Chapter 3
1
Daniel sat in the driver seat, rolling up a smoke on the dash. Out ahead of him the lights scattered over the sides of the skyscrapers were winking out as the morning approached. Light pollution cast a circular hue over the distant metropolis, like a big white cloud. Even though the sun wasn't out just yet, an orange glow was rising up towards the southeast. Maybe a new part of town was being constructed over that way.
He cracked open his window after he lit his cigarette, zipping up his hoodie when the cold air seeped in. That last idea couldn't be right. If anything, Advent was closing down that section of the City. It was what they'd done to Renova. No demolition teams, the whole district just shut down and evacuated, leaving entire blocks to wither away just like everything else from the old-world should. Nowadays Renova was a hot-spot for the undesirables. The Elder's could have sent security teams to round up the dissidents, but chose not to, maybe as an example for everyone to see how the world would live on without the Elder's presence. Now it was a place you didn't go to if you didn't have business, not even if you were Advent.
But here, inside the walls, life went on as well as expected, not that Daniel had anything to compare it to. He'd grown up in City 31, watched it expand from a village to a town, and when the Starport was constructed, into a mighty fortress. Huge walls were erected to keep the world out and the people in, and the only thing he'd seen outside of '31 were endless stretches of arid plains. He supposed the city walls also extended to his own, hypothetical constructs that shielded his mentality.
Advent was all he'd ever known. He was born under the regime, and enlisted when he was eighteen. Served with admirable distinction and was assigned to Dispatch's command. Now did whatever the voice on the radio said without ever leaving the city lights.
His whole life story in four sentences. And all he had to show for it was the pay checks for the dirty work none of the bigwigs in Advent wanted to bother with. A dull existence if not for Zima, who was a bit of a distraction from the reality that he was wetting his hands with blood every time the sun came up.
He knew a lot about her over there time spent together, enough that if anyone else knew they'd recognise it was beyond just friendship. She hated the cold. She hated Muton's. She hated how differently her species was being treated on Earth compared to the others. She seemed to hate how easy it was for him to make her react in different ways.
But she had her share of likes too. She liked having her body massaged, her tail in particular, as it was practically a hundred percent pure muscle. She liked wine, that was the big one. She was completely infatuated with the stuff. He grinned at the memory of why that was, and his big role in it.
He knew she liked to have her hood stroked, as well as the curve of her body where the 'hip' connected to her 'legs' where they tapered together into caverns of muscle and scale. They were just a few sensitive spots Zima had allowed only him to touch. He'd made a few non-human acquaintances in the past – a pompous little Sectoid here, a particularly offensive Muton there – but none of them had such an intrigue as Zima. Sectoid's could control minds, Muton's could shrug off a machine gun barrage, but Zima? She was a snake. Maybe that was why there were so many social embargo's against her kind. Snakes were unpredictable, and it was general knowledge since the start of time that it was foolish to trust snakes.
And I drive around with one, he thought. There might have been some little hidden message there, but whatever it was he missed it. He flicked the ash of his cigarette out the window and turned up the radio, listening to the news with half a mind. The reason Viper's were so prejudiced round here was because humans think they're dangerous, but who the hell wasn't? Even Dispatch had offered twice if he was sure he wanted Zima as a partner, all that time ago. He was glad he had remained steadfast. He found himself thinking of the time before her, after his last partner had requested a transfer, driving long into the night in an empty car going an another Advent errand, just how lonely it had all felt until she entered his life.
His xenophobic brother would have had a fit had he known Daniel was racketing his mind over an alien right now. She an invader, he'd have said. Yes, she was an invader – of his mind. Why was she-
The door to Zima's room opened, and out came the source of his thoughts, pulling her arms through the sleeves of a denim jacket as she moved down the motel aisle. She was two minutes late, and her pace showed that she knew, her tail trailing out behind her leaving shallow little S-shapes. She looked like she was trying to put on every piece of clothing at once. From shirt to gloves to pants. This latter piece covered her up from her 'hips' down to her tail's end. To Daniel, her 'pants' looked like an over-sized sock.
He watched her move down the stairs, across the parking lot, and around the front of the car with a brow raised. When she opened the door and literally piled herself in, it was in such haste that her tail brushed over the center console, and he quickly shot out an arm to save what was in the cup holder there. The tail swished backwards and then up against the side of his ribs as it folded into the backseat. She was cursing under her breath. When she was all in, she slammed the door shut and hissed in frustration. On closer inspection he noticed her undershirt was on backwards, the little white tag flapping about.
"Morning," he said, his grin in his voice. Zima at last put on one of her gloves and glanced at the thing in his hand.
"Caffeine."
