Chapter 9: No Stone Unturned
The Liberation Front convoy rolled down the Interstate.
At the head were found Druid and Enigma, riding in the former's pickup truck and entrenched deep in heated discussions of banking conspiracies. Tailing them was Polaris in her blue Focus, listening to her favourite Carl Sagan audiobooks. And in the rear was the Oldsmobile, helmed by Spock with Crow at his side.
"If you thought that was something," said Spock, "get a load of this. About two weeks ago, an American graduate student went to Budapest on holiday, but his body was found horribly burned a few days after. The official story is that the guy was mugged and burned alive by some gang, but that's just the government cover-up; it seems were a few people who said they saw him randomly catching fire, though all eyewitness testimonies attesting as much were suppressed by the authorities."
"Spontaneous human combustion?" said Dan. "Damn."
"More like engineered human combustion," clarified Spock. "You've heard of William Bell, right?"
Dan raised an eyebrow.
"The head honcho of Massive Dynamic? The one who hasn't appeared in public in years?"
"Yeah, that one. Would you be surprised if I told you that Massive Dynamic has a branch in Budapest?"
"Not really. MD is a multi-national corporation. They're everywhere."
"Turns out the victim died not too far from the place. My guess? They abducted the student, brought him to the facility, and performed some tests on him."
"How do you figure that?" asked Dan, adjusting the volume on the radio.
"This isn't the first time strange events lead back to Massive Dynamic. There are rumours – some of which I'm sure are founded – that they conduct experiments and research in bio-engineering, genetic hybridization, human weaponization; the works. Though it seems Bell was always into shady business for decades, long before BellMedic was rebranded as MD back at the new millennium. Evidence is sketchy at best, but he might have been involved in secret drug trials in the early 80's, testing dubious chemicals on child subjects."
"I'm surprised the man hasn't been canonized yet."
"Heh, yeah. But here's the real kicker. For a few years now, I've been following similar cases involving bizarre deaths and people exhibiting weird powers, as well as uncovering old cases going back to the early 90's, all of which I've been charting on the Altar of Truth. At the time of their deaths, many of these victims would have been born in the late 70's, just in time for the purported drug trials. Coincidence? After everything I've seen, I'd say there are no coincidences. Everything's connected somehow, and I'd wager a lot of it involves Bell."
"Looks like our friend has his finger in everyone's pie," said Dan. "You know, I wouldn't be surprised if Bell was responsible for the Shapeshifters at this point."
Spock tapped Crow on the shoulder with the back of his hand, sniggering. "Now that would be crazy."
It was the Friday leading into Spring Break, the period they agreed was most suitable for their planned sojourn to New York City. They had all taken time off their jobs for the occasion, resolving prior commitments and responsibilities and freeing themselves of others for their undertaking, before stockpiling on gear and weaponry, covering all their bases for what might lie ahead.
In the weeks following the Hybrid interrogation, the Liberation Front had gathered several times to discuss their plan of attack. Ever the realist, Isaac Keane had offered the strongest contentions, more often than not calling out Dan on the flimsiness of his developing plans; Nelson often chimed in to support him. Becca and Spock were less assertive in their deliberations, but when they did speak, they would both stand by and oppose their leader, depending on the topic being discussed.
Looking back, Dan wondered what Gary might have said, and where he might have stood.
They were going to stay over the entire break. On that, Dan had been adamant; the prospect of leaving without something tangible on the First Wave was unacceptable to him. To maximize success, the team was to be divided in three groups. Enigma was going to stay with a cousin of his, and he would try to find some old contacts to see if they had any dirt on the First Wave. Druid and Polaris would investigate Kurt Lawson, the identity the Shapeshifter they interrogated held prior to the guise of Eleanor Middleton; perhaps they might be able to find something of value there.
As for the Intrepid Spock and Crow, the Son of Sarek knew of a few conspiracy theorists in Manhattan by their reputation, so they were set on paying them visits. Spock had also spread the word on Galaxy Truth, requesting that any followers living in New York let the Front know of any activity they happen to stumble upon. A few had sent in some tips, though they were rather lacking in any definitive connection to the First Wave; even so, they took what they could get, and the Front agreed to hit these locations at night through reconnaissance and stakeout.
