing than he heard a familiar voice calling out to him.

“There you are,” said Halfoorn. “I figured you wouldn’t know where our safe rooms were and then I saw you on the security cameras heading here. Good instincts. But come on, I know an area even more secure. Dholztra’s antennae stiffened as he saw, through “Celia,” that Halfoorn was pulling Imogen onto a balcony, still under construction, which looked down onto a large laboratory. Tools and small sections of pipe lay in a heap to one side of the railing.

The view from the balcony was an exact replica of the genetics lab he’d seen in Olithcraz’ warehouse, except on a larger scale.

“Down there,” said the First Citizen, “you see? That’s where I’m transforming your species so it can rise to its rightful place in the universe.”

Dholztra made “Celia” hurry over to join them and stared down at row upon row of polyglass cylinders, each one filled with a bizarre, genetically altered hybrid of human and Belanthrese traits.

“You see, my child?” said Halfoorn. “There, on the left in the second row. I believe that’s your brother, Yes, a fine lad and one of the first to join my cause. A magnificent specimen and a worthy addition.…”

Imogen rushed at Halfoorn with both hands out, grabbed at the narrowest part of his thorax and began to squeeze.

“Monster!” she shrieked. “He never signed up to be turned into that.”

Halfoorn, though initially startled, was much stronger than any human and pushed her away with all four hands. Imogen, however, was relentless and Dholztra, seeing his chance, took advantage of his intimate knowledge of Nolatrid anatomy. While Imogen continued her assault, he made “Celia” dive for Halfoorn’s legs. Thrown off balance, the terrorist leader lay splayed out on his headquarter’s polished white tiles.

“You’re making a mistake,” he said. “You need me. I alone can save you from.…”

“Who’ll save me from you?” yelled Imogen.

Before Dholztra could take his next breath, she picked up a large wrench from the construction site and used it to bash Halfoorn’s exoplated head. At the same time, loud sirens sounded, as the assault by the HCBI reached down to the lowest level of the compound. One blast knocked a chunk of ceiling down not three meters from where “Celia” was still on all fours, trying to hold Halfoorn still.

In no time, the First Citizen was a crumbled mess of bio-matter, but Dholztra knew it wouldn’t be long before the compound itself would be reduced to rubble.

“Let’s go,” he told Imogen.

“No,” she said. “Not while there’s a chance I can still get Nyles out of here.”

“He’s not your brother anymore,” said Dholztra. “I’m not even sure he’s alive in that tank. But breaking him out before he’s finished … developing … will kill him for sure.”

“I’m not leaving,” the fragile human female sobbed. “The least I can do is die with him.”

Back at HCBI headquarters, Dholztra’s antennae drooped as he resolved to do what, in one half of his heart, he knew he had no right to do. With one swat of “Celia’s” servo-powered arm, he knocked Imogen unconscious, flung her over the robotic unit’s right shoulder and started to run. At every step, another blast strewed debris in his path, but he pressed on. The map of the compound, which Jalinoor had transmitted before Imogen left, served him well and guided him to the surface.

At last, “Celia” raced out into the night air with Imogen still on her shoulder. But though Dholztra had hoped their escape would give him a moment of peace, he had badly underestimated the battle erupting on all sides. For now, in addition to the frontal assault by SWARM forces on Halfoorn’s mercenary army, the first wave of landers from the Belanthrese fleet began touching down in the near distance.

Experience told Dholztra that his first and only objective at this point was to find cover. With Imogen beginning to revive, he pushed “Celia’s” robotic limbs ahead, toward a huge, mobile HCBI bunker that must have touched down from LunarOne less than an hour earlier. Would he reach it before the Belanthrese advanced? It was hard to say. For despite the battle raging all around him, the only sound he could hear was the throbbing pulse of destiny, as it thundered in his ears.

(To be continued: read Episode 7, here)

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.

Design by Steven S. Drachman, from an original Image by Miguel Bruna / Unsplash

 

Insective Part 5-1

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

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Case Files of Rolkahr Dholztra, Kuzdrohna Department of Public Safety

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

For all his worldly experience as a police detective in Nolatre’s capital city, Dholztra could still count the number of times he’d been in space. So when the air car he rode in with HCBI agents Grelek and Jalinoor pierced the atmosphere and docked with a medium-sized cruiser, his antennae were as sharp as the business end of a nail.

Maybe it was just as well that, only ten minutes later, the cruiser broke out of orbit and began the three-hundred-ninety-thousand-kilometer journey to LunarOne. That way, Dholztra didn’t have quite enough time to work himself into a tizzy about the perils of space travel.

With so much at stake, he needed as few distractions as possible to absorb the facts of the case. And that was aside from crafting a strategy to thwart Halfoorn’s bizarre criminal enterprise. Instead of wallowing in anxiety, Dholztra immersed himself in the intel he received from the two agents.

