Toxic (77 page)

The blue face of the Sybarian took up half of the display. Naakrit got up out of his chair while listening to her report. The officer in charge of operations raised his short mandible from his screen and in their virtual spheres, the troopers all heard the same worrying words.

"They reduced the acceleration factor to two-octains of units and are aiming their course towards the interior of the system."

The head mercenary studied the information, his arms crossed and his tongue stuck against his palate. His enemies had chosen to fight on his terrain. What had caused this change in direction? Something had come over them, he thought, finally satisfied with this development. He was planning to win in style.

"What are our best tactical options?"

An ensemble of trajectories were drawn on the central display, causing a buzzing from the purple shell of the Arthrosian. All of them converged far from the third planet.

"Mars? The Poisoners aren't aiming for Earth..."

The fourth world, Naakrit remembered, also worried by this information.

"Earth doesn't seem to be their destination," the Sybarian confirmed.

"An interception near Mars still constitutes an excellent opportunity," the Arthrosian continued. "Their speed advantage will be canceled out and we can send in a fourth tamer without going too far from the logistics base. With two against one, the outcome is basically set."

"The diversion didn't work so they are showing themselves to be more resourceful," Naakrit whistled. "Much more resourceful. What is there on Mars?"

The Sybarian synchronized a flow, which stabilized, revealing a planet with a red color showing tones of ochre and orange. Its tilt revealed the mother of pearl white of its polar cap.

"Mars," she announced. "Humans named it Mars after their mythology..."

The Primark raised his hand.

"Spare me. I already have a Lynian for these types of details. I want concrete information. Start with climactic information."

The blue-skinned female started. "A cold world, with two small moons. A thin atmosphere, a fraction of that of Earth, made up of carbon dioxide for the most part. There is also little water..."

The Primark's first slammed down on the console, interrupting his officer's presentation.

"Send a recon drone! I'm going to need scanner readings of the surface."

"On your orders," the Sybarian responded, her eyes widening.

"I will meet you at the logistics station to take command of my tamer," the reptilian then announced, before cutting the link.

His operations chief, motionless in front of the immense screen, observed his Primark. Why had the small planet caused such a reaction in him? Before the invasion, the information in their possession had quickly answered the question. Mars was too far from Earth to be of interest on a military level. The local civilization had sent a few robots there to carry out studies in a vain and pathetic attempt to discover its secrets. The too-thin atmosphere excluded the presence of a form of life on its surface, which was also exposed to the rays of the star.

Visibly, they had perhaps missed something.

"What are you thinking, Primark?"

"About the carbon dioxide. That's what I'm thinking about. And the
raijkins
that breathe it!"

"Lynians? The atmosphere of that planet is too thin, even for vegetable beings," the Arthrosian objected.

"The pressure at the bottom of valleys or craters must be higher and they could have built a base there."

"Without us knowing?"

Naakrit continued in a high-pitched tone. "The ship Exthyne arrived on Earth with a Lynian on board, without us knowing. My products were infected, without us knowing. Kroon nanotubes were found in human machines, without us knowing. An antidote probably exists, without us knowing... Should I continue with the list?"

The operations chief bowed his round head made up of two plates of shell, similar to a helmet.

"OK," the Primark continued. "You take command while I go to Mars to clear up the situation. On the way, we will pulverize the Poisoner ships as an example."

He hurried outside and reached the airlock, which led him to the landing platform at the top of the tower. His second officer was there.

"The emissary left Rome for an unknown destination," Kjet informed him. "He sent his escort back with a batch of sleeping humans in coffins. I thought that it was important for you to know this before leaving."

What was Jave playing at?

"He must not survive. As soon as you find the second Lynian, capture them. Take the necessary measures to move into action as soon as possible."

"
Haj!
"

Naakrit stepped into the Tracker-Jumper. In less than a minute, the ship shot off through the sky, chasing the stars.

O
n the sea again, Hector thought.

The great blue expanse acted like a lover, at times greedy and at other times generous, but always tempting. Sitting on the bench at the back of the speedboat, the Colombian smiled. Two rows of seats ahead, Jon was keeping a firm hand on the gas and the other on the helm. Two men built like butchers flanked him. They were looking in front of them, a look of concentration on their faces. Their bulldog heads bobbed up and down to the rhythm of the boat each time it rode a crest. Aside from their stature, they resembled the hooligans that he used to hire in Cartagena, pawns paid a miserable salary that was just enough for bail when the game of hide and seek with the police took a turn for the worse. The cops were required to provide them aid. It was the law. Back then, there were laws.

Hector closed his eyes, overwhelmed by the sun's rays. He realized it suddenly. For the first time in his life, he belonged to the good guys. Did that change his point of view?

"Four hours more," Jon yelled to his team.

As a response, the Colombian's features hardened as the sea breeze whipped his skin.

The
chica's
alien had given them the group's position. Once of the men from the platform had recognized the area and had mentioned the sheik's ass, a few kilometers from the coast. Covering the dry land would be the critical part of the expedition. They would be exposed, to the
muertos
hanging around and to the drones, and not to mention the bands of aggressive survivors, who had to be added to the list of dangers. They might want their weapons.

In the cockpit, he noticed the blue bags.

Trading drugs for a safe passage over the land of whatever new warlord or big shot was now there seemed liked a good idea to him. Fighting on multiple fronts would lead to failure.

So many things could go wrong.

There was no worse feeling than that of being trapped or locked in.