Dan's arm hung out the open window, hand tapping against the car to the rhythm of Back in Black. Would this venture amount to anything? Was this a fool's errand, a wild goose chase? They'd had some successes in the First Wave front in the past, but he wondered if it was all but blind luck, landing on heads where it could just as easily have been tails. On what face would the coin land this time around? That was ever the question, it seemed.
He smirked to himself. When had he grown so cynical? It was simply par for the course, he eventually figured; everyone starts out an idealist in their line of work, but they all inevitably become either cynics or fervent fanatics. Or perhaps it took a bit of all three to make it through in one piece. He might have mused on the matter further had Spock not spoken after the song had ended.
"Say, speaking of being back in black... has our suited friend surfaced recently?"
"Well," started Dan, "I came home last night to find him looking through my underwear drawer. The moment he saw me, he shoved past me and tried to escape. I tried to catch him, but he eluded me, and I could only shake my fist at him as he fled into the night with a handful of my boxers."
"Huh... that's kind of weird," said Spock, one hand on the wheel and the other stroking his goatee. "Maybe he was trying to procure some DNA from organic residue left in your under –"
"That was a joke, Spock," said Dan, stopping him. "I haven't seen the Man in Black at all."
"Don't seem so down, Crow," suggested Spock at Dan's serious turn. "We'll get him eventually. And when we do, maybe we can give him the good old Eleanor Middleton treatment and finally figure out why he's been following you around."
"Yeah, maybe," Dan told him.
But it isn't me he's after, Dan wanted to tell him.
When he had awoken at the hospital a few hours after the explosive finale to the Titan sabotage mission, his comrades had recounted how they found him lying on the ground at that dead-end, the man he was chasing having somehow vanished. A few days later, the Liberation Front had convened for a briefing on the elusive, omnipresent spectre that was the Man in Black. He was bald, and seemed to have no eyebrows. He wore a suit and hat, and often carried around a briefcase. He liked to stand in the distance and observe you through compact binoculars.
And sometimes, if he was feeling generous, he'd shoot you square in the chest with a plasma gun.
...It is not you that I am interested in.
The words spoken by that tilting head returned to Dan. He had first seen the Man in Black outside Ex-Tech following their infiltration of a Shapeshifter hideout, whose insides were ripped to shreds by a vacuum grenade. If Dan was not the subject of interest, then it could only be the guy belting a rather terrible Bruce Dickinson as he drove his Oldsmobile en route to New York.
For about a week following the Titan incident, Dan's eyes would search the crowds for suited men where he would have once played Spot That Potential Hybrid, though he soon realized that Baldilocks would never show up to see Dan on his own; if he was watching Crow, it was only because Spock was nearby. There were times when he and Spock would be together, and Dan would think he'd seen a glimpse of the man, but he would always refrain from alerting his comrade.
What was it about Emmanuel Grayson that warranted close examination by the Power That Be? He wasn't quite sure; and until he was, he decided to keep it to himself, figuring that informing Spock wouldn't accomplish much at this point other than to make the guy more paranoid than he already could be.
"Holy crap, Crow!" yelled Spock with crazed eyes. "LOOK!"
Dan jumped in his seat. "What?" He leaned forward, scouring through the window.
"We're almost there," replied Spock casually. At Dan's indignant expression, he burst into a guffaw. "Got you there, didn't I?"
Becca's vehicle was flashing its taillight, following the example of Druid and Enigma in front of her. Spock did the same, drifting onto the turnpike whose nearby sign promised would lead them into New York City. When they reached the overpass, the city revealed itself on the horizon.
"There it is," said Spock. "You ready for this?"
Dan's lips parted to answer, but in the end, he said nothing.
XxXxXxXxXxX
They met with The Third Eye on a Thursday.
The skies were of slate that afternoon, and the air humid. The weather had been turning increasingly drearier over the course of their stay, which Dan found to be rather fitting considering the luck they were having.
On Saturday morning, they had brought take-out to the Barkley Hotel, where all but Enigma would be staying in for the duration of their operation. After going over their plans one last time, they split up and canvassed Manhattan. By day, they stuck to their assignments; by suppertime, they reconvened at the hotel, getting all members of the Front up to speed on one another's progress. Then by night, they would head out to stake out potential hotspots suggested by Galaxy Truth forum members and the contacts Spock and Crow visited. This was the routine they all rapidly fell into, and the things they found in their search were veering to be just as routine.