According to Grelek, Halfoorn’s radicalization began at Kalendrar-Helath, site of the final, bloody battle that ended the failed human invasion. For it was soon afterwards, amid the rubble, tears and chaos that “Big Brian” emerged as a powerful vigilante leader.

“Turns out, Halfoorn was a visiting lecturer in Linguistics at the local university when the humans stormed in,” said the HCBI agent. “They blew up the transport lines first thing and there was no way out of town for two lunar cycles afterward. He was stuck.”

“Didn’t Brian make some kind of speech around then?” asked Dholztra.

“Incredible, isn’t it?” asked Jalinoor. “I figure if my invasion plans went south and I got left behind, I’d go into hiding. But the day the city’s broadcast station reopened, Brian stormed in with a gang of toughs and forced the manager to patch his voice through the translation grid. Then he ranted about revenge at the top of his voice — until the patrol came by and shut him down. Just our luck, Halfoorn caught the broadcast and liked what he saw.”

“He … liked … looking at a human. Hard to believe.” said the detective.

“We figure Halfoorn thought Brian had potential,” said Grelek. “We’ve interviewed his former colleagues at the Kuzdrohna Academy. They all say he had a paranoid streak; he kept going on about a SWARM conspiracy.”

Whatever the reason, it was enough to make the eventual terrorist kingpin seek out Big Brian and propose an alliance. In exchange for inside information about every move the humans would make, Halfoorn promised to work his connections and help funnel supplies to the human resistance.

“A lot of university types are opposed to the way the human survivors are treated,” said Grelek, “even though SWARM has done everything except give them Nolatre outright. So it wasn’t hard for our boy to drum up support.”

“It still takes credits to run a revolution,” said Dholztra. “The Halfoorn I knew barely had enough cash for a hot lunch.”

The two agents stared at each other a moment.

“Should we tell him?” asked Jalinoor.

“No turning back now,” said Grelek. “Detective, you should know that Halfoorn’s father was Neshtria Lolvahn.”

“The robotics magnate?” asked Dholztra. “Craters. You mean that reprobate is sitting on trillions of credits?”

“There isn’t an army in the entire interstellar alliance that Halfoorn couldn’t finance out of petty cash,” said Jalinoor. “That’s what sets him apart from a typical power hungry nut-job. If he fails, it won’t be because he ran out of funds.”

“Fails at what?” asked Dholztra. “I just spent two rotations with Olithcraz and I still have no idea what he’s after — except maybe more explosions.”

From that point forward, Grelek and Jalinoor set out to give the detective a detailed briefing. For better or worse, the HCBI had uncovered several terabytes of data on Halfoorn’s terrorist organization, starting from its first faltering steps twenty-five years earlier. It was a lot for the detective to absorb but, as it happened, even given the ship’s advance-design ion-drive, they wouldn’t reach LunarOne for another eighteen hours.

Some of the information was familiar to Dholztra from his own dealings with the humans over the past few weeks. What was new was the staggering scale of the operation and its ambitious goals, which would have been comical if only the terrorists weren’t so deadly earnest. That, of course, was aside from the massive explosion in Kuzdrohna and the unprecedented destruction of the Djalethan bridge — with imported lase canon, no less. But one jarring detail made the normally positive detective wonder if the universe were fundamentally evil.

“Looks like about five cycles ago, Halfoorn and Big Brian had a falling out,” said Grelek. “Brian was only interested in getting better conditions for his survivors. He didn’t see how taking over the entire quadrant would do much for the humans — and he was right, of course.”

“Think I know where this is leading,” said Dholztra.

“Well, we can’t prove it, yet,” said Jalinoor, “but the fact is, nobody’s actually seen Big Brian for a long time. If Halfoorn did have Big Brian killed, he could easily use a voice and video sim to create the impression he was still alive.”

“Seen it before,” said Dholztra. “Double crossers double cross. It’s what they do — until somebody takes it too far and gets smacked down hard.”

From then on, the three law enforcement operatives talked non-stop and were still going at it when they sat down to dinner in the ship’s galley that evening. Most puzzling of all, right from the start, had been the involvement of the Belanthrese.

“How the purple pulsar did Halfoorn get the lizards mixed up in this?” asked Dholztra. “Last I heard, they were dying to expand their trade deal with us.”

Grelek looked up from a steaming bowl of thaldrilesh noodles.

“Come on, Detective,” he said. “You’ve been around the block. Take any group of a hundred sentients and a good five of them will tell you they’ve had a bad shake in life. Some are looking to make it rich, fast, with as little work as possible. Others are just plain bored. They’ll do anything for a thrill — especially if they know they might regret it later.”

“Right,” said Dholztra. “But what does Halfoorn offer them? The humans I can almost see. Most of them have nothing to lose. They won’t even sign up for Red Disk, because they think it’s a betrayal. So they’re stuck. Their homeworld’s too cheap to pick them up and, if you ask me, they wouldn’t be any happier following human rules than ours.”

