11 - Recovery Two
Udaev
Colonial Space
Paj Takkahr Plains
Midday
"Six."
Ira's lead captor had finally spoken. The confident resonance of her voice alerted her felid companion to the suspicion she placed on the wheeled vehicle that had rushed past their own.
'Six,' a numeric callsign no less.
He'd also heard brakes, wheels and tires dragging dust. It must have stopped suddenly a klick behind.
"We've been seen."
He was supposed to be blind, deaf and dumb. They thought he hadn't seen them, but he had.
"Don't look. Don't react. Just ungrease your hands, wipe up, and get back in the cab,"
the leader said, maintaining a positive tone throughout. Ira could make out the words clearly enough despite them being muffled through the canvas canopy lofted over him.
Honestly, he hadn't seen her entirely. She struck too quickly, Ira barely caught a glimpse of her shadow before a stun drone's prongs lodged themselves in his shoulder. He could only recall what he'd felt before she spun him around and choked him out.
Pointy ears, tall, angry. He recalled. And, she was paranoid.
Ira, an unremarkable looking gray shepard canid, had been incarcerated by the odd Vikr rabble before; but this duo were professionals. Immobilizer cuffs, an expensive luxury, clamped tight on his wrists without straining his forearms too tightly. More primitively, they'd double zip-tie'd legs; eliminating any chance for him to wiggle through. The addition of the sock gag and hood were supposed to disorient him, but Ira wasn't phased.
He'd been keeping tabs on the loose rattling sound emitting itself from the engine bay beneath him; just a thin aluminum box separating him from the dirt. An hour back, the rattling had escalated into a howling, metal-on-metal scrape that had seemingly sounded freely through the ruggedized plastic tearing at his back. It was an awful noise; but a familiar one. Four regrav generators on the fritz, limited to twenty centimeters ground clearance. It was going to be a problem.
And now? It had. They were stuck.
This wasn't the good news he'd wanted. It had failed too early by his estimate, and despite his captor's misfortunes; he wasn't smiling under his mask. The duo had no reason to be worried. The plains of Paj Takkahr was Dunealope territory. Cowards, ingrates and do-nothings. Peacenik bystanders.
No one was coming for Ira; and there was nowhere to go. He had missed his check-in protocol and was on his own now.
Footsteps snapped on gravel. Deliberate and purposeful. The tall one was coming. She was humming a melody Ira thought was vaguely familiar.
The truck rocked off its regrav axis as the Acinonyx felid operative opened and shut the door and he heard the familiar whine of a blaster's energy cell through the thin glass of the rear windshield. Paranoid.
Flies buzzed around him and the engine was still clicking cool. Ira sought to return to his perception's equilibrium; to center his senses where they needed to be. He was a professional too, and it was a scout's mission to be useful until they took their final breaths.
Through the more spacious cotton fibers pulled over his brow, Ira could see the unrelenting yellow light of Udeav's midday shine; it had been no more than three hours by his count. And though the bed had overhead cover, he had been partially concealed under a tarpaulin and was thoroughly steamed. They had been generous with water for him to survive for the past three hours. Ira imagined that mercy would continue to a certain point.
The tonneau's door unlatched and opened. It sounded like the tall one had let it fall open gently.
She rested something down carefully. Plastic. Two hand grip. But what was-
His analysis was cut short by the unmistakable sound of a spacer's aluminum-lined boot slam on the plastic flooring as their wearer leapt into the bay.
Suddenly, the tarp he was concealed under was spread to the side, exposing his upper body. Ira let out a muffled protest as the oversized blind was ripped off his head. The bitch hadn't been careful either, and yanked his ears while pulling it upward.
The tall one, revealing herself at last.
A vulpes, of course. When there's trouble. It's always a godsdamned vulpes. He thought, an old canid cliché exported from the central systems.
Tan fur, medium-short length. A white patch amid her sat cross legged on a blue and black Vikr-branded plastic crate secured aft. Her bushy tail adorned with a snowy white cap rolled halfway up the cab's sides.
She wore no armor and she wasn't in a Vikrman's smock. Ira considered himself an expert reader of allegiance, but she just looked normal; like she belonged. She wore a checkered rider's jacket with torn jeans like any other cultivation specialist in the region. She even had smudges and dirt in the right places! With the little he'd assessed, she was an outlander that had carefully designed all of it. The only real tell was the spacer's boots and the personal shielding device that dangled out of her jacket for a mere moment; two deliberate choices.
