8.52 am
Amidst a curtain of sunlit
shafts, the morning breaking into the darkness of an old building through time's
wounds in the roof and ceiling, there was a brief flash of blue fire.
Then a creature crouched there,
six legs folded under a dog-like body, eyeless head shaped like a broad dagger,
mouth opening on a dimension- tearing hiss.
It
oriented itself, the legs straightening, muscles tight along the elongated
skeleton. Alongside it, more flashes, more creatures just like itself, angling
heads up against the streams of sunlight, casting savage shadows into the gloom.
They
all turned to one direction. As one, they leapt, claws unsheathing, mouths
gaping wide.
Their
target a mass of deep darkness, out of which one green eye suddenly opened,
ablaze.
8.55
am
Porter found his voice again.
"If it's a matter of
creds, I can assure you that I can agree to -"
"It ain't the creds. It's
-- look. I'm busy, right now." Crawter rubbed his forehead.
"Life-busy, okay? Got no time for cases, right now."
"Personally,
I think it might help take your mind off your problems," Revelin suggested,
and caught Crawter's baleful glare.
"An'
what do you know about why my Tramore should choose t' go off wi' your
Jalnara, Antigro an' even Frexa, hmm?"
Revelin
shrugged, his attention focussed on a repeated 'cast of the early morning report
on the latest discovery of a murder in Moloch. The recording, branded yet again
with the FS9 channel logo in the corner, showed MetroSec officers carefully
removing the remains, while an excited reporter talked of the Mummy Maker killer
"striking again".
How
these people could treat serial killing like entertainment was beyond his
understanding, sometimes.
"Sounds
an intriguing thing to look into, is all," Revelin said. "This is the
third day they've found victims, and all of them look like they've had every
molecule of water and fluid sucked out of them."
"Some cute bastard with a
science degree, more than likely ," Crawter muttered. "What has
Jalnara told you, Revelin?"
Revelin
turned his head. "Nothing. She just asked me to stick around here and heal
up, then she'll come back and we'll go visit Saion'tha or something." He
flicked a hand where it lay indolently across the top of the couch. "I get
t' play 'house' with you for a while. Something different from planning ways to
gut Tazzafek an' make him eat his own spleen."
Crawter
turned back to Porter. "Who did ye say was your employer?"
"That's
confidential, I'm afraid."
"I've
been known t' shed half me blood an' spit before divulgin' client's details,
man."
Porter
adamantly shook his head, and Crawter sighed, running a hand through his hair
which was slowly returning to normal colour. "Well, look, that kind o' puts
a damper on th' whole client-trust relationship thingo, Porter. I mean, if ye
can't give me full disclosure, than why would I--?"
"Hey,
Eoghan? Come take a look at this," Revelin murmured.
Crawter
stepped closer, peered at the screen. Then his eyes widened, before he uttered a
very descriptive word.
9.00 am
The reporter made sure his
headset was still in proper adjustment, then ducked once again, the street
filled with the sound of an enraged, animal-like roar. Alongside him, a burly
MetroSec officer thumped his weapon barrel against the vibro's hull, swearing,
before barking a status report into his own head-set, his expression hidden
behind the mirrored plex of an assault helmet and body armour.
The reporter watched as a wind
suddenly gusted up, and hot flame sheeted up through the roof of the derelict
warehouse, sending splinters raining down on the three Metro cruisers and the
officers crouched behind each one.
In
a hushed voice, the reporter said, "Third Wave here, Channel FS9, with an
exclusive on the latest disturbance here in the Moloch area of Kerav City,
NorAm. We received a tip from a concerned citizen just as this incident was
starting, and fortunately I was in the area after this morning's latest tragic
discovery -- We're not certain if this is related to the Mummy Maker Killer
investigation, but MetroSec advise that the area of Block 26 has been sealed off
and is officially under emergency procedures. Officer! Officer! The reporter
turned to his companion, who was in the process of trying to see over the hull
of the vibro. For our viewers, officer have you a comment?
Frak
off, maggot. The weapon clicked, and was aimed at the reporters face.
Either get back, or get arrested. Your choice. The helmet tilted
slightly. An' who th' frak let any of you glam-bastards in an emergency
cordon, anyway?" The officer growled into his transmitter, "Okay,
bright boys. Who let the journo-frakker into the area? C'mon -who's aimin' t'
sing soprano for th' rest of his natural?"
The
reporter swallowed, and said, "Look, officer, I have th' right to -"
"You
have no rights on my watch, maggot." A mitted hand tapped one
shoulder on the armour. "And I ain't no stinkin' officer."
The
reporter swallowed again, and murmured, "My apologies, Sector Sergeant. I
-"
There
was the sound of whistling. Like something, a projectile, was hurtling through
the air.
Then something slammed onto the
hood of the vibro, and burst on impact, showering the reporter and the sector
sergeant, coating them with foul-smelling gore and pieces of singed skin.
The street filled with the
almost mournful sound of hounds, baying for the kill.
Then,
there was something -- like a great cloth being ripped asunder. And then --
nothing. The silence of a fractured morning. Debris raining softly, with gentle
grace. Fires from deep within the ruins, creating a memorial of their own which
no man could possibly decipher.
"Place
smells like -- cooked dog, sarge!" came a crackled comment from within the
sector sergeant's helmet. Followed by gagging sounds.
"38 and 65! Check the
place out," their commander ordered. "If the place looks like it'll
blow -- get th' hell out."
Silently, the sector sergeant
watched his men cautiously approach the building, kick open what remained of
double doors which teetered and crashed with a sigh. The officers peered inside,
then their voices crackled, "Looks like a barbeque, sarge. Bits of -- something
hanging everywhere. Jark, take a look at that skull!" There was a short
laugh. "Hey, anyone want baked mutt sandwiches for the next week or so?
Plenty here for th' station!"
"I want your name, sector
sergeant," the reporter growled. "My employers will file a complaint
about your treatment of the public's right to know
The sector sergeant looked at
him, then slowly removed his helmet. "Name's Sector Sergeant Vuno Ridger,
maggot. On my beat, you have the right to remain silent, and the right to frak
off when ordered. Got that?" He grinned. "Go ahead. Sic lawyers onto
me. Watch while I read out th' subpoenas at th' next Happy Moe's Bar fun night
and happy hour. Go away now, kid, you're impedin' justice," and Ridger
pushed the reporter aside, ignoring the angry yell as the reporter landed in a
puddle of congealing ooze.