Spock had arranged meetings with a handful of renowned conspiracy theorists and Truth-Seekers via the Web, a colourful cast of characters whose knowledge of the First Wave varied as wildly as the topics of their respective devotions. Yet of the many sources to be found in New York, only a few had answered their calling; with something always being preferable to nothing at all, they sought them out.
They had first encountered Joe Kimberly on Sunday, a man whose moniker was Stargazer. A thin bespectacled man in his early fifties, he was an ardent ufologist and self-proclaimed expert on all matters pertaining to 'those watching from above'. The man was conveniently located in Manhattan, so Spock and Crow tracked down his apartment in Yorkville.
"Are you of this Earth?" had asked the voice from behind the door.
"My friend here is," answered Spock, "but I myself am not."
Deciding Spock seemed harmless enough, he allowed the pair into his abode, more of a storage unit than a proper living space, with many cardboard boxes stacked throughout, and walls covered in posters. They accepted Stargazer's hats of aluminium foil and seated themselves in his living room. Kimberly recounted how he was abducted not once, but twice (which he chose to remind his visitors of often over the course of their stay), as well of the things he had charted in the night sky in years gone by.
Spock had then asked Stargazer of what he knew of Shapeshifters. He described several alien species with shapeshifting properties, but none of them fit the bill for Hybrids. Spock described the First Wave Hybrids in greater detail – or perhaps more accurately, of the time-travelling Romulans that have come back to oppose the United Federation of Planets, of which both he and his associate Crow were esteemed members of.
Throughout the explanation, Stargazer seemed confused, especially when Spock asserted that he was indeed the progeny of Sarek; he looked to Crow, and he could only shrug, prompting Stargazer to nod with exaggerated motions, playing along with the man who fancied himself a Vulcan. When Spock excused himself to use the bathroom, Stargazer addressed Crow.
"So does he actually think he's Spock from Star Trek?"
"I guess so."
"No offence, but your friend is kind of crazy," informed Joe Kimberly in hushed tones, tracing circles around his foil-covered temple with a finger.
Dan nodded slowly with a blank face, at no point the irony being lost to him.
In the end, Stargazer knew nothing substantial on the First Wave, so they moved on to the next contact on their list, Lone Wolf. That Sunday afternoon following Stargazer and a lunch of fulfilling hot dogs, the duo went to sit on a bench in a small park located in the Bronx, just as the instructions Spock received bid them to. After a fifteen minute wait, a man sat on the bench backing theirs, taking out a newspaper as he did.
"Well met, Spock and Crow," said the man. The two made to turn, but Lone Wolf stopped them immediately. "Don't turn. When you speak, make it seem like you're talking to one another. We don't know who might be watching."
They consented, with Spock and Crow addressing one another casually when addressing Lone Wolf, who spoke to them, never taking his eyes off his newspaper. Or so Dan figured he was; having not expected this individual to be Lone Wolf, the Liberation Front members paid little attention to the man who had seated himself behind them, and Dan still had no idea what he looked like, save that he seemed to have short brown hair.
Lone Wolf explained that he was aware of the work Spock and Crow are doing, as word of their exploits has spread rather far in the dark corners of the Web dedicated to conspiracy theories and less than mainstream topics of interest. The two parties spoke without speaking to each other, and while Lone Wolf knew of the Hybrid phenomenon, and knew tons of places where shady activity took place – for it seemed his area of expertise lied in tracking and exposing all sorts of seedy things that unfolded in the New York underbelly – he couldn't say what was First Wave and what was Mafia or black market or bioterrorist; New York was a big city, something Dan saw for himself, and even Manhattan on its own was proving more sprawling than he had anticipated, he who had expected the worst.
He gave the Liberation Front the locations of a few hotspots for some kind of activity, though he made no promises. Their meeting having come to an end, Lone Wolf asked that they stay put for another five minutes after he departed, so as to minimize suspicion for the ever-present forces that might be listening in.
"Hey, thanks again, Lone Wolf," said Crow. "You're a solid guy."
"Oh, I'm not Lone Wolf," said the man. "But I'll be sure to send him your regards. Good luck, gentlemen."
With that, Lone Wolf's representative left, with Dan resisting the temptation to look back; looks like this Lone Wolf wasn't as solitary as the name promised, he thought.