He wasn't the only one studying. She cleaned her hands on an oil-stained rag, surveying him with her leaf-green eyes.
Ira continued his own observation, gazing outward to the truck that had stopped some distance down the road. The brake lights were still powered on, indicating the driver was still deciding what to do next.
Fuck. Kelman and Grier. It's them, most likely. He thought, panic rising within him. Unless there's another orange Dorada rolling around the plains today!
They were supposed to check-in and be his ration resupply; clandestine tried to rein-in his emotions, subtly mimicking boredom to avoid compromising their cover. The grizzled shepard hoped they'd see him; if only to confirm his fate and preserve their cover. Like anyone else, he wanted to live, but the scouts had a zero-trust approach to communication. No voice, no text, no data. Need-to-know only.
Rao Zeouna was likely back by now, anyway. Ari would resurface in her usual Set City palaces. The same scheduled jaunt between them they could expect a couple times a year, only this one was a bit longer than usual.
"They're here to kill me, aren't they?" she asked, seemingly nonchalantly. Ira knew better.
He didn't say anything and was still gagged; not that he would have answered honestly given the chance. She appraised him further, seemingly looking through him.
She reached for her the bright red toolbox in the corner, unlatched it and placed the pliers and spanner she'd brought back with her. She gently placed them back into their correct slots, neat and tidy: the repairs were complete, apparently. When she was done, she lobbed the box back into the back corner of the truck's bed, where a blue and white icebox rested.
The vulpes shook her head and rolled her eyes, her patience evaporated.
She hobbled towards him and grasped at the sock stuffed into his mouth. It was secured with sealant tape, and the resulting yank was going to hurt.
Their 'guest' protested. Ira squirmed, preferring not to have his facial fur torn out. He hoped not to have to speak to her altogether. She backhand slapped him before pinching the hanging bunch of the 'muzzle'.
Compliance achieved, she menaced over him before speaking.
"You're not going to scream are you? Blink twice for yes."
Ira mumbled a profanity instead.
She tore the adhesive off, removing the gag as well as claiming a large clump of gray fur with it. Ira' eye's were flooded with tears and his legs jerked to the rhythm of the pain that arced throughout his body.
Simultaneously, the distant dorada's brake lights turned off as it started to roll rearward. The driver reversed more aggressively after a few seconds.
When the pain had subsided; he was left to contend with her indifferent silence.
"Who are you?" Ira asked, filling the gap. She ignored his question and followed up with her own.
"How many? Two? Three?"
It seemed more of an assessment from her perspective than questions.
"You're paranoid," Ira balked back; a confident lie delivered with a grin. "These are Dunealope lands."
His custodian wasn't so easily convinced. She exhaled and glanced askew at the approaching Dorada, her ears casting a shadow. When she turned back to him, she was plainly furious.
"I am paranoid," she finally responded. "And, you aren't helping that one bit."
"Before you lie to me again, you should know; I have a gift for sensing ambushes."
"Who are you?" Ira repeated. His eyes narrowed.
"Wrong question."
A Center for sure. A fed? Mercenary?
Ira couldn't make sense of it. Vikrmen wouldn't be operating in a group so small. Neither would their KEI mercs; and neither would have left him alive this long.
"Why are you here?" Ira asked, anticipating the new direction of the conversation.
Her own cocky grin affirmed the correctness of his intuition.
"The same reason as you, I believe. I'm searching for someone."
"Listen-"
"-I'm looking for a person. Now, I don't believe in coincidences, so we'll skip the small questions."
"You work for this person. And, I'm warning you, you're very short on time. So I need you to be honest with me."
"What happened to her?" She interrogated.
She didn't ask by name. Don't give her one!
"Who? W-what?" He stammered. "Who the fuck are you talking about?"
He was silent. She sighed. Hopefully losing steam on the fruitless lines of questioning.
"I'm sorry. Really," she said, trace elements of sympathy hanging on her last word.
She reached into the other end of the bed, showing him her backside. there was no trace of anything else that would give away her identity.
The tall one pulled the plastic icebox he'd seen earlier closer. She handled it carefully, unlatched it and hesitated for a moment before turning it his way.
Ira felt the icy condensation emit from the box. His interest, and his thirst, were piqued.
She hinged it toward him, looking a little ill-at-ease.