“You’ve almost got it,” said Jalinoor. “Here’s the last piece. Halfoorn has promised the humans their own planet — a bankrolled, starter colony with enough cash to get them settled and a load of prefab housing. He tells them they have a special destiny, if you can believe that.”

“And the lizards?” asked Dholztra.

“That’s the wackiest part,” said Grelek. “Halfoorn’s got them believing they can take over the entire Interstellar Council and then start laying claim to their “ancestral homes” in the Alkitadraz sector.

“Come on,” said Dholztra. “Nobody’s ever made it that far out into deep space. Why would the Belanthrese believe they came from way out there?”

“What do you think?” said Grelek. “Halfoorn gave them a glory myth, a story about ancient ancestors who colonized our quadrant, raised us up from ignorance — only to be driven out by ungrateful Nolatrids.”

“Let me guess,” said Dholztra, “these ancients were lizards, too.”

“Right,” said Jalinoor. “But it gets worse. Lately, Halfoorn’s been talking about ‘purifying’ all life in this quadrant. I think that’s partly behind the remapped humans you saw in Olithcraz’ lab.”

“Comet juice,” said Dholztra. “How do you fight against that level of crazy?”

The two agents looked at each other and nodded.

“We have one lead,” said Grelek. “That Red Disk who contacted you … Imogen. Told us her brother had been taken in by Halfoorn’s big talk and asked if there was any way she could help get him back.”

“That was the first clue we had about that warehouse you were in,” said Jalinoor, “and those mutant clones that Olithcraz is making.”

“Think she has any idea what happened to Nyles?” asked Dholztra.

“No,” said Grelek. “And we plan to keep it that way. No sense making her give up hope before we send her in.”

To Dholztra’s astonished question, the HCBI agents explained that Imogen had volunteered to infiltrate Halfoorn’s compound. The HCBI would wire her up with a suite of biomechanical sensors and transmitters. Then she’d offer herself as an advocate with the rest of the human survivors for Halfoorn’s crazy scheme.

“Poor kid still thinks she can save her brother,” said Jalinoor.

“And you’re gonna just exploit that?” asked Dholztra. “Craters, she trusts you.”

But as Grelek pointed out, if Halfoorn succeeded in handing Nolatre over to a cadre of fanatical Belanthrese, any human not already “converted” would either be shot or wish they had been.

“I don’t care,” said Dholztra. “It’s a suicide mission. If Halfoorn now has control of his father’s robotics company, he might have sensors that would see right through your implants.”

“Look at it this way,” said Grelek. “If we’re gonna stop Halfoorn, we have to know his next move. Besides, she volunteered. No way she doesn’t know the risks.”

Dholztra leapt from his chair.

“Not good enough!” he shouted.

“Take it easy, Rolkahr,” said Jalinoor. “You have a better idea? Spit it out.”

“She needs cover,” said the determined detective. “I’m going in, too.”

“What the bleeding muon did Olithcraz do to you in that lab of his?” asked Grelek. “You wouldn’t last five minutes before someone spotted you … like Halfoorn himself.”

“He won’t know it’s me,” said Dholztra, “If we deck out a robotic unit in a chameleon suit, it would look as human as Imogen. I could operate it remotely and keep an eye on her.”

Grelek stood up.

“Not bad, Detective,” he said. “But I’ll do you one better. LunarOne has a humanoid robot in development right now. It might not be ready for full independence, but I’ll bet it could work with a control unit. Agent Jalinoor?”

Within minutes, Jalinoor had comlinked the LunarOne robotics center and returned with his report.

“They have one unit they could reconfigure for us, pretty much by the time we land,” he said. “There’s just one problem. It tends to fall over on uneven terrain. Nobody has completely figured out how humans can walk on just two legs.”

“Like that’s the biggest mystery about them,” said Dholztra. “But OK, I’ll watch where it walks.”

“There’s one more thing,” said Jalinoor. “The remote control is by cortical implant. If the unit overloads it could fry your brain faster than a short order cook on a sugar high.”

Dholztra shrugged.

“We have to try,” he said. “Send me the specs as soon as….”

Dholztra was drowned out by a staticky announcement over the cruiser’s internal comlink.

ALL PERSONNEL TO BATTLE STATIONS.

WE ARE UNDER ATTACK. REPEAT….”

The HCBI agents grabbed the intrepid detective by two of his shoulders and pushed him into the corridor that ran past the galley.

“Move it,” shouted Grelek. “We have to get to the nearest emergency shelter. There’s one down on the right.”

After his ordeal with Olithcraz, Dholztra was in no shape to run.

“How … how close are we to LunarOne?” he panted, as the agents hustled him along.

“Should be within range of the landing field,” said Jalinoor. “But we can’t risk landing until we knock out this assault ship.”