"Yep." He handed her the coffee cup and she snatched it, gulping down the liquid greedily. His own cup was discarded outside. He watched her throat expand and contract as she drank. Because of her wider mouth she had to practically look right up at the sky to make sure there wasn't any spillage. At this angle he could make out a hint of white from one of her two front, massive fangs, folded up against the roof of her mouth. In ten seconds flat she was done, and she put the cup down the same way she'd set down a glass of wine that she'd consumed too quickly.
"There any more?" she asked. Daniel shrugged.
"All out. You feeling alright Zee? You look awful."
She put on her other glove and nodded. "Yes. Fit as a fiddle."
"That's one fat fiddle," Daniel noted. Zima ignored him and started buttoning up her jacket. He took another drag of his smoke, and was about to speak when Zima got there first.
"You're one to talk, sucking down entire packs of those things every day."
She pointed to the cigarette pack on the dash. Daniel chuckled, a plume of smoke rising out of his mouth. "Elder's cured cancer years ago. I think I'll be fine." He realised she'd flipped the topic back to him, and turned it around. "You sure you're okay? You've never put a shirt on backwards, far as I can remember."
Zima hissed again, almost decided to fix that problem, but stopped herself. No one would notice it anyway under the jacket if she buttoned up all the way, which she started to do. On the third button she asked, "Did Dispatch call us yet?" She sounded almost scared.
"Nope," he lied, glancing at his watch. "Should be soon though." He told them to call back in five.
"Good... good." Her tail relaxed, and he'd seen that enough times to know that meant she felt relieved. He knew all about her paranoia with Dispatch, and found it strange at just how human her relationship with that man was. He had never met Dispatch in person, but safely assumed it was just a human, maybe a hybrid. Zima was a towering snake with arms, and she was afraid of her boss. The thought was strange but amusing and it made him grin.
Almost every part of her body she could use to kill somebody, and he'd witnessed it dozens of times. But as if to counteract this she also hated the sight of blood, especially her own. He could still see a little faint discoloration on her left hood, where a bullet had left its mark. Not a lethal place, but it bled hard and fast, and Zima, bred for combat and had been on the front lines well before they'd met, had almost fainted afterwards. She'd sworn him to secrecy not to tell anyone that story.
"This fucking thing's stuck," Zima growled. Daniel realised he'd zoned out a little and blinked.
"Hey? What's stuck?"
"My skirt," she said, and gestured to the zipper running along the side of her tail-pants. It looked like it was jammed on a piece of fabric.
"You mean your sock," Daniel corrected. She wriggled her tail and her skirt/sock shifted down her body. The zipper stubbornly refused to give. Daniel suppressed a laugh, tossed his cigarette out the window, and leaned over.
"Don't pull on zippers so hard," he said, and felt his features warm as he placed his hands on the black scales where her hip met her tail. The thick layer of muscle flexed under his fingers as he carefully pried the fabric away from the metal teeth. Zima moved her arms away like she was afraid of touching him, and silently watched him wrap his hands around her tail. "Pull them too hard and they get caught. Have to be gentle."
Zima scoffed. "I'll never understand these human clothing mechanisms."
"You don't have to wear a sock- skirt, whatever. Thing's look weird anyway."
"And track all the dirt and muck off the street and into the car?" She remembered one time prying off a piece of chewing gum from her underside. How anyone could buy a food only to spit it out by the end was also beyond her understanding.
"Then Jack'll clean it out for us. And don't I remember you saying you hated him?" Daniel smirked. Jack did not work directly for Advent, but he was the only mechanic Daniel trusted to work on the Chaser.
"I don't hate him," Zima said, peering down at him. He flattened out her tail muscles near the zipper with a gentle press of his fingers, then slowly zipped her up. If anyone else tried to get this close to her, Zima would have snapped back with fangs bared, ready to deliver a fresh loud of toxic venom. But Daniel did not hesitate, because he'd built up a sort of leniency with her that gave him unspoken permission. While he worked she focused all her will to trying not to shiver as his warm fingers traced over her cold flesh.
Bluntly put, did not have an ass where it would be on a humanoid. Instead, her waist was decorated with thousands of little triangular scales joining together to form a slightly squishy, but heavily built curve. Midnight-coloured scales mixed with subtle white lines formed a pattern that ran the length of her rough backside, finishing on the top of her head. On her front side, the scales were a duller grey. Not as hard a texture, but more defined with interlacing tendons and wedges upon wedges of muscle that moved up her tail towards her abdomen, where her shirt sealed away her torso. Thankfully the part of the sock he was working on was below her waist, any higher and he would have hesitated.
"You just dislike him. A lot?" Daniel offered, looking up at her. The Viper met his eye for a moment before shaking her head and finding something interesting outside the window. She seemed annoyed that he'd caught her staring.
