“You’ll hang for this, you bastard,” Gresham muttered under his breath. “You realize that what you’ve done isn’t just a felony, but treason. Stealing from a Marine depository using an Allied military database? Did you really think you wouldn’t get caught?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about! Please, Major, don’t kill me!”
Gresham paused. “I’m not going to kill you. But you better start talking, or I’ll do a lot more to you than just break your nose.”
French spat out blood and took his hand away from his face to steady himself against the desk. His face was completely red and his nose was gushing merrily.
“Major Gresham, I really don’t know what you’re talking about… I swear to God… I swear… Please don’t kill me… I swear…”
“Who had access to your Supernova account?”
“I don’t know! I don’t know anything!”
“Stop lying to me!” Gresham roared and grabbed a glass from the desk, hurling it across the room for effect. “This isn’t a game, French. People have died. Who are you working for?”
“I’m not working for anyone!”
“Bullshit!”
French was nearly sobbing. “No, I swear, please John, I swear, I don’t know what you’re talking about. I don’t know what Supernova is and I don’t know anything about Marines or their guns or anything. I’m on the Labor Committee, for Christ’s sake!”
There was a chime and the AI proudly announced, “A Kurtrekk Sukkom from the Krokator Star Empire’s advance delegation is here to see you, Mr. French.”
French wheezed and laughed, “Send him in.” He glanced up at Gresham. “Well, Major Gresham, looks like you’re stuck now. There’s a witness coming up here who’ll see exactly what you’ve done to me.”
“The police will be here soon, if they aren’t already.”
“I haven’t done anything wrong, Gresham,” French spat again and wiped blood from his nose with his sleeve. “You have to trust me, someone’s setting me up.”
“Next you’re going to say that someone stole your Supernova ID codes and has had access without anyone knowing.”
French’s expression was desperate. “Stranger things have happened, haven’t they?”
Something about French’s broken, defeated demeanor led Gresham to believe that he was right. There was a noise from outside the office as the lift reached the third floor.
“Assault and battery is a nasty offense.”
“And stealing from the military isn’t?”
“I haven’t stolen anything.”
“Then who did?” Gresham demanded. “This is critical, French. This is bigger than you or me. Who do you know who’s close to you that would want access to military-grade weapons?”
“Christ, I don’t know! I employ a dozen staffers… and you’re lucky that they’re out to lunch, by the way.”
“Focus! If someone’s framing you, I can help you.”
There was another chime. Somebody had entered the outer office.
“You think I want your help? You fucking punched me in the face,” French muttered. There was a noise from outside and both men glanced through the window. There were two police HUVRs, sirens blaring, pulling up to the front of the building.
“If I’m getting arrested, you are too,” French said with a vicious smirk.
“And I can say you tried to escape and I apprehended you. Who are they going to believe, me or a criminal?”
French’s eyes were darting around the room, his mind racing, before they suddenly shot behind Gresham and widened.
Gresham turned his head to see that the massive frame of a dark black krokator was filling the doorway. Even in his limited encounters with krokator, he could tell that this was an exceptionally well-built specimen, whose natural height was complimented by thick muscles and wide shoulders. His hair was tied back in a traditional krokator knot, but the tusks and sheer size of the creature was a dead giveaway.
This krokator was not part of any diplomatic detail – he was likely from the sukuda, and he was probably here for the same reasons as Gresham.
French seized this moment of hesitation to grab one of the other glasses on the table and smash it into Gresham’s face. It shattered, cutting a thin gash into Gresham’s temple while the other pieces hurtled around the room.
The Commissioner ducked around the reeling Gresham and charged straight for the krokator. “Out of my way, animal!”
As French passed him, the massive alien stuck out his arm suddenly, clothes-lining the human and flipping him through the air. French slammed into the wall and crumpled like a rag doll.
The krokator glanced back at Gresham, who was pressing his hand against his bleeding head and staring in wide eyed shock. “Are you… Jack French?” the alien asked in heavy, slow Standard.
“No, you idiot, you just punched out Jack French!” Gresham answered, laughing anxiously. “Christ, I hope you didn’t kill him…”
The bulky alien paused. “You think he is dead?”
Gresham checked French’s pulse. “No, he’s fine.”
The Commissioner grunted and moved his head ever so slightly. He was coming around.
“Quick, we gotta get out of here,” Gresham said and wiped more of his blood off onto his sleeve.
“This man needs a physician,” the alien said slowly in his baritone voice. “He looks frail.”
“Compared to you, maybe,” Gresham muttered and grabbed the alien’s forearm. “We have to leave, now. The police are already here.”
The krokator slapped away Gresham’s hand. “Do not touch me, bunchu, my patience with your kind is growing thin.”
“Do you whatever you want, but it won’t look good if the LAPD comes up here and there’s a towering alien standing over an unconscious Commissioner.”
Gresham could tell that the wheels were spinning behind the krokator’s dark, oceanic eyes. The alien regarded French, who twitched slightly and rolled his head to the side, struggling to regain consciousness.
“Look, it’s now or never. I don’t know what you’re doing here but we can help each other if you come with me. Or you can stay here, and you’re on your own.”