“Is it the Belanthrese?” asked Dholztra.

“All we know right now is that it’s firing on us,” said Grelek. “Come on, through here.”

The three of them entered a large, vaulted bulkhead that was already nearly full of the cruiser’s non-military personnel. Before they had a chance to catch their breath, a tall uniformed sentry slammed the bulkhead door shut and entered a series of commands to lock it.

“Should be out there fighting,” said Dholztra.

“Relax, Detective,” said Grelek. “Let the soldiers do their job. You look like you could use a rest, anyway.”

“Think maybe Olithcraz might have infected me with something,” said Dholztra. “Been feeling kind of crazy ever since I was in that lab.”

“Fear,” said Jalinoor. “You’ve been infected with fear — and you have a lot of company.”

Just in time to stoke that emotion, the entire bulkhead shook as, out in space, the battle raged between the cruiser they were on and an unknown number of enemy ships.

“Any idea how we’re doing?” Grelek asked the uniformed sentry. The burly female checked the readout on a handheld attached to her front right leg.

“Looks like LunarOne just came on line and is helping out,” she said. “Their defenses aren’t that mobile, but a lase canon’s a lase canon, I guess.”

“Can’t argue with that,” said Dholztra.

To everyone’s relief, his voice had barely died down before an “all clear” message rang out on the ship-wide comlink.

STAND DOWN FROM BATTLE STATIONS

PREPARE FOR LANDING

“And to think I could have had a good job scrubbing toilets back home,” said Jalinoor.

“If this keeps up, you’ll still be out of luck,” said Dholztra. “There won’t be anything left to scrub.”

It took another half hour, but at last the cruiser touched down on the airless void of Nolatre’s moon. A flexible, airtight passageway extended itself from the nearest dome. Soon the detective and the two HCBI agents emerged into the base. Their faces grim, they entered a maglev lift that took them up and over to LunarOne Central. When the lift doors opened, they were greeted by an imposing female military officer, whose twin particle guns glinted in the center’s harsh light.

“Detective Dholztra,” said the officer. “Admiral Nethrez. “I hear you have an ambitious plan to infiltrate the enemy.”

“Can’t let that Red Disk go it alone,” said Dholztra. “No telling what they’ll do to her,”

“Nolatre will never forget your service,” said the general. “Now, in case your resolve starts to waiver, I have some bad news for you.”

“Wait a minute, General,” said Grelek. “I was told HCBI would have the military’s full cooperation. Why have you held out on us?”

“Take an ice bath, Agent Grelek,” said Nethrez. “You’re gonna overheat something fierce. This just came in. Seems Halfoorn got to know a little too much about the detective when he was pretending to be an informant. Fact is, Dholztra, his goons kidnapped your girlfriend this morning and he’s already talking ransom.”

“Ransom for Treldraah?” asked Dholztra. “Last I heard, that lunatic was sitting on trillions of credits.”

“Oh he’s not in it for credits,” said Nethrez. “The ransom he wants is you.”

“What do you think, Detective?” said Grelek. “Nobody’s forcing you to drive the android. One of our agents could do it.”

“Forget it,” said Dholztra. “If I’d been smarter, Imogen and Nyles would never have gotten mixed up in this. I had Halfoorn in custody more times than it rains on Halthrema Prime during monsoon season. I should have known….”

“He fooled you like he fooled everybody,” said Nethrez. “Turned your good nature against you — your impulse to help a guy when he’s down. He blinded you.”

“I’m not buying that,” said Dholztra. “This was my mistake and I’m gonna fix it. Besides, if I surrender, Halfoorn will kill us both anyway. I gotta hope he thinks having Treldraah as a hostage is worth more to him than killing her.”

“Maybe,” said Jalinoor, “but if that’s your ace in the hole, you’re kidding yourself. If you want to keep her alive, you’ll have to play along, at least a little.”

“How fast can we get the robotic unit ready?” asked Dholztra.

“The lab’s latest estimate is tomorrow, early,” said Nethrez.

“Tell Halfoorn I’ll be at his front door the night after, stuffed and ready for the oven,” said the detective.

“You think a day is enough to accomplish anything?” asked Grelek.

“If it isn’t, we’re all getting ‘kidnapped’,” said Dholztra. “I have a hunch Halfoorn’s ready to strike any time. What do you say General?”

The decorated military leader cast her multifaceted eyes down to the center’s polished granite floors.

“Latest sensor readings show a fleet of a thousand battle cruisers heading our way from the Belanthra system,” she said. “You may have even less time than you think.”

(To be continued – read the next episode here)

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.

Design by Steven S. Drachman, from an original image from BeFunky.

Insective Episode 3

Insective (Episode 3): New SF Noir by Mark Laporta

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Case Files of Rolkahr Dholztra, Kuzdrohna Department of Public Safety:

[Editor’s  note: If you have missed earlier episodes, you may read Episode 1 here and Episode 2 here.]