He tucked the zipper until it was settled at its peak, then leaned upright and back onto his side of the car. "There. Better?"
"Loads," she confirmed, hooking her thumbs into her skirt and pulling it up. As if this was some incredible feat, she let out a long sigh. Finally she offered an answer. "Didn't get much sleep last night."
"Your roof leaking too?"
"No, no. Just... thinking."
"No kidding?" he said. Her serpentine head was hard to read at times, but he could tell she was serious. "You know you can lay it on me."
"What?" she exclaimed. Daniel blinked in confusion.
"Er, you know – confess, lay the graff, spill the beans?"
"Oh. Right," she said, flicking her tongue out a little. She'd misheard him. She opened her mouth to speak, but she couldn't find the words to say, raising and lowering her jaw like she was testing her words. When her tongue refused to work she shook her head. "It's nothing, really. Just a little tired from last night's... How do you say it? Shit-show? Yes, last night's shit show."
Daniel grinned disapprovingly and was about to call her out when the console started to beep. The caller was Dispatch, and so the subject was dropped.
Without meaning to, Daniel held his breath as he answered the call. He released it. Dispatch was always the same man, and nothing in his tone portrayed much emotion apart from strict and orderly. He gave them there orders, finishing with the usual quote, "Glory to the Elders." Daniel and Zima repeated those four words as well. When the call was severed, Daniel put the car into gear, backed out of the lot, and drove towards the north.
2
Being an Agent of Advent involved more than just kidnapping. There duties also involved diplomacy – though there was a certain lack of that nowadays – couriers, spies, detectives, saboteurs, and, occasionally, assassins. The fight with XCOM had been going for a long time, but talk of proper war was only a recent rumor. If they ever had to resort to those two latter duties Zima wouldn't need Dispatch to tell her Advent was moving onto the back foot.
Luckily, today wasn't going to be as extreme as last night. They even had backup. Daniel said that was probably because of Ramos' sudden bodyguard popping up, but Zima thought it more likely it was because Downtown had, in the past, been a prime target for insurgents. Three Advent casualties about five months ago, double that amount for the protesting crowds that had swarmed the troopers. Rumor was the insurgents had fueled the crowds to march right up to the control tower.
"They need to just shut it all down," Zima commented. They were halfway across the bridge that connected Old Town to Downtown. It was a little discomforting to see they were the only car going in either direction, but it was very early in the morning.
"Downtown's the hub for everything in the city," Daniel said. "Supply comes in from the Fringe all the way to Highland, and Downtown's the most direct route between them. Closing it all up would clog the city, and send a bad message too."
"That's why they're targeting it," Zima said. "Where else to cause the most trouble except the central district? How are they even getting this deep into the city anyway? Right under the shadow of the tower?"
"I don't know," Daniel said. The thought that Advent was on the back foot was an impossible idea, but a strong one, and he didn't like it one bit.
The 'tower' that they were referring to was just coming into view. Roughly one hundred floors high, the structure that represented the heart of Advent stood like a giant sentinel in City 31's exact center. On all four of its sides the Advent logo was printed in a large red font. The headquarters was most certainly the home of there superior. Zima imagined Dispatch looking down from the top floor right at there car at this very moment, and shivered at the thought before she could shake it away quick enough. There were enough camera's and microphones in every nook and crevice to not deny that he was watching them in some way.
Up ahead at the end of the bridge was a security checkpoint. The sun was starting to show itself in the east, and the small metal poles making up the barricade reflected its orange light. Daniel slowed the car to a crawl, then to a halt. A trooper walked out into the road, raising his free hand. In his other hand was a rifle.
The trooper came up to Daniel's side, and her friend rolled down his window. While he gave them their call-sign, EX-11, as well as some pass-codes and phrases, Zima looked at the five other troopers guarding the checkpoint. There was probably a sniper on a roof nearby, but there were too many windows to even find a place to start looking. All the troopers were hybrid's, wearing black combat armour that made them all look the exact same. Like clones. She tried to ignore their cold gazes and focus on the river just behind them. Again, patrol boats waded across the water, massive point-defense canons on the bows.
Another trooper came over with a large stick with a mirror on its end. He was about to place it underneath the car when the trooper asking for their call-sign waved him away, then raised his fingers towards the checkpoint, as if waving goodbye. The barricades cutting across the road slowly sunk into the tarmac. Normal checkpoints took dozens of minutes of processing and searching, but Agent's had certain privileges.
The difference between Downtown and Old Town was immense. The streets were clean, the buildings were high, and the traffic was just starting to build up. They drove past numerous commercial venues with flashy signs and glamorous front displays. Nothing as crummy as the club Ramos was hiding in. At least two pairs of troopers patrolled every block. The control tower was visible no matter how many turns they made, always looming much higher than any other structure.