Monday brought them to Irene Lancaster, a woman in her forties otherwise known as The Voice of Dissent. A former journalist, she now spent her free time investigating government corruption and cronyism occurring around the globe, and doubled as a political activist for many issues. Yet it soon became apparent that she knew nothing of the First Wave, for she had misinterpreted Spock's message, having understood the greed and corruption having infiltrated global governments part, but not the machine-man hybrids subverting modern civilization part; the pair left without any worthwhile information and a handful of fliers and pamphlets to political rallies and gatherings that they politely accepted, though had no use for.
Over that first half of Spring Break, they had tried a few other places, but no one was home, and others reneged on their prior scheduled meetings via email, leaving Spock and Crow with nothing much to do from Monday through Wednesday other than walking around town and stay at the hotel to surf the Web for news and clues and read up on new Galaxy Truth updates.
To make up for their slowed activity during the day, they tried to make use of the information they had acquired at nightfall, though their nightly escapades garnered mixed results. The only thing of note the team had witnessed were numerous drug deals and semi-circumspect encounters, a gang shootout whose scene they promptly fled, and a mugging which Spock and Enigma managed to stop, much to the victim's gratitude.
While they were pleased to see that they could be good citizens when the opportunity arose, the Liberation Front was sorely lacking in the progress department. The city was big, and so much was going on; it didn't help that the First Wave knew how to play themselves down. They held all the good cards, leaving Dan to wonder if he would be forced to fold sooner than he would have liked.
But it was Thursday now, and they were on their way to meet with The Third Eye. He had responded to a message on Wednesday, inviting the Front to meet on Thursday; while they were all getting weary from their tireless work and frustrated with the lack of relent from the odds stacked against them, Dan encouraged his teammates to trudge on, just as he trudged on as they parked the Oldsmobile somewhere in Manhattan's Upper Westside, expecting nothing from the one who styled himself The Third Eye.
Dan was pleasantly surprised to see that The Third Eye – who in truth was Tristan Shaw – was a fellow enthusiast of the paranormal and the occult. The trinkets and baubles the man kept around his apartment sparked many a conversation between them as Dan was drawn from one object to the next. Tristan knew his stuff as well, though Dan held his own. When he saw that Spock was standing silently off to the side, visibly uncomfortable at being the outsider, Crow steered things back to business.
As it turned out, The Third Eye knew of the Shapeshifters, though had no idea they were biomechanical hybrids who were invading the globe and securing footholds in society via infiltration of governmental offices. And he had even seen a Shapeshifter take on another's form, once, watching from the shadows.
"Unfortunately, as much as I'd like to, I can't really offer any help," finished Tristan. "This isn't really something that I've followed closely. I can keep an eye out for you and send you everything I have on the subject, but other than that, I'm afraid you're on your own."
Dan half-smirked, Tristan whistling the same tune the others had. They had no choice but to part ways, though The Third Eye did bestow Crow an antique grimoire before wishing them well, which the latter happily accepted even though it served as little consolation. Spock seemed less enthused, however.
"A Vulcan has no need for mysticism," he said, turning the ignition in the Oldsmobile. "He needs only logic and rationality."
And with that, they had exhausted their list of informants. They did receive many messages both before and during their stay in Manhattan, but those who sent them were more interested in preaching and proselytizing their own truths than helping the Liberation Front further explore theirs.
Thursday evening, the Liberation Front convened at the hotel at supper, as they had every day of Spring Break, this time eating some Chinese. The group relayed how their respective days went as they ate. Over the Break, Enigma had tracked down and reconnected with two or three old associates he used to run with back in the day – he was a New York native himself, Dan learned during the preparatory deliberations in the weeks preceding the trip – but Isaac Keane's contact well had dried up as well.
As for Druid and Polaris, they investigated the whereabouts of Kurt Lawson, tracking down his apartment on Sunday, only to find the place no longer had a tenant; as a passing resident explained, his corpse had been found inside by the landlady after environing tenants started complaining about suspicious odours. The duo tried interviewing neighbours to ascertain whether they saw someone visit Kurt around the time he died, though no specifics were to be wrung. With their assignment having hit a dead end, the two had decided to spend the rest of the week up to that point researching any recent deaths in New York and surrounding areas that involved peculiar holes in the palate of the mouth.
They found a few mentions, but nothing that might give them a strong lead on First Wave operations. Not one of the three teams had uncovered anything of value; their suppertime conversations were getting shorter and shorter, and the current one proved the briefest one yet. And their enthusiasm had dwindled as well, as had their expectations, replaced instead by surmounting fatigue and disillusionment.