The krokator straightened his back. “I will follow you. But know this, human: if you lead me into a trap, I will break your spine.”
“You’d be doing me a favor,” Gresham snapped back and they hurried down the hall back into the outer office. He grabbed his gun from where he had checked it in with the AI and stormed out into the building’s central atrium. He heard the doors slide open with a wail as the LAPD overrode the building’s security system and the lights all went red.
“Oh Christ,” Gresham muttered. “The building is going into lockdown. Here, follow me. There must be an emergency staircase somewhere.”
They hurried down a side hallway and found an emergency staircase. The door, however, had been sealed off thanks to the lockdown.
“We are trapped,” the krokator observed in his same deadpan tone. “Is there another way out?”
Gresham raised his gun and fired three shots directly into the locking mechanism, which sparked as the wiring was shredded. He kicked the weakened lock twice and on the third kick the door swung open, slamming the wall.
The krokator turned to head downstairs before Gresham grabbed him by the arm and pointed upwards. “They’ll be down there. We go this way, and see if we can get down on the fire escape.”
“I will trust you,” the krokator grunted begrudgingly and they hurried up two flights of steps, past the fifth floor and to a door providing roof access. Gresham shot off an even weaker lock to the roof and they burst out into the bright Los Angeles afternoon.
“Crouch for a second,” Gresham said as his mind raced for options. He scanned the bare rooftop. If an airborne LAPD cruiser arrived, there would be nowhere to hide. For now, it seemed as if the police had only shown up with a token force, but once they discovered French in his condition…
&nb
sp; “Here! Follow me.”
There was a fire escape on the backside of the building, and it was adjacent to the fire escape of the building’s neighbor, a similarly dull structure containing office suites. Gresham hopped down onto the cold metallic rungs of the fire escape and peered into the alley below. It was empty.
“Here, climb down a bit and we’ll figure out where to go from here.”
“That is your plan? Hang from this ladder until you invent an escape?”
“Hey, you wanna go back downstairs and risk the LAPD, you go right ahead,” Gresham barked. What the hell are you doing, John? Running from the police, and with a Crock in tow no less! What a week…
The krokator muttered some indistinguishable profanity in Krokam under his breath and obliged, climbing to just above Gresham. They hung there in silence for a few moments, their hearts racing.
“Okay, I have an idea. It might not work, but it’s our best shot.”
“I am listening.”
He understands a lot of Standard, Gresham thought, impressed. “We jump from this fire escape to that one a few meters away. That way, we can enter that building and leave through its front door. The police are only here for French and won’t have the block surrounded.”
“That is a foolish plan.”
“You have a better idea, big man?”
The krokator sighed and clicked his tongues. “Very well, bunchu, I will jump first. I weigh more than you and do not want to shake that ladder if you are on it first.”
“Watch what you call me. I know what that word means.”
“Do you?” the krokator asked before flinging himself across the open space between the two buildings. He caught the fire escape surprisingly nimbly for an alien of his size and the metal ladder shook furiously. He climbed down to a stable platform and beckoned for Gresham to join him.
“Jump, human!”
Gresham pressed his feet against the metal rungs of the fire escape, closed his eyes, whispered a quick prayer and then launched himself with all his might across the space. He floated for what felt like an eternity before hitting the adjacent ladder hard. He clawed at the nearest rung and when he had it in his hand wrapped his whole body around the structure and clung for dear life.
“Oh Christ,” he muttered under his breath and glanced down at the krokator. “You alright?”
“I should ask the same of you, human,” the krokator said sternly and indicated a door. “This leads into the building, correct?”
“Yes,” Gresham replied and slid down the fire escape to the krokator’s platform. “Let’s hope it’s unlocked.”
Surprisingly, it was, and they stole down a nondescript office hallway once inside. They passed a few of the tenants, who gave them surprised stares as they passed.
“Afternoon, ma’am,” Gresham said to a wide-eyed woman. “We just got lost, that’s all.”
They hurried down the staircase in the building’s atrium and were soon out on a street running parallel to Crest Ave. Gresham breathed out and put his hands on his knees, looking around to check for LAPD officers. “Christ, that was a close one,” he wheezed and looked at his new compatriot. “What’s your name, by the way?”
The krokator clearly weighed his options before he replied, “I am Sharm Akgu Zurra.”
“Not Kurtrekk Sukkom?”
“No,” Zurra said. “That is an alias.”
“You speak really good Standard.”
“Thank you, human,” Zurra replied. “Do you speak Krokam?”
“Yeah, fluently. Speak pretty good Brili too, and three other tongues partially,” he said before adding, “I analyze foreign communication for Military Intelligence, that’s why.”
“How does someone like you wind up here?” Zurra wondered with genuine curiosity.
“Great question,” Gresham answered and cracked his back. He looked Zurra over once more. “By the way, my name’s Gresham. John Gresham.”
“What is your rank? Sharm? Tarl?”
“Major.”
Zurra looked confused but chose not to pursue the matter. He had an amused smile as he said, “We should get going, cooker of foods.”
“Yeah we should… wait, what?”
“You said your name is Gresham. You know then that grishemm means ‘cooker of foods’ in Krokam, yes?”