Thankfully today's location was just beside the river, not terribly deep into the Downtown area. If they had to delve too far in she would have grown petty and jealous, because compared to the barracks and bunks in proper Advent buildings, the motel safe house was just a glorified, rundown hovel. "It's discreet," Dispatch had said. Zima understood, but by the Elder's the place just stunk, literally and figuratively.
A pair of yachts were tethered up across the street from the building that was this mornings point of interest, banging gently against the wooden piers as small waves rocked them. Daniel pulled over across from the boats and turned the engine off. Only one other car was on the street – a large black paddy wagon with the Advent logo painted on its side. Three troopers stood behind it, and they looked up as the Chaser pulled in.
Daniel checked his pistol charge before placing it in his hoodie. Zima stuffed hers in the back of her waistband, then covered it up as best she could with her jacket. In her haste she'd forgotten to bring her bag, but at least now without it she could feel the weapon's shape pressing into her flesh and it felt very comfortable.
Zima and Daniel got out and approached the soldiers, side by side. Two of them looked identical to the ones at the checkpoint, but the third wore the signature red plate that marked him as an officer. All three wielded combat shotguns. The officer greeted Daniel in his garbled voice, but did not show the same courtesy to Zima. She was used to that.
"You got the warrant?" Daniel asked. The red trooper handed over a slip of paper. Daniel unfolded it, read a few lines, nodded, and folded it back up. "Okay, you and your boys search the second floor. Zima'll take the first. I'll-"
The officer cut him off, and droned something along the lines of: "Shildo fon ten!"
"Because that's what I said. This is my operation, and I do things a little differently. If you don't like it, take it up with Dispatch." The officer chose not to reply. "As I was saying, I'll be having a few words with the owner. No trashing up the place, that's a last resort, got it? Let's go."
Daniel started up the driveway, the troopers following obediently. Zima trailed behind. She had a vague understanding of the hybrid-language, and deduced that the officer was insulting her skills at investigating a whole floor by herself. Her dignity was a few inches above squabbling with a grunt, so she resorted to letting her tongue flick in and out of her mouth in a display of intimidation rather than punching the officer in the face.
A little concrete path lead off the driveway to the front door. All of the building's curtains were drawn, and no lights were on. Daniel rang the doorbell. Last night was a stark reminder to keep her senses honed, and without wine to dull them (a pleasant dull, she thought) her eyes darted to potential ambush points. Her senses were much sharper than a humans, so if anything were to happen this morning, she'd likely be the one to take the fall, and the trooper's would make sure of that.
A few long moments passed as the door remained unanswered. Apart from the water lapping against the nearby boats, and the low wale of a distant siren, all was quiet. The garage door was a crack open, just enough that Zima reckoned she could squeeze through. She was going to offer this suggestion when she caught the sound of footsteps just beyond the door and held her tongue. A light flicked on inside. The sound of two locks unhinging. And then the door swung open.
The man's expression of stupid wonder didn't surprise Zima. She might have had the same had she been the one to see five Advent servants crowd around her own door. Three of them openly armed, two of them concealing pistols. The man was a little on the short side, dressed for the morning cold. He looked each one of them over – lingering on Zima a moment longer – before settling on Daniel. "Can I... help you guys?"
Her friend nodded. "You can. We've had a number of noise complaints this week. You know about the rules and the curfew, don't you, Mr Williams?"
"I had some friends come in from out of town the other day," Williams said. "They needed a place to crash. Sorry about that."
"Are they still here now?"
"Nope. Just me and my wife. She's sleeping upstairs."
"Uh huh. Can we come in, Mr Williams?"
Williams raised an eyebrow, gestured to the whole group. "Seems a bit excessive for noise complaints, coming up to my door with guns at four in the morning, don't you think, mister whoever-you-are?"
"We won't be long," Daniel assured. He pressed the slip of paper into Williams's hands. "The warrant. Step back, please."
Daniel put a hand on the man's shoulder, but Williams shrugged it away, scanning the paper with his name and address on it. He did step aside, though. Daniel and the troopers moved in, Zima bringing up the rear. "Since when did 'excessive noise' become a reason to search my house?" Williams asked while reading. When Zima noticed the man was actually asking her, not Daniel, she blinked in surprise, stopping in the doorway.
"I..." she said, and quickly composed herself. "It's always been a reason."
"Bullshit, lady," Williams said. "It's not a reason and we both know it. I came to '31 to get away from all the trouble, and-"
"And you found more of it instead," she replied. Something in the way she said that caught Williams's attention.
