Chapter 31: Hunting the Hunters
He landed lightly in the alley and crouched low, waiting to see if anyone had noticed his entrance. The side street was so narrow and cramped that little of the rain hit the ground, leaving everything damp and with a thin layer of mud on the ground, but not wet. Even as he scanned his surroundings, Avocato was sniffing the air. He could smell rain and refuse and sweat and blood. Human blood. He'd gotten a good whiff of it when he and Gary had faced off against the Scoti. The scent was strong, easily tracked, and he wondered how badly Gary was hurt and how much blood humans could lose before it became a serious issue.
Fortunately, he knew the direction of travel. Even without the scuff of footprints in the tacky dust, he could have followed the trail of blood, and AVA would have called him if she'd seen the slavers exit the alley and go back to the street. Rising, Avocato kept as close to the wall as could as he made his way deeper into the spaceport's underground. It was dark, and overhead, a storm blew, but in this hardscrabble world just below the surface, life simply carried on. Periodically he'd pause, making sure he wasn't being followed. Just a handful of beings were about at this late hour, and if anyone drew near he retreated to the plentiful shadows, poised to destroy anyone who stumbled across him. The alley grew increasingly filthy and narrow until it was little more than a slot between two walls of stone – rough, uneven walls, known and used only by the locals. The smell of blood continued, and after listening for anyone coming, so did Avocato. The walls were so close that he had to angle himself sideways to slip through, and the dark almost complete. Even with his night vision, he had trouble making out the details of his route and had to depend on hearing and touch.
A minute into easing through the crack, Avocato heard them moving behind him. At least five people, too close for him to escape in either direction. They were familiar enough with this route to keep talking as they went, though a swift glance back showed a faint light approaching. He caught a glint of metal that bespoke weapons or armor. He dared not rush forward and could not take on so many at once in this limited space, at least, not a frontal assault without a decent weapon. There was no going on or back, and so he went up.
He jumped upwards, using momentum to move side to side up the rough surface, then caught himself by pressing his hands and feet hard against either wall. The space was so cramped he barely had room to move, but it was also heavily shadowed and his coat matched the rock, so he was well hidden. Avocato sank his claws into the sandstone and waited and watched, ignoring the tendrils of web he'd disturbed by his abrupt entrance and the swirl of dust drifting down and forcing his tail to keep still.
He was right. Five beings of various, disreputable sorts passed beneath him, all of them talking. The one in front was complaining about the high price of repairing their ship and how deeply that would cut into their profits for this voyage.
"Neh," protested the last in line, sounding inordinately pleased. Avocato didn't recognize the species, but it was small and fairly unremarkable. "Ain't you heared? Korg done caughted a Ventrexian few hours back. Kid. Worth a few mill. We be making change this run!"
Their laughter echoed slightly in the confined passage, as if kidnapping and selling a child was somehow entertaining and a source of pride. It was a good thing his claws were already dug into the walls and not easily released because otherwise he would have attacked them on the spot. A growl rose up in his throat and Avocato fought to suppress it and the need to see whatever passed as blood for these beings. With almighty effort, he regained control. He needed to be a general now, not a father, not a husband. And so he watched them pass a short distance beneath him and did nothing but mark the lot of them for death.
He gave them a few moments to get well past before climbing down. They were noisy enough to cover any sound he made and there was no way he was losing them now. The cramped pass got even more cramped at the end and he could hear one of the slavers struggle to fit through the opening to the street. At the end of the route he crouched down to listen and smell. There was more open space beyond, but it was devoid of people except the five slavers. Rain was pouring down, washing away the lingering scent of blood, but that didn't matter. He slipped out of the opening and followed the slavers at a distance. They knew where they were going and spread out, still talking over the sound of the rain.
Fox had called it. This was a warehouse district, a little removed from the bustle and rush of the spaceport. The roads were wide to allow vehicle traffic and the buildings were huge, dark things. It was hard to imagine that anything had ever been new in such a place. At least the rain was giving it a wash.
Avocato spotted a guard on the corner, a laser rifle held incorrectly in his hands as he cowered beneath the awning of a warehouse to avoid getting wet. The inept sentry jerked his head in greeting to the cluster of slavers as they passed. Keeping well away, Avocato watched the slavers hurry down a narrow street, then duck into the entrance of one of the warehouses. Well, if he hadn't found his son and husband, he'd at least found some of the people who knew where they were.