Bak Reltoor at night was a cityscape of eerie quiet, against which suspicious or downright disturbing sounds broke at close range. While Dholztra’s two particle guns could give him plenty of cover, a single shot would change his shadow into a crime scene. In that violent instant, he’d trade the cover of darkness for a flashbulb’s nosy glare.

But there was still more reason for caution. Because a Nolatrid’s hard exoskeleton obviated the need for clothing, Dholztra’s guns were out in the open; they rested in holsters strapped to two of his four legs. For all he knew, the sight of his pistols might tempt a bored loner to use him for target practice. It only made sense to put them into light-canceling mode. While the Handbook didn’t expressly forbid it, Dholztra doubted the Department would approve. The phrase “concealed weapon” was liable to have an ominous ring, if word of his investigation reached the newsnets. Yet he had to hope the Department would also disapprove of a singed detective with a gaster full of ionized plasma.

“Have to play it smart,” he whispered. He slipped out of his car, locked in its chameleon settings and sealed it noiselessly with the handheld that doubled as a comlink, which he’d strapped to his second right arm. His first thought was to find Halfoorn, even though, as his most obvious move, this left him more open to ambush. But what choice did he have? From this point forward, Dholztra realized, his every move was based on a gamble: that he was worth more alive than dead to the terrorists. He didn’t like the odds.

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The only saving grace was the warren of interlocking side streets and narrow alleys that snaked through this part of town. There were hundreds of different ways to sneak into Halfoorn’s favorite haunts. With his eye facets trained on points in all directions, and his antennae cocked to pick up the slightest sign of trouble, Dholztra set off with the studied nonchalance of a seasoned professional. Along the way, he was confronted, not for the first time, with the failings of Nolatrid society.

At its foundations, of course, Nolatre was more equitable than many Class-4 civilizations. But in the years since the humans’ failed invasion, Dholztra’s homeworld had slipped into a convenient amnesia about the less fortunate. Sadly, the poverty of the abandoned humans had created an indelible association, in the mind of many citizens, between the words “poor” and “alien.”

As a consequence, this shadowy neighborhood, already in decline when Dholztra was born, was sinking faster and faster into a morass of shattered souls and the deadly habits that comforted them. One of these souls was Halfoorn himself. Was the story Dholztra’s chief informant told about his past the truth, or simply a by-product of his dreznel addiction? Either way, he had to admit that Halfoorn was cut from different cloth than the average inhabitant of Bak Reltoor.

Regardless, when the wary detective finally found the reddish-brown Nolatrid at the back of “The Laughing Beetle” — slumped over a bowl of ghaldrazo stew — he couldn’t stop his tubular heart from fluttering. Could Halfoorn be … was he…?

A rough voice called out to Dholztra’s left.

“Hey!” said the voice. “You know that slouch? Maybe you feel like paying his tab before I chuck him out in the street?”

Tempted as he was to flash his detective badge, just to watch that gruff bartender squirm, Dholztra held his tongue and settled Halfoorn’s tab in cash. After casting a stealthy, analytical glance around the bar, he returned to his informant’s table to assess his condition. It took a couple of tries, but Dholztra managed to rouse Halfoorn with the sound of his own name.

“Dholztra,” said the bleary-eyed diner. “What took you so long? Thought maybe the Belanthrese….”

“How about you tell me outside?” said the detective. “Looks like they need your table in here.”

The last thing Dholztra wanted was a lot of loud talk about the unfolding crisis right out in public. With a little prodding, Halfoorn found his legs and managed to shamble out into the dank air with the detective at his side.

“There was … something … I wanted … tell you,” he said.

“About the Red Disk you sent me?” asked Dholztra.

Halfoorn looked up at him, his antennae drooping.

“Oh, Rolkahr … it was pathetic, what those … Belanthrese lizards did to her. Never saw so much human blood. You know something? They bleed a lot.”

Dholztra could see Halfoorn was on the verge of passing out again, so he talked fast.

“Where’d they take her?” he asked.

“Who, the lizards?” asked Halfoorn. “Nowhere. Couple of HCBI agents muscled in at the last minute and they scattered. Looked like the agents were gonna take her to a hospital in Humantown. Hey, can I just go to sleep now? My facets are killing me.”

Dholztra sighed, and helped the poor bedraggled addict over to the nearest stoop. Fortunately, it was plenty broad and deep enough for a bed. Dholztra figured the high steps were carved out of marble at least a century ago, when Bak Reltoor had been, incredibly, home to bankers, doctors and rising politicians.

“Hospital,” he whispered. Though he was desperate to find Imogen, entering Humantown in the wee hours of the morning would attract unwanted attention. Besides, he’d so far accomplished precisely nothing — and time was running out. To judge by the voice on his office phone, the City of Kuzdrohna was about to become the epicenter of a major political uprising.