Ira's eyes connected and suddenly went cold. Nauseated by the ghastly sight before him.
Oh Gods above. Ari! No!
He looked away, unwilling to stare at the loss for any longer. What would he tell Rao Zeo? Would he even live long enough to escape?
"Ariane Jean-Starkly," she muttered.
"I thought you should know what happened to her. It's clear you know her, and I want to find who did this to her."
"I don't know who that is! Put it away!" He yelled desperately.
The words hurt him to say aloud. Ariane was Ketumat's soul. Whatever happened, she deserved better.
"That was only lie number two."
"I'm sorry you had to see her like that. That's why I asked if you knew her and told you to be honest. This is what happens when you lie to me. Do not make it a third."
"What. Happened. To. Her?" She asked, sternly.
"I don't know! I don't know!"
He'd told the truth as vociferously as he could. He'd screamed it before he'd realized she'd tricked him; deftly weaving two questions into one to assess how much of Ari's fate he'd known about. She looked at him quizzically. Reading his intent and responses justly.
Brake lights shined closer, before powering off. The wheeled vehicle stopped before them as automatic parking brakes stilled the vehicle. She reacted by leaning closer.
"Out of time, last chance. Don't lie to me."
"Where's Zeouna?"
No. She'd never.
"Who?"
"Zeouna. Rao. Jefe. Sef. Your boss."
"Where did she go? Where is she now? Where is she likely to be?"
She was less indifferent now; practically frothing at the mouth.
"Last chance."
His heart hardened as he accepted death. He had hardly met his Rao twice, but Zeouna would never have given Ira up. She'd be silent.
"Eat shit offworlder," he replied
She didn't hesitate. With a firm press she dragged the gag back into his mouth and immediately secured it as deep as she could, prompting Ira to nearly vomit by reflex. She turned to prepare herself to address her primary threat.
"I didn't mean for you."
The Vulpes leapt out of the truck and walked toward his only remaining hope. Her hips swayed hypnotically. Her jacket's bottom hem was cut short, which allowed her tail to freely swing as well.
Ira's eyes weren't wandering for fun, something metallic glinted that wasn't there before. A Model-two blaster pistol stuffed into her trousers back; as if it had been there the whole time.
How did she do that?
"Can I help you?" She challenged as the truck's front window rolled down.
She sounded native. Ira noted. The right tone, the right intonation. She knew her limitations and spoke in a Set City accent. The bitch!
"Everything all right?" Ira's comrade-in-arms said, peering out.
Kelman. Ira screamed his name. Ira howled helplessly, the muzzle eating his words before they left the truck.
"Yeah, Nah'," The woman said with a colloquial charm.
She continued her approach. "Regrav equalizer took a rock. Leaking ferrofluid all over the damn place. We almost got er' patched up."
She was vulnerable but she wasn't afraid. The weight of the weapon concealed behind her back should have made her anxious, but she stood strong. Waiting for the first scout to break.
"Let me take a look," Kelman hollered back. The lizard opened the door a smidge, interrupting their eye contact through the driver's side-view mirror. Kelman lost sight of her for a mere half-second.
That was all she needed.
Ira watched in horror as her passive gait converted suddenly to a furious sprint.
She closed distance with the driver's side window rapidly before kicking the door shut. She drew her blaster pistol faster than Ira could see. She assessed him and found Kelman lethal. She put three blasts into his side before he could react.
There was more. Two more. Ira thought he might have seen Grier's familiar ponytail behind Kelman, meaning there was a third passenger.
Kelmen barely fell forward before the Vulpes had moved on. Unfazed, she continued walking a meter to her right and began placing bolts through the rear passenger window. Again, three bolts clean through the chest of her next prey.
Each blaster shot pulsated throughout the cabin and tonneau. Ira winced with every shot, but didn't blink.
As a rejection to dying violently, the rear passenger, it hadto be Grier, fumbled for a weapon; but she was already dead. Her thoracic cavity and organs cooked to a crisp. Her brain failed to receive that message for a few seconds, and her fingertips twitched sickeningly. Eventually she fell limp; still buckled helplessly into the back seat.
A panicked shot escaped the Dorado through the rear windscreen, missing their assailant by mere centimeters. The tall one kept in the passenger's blind spot.
The front passenger, whoever it was, hadn't been lethargic to exit the vehicle; if anything he'd reacted quicker than Ira anticipated. Not that it mattered, really, The Vulpes had already shifted targets.