His first order of business was to borrow a gun. Avocato eyed the sentry and mentally ticked off everything the short, fuzzy being was doing wrong from his stance to his posture to standing under a light for all the world to see. Much as he despised the Tera Con military, at least they were professionals. This guard was a disaster and about to learn a hard lesson. Circling round to approach him from the rear, Avocato scanned the area to be sure no cameras were visible. He knew he couldn't be seen, but he didn't want to tip off the slavers that anything was wrong. Not yet. He spotted no cameras or sensor beacons. Good.
It was over before the guard even registered he was being attacked. Swift and powerful, Avocato held nothing back as he seized the creature by the head and in one savage, crunching twist, snapped its neck. He dragged it away from the dingy splash of light and dropped it in the gutter, hastily checking it for weapons. The rifle was laughably useless and almost empty of power, but the sentry did have a respectable knife on his belt. Relieving him of the blade, Avocato also found a comm unit. He listened, but no notice had been taken of his assault.
He slid the knife into his boot before using the butt of the rifle to smash the light. He waited, but so far he had passed unnoticed by his quarry. Deciding now was a good time to alert his back up and confident Nightfall would approach this whole side of Geegua with caution, Avocato powered down his shocktog long enough to send a silent ping to AVA and alert her to his position. A single ping replied in acknowledgement, and he powered up the suit's repulsor field again before heading toward the warehouse.
Avocato's eyes narrowed as he studied the entrance. The scanners he spotted set up to warn the slavers of anyone approaching were simple, but effective if used properly. He could tell by the faint hum they emitted that this system was an older, mobile unit, meaning it had probably been repaired several times and was prone to faults. That was fine. He wouldn't even have to disarm it. Even if they had an independent camera system set up, the shocktog's rupulsor field would negate the technology. He silently blessed his brother Catowba a thousand times for the gift of this uniform as he simply stepped through the door undetected and entered the slavers' hideout.
Shadows swallowed him, but Ventrexians needed very little light to see clearly, though his range of color was greatly reduced as he moved through the large and dingy building. It was a warehouse, typical for a spaceport, open and echoing and broken into several rooms, most of them huge. It was probably close to a century old and looked it – a cheap, rundown den on a forgotten side street in a spaceport that had never been important and was on its way to becoming a genuine slum. He could hear indistinct voices from the next section of the building, see battered furniture and forgotten boxes of cargo and rubbish piled about, but the most prevalent sensations that struck him was the stench and an underlying murmur. The building was old and smelt of decay and waste and the overwhelming funk of unwashed bodies. At this point the reek was too strong for him to tell if Gary or Little Cato was present, but he knew a stench like that had to come from a dozen or more species confined in too small a space. The murmur became a voices, growing clearer as he moved deeper into the building – cries and pleas and frightened wailing in a range of languages and tones. It was a hideous, reflexive din made by people who didn't have any other means of voicing their anguish.
Avocato knew the sound. All too well. He'd heard it echo in his mind every day for almost three years. It was hopelessness and despair. It was the voice of slavery. His own voice.
He swore it would never be his son's.
Suppressing a growl, he kept walking, stepping carefully so that his boots made no sound on the gritty floor, his eyes and ears constantly taking in details and looking for threats. The vast room got darker as the noise got louder, and he began to look for a door to the next section of the building.
So, he was very surprised to hear someone breathing off to his right. Someone who was trying very hard to be invisible and sneaky and failing at both. Intrigued, Avocato stopped and waited, letting his eyes adjust to the reduced light until he could make out a small form doing a good imitation of a lump of rags in the corner. Still making no noise, he moved a little closer.
Unaware of his presence, the person was groping about, hunched and frightened as they sought for a wall or the way out, but blind in the darkness, whispering assurances in a steady litany. An escaped slave? He didn't recognize the species. Avocato stepped forward, blocking the way, watching as the shadowy little figure drew nearer. He needed information, and like it or no, he'd found his source.
A hand landed on the toe of his boot just as Avocato softly said, "Make a sound and I'll snap your neck."
A sharp breath, the hand was snatched back, but he had to hand it to the unknown being, because that was all the response his order generated other than the being curled in close and tried to make itself disappear from sight. If nothing else, this reaction confirmed this little thing could be taken down easily. Very softly Avocato asked,
"Did the slavers bring a Ventrexian child in here? Orange fur, blue crest. About your height."
"Y-yes. Not long ago." The voice was male. High-pitched. Understandably terrified. "P-please don't kill me. Please don't send me back. I'm far too valuable for this miserable fate. I'm far too . . . me to be a slave."
He resisted the urge to snort at such a statement, saying, "I just want what's mine. You escaped?"