If only he could get a lead on how the rogue Belanthrese and the traitorous faction that had infested SWARM were working together. Hard as it was to stop that train now, it would be even harder when the engine was going full steam. But, Dholztra realized, there was another angle to consider. Sooner or later, he was sure, a double cross was coming.

If Nolatre was the prize, no way either party would be satisfied with only a half share. And when those odds played out, the lid would blow off world government for good. Trouble was, the corruption ran so deep, he might dig down for miles without finding its rotting core.

The Commissioner’s in on it, too, the detective reminded himself.

Come to think of it, that probably meant Olithcraz’ cronies on the Kuzdrohna City Council were looking the other way at his lavish budget requests. That might explain the explosives and the lase canon array. But with expenditures that big, Mayor Guldraath would have to be clued in, either as a co-conspirator or a blackmail victim.

Dholztra set off in the direction of CityHive, in the hope that, this late at night, he might catch the tail end of a scheming transaction. Maybe just seeing who went in or out of the Mayor’s office would yield some clue to the conspirators’ next move. He was grasping at straws and he knew it, but there were times when straws were all a detective had.

But before he’d walked more than a meter, a nagging thought made him pull out his comlink. In the midst of this tension, the sound of Treldraah’s voice on the other end was like a drink of cold water on a hot summer day.

“Rolkahr?” she mumbled. “What time is it?”

“Listen, larva,” said Dholztra. “I don’t have much time. But do me a favor, would you? Go visit your sister in Romnexia for a few weeks.”

“What is it, Honey?” said Treldraah. “You in some kinda trouble?”

“There’s gonna be trouble for everybody soon,” said the detective. “And I need to know you’re not in the middle of it. Just get on the next airbus. Don’t even pack. I’ll send you some credits as soon as I can.”

“Don’t worry about me, you big lug,” said Treldraah. “I’ll be fine. Just don’t let anybody cut up that beautiful proboscis of yours.”

Dholztra had wanted to say more, but she closed contact and, of course, it was for the best. As it was, he had to hope the call had been too short for some wise acre to track with a homing device. Be that as it may, it was time to head out.

To keep a low profile, he left his car in its parking spot and took the subrail west and south one mile from Bak Reltoor to CityHive. The train, as usual this late, was mostly empty. All the easier to spot the odd-looking Nolatrid huddled over an expensive metadigital tablet. Was it the flickering yellow light in the car or did this particular citizen have a genetically altered exoskeleton? Either way, Dholztra’s practiced eye noticed something strange about this character — not least, the furious way he entered string after string of commands into his tablet.

Like a programmer, Dholztra reflected. Or an android.

Either way, if he had to guess, it was likely that a suspect in a situation as unusual as city-wide terror just might be ever-so-slightly unusual himself. Immediately, a memory of an argument he’d had early on, with Protnoak, his late wife, popped into his head.

“Oh, so only unusual Nolatrids commit crimes, is that right?” she’d demanded. “I have an extra stripe on my thorax….”

“You know I love that stripe, larva,” he’d said stupidly.

“I’m not talking about your pervy little fetish right now, Rolkahr!” she’d screamed. “The point is whether my stripe makes me a suspect in your case. What? Am I a good kind of ‘different’? Well, I’m so glad I made it into your club!”

They didn’t speak for days after that. Dholztra knew how pointless it was to build an argument about principles out of dry, pragmatic facts. But what Protnoak never grasped was that facts were all a detective had, to move a case forward. Some facts were dead ends, but every one of them had to be pursued for its potential value. And the fact was, this particular subrail passenger had “trouble” written all over him.

“Bad time to visit Kuzdrohna, isn’t it?” he asked. “Course, when you save up your credits all year for a vacation….”

The odd-looking figure looked up from his tablet.

“Not a tourist,” he said. “Not a patsy, either.”

“Relax pal,” said Dholztra. “Just making conversation. I’ll let you get back to your programming. Though, I have to say, I’m surprised an advanced model like you needs an external device.”

“Not an android either, OK?” said the stranger. “Craters, a guy gets half his body blown off fighting those disgusting bipeds, then he has to spend the rest of his life looking like a freaking machine. Finally pulled myself together to get some part-time coding work. Don’t need to be mocked for it, do I?”

“You were in the war?” asked Dholztra. “I thought all the survivors got great pensions.”

“Sure,” said the former soldier. “It’s so great I have to give three-quarters of it back to SWARM to cover my medical expenses. All this hardware has to be cleaned out and fine-tuned every quarter. So unless I want to eat in a soup kitchen every night, I gotta work.”

Dholztra shifted his weight in his seat. Either this guy was a great actor, or he’d just found a lead on a major government kickback scandal. Trouble was, until the HCBI got its hands around the nascent terrorist movement, no one was liable to care about a lone veteran’s complaints.