You see, after killing her second would-be assailant, she broke her leisurely pace and sprinted clean around the rear of the pickup, stopping with enough time to take a proper isosceles shooting stance at the back-right of the vehicle. She was so quick, the third had just managed to swing his second leg out of the door, barely placing the bottom of his rancher's boot on the dirt before she fired two shots through his skull.
Ira witnessed him fall back into the cab, dead immediately. Patches of fur blew off in a sickening cloud of brown soot. The wind blew it out into the golden prairie.
The third passenger's door had been flung open so hard that after reaching its apex swung back on its tethered momentum, pinning the dead man back into the cabin.
The final shot's echoes finally subsided into silence around them.
She took a few moments to wordlessly rifle through the cabin and assess what she'd found, keeping only the PDAs and a small notebook. She threw the rest down to the dusty road.
Three weapons. Long-range communicators. Surveillance gear. She has us made.
Ira was astonished. The animals she'd killed weren't amateurs. She'd made the right decision: she had been vicious, brutal, and efficient. Exacting in her application of force, restrained but unflinching to end the fight before it began.
She returned a minute later; throwing the loot into the open bed and tearing out the gag again.
"You didn't-"
She backhand smacked him again. This time, so hard he tasted blood.
"-I gave you the choice. You made it for them. And now, I'm giving you one more."
She dragged him out by the zip ties around his ankles, and Ira fell a meter to the dirt. He slammed on his back, staring at the sun.
This was it.
Snip.
He was forced onto his knees by the cheetah. The immobilizer and zip-ties were removed. Ira's newfound freedom alerted him to the stiffness in his neck.
"You're not going to kill me?" He asked, sheepishly.
"Not yet," the terse felid said.
He was meters away from his comrades. Ira could smell the burning flesh; a sickeningly sweet tinge. Grier was the only one he knew, really. A new initiate. A damn good one. Being Ketumati wasn't conducive to a long lifespan, but Ira had hoped she'd have been one of the rare few that made it.
"No more bullshit."
"Where is Rao Zeouna of Settler City?"
"Why do you think I'm out here?" He asked, hoping the nature of his question would satisfy her own.
He stood and turned around; arms raised. He was shocked he hadn't been shot to death yet. They stood side by side, gun barrels pointed squarely at his chest.
"It's like you said. We're looking for the same animal."
A loophole. No names. I didn't give her up. For all they know, I'm lying.
"Finally. He tells the truth," the Cheetah assessed.
"Today's your lucky day," The Vulpes confessed. "KEI's surgeons don't need any more practice. Besides, he doesn't know anything else."
"Right?" She queried, an eyebrow raised.
He nodded in the affirmative and gulped.
She ruminated on his answer and moved to leave. If they had wanted him dead, they would have done it already. Ira felt it was only fair for him to know why.
"Wait!"
Ira stuttered-stepped and the felid about-faced, springing her weapon to the low ready.
"You think we had something to do with it?"
His bafflement was genuine enough to coax a chuckle from the Vulpes.
"Not anymore," She remarked, gesturing broadly to the surrounding fields of grain and highgrass. "Four scouts per one-hundred kilometers is costly. Someone's scrambling for answers."
Three. He thought. Kelman was just a smuggler. I told him not to carry a piece.
"I don't think you know where she is either."
"It's not right," Ira blurted, ignoring her clarification. "You make sure she gets buried."
"Whoever that was," he furnished painfully,
"Her as well," She returned, pointing at the Dorada she'd turned into a tomb.
With a wave, she returned the Acinonyx felid returned to the truck.
"You sure?" He asked, unsure of the mercy he was receiving. He was going to tell Timoteus every detail.
"You think this will make us even?"
The Vulpes chortled.
"I don't think anything about what this makes us."
"Scurry back to your hole," she teased. "Tell your people what happened here or not; it doesn't matter. We'll find her on our own."
"Who's 'we'?" Ira said, pushing his luck. "Why should we believe you?"
She approached him, his arms still stretched towards the heavens. The outlander handed him her canteen.
"That's your problem, not mine."
Ira downed half the canteen in under three seconds before capping it.
"I'll give you a moment to think about it."
He went stiff before the muzzle blast sounded, the stasis gun overrode his central nervous system within nanoseconds. Ira remained there, baking in the sun, as still as his comrade's corpses. Powerless to move until ten minutes had passed.