"We've been here six days," said Enigma, "and we haven't caught squat. It was worth a shot, but I say it's about time we pack it up and cut our losses."
"He's right," cut in Druid, slurping Chow Mein. "Ain't nothing more we can do at this point."
"So you're saying we should give up?" inquired Dan.
"The Shapeshifters will still be here when we leave," offered Polaris.
"Mankind won't be here if they have their way," countered Dan. "Not for long, anyway. Look, I know we're all beat, but I think we should get our money's worth and stick it out for the rest of the Break. We can't pass up missing opportunities. "
The group nodded, all eyes staring out into the distance, and silence reigned over the rest of the meal.
Later, Dan decided he could use some air and gathered his coat.
"Where are you going?" asked Spock, perched before a laptop.
"Out."
"Hey, wait for me!"
The Intrepid Spock and Crow walked side by side as night fell on the city, the latter following the former, and the former following nothing in particular. No words were exchanged for a good ten minutes, both focused more on absorbing the nocturnal sights of the vast and often times intimidating cityscape.
"Remember when Destiny would just hand us a lead on a silver platter?" started Dan. "Those were the good days."
Spock smiled fondly. "I hear you, man. Although, the good days haven't necessarily passed us by."
Dan chuckled, more to himself than anything else.
"What's so funny, Crow?" asked Spock.
"Who are we even kidding?" They stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, with Dan facing his comrade. "This whole trip was doomed from the start. You know it, I know it, and so do the others. I'm starting to think that our past victories were nothing but flukes. We should have never come here to begin with."
"What are you talking about?" said Spock, trying to sound encouraging. "We can still fight the good fight."
"We're five people in a city of eight million," said Dan. "We haven't found any Shapeshifter hideouts, discovered any of their passphrases, tracked any metal-and-flesh Shapeshifters on our nightly recons. Face it, Spock. Unless we check every single New York citizen's blood for mercury or do some other ridiculous thing that we don't have the time or resources for, we won't be finding anything more about the Shapeshifters anytime soon –"
"– Shapeshifters?"
A gruff voice resounded from the behind, alarming the two. They turned to see a homeless man handling a shopping cart filled with random junk. His unkempt beard was grey, as was the hair sprouting from the brim of his beanie. His face was worn, and alcohol masked the fainter scents of urine and substandard hygiene, but his eyes were surprisingly sharp.
"You've seen them too?" asked the vagabond.
"Seen what?"
Dan kept his space, not sure whether the man was serious or crazy in the dangerous way.
"The Shapeshifters. Mercury-bleeding fellas. I sure have. There all over the place. City's crawling with them."
Spock and Crow eyed each other.
"How much do you know?" asked Spock, tentative.
"I overheard you just now," he said. "Seems like you're interested in finding them. Well, I know a bunch of places where they like to hide out. I can't be completely sure they're all Shapeshifter hangouts, though, but I wouldn't bet against it." He shook Spock and Crow's hands vigorously, formally presented himself. "Old Roger's what they call me 'round these parts."
"They call me Crow," said Dan. "And this here is Spock."
"Like the fella from Star Trek, right?" He made a clumsy Vulcan salute, thinking Spock's moniker to be clever, but the Son of Sarek reciprocated the salute far more seriously. "Nice nicknames. Not as good as mine, of course, but they got a certain appeal."
"You wouldn't mind telling us where we can find these Shapeshifter hideouts, would you?" asked Crow.
"Tell you? I can lead you there myself, if you like. Free of charge, too, though I wouldn't say no to some remuneration. Tell you what, why don't you boys follow me? Rather not talk about this stuff out in the open, if you catch my drift."
Without waiting for an answer, Old Roger steered his cart down the nearest alley, the one he had no doubt emerged from before accosting them. Spock turned to Crow, who only shrugged and followed the homeless man down the alley, Spock tailing him closely, both figuring that at that point, they had nothing to lose and everything to gain.
XxXxXxXxXxX
A/N: Just in case anyone has forgotten, Old Roger was the homeless man who appeared in the prologue to PTS I: The Arrival, the man who witnessed the insertion of John Mosley's crew into the Blue World (Sector-2).
+1 for bringing one-off characters back into the fold. ;)
Also, don't be afraid to leave reviews/comments/complaints/adoration/criticism/theories. I know you're reading this right now, so don't hold back. 8D