Masters raised his head. His horizon was limited to two ramparts and water with a doubtful color and its nauseating stench, which went up to his waist. His 45 in hand, he turned around. Bruce was carrying Alison on his shoulders. The girl had puked and had refused to set foot in that putrid muck. She remained hunched over, her hand to her mouth. Alva and the Asian held up the rear. Even though the singer had regained a bit of her composure, the colonel was keeping an eye on her. Drug addicts relapse until the withdrawal is complete, and even afterwards, nothing was for sure. She was going to have to fight for the rest of her life. It was probably not her first battle, he guessed. Her war continued deep down.

"Is everybody following?"

The brown mouths responded with a nod.

"We have to get to a safe place. If the L-Ds find us, we're dead."

Attracted by the explosion, the infected had disappeared from this part of the moat. Masters moved forwards, trying not to shake up the water too much. You could never know what remained behind in its depths.

"I think we're on the side opposite the bridge," Bruce said. "When people escape, they don't go out the front door, do they?"

That seemed logical to him at the moment, but didn't change the nature of the problem at all: how to get out of there? Maybe they could find an upturned tree that would allow them to climb and get to the top of these walls. Or maybe they would run into living dead.

The soldier frowned.

"I have an idea," Bruce then proposed. "Uh... it's not going to be easy."

"Given the current situation, telling us won't hurt."

"We send the girl," the biologist let out.

The suggestion froze them.

Then, Alison shook her head. A categorical "no" came out of her mouth. Bruce tried to convince her and reassure her.

"Dewei is light," he said in a calm voice. "He can get on the colonel's shoulders. With the two of them, we will reach the three and a half meters. How tall are you?"

In turn, Dewei widened his eyes. However, he didn't object. The girl hesitated, and looked for the gaze of the marine, as if she were waiting for her father's approval.

"Five foot one. But that was before. Mom hadn't measured me for a long time."

"Perfect. You'll just have to raise your arms to lift yourself onto the bank," Bruce said.

The soldier agreed. The plan risked to be toppled by a fall, but they didn't have any better ideas.

"Once I'm up there, what do I do?"

Masters took a rope out of his backpack.

"Wrap this around the closest tree," he smiled. "Can you do that?"

"Dad taught me."

"He would be proud of you."

Alison leaned to the side and squinted.

"He's not dead, right? When we have the antidote, we'll find him."

What are the chances of her wish coming true?
the colonel thought.
Slim, but not none
.

"Yes, he's locked up in a cage and safe."

The girl's features stretched into a smile, making the mud on her cheek stretch.

The state of the singer worried Bruce.

"And if she loses it again?"

"It'll happen anyway; we all know. Let's not waste time."

"Yeah."

He called Dewei. Masters put his back against the humid ground. He then joined his hands together like a step. The Asian put a mud-soaked shoe on them. The colonel held his breath, and with a vertical movement, he pushed Dew up. The biologist was right; the Asian was surprisingly light. He managed to balance himself on his shoulders. With the pair of reeking shoes on either side of his head, he repressed a gag and prayed that the girl wouldn't dawdle, otherwise, he risked puking up the contents of his stomach, and even his intestines.

Alison slid onto Bruce's shoulders, and he approached the soldier slowly. She had a sense of balance, the colonel noted. The biologist, who held her by the calves, not so much. He almost fell forward. Her arms outstretched and knees bent, the girl managed to get her balance back herself.

"Sorry," Bruce said. "I stepped on something."

The marine glanced at Alva, who was watching the acrobatics with an apparent calm. It was deceiving. Her red eyes and the dark, swollen rings under them stood out in such a way that couldn't be ignored.

His shoulders felt an additional weight. Masters grimaced but resisted, solid as a rock. He gave a reassuring nod to the questioning look that Bruce was giving him.

"This is going to work," he said, his breath a whistle.

Alison grabbed Dewei's shoulders. The Asian put his hands in the same position as the colonel's. Not very reassured, the girl climbed up and the human pyramid staggered under the additional weight.

"Fuck!"

Dew grabbed at the rocks to avoid falling to the side. The tower risked collapsing. His cheeks swollen like a hamster, the marine gave everything he had to correct the situation.

"Keep at it!" Bruce encouraged him, taking a step back.

Little by little, Masters was able to stabilize himself, but it wouldn't last long.

"Alison, it's your turn now."

At any time, an L-D could surprise them in that vulnerable position. Masters didn't dare raise his head to look at the girl's progress, for fear of losing his balance once again and throwing them all into the mud. His first feat had almost emptied him.

"It's OK, the biologist said. When you have a good grip, use your foot as support. Your right foot. Perfect."

Masters trusted Bruce's voice.

"Great, you're not far."

The burden on his shoulder was lightened all of a sudden. Bruce applauded.

"Excellent Alison, you're there! Now, find a tree and tie the rope."

Dewei grabbed onto the colonel to climb down from his perch. Afterwards, the soldier bent down to stretch out.

"We'll all need a shower after this, I think."

A scream filled the air. It was Alison.

They all called her, one at a time. Even Alva. The anxious pleas rose from the moat, with only diffuse grunts in return. Then, silence ensued like a lead weight. Distress twisted their insides.

"They fled through this hole," the underling confirmed, pointing to the trunk ripped up from its guide rail. Below, there's a storm water drain. I know them; I worked in them before."

He trusted his weight on the handle of his mallet.

"It's good work and clever to take advantage of the presence of the drain to add one last escape route," the man continued.