"Right. Speaking from experience?"
Zima didn't reply, moving past him and into the foyer. Two doors split off into different parts of the house, and between them a staircase lead to the next floor. The officer and his goons were already moving up them, heavy boots thunking on the wood, none of them trying to be quiet.
"I'm calling my lawyer," Williams said, stomping past her to Daniel, pointing an accusing finger at him. "What do you think you'll find, drugs under the floorboards? I have rights, even without a chip in my head like you."
"Look," Daniel said calmly. "It's common practice. We all want peace here in '31, and we're all on edge because of the insurgents."
"I've served Advent for ten years. Ten years, not so much as a squeak of complaint, and as thanks they send a couple thugs to trash my house? You-"
"Mr Williams, we're just searching the place, then we're gone. I just need to ask you a few questions, prove your innocence with-"
"Innocence? A thug talking to me about innocence? How the world has changed!"
Zima was glad Daniel would be the one talking with this man. Daniel eyed her, a question in his eyes: Keep an eye out for anything. She nodded curtly, and moved through the door on the left, muffling Williams's ramblings a little as she closed it behind her.
In front of her were sinks and cupboards arranged around a central kitchen counter. Spatula's and spoons and drinking glasses hung on chrome racks, some of them dirty. White tiles sectioned off the kitchen from the living room, over on the far side of the floor space. A large flat-screen TV hung like a painting on the furthest wall, no visible supports. Couches and chairs ringed around in front of it. Two out of the four corners were decorated with healthy plants. Another pair of doorways led off to different areas.
She slithered around the kitchen slowly with her hands folded behind her. She opened a draw and found silver dining utensils, and in another she found large and expensive-looking knives. She'd only been inside a wealthy human's home a handful of times in the past, and she admired the kitchen with a little bit of jealousy. All she had at the motel was a microwave, and that broke a while ago, leaving take-away the only option. One time she'd seen a chef make an entire meal with just a few of these tools, some ingredients, a bit of heat, and voila, dinner. She wished she could watch that program again.
The smell of cooked eggs and meat was vague, but still there on her tongue as she tasted the air for scents. She wondered why someone would have breakfast so soon in the day. Maybe he just works early, her mind said, and she supposed that was alright. He was dressed to go when he opened the door.
Pots and pans were soaking in the sink. She eyed them as she passed, the walls muffling Williams as he talked Daniel's ear off in the other room. She spied a walk-in pantry in the wall, and opened it up. A motion-sensored light clicked on and revealed that the pantry was almost as big as her motel room, with enough space to stock a modest cache of supply. The thing was, the shelves were void and empty. Only three boxes remained, and two of them were empty.
She checked the fridge, empty too, save for a pack of meat forgotten far in the back of the freezer. Food's probably back in the other cupboards. She was about to prove this thought when something made of glass shattered somewhere from the top floor. A scream accompanied this, a woman's scream. Zima's hand reached around to her pistol, but before she could raise it someone called out, probably the screamer.
"HANK! THERE'S MEN INSIDE OUR HOUSE!"
Williams, or Hank, yelled back: "I know! Keep your voice down or they'll come back next week and raid us!"
Zima grinned. Daniel's lie – Dispatch's technically – was a shallow choice, but for now it was holding. The whole, 'no tearing up the place' rule had lasted about five minutes. Daniel would be peeved, but the troopers wouldn't , or couldn't, care. They were, after all, just drones, and drones did what they thought necessary.
Someone, the woman, Zima guessed, ran down the stairs. Zima listened as the steps grew distant, went still, then come closer. Zima wasn't concerned, and was halfway to the living room when the door flung open and in came Hank's betrothed.
She was not human, but not an alien either. A hybrid, with little marks on her forehead and cheekbones that vaguely reminded Zima of fish gills. Her nightgown flapped behind as she she stormed towards the sink. The woman took two steps into the kitchen, seemed to notice another presence, turned to Zima, and half screamed, half gasped again.
"Oh! Oh, dear, not another one! How many of you are there?"
Zima thought about sending the woman away, but thought against it. Daniel had enough on his plate by now, and the hybrid seemed harmless enough. She flicked her tongue and continued searching the room.
"Can't get one good nights rest anymore," the hybrid said, keeping on her side of the room. Zima leaned down and examined one of the couches, and noticed dimples in the cushions. Multiple dimples. She straightened.
"You want coffee?" the woman asked. Immediately the hybrid went from being background noise to Zima's center of attention, and she turned sharply at that last word. The hybrid couldn't meet her eyes for more than a second, and looked at the floor.
Zima smiled. "I will, thank you."