“I didn’t… those phrases don’t exactly appear in the Military Intelligence training programs.”
“They should.”
“Yeah, well… whatever. My HUVR is parked about fifteen blocks west of here at the Department of Defense. Christ, I haven’t thought about how we’ll get that out…”
Zurra started walking in the direction Gresham indicated and asked with a condescending snort, “So why were you fighting Jack French when I arrived?”
“Because he’s a lying son of a bitch,” Gresham replied and touched the spot where his temple had been slashed. It burned. “Turns out he’s got a lot more to do with my investigation than I ever imagined.” He stopped and looked at Zurra. “Speaking of which, why were you at French’s office?”
“I wanted to see if I could learn more about a human named Colin Hess through him. I believe he may be involved in my own investigation.”
Gresham smiled. “You know, Sharm Zurra, I think you and I might be able to help each other out.”
#
Perry pushed his way past two distracted LAPD officers to approach the ambulance where French was being treated for his injuries. The Commissioner had a bandaged nose and there was black swelling around his left eye.
“How is he?” Perry asked one of the paramedics as a hovering medicine drone injected French with an antibiotic.
“Broken nose and cheekbone from the scans we took, but we’ll want to get him to the hospital for more tests. He suffered a nasty concussion too, doesn’t remember much except for a big, black Crock being in his office.”
Perry scowled. “ETs, huh? Think they can do whatever they want.”
“Yeah, no kidding. I think we should ship all the bastards back to where they came from. Taking our jobs, making our cities dangerous, and now beating up government officials!”
“Thank you for your work, doctor,” Perry said and patted the shoulder of the paramedic. “Can I speak with Mr. French?”
“No, I think it’s best you didn’t. He probably wouldn’t say much of use anyways.”
After giving the battered Commissioner one last look-over, Perry cursed under his breath and turned to discover a female SIS agent was glaring at him.
“Can I help you, ma’am?” Perry asked and approached her, smiling courteously.
“You sure can,” the SIS agent replied. “Isn’t it awfully convenient, sir, that someone comes up here to knock the lights out of Commissioner French just as we’re showing up to arrest him? You seem close to Mr. French. Know anything?”
“It’s tragic, not ‘convenient,’” Perry answered. “I don’t appreciate your accusations, Ms…?”
“Taylor.”
“Do you have a first name, Ms. Taylor?”
“Yeah. Agent.”
Perry flared his upper lip. It had been a long time since someone refused him and he recalled how much he hated the feeling. “Well, Agent Taylor, I have a very close relationship with the ownership of this building, and I guarantee that I’ll be sure to let you know what I find out when I go over the security footage.”
“Please do, Mr. ...?”
“I decline to comment without my attorneys present,” Perry answered and turned to leave. “I had best be going, Agent Taylor. I’ll see you around.”
Lara grimaced uncomfortably. There was something about the man she didn’t like. But what was it?
Chapter Twenty: Collaboration
Los Angeles, Planet Terra, Sol System
“…doctors have announced that while severely injured in the assassination attempt, Commissioner French is stable and will make a full recovery.”
Hess scowled and turned off the Persephone’
s news system as he floated towards the airlock on the ship’s underbelly. This was an unforeseen development. A krokator had tried to kill French in his office in broad daylight? What was the galaxy coming to?
Could it have been Grakko’s thugs? Hess wondered. The Forbidden Army had always been a little trigger happy, but this was ridiculous. Especially when it was somebody as inherently useful as Jack French.
Hess floated through the airlock into his private shuttle and pulled on his seat’s harness. He pressed the button on the side of his chair to activate the intercom.
“Is my entire luggage loaded?” he asked the shuttle pilot.
“Yes, sir. We’ll commence landing sequence in ninety seconds. Please strap yourself in.”
The airlock hissed shut and Hess leaned back in his chair. He turned a knob on his other armrest and a classic string orchestra reverberated through the shuttle.
Hess closed his eyes and thought about his childhood and the times his father had taken him to see the Pioneer City Symphonic. He thought about the times the sweet strings had echoed through their estate while the little Colin Hess had played with his toy spaceships, imagining battles from the past. Images of all the times he had visited the dying Albrecht Hess at the hospital as a boy washed over him like the notes of the cellos and violas, the fierce eyes of that living corpse of a man as riveting as the clarinet solo.
It was an opera. The orchestra gave way to the soprano as the shuttle detached from the Persephone above Terra and floated peacefully through space before righting itself towards the planet. The soloist’s voice was joined by a male voice, a tenor, who sang slower, more soothingly, more hauntingly.
Johannes Hess was screaming at Claudia Hess, throwing something across the kitchen of their summer home on Genesis. An old briling housekeeper approached little Colin Hess, grabbing him by the hand, but the boy wanted to see what was happening, wanted to understand.
The tenor took over completely, the soprano now silenced. Claudia Hess was throwing clothes into a bag, weeping and hurling curses at Johannes Hess, who stood silently and with his back to her, staring out a window at the skyline of Pioneer City in the distance. Little Colin Hess looked at a table in their foyer. There were signed documents on it, and he picked it up, now old enough to read.