“That’s … that’s rough,” he said.

“Yeah? Think so?” said the war veteran. “A bunch of us have got together to let SWARM know they can’t get away with it. You could join up yourself. It’s the real deal. We’re even getting help from Belanthra, but you didn’t hear that from me.”

“Why would the lizards care about you?” asked Dholztra. “No offense, but Nolatre’s not really they’re problem.”

The subrail slowed down for the next stop.

“Know what?” said the stranger. “The way my body hurts in the morning, I don’t care who helps me. SWARM’S so cheap, I can’t get the replacement part I need for another half-cycle. Gotta make do with painkillers that make me lose my lunch most days.”

The doors of the train car whooshed open and the stranger shuffled to the exit.

“Gralkidret Park in two days,” he said. “Show up for the afternoon rally and one of us will find you.”

Stunned, the detective watched as the car doors slammed shut and the subrail continued on.

What are they up to? he asked himself.

Suddenly, the scope of off-world involvement with Nolatre had expanded exponentially in his mind. Belanthra, it seemed, was using every available means to tear his homeworld apart. First, they’d roped in disgruntled humans and now, the disgruntled veterans who’d defeated them. Wherever this led, Nolatre society was taking a hit it might never recover from.

And by the sound of it, the process had started some time ago. Until that night, Dholztra had never heard of a kickback scheme in the Veterans Association like the one the stranger had described. Someone, whether off-worlder or Nolatrid, had started a lucrative racket right under society’s proboscis — and there was no telling how far it went.

Objectively, Belanthra’s determination to destabilize and, perhaps, subjugate Nolatre made no sense. The two worlds and their colonies had been cooperating for the past five centuries on favorable terms.

There had been little poverty, near full employment, universal health care and, with the exception of the humans on Dholztra’s homeworld, a full range of civil liberties for all. And that was not to mention the limitless horizon of space-time that every star-faring culture had access to. By now, as Dholztra was not alone in thinking, the historical forces that had produced thousands of years of conquest and domination by countless civilizations, really should have waned.

Something has made the madness return, he thought. And in that moment, he realized, there’d be no Law Enforcement solution to the evolving terrorist crisis until the source of that madness was uncovered.

After a gradual, trudging slowdown, the subrail reached the CityHive station and came to a clattering stop. Dholztra made a casual exit, partly for effect, in case someone was watching, but also to help himself stay calm. With so much at stake and so many bad actors at large, psychic tension was his worst enemy. Besides, he realized, he’d come alone to observe, not to be a one-insect strike force. All he was after were leads.

He strode up a flight of gently sloping stairs to the street and left the subrail’s aggressively cheerful ambience behind. Out on the broad sidewalks of the CityHive complex, its spacious layout had a calculated, calming effect on all but the most sociopathic visitor. It was almost impossible not to feel safe here, amidst gracefully proportioned buildings that, for all their architectural efficiency, nevertheless conveyed a mood of benevolent authority.

Yet tonight, Dholztra knew, he couldn’t afford to be lulled into complacency. His city, let alone his homeworld, was decidedly not in good hands. He shut his eyes tight and resolved to stay on mission. That meant finding a covert vantage point from which to observe the Mayoral mansion without being detected.

The most obvious cover was a series of boulders that were excavated when contractors dug out the mansion’s foundation over five hundred years ago. If he hid behind them, he’d have a ringside seat to the spectacle of government corruption he hoped to unmask.

Yet, crouching down there, he figured, was the surest way to be found. The boulders would likely be monitored by CityHive security 24/7. Instead, he’d have to rely on electronic surveillance, by tapping into the fleet of microdrones the Department maintained in every sector of the city, including the Mayor’s residence. For an experienced operative like Dholztra, it was nothing to pull up the data feed from that fleet on his handheld. So without so much as a furtive glance, the detective slouched down onto an inconspicuous park bench and tapped in the programming codes needed to access the drone feed.

Looks quiet, he thought.

Had he come all this way for nothing? Every instinct in his exoskeleton told him “no.” The Commissional Olithcraz was involved so was the Mayor. It was just a question of time before … There! Leaving the mansion by a service exit was a Belanthrese agent, stuffed tight into an ill-fitting dark grey encounter suit. At the threshold was Mayor Guldraath himself, waving the Belanthrese agent on, with the bland familiarity of a family member at a holiday meal. Seconds later, the agent summoned a transmat pod and was gone.

”Worse than I thought,” the detective muttered.

Of all the players on the field so far, Dholztra found these off-worlders the most puzzling. What had changed? Why rock the boat at all, and why now?

So engrossed in surveillance, Dholztra was too late in noticing the fetching night crawler who had just set her svelte body down on his park bench and wasted no time scooting over to his side.

“Kinda late to be out in the park, Mister,” she cooed. “Let me guess, you got a thing for a late-night rendezvous? Or is it a wicked architectural jones you just can’t shake?”