The hybrid, who thought Zima would say nothing, or at the least, say no, fumbled for a cupboard handle, then produced a pot. She filled it with water from the tap, then started to boil it. While the hybrid waited for that, she watched Zima examine every bit of detail as she moved around the couches and back towards the kitchen. When the water boiled, two cups were poured. Zima watched the hybrids hands shake as she did so.
"Bit chilly today," the woman excused, then spilled some coffee onto the counter. "Oh, God's sake. I'll have this one. Here." She handed Zima the other mug. The drink was warm and creamy. Zima asked her for her name.
"Emily. Hank calls me Em, for short." Emily didn't ask for Zima's name, and she didn't offer. Zima took another sip, then downed the whole thing. The hybrid did not touch her own, and she never stopped moving her hands when she spoke. "So... What are you looking for in here, exactly?"
"Anything," Zima said. She set the mug down and moved away. An observation cropped up. "You seem to be lacking in food and supplies, Emily."
"Hm? Oh, yes, haven't gotten the groceries just yet. We always go on Wednesdays, it was Hank's turn to go this morning."
"Shops don't open until seven or so," Zima said.
"It's pretty hard finding a park up at the mall."
Zima hummed, not satisfied. At first Emily seemed a little flustered, but there was a certain steel growing in her dark little eyes. Daniel's voice entered her thoughts and said something similar to what he had said last night. She's just talking bull.
"Have you had guests recently?" Zima asked, sniffing the air. The scents she picked up were a mix of wood and cologne, and even... baby powder?
"No, no guests," Emily denied, then as if in an afterthought: "Oh, we had a few friends come over last week. Are you looking for them?"
"No," she lied. The two unexplored doors looked interesting to Zima, so she started moving over to them. Emily noticed this, and suddenly seemed anxious to leave the kitchen area.
"Hang on there, miss...?" Zima didn't offer her name. "Miss Nosy. You can't just go rummaging through my whole house."
"What's back there?" Zima asked.
"Nothing. Just a whole bunch of Scram. Can I get you some?"
"Scram? What's...?" Zima's features lifted in fake humour. "Ah. Very funny, hybrid."
"Thank you, Viper," Emily said, spitting the label right back. Zima was in the middle of considering whether or not to investigate when she heard a noise. Daniel or the troopers probably couldn't have picked it up if they were here, but to her it was loud and obvious. It sounded like rustling.
"What's that sound?" she asked.
"Didn't hear anything," Emily said, and Zima believed her. First thought was that it might have been a rodent, but then she heard it again, and it sounded like a bit of fabric sliding against a smooth surface. She turned on the spot, flicking her tongue until she zoned the sound down to the door on the right. She placed her hand on the knob.
"You said no one else is home?"
"That's right," Emily confirmed, even though she had not really said that. She moved cautiously over to Zima's side, careful to not get too close. When Zima didn't open the door, the hybrid gestured and said, "Well go on then, let's investigate."
Inside was the garage. Ladders and chairs and tool cabinets leaned up against every inch of wall. The clutter surrounded a single vehicle, a large van. The only light source was the morning sunshine coming through the partially opened roller door.
"You keep that open all night?" Zima asked. Emily folded her arms.
"And tempt passer-by Viper's like you to sneak in? Hank opened it this morning, it gets stuffy in here."
Stuffy it was. Stuffy with cologne, but beneath that artificial mask was the unmistakable body odor of humans. 'Bee-oh', as her friend called it. She tasted the air more with her tongue than her nose, and found the scent stronger towards the van.
The windows were tinted, so she moved round to the back. The smell got almost unbearable. She took one look at Emily shadowing her, saw the bead of sweat appear on her forehead, and didn't need to ask what was in the van.
She grabbed both door handles, and pulled them apart. It wasn't locked. What little light that fell into the back of the vehicle was enough to illuminate what was inside, or who was inside. There were six people sitting cross-legged in a tight huddle, three men and three women. They blinked up at her with large, confused eyes. Zima noticed one of the women had an infant in her arms, and it was making a sound much like the rustling she heard before. Snoring, she concluded. Not rustling. Behind this little group, cluttered in a colourful pile, was enough food to stack a pantry.
One of the men shot his arm out to the side. Leaning up against the wall of the vehicle was a shotgun, one of those old ballistic models. Zima's eyes flared and locked onto the arm. The man reacted quickly, but Zima was quicker. She unhooked her jaw – a fleshy snap signified this – and her long tongue shot out of her mouth like a pink bullet. Bits of saliva flew off the organ as it flew a few meters and wrapped around the butt of the weapon. She yanked her head to the left and the shotgun flew past her shoulder, banging against the wall plaster and leaving a hole.