"Yes. The Ventrexian caused a fuss. Well, riot, almost. Everything was chaos. I used their distraction to get out."
"Did you see a human male? Pinkish, with yellow hair?"
"No. I'm s-sorry. there were no humans. I'm begging you, don't send me back. Are – are you one of them?"
"No," Avocato snapped. "I'm here to get my son back."
"Y-your son? Bu-but he said he was the son of General Avoca-"
"Don't finish that sentence," he hissed, leaning in close for emphasis. "Don't mention that name on this planet again. Understood?"
The man meeped an agreement, his understanding and shock evident even in the darkness.
"How many of them are there?"
The escaped slave started spilling all he knew in a rush of words. "Seventeen, all armed. Their leader is Korg, a Kormidorn. The rest are a mix of common species, none as large as Korg, though several as dangerous. They're part of a slaving syndicate that works for someone named Saa-en-Tigool. They're tired and want to get back to their home base. Their ship needs a lot of repairs after getting caught in an asteroid storm, but they can't afford to pay the prices here, so they're working on it themselves. They moved all their . . . captives to the next room in order to properly seal the hold, but they'll be ready to leave in a day or two. They were going to stop at the slave market on Belatrum Sega to sell their cargo but . . . your – the Ventrexian they were going to take all the way back to Saa on Calist in the galactic hub. They don't believe he is y-who he says he is, but Ventrexians are -"
"Rare and in high demand. I know. What kind of ship? What's its designation?"
"A modified Vreelix rimcharger named the Degune. The modifications are a long-range coil for the lightfold and more guns than the weapons system can handle at once."
"You know a lot about them."
The voice took on a hint of sly pride. "Slavers have little else to do but talk. I had nothing to do but listen and collect information."
"Where are they keeping the Ventrexian?"
"They locked him up with the others for now. Electro-manacles and cuffs. All the cages have eight locks – four keys, four combinations. Only Krog has the master override."
The thought of his son in a cage was enough to make Avocato's blood boil. "Can the cages be cut with a laser torch?"
"I'm sure."
"How often do they patrol?"
"Random patrols. Someone's always in there, changed out three or four times a day. Standing with the slaves is what they use for punishment and discipline. They're either resentful, or complacent. Either way, they've let their guard down."
"Clearly." He stared at the shadowy form. In near-darkness, almost everything appeared to Avocato's vision in shades of gray, but something about the way this person spoke seemed weirdly familiar. Certain he knew the answer already, Avocato demanded in a whisper, "What is your name?"
"C-Clarence," said the little gray tick. "Clarence Polkawitz."
Avocato sighed, closing his eyes for a moment as he realized the entire upcoming decade of his life was destined to be one prolonged, self-fulfilling prophecy. He could feel ten years of headache starting already. Well, he could cross saving Clarence off his list.
So. This was Clarence - loved and hated, helper, betrayer, father of Fox and Ash. Living proof that there was good and bad in everyone. According to Gary, Avocato would need him in the future, but even if he hadn't, the general knew he would have done the same thing. Lifting his arm, Avocato slid a slim metal tube out of the shocktog's cuff. "Give me your hand."
Clarence reached up, nervous, and Avocato let him feel the prick of his claws as he caught the hand and pressed the flashlight into his palm. Being top-of-the-line Ventrexian tech, Avocato knew that once he was clear of the slavers, Clarence would be able to sell the light in the market and keep himself fed until he figured a way off of this planet.
"Take this. It will help you get out. There are sensors on the exits, but just leave. Quickly. Get away from here. Zee Secundus is about to get ugly."
"But . . . the sentry."
"What sentry?" asked Avocato in a whispered tone that let Clarence Polkawitz know exactly what he had done.
"Ah." Clammy fingers closed around the flashlight, and Clarence seemed to recognize what it was. Still, he hesitated, wondering, "W-why?"
"You helped me, and I helped you. Besides, no one deserves what they would do to you. But make no mistake," he added, leaning in again. "You know who I am, but I know who you are. You owe me, Clarence Polkawitz. And," he added on sudden inspiration, recalling Gary's history of the aftermath of closing the breach, "you owe my son."
There was a pause, as if Clarence was trying to figure out how a petty swindler and escaped slave could ever be of use to the second most powerful person in the universe. Such a debt could be the biggest nightmare imaginable or a dream come true. Only time would tell.
"Agreed," Clarence stated, then so softly Avocato wasn't sure he'd said it, "My thanks."
Ordered the general, "Go."