“Maybe I just like the night air,” said Dholztra. “But what are you doing, trolling this beat. It’s as dead as the morgue. Aren’t you better off in the theatre district?”

The female slapped him hard across the mandibles.

“Think you can talk to me like that?” she said. “Think again, Detective. Forgive me for trying to show you a good time. But, OK, if you don’t want to play it smart, let me introduce you to my manager.”

All at once, Dholztra’s attempt to see the big picture was obscured by the explosion of a noxious smoke bomb, no more than a meter away, to his left. Instinctively, Dholztra stood, spun away from the smoke — only to smack straight into the armored chest of a Belanthrese street fighter.

Stunned, he backed off and tried to reach for his pistols, until he felt his four arms pinned behind him with the easy strength of a Department of Safety robotic unit. A familiar voice rang out from the robot’s sound system.

“Can’t take a hint, can you, Rolkahr?” it said.

Dholztra’s voice snarled..

“Olithcraz, you traitor,” he said. “What’s the matter? Did a crate fall on your head or were you born this way?”

“Pretty righteous talk, from a pathetic little puppet,” said Olithcraz. “Bet you sing yourself to sleep with the homeworld anthem, don’t you?”

“Don’t even want to think about what you sleep with,” said Dholztra. “Tell me, how do you keep a Belanthrese pilot happy in his encounter suit?”

The detective‘s only reply was a rifle butt to the back of his head that knocked him out cold. When he woke up, he had every reason to wish the blow had killed him. Aside from the sharp pain in his tangled antennae, the nagging pinch at his wrists and ankles told him he was chained down to a hospital bed.

“Lumpy mattress,” he muttered.

“Didn’t think you’d ever wake up,” said a female human voice to his right.

Dholztra trained his blurry vision on a young woman in a khaki jumpsuit, who was lounging in a black padded chair.

“Imogen?” he asked.

“Oh God, it’s true,” said the woman. “You bug boys can’t tell one human from the other. Don’t worry, your little collaborator girlfriend is in way too deep to be out on her own.”

“Who … are you, then?” asked the detective.

“Nobody to you, Shell Head,” said the woman. “Sit tight. The doctor will see you now.”

Dholztra watched as the human stood up and clicked her heels out of the room. His head pounding, his limbs trembling, he nevertheless resolved to listen closely to his captor’s words. If there was one thing he’d learned, it was that crooks loved to crow about their Master Plan. Didn’t matter if they were kingpins of a crime syndicate or a two-quark con-artist with a phony charity.

The scratched-up door to his dingy room swung open and Dholztra had his visitor pegged, from the moment his plump frame lumbered into the room. The only hard part was listening to his oily voice.

“Rolkahr, my comrade,” said Olithcraz. You look exhausted. That’s on me. I’m afraid I inspire a bit too much devotion in my operatives.”

“Until somebody makes them a better offer,” said Dholztra. “What I don’t get is what the Belanthrese offered you.”

Though the Commissioner chuckled, his dull red eye-facets flashed with grim determination.

“You think I’m working for the lizards?” he asked. “Now I know my boys banged up your head too hard. The Belanthrese are working for us. At least the smart ones are.”

“Us?” asked the detective. “Now, isn’t that cute? You started your own club. Let me guess: you’ve already earned all the merit badges.”

Olithcraz smacked him hard across the proboscis.

“You’ll find out,” he said. “Meantime, watch your tone. The only reason I’m keeping you alive is to bait that fool Increalaar. Once the HCBI is under our control, the planet is ours. And that’s just the beginning.”

“Tell me something, Commissioner,” said Dholztra. “Do you really think the Interstellar Council will let you get away with this?”

“What do I care?” snapped Olithcraz. “Where were those data dribblers when the humans attacked? They wouldn’t send one ship to back us up. And now they dare say the humans are our problem. Let me tell you something. By the time we’re finished with our little genome-remapping project, the humans are going to be everybody’s problem.”

“I’d tell you you’re crazy,” said Dholztra, “but that would be an insult to every nut-job in the universe.”

The Commissioner’s antennae twitched.

“Very funny,” he said. “It’s too bad. We could use a smart guy like you. But you’re stuck in the pupal stage like everyone else in SWARM who won’t listen.”

The Commissioner spun around and yelled into his comlink, as he hustled out of Dholztra’s room.

“Get me Director Increalaar of the HCBI on the line,” he said. “It’s time we filed our missing person’s report.”

The vibrations caused by the slamming door sent sharp shocks of pain up and down Dholztra’s exoplated body. In his weakened condition, the exertion of the past few minutes had been too great. His face-to-face encounter with an insidious evil opened a chasm of fear he might easily have tumbled into — had his aching mind not slid down deep into unconsciousness.

(To be continued – Read Episode 4 here)

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.

Design by Steven S. Drachman, from an original image from BeFunky.