Emily turned and ran, but one of her legs caught on a bag strap lying on the floor, and she fell. Luckily she brought one of her elbows out and landed on that instead of her face, otherwise she might have cracked her skull on the garage steps. The hybrid scrambled to her feet, but Zima stopped her with a word: "Don't."
Her pistol was out and primed, aimed right between Emily's eyes, which went wide with shock. Zima switched her focus between her and the people in the car. They could probably rush her, they had the numbers, but her display of inhuman speed had quelled any thought of fighting back, and the people in the van cowered in a conspirator huddle, the men's arms wrapped around the women.
"Wait, wait, please." It was Emily, holding up a hand as if about to give Zima a high-five. "We just wanted to help them. They had nowhere else to go!"
"So you are smugglers," Zima said. Dispatch had suspicions, and as usual he was correct. Emily blinked, as if this fact made no sense.
"What? No, you don't understand. They were going to kill them! The baby too! You must not say anything, please!"
"Who was going to kill them?" It was the man who had gone for the gun that replied.
"Who do you think, you're there lapdog!"
One look from Zima and the man's courage was shattered. The blaze in the Viper's eyes was too much for any of them to meet. The infant in the woman's arms began to stir from its sleep.
"You can just forget all this," Emily said. "I'm begging you. You give these people up, and all of us will be dead by the week's end. The child, as well. Please!"
For just a moment, Emily's words gave Zima pause. But that moment would later cause her so much pain and confusion she wished it had never happened, that she'd never poked her nose in here in the first place. It was the infant that reinforced it, something about its tiny features as it started to wake, and the fact that its fate was now in her hands.
She blinked, loosened the pressure on the trigger, but still kept the weapon aimed at Emily. She raised her voice and said: "They're here! Daniel!"
Then the baby began to cry.
3
Daniel's lighter didn't want to spark, and the dawn's breeze wasn't helping. Beside him, Zima breathed air into her palms and rubbed them together, the left side of her face illuminated by the paddy wagon's red siren. The front door to the Williams's house opened, and the smuggler's were escorted out by the grunts. The six humans, seven if you count the baby, followed behind, there heads lowered. The officer hung at the back of the group.
"Must have been just about to leave," Daniel said idly to Zima. "Good thing we got here in time, or they'd be halfway across the city by now."
"Yes," Zima said. Her short reply held something else, something only he could have picked up.
"You alr-"
When the group was close enough, Hank Williams broke away and ran towards Daniel, raising his cuffed hands to the side. He closed them into fists, then struck Daniel on the jaw, yelling: "You've killed us! You've killed us all! Bastard!"
The closest trooper knocked Hank on the back of the head with the butt of his weapon. The blow was hard, and Hank collapsed right on his face. The grunt started kicking Hank in the ribs, and the other trooper joined in a moment after. Daniel wiped his lip and saw blood on his fingers.
Daniel could hear the bones cracking as Hank cried out, curling up on his own front lawn. Some of the migrants looked away. Zima watched the man be beaten with a blank look on her face. Daniel, pissed at both himself for being so easily caught off-guard, as well as at Hank, decided to let a few more of Hank's ribs break before he called the troopers off.
"Okay. Okay, that's enough." He stepped forward and pushed the grunts away. They itched for more, but complied nonetheless. Hank hugged himself into a tight ball and started sobbing. Daniel picked the man up by the collar and got him on his feet, shoving him back beside his wife, who was staring daggers at Zima.
"None of you are going to die," Daniel said to the group. "You'll be sent to the nearest correctional facility, where you'll receive your deserved punishments. You all knew the risks. It's up to you if you want to make it worse from here on out."
"What's worse than death for my daughter?" the woman holding the baby said. The mother, he reckoned. The baby was squealing, had been ever since Zima had found them. "We all know your lying, so save your breath and cut the crap."
"I'm not lying," Daniel began. The woman cut him off.
"How can you let these things process us? What kind of world is this where a hybrid shows more compassion than a human?"
"I-" But the officer struck the woman, not as hard as Hank had been, but still hard. He told her to get moving, and she, along with the Williams' and the... Refugees? Criminals?... were crammed into the paddy wagon. Daniel watched the doors of the wagon close, then picked up his lighter he had dropped. The officer and the troopers stacked in after the dissidents, and after the engine turned on, the vehicle sped off down the street and out of sight.
The street seemed void of life now that all the action had come and gone, but he and Zima were not alone. He glanced behind him, and a few doors down a crowd of people had gathered on the street and were watching, probably long enough to have seen the whole show. Daniel bit his lip and turned, telling Zima it was time to go.
They walked (and slithered) back to the Chaser. When they were in, Zima rummaged through the medical supplies in the glove box and handed him a rag.
"Thanks." He dabbed his wet lip and hit a few of the console buttons, bringing up Dispatch's line. The call was answered almost immediately.
"Ex-11, how fairs you task?"
"You were right, they were smugglers. The officer you sent has already hauled them off."
"Excellent," Dispatch said, then in no effort to hide the triumph: "There were no issues?"
"No."
"See? I told you our intelligence is solid."
Daniel left the fact that one relatively smooth operation did not make up for a dozen rocky ones, unspoken. Instead, he asked Dispatch something. "Where will you take them? The Williams's and there friends?
"The correctional facility here in Downtown. I'll personally oversee there punishments."
"They'll all be treated fairly?"
"As fairly as we treat criminals, yes. Mind you, they knew the risks."
Daniel felt himself cringe as he recalled how he had spoken to that woman with the kid, how similar he was speaking like Dispatch. He'd have to try and change that next time. "But the Williams's are the smugglers, the others just... just wanted out. They shouldn't be detained, just..."
"Just what?" Dispatch asked. "Just given a slap on the wrist and told to behave from now on? I understand your concern, Agent, but those people no doubt have a history for criminality. Why else would they turn to smugglers? Regardless, the problem's off your hands. They defied the Elders, and now they must pay. They could have chosen to stay put, but they didn't. Do you understand?"
"Yeah," Daniel said. What reason did those people have for leaving? City 31, as far as Daniel knew, ran perfectly well. Downtown especially. And the chances of getting beyond the walls was almost impossible, not unless you had a well-laid plan, or external help. The questions bounced around his thoughts, but he kept them tucked away. "I understand, sir."
"I have another assignment for you in one hour. Go to the southern edge of the Riverside district and await my call. Glory to the Elders."
Daniel repeated those final words and cut the call. He turned they key and the engine came to life. He put the car out of park and into drive. He tasted his own blood on the roof of his mouth and grimaced. You've killed us, Hank had said. You've killed us all. The way he'd said it had sounded so desperate.
Zima was quiet. Nothing unusual there, but he picked up where they'd left off. "Zee? Are you alright?"
"That looked like it hurt," she replied, looking at his lip. "Is it painful?"
"No, but I asked first. You got that look in your eye that tells me something's up."
"I do?" she asked. She would have to try and hide this in the future. Not out of embarrassment, but for a reason that was born out of both fear and embarrassment. "It's nothing. Forget it."
"Oh no, not gonna happen. You already used that excuse today," Daniel said. "Lay it on me, Zee. What's up?"
Zima considered this. She had earlier tried to goad Daniel's attention by faking a zipper malfunction. It was a passive permission, but still more direct than anything she'd tried before. Regardless, it had been a setup to try and get close to him, and now here she was, trying to cover up her emotions again. She cursed herself under her breath for acting so childish.
"Alright, fine," Daniel said. "Consider the subject drop-"
"When I found those people," Zima began. Daniel raised his brow. "When I found those people back there, they looked so... helpless. And just before I called you over I felt... what's the word..."
Daniel waited patiently, eventually Zima continued.
"Confused. For a second, I didn't want to give those people away. The little child crying, I'll never forget it. I wanted to deviate, to leave them to their fate without my interference. But then I thought, how could I face you and lie? I hesitated, and my whole head just lapsed. Like..." She sighed. "I don't know what like."
"I know how you feel," Daniel said. The mother, berating him that the hybrid, Emily, was more human than he was. That kind of talk made him feel like shit.
"Really?" Zima asked. "Do you think the Network knows? Will Dispatch find out? I could be transferred, or worse, if they find a single stray thought. Others have been punished for less. I wanted to let you know as soon as I found them. You believe me, don't you?"
Daniel frowned. He thought that she had been feeling guilty for the dissidents, but it seemed most of her concern was focused on herself. He had assumed she was going to confess about her humanity, but how can that apply to her, an alien? Sometimes, strange as it was, he just completely forgot that obvious fact about her. She came from another world, or ship, in her case, and this wasn't the first time he'd misjudged her. Advent to the core. Just like I am.
Still, that Hank, he wasn't such a bad guy, just a man looking out for his wife and his clientele, or friends, as Hank thought of them. He'd punched Daniel, sure, but Daniel could at least understand the man's frustration. The correctional facility wasn't a good place, what kind of prison wasn't? Especially if Dispatch was involved. Something about that guy just never settled well with him.
"Don't you?" she asked. "Daniel?"
"Hey?" He didn't realise he'd been staring at her, zoned out of the present. He nodded. "Yeah, of course. Don't worry about it. Secret's safe with me."
"Thank you." She closed her eyes and brooded for a while. "I wish we were never given this assignment."
"Me too," he said, but for a very different reason then her own.