Invasion from Uranus (7 page)

"Evidence," Kaye guessed out-loud for his unseen audience. "Most likely, organized crime has been using this place as dumping sight since time immemorial. Or at least since 2245 when the United Planets colonized Titan."

"And if this process works here, it'll work for anywhere. Even on Earth!"

"Or Choron," Rocky whispered. A clean Choron. Both of his brains boggled at the concept. What a wild notion. His children could actually go into either of the oceans and not explode. Wow.

"Honorable Dr. Bentley, old pal," the alien, began smoothly, retracting his eyestalks. "May I humbly ask for the formula of these amazing microbes to clean my own homeworld of our pollution?"

"Yeah?" the woman asked suspiciously. "And how much will you sell it to them for?"

The words burned like fire in his mind, but summoning some secret hidden inner strength, he heroically said them anyway. "I...I shall not sell it."

"You? Do something for free? Ha!" Zane snorted.

The fresh lake air wafted over him and the alien happily filled his lung. Ah! "Doctor, there are some things even more important than...." Immediately, his throat constricted. No, he couldn't say it. What the hell, he'd give the Y.U.M. to his government as a charitably donation to lower his taxes. Ah, much better. To his race 'free' was the only four-letter word not used in polite company.

"Well, you have been instrumental in helping us complete the project," Bentley murmured. "So, yes, agreed. But no blackmarket reselling."

"Never!" the alien cried in horror. His honor was on the line here. Besides, there were witnesses, and a verbal contract was always as good as the police force which backed it up with guns.

Finished making a report to his superiors, Officer Zane released his collar button and smiled at the dirty group on the shore. "Tactical support groups from the local police, UP military and InterPlanPol will be here in six minutes. Even the president of Mars and his dog are coming. "

"This," he added unnecessarily, "is big!"

Bentley nodded. "Excellent. Thank you, officer."

"No problem, ma'am." Walking to the edge of the lake, Erik Kaye swabbed the toe of his boot in the water. Instantly the leather was washed clean and the polished removed. "And just consider what other criminal delights we will find at the bottom of the Hudson River in Newer York, the Thames River in England, the Rhine of Germany, or the sea of Japan?" Running a hand through his matted hair, the big officer smiled. "How much critical evidence in capital cases are we going to reclaim. And how much of this will be linked to organized crime?"

"Yes, indeed," Kaye said, swinging microphone and HoverCam to face the police officer. "Exactly how many unsolved crimes are about to become solved? How many murder raps cleared, innocent prisoners set free, and drug lords sent to jail? What is your professional opinion, sergeant?"

The Titan officer grinned. "I think the warden at the United Planets penitentiary better dust off 'Sparky' the electric chair, because it's gonna get mighty busy real soon."

Finally understanding, Rocky pursed his forehead. Criminals had been disposing of evidence in the polluted water? Hmm, damn clever actually. "No wonder somebody tried so hard to stop us. Hell, every criminal organization probably wanted us dead."

Gleefully happy, Alice Bentley agreed. Although not designed for it, Y.U.M. was in the process of removing more than one type of human pollution.

"Ha-ha, we win!" she laughed, arms akimbo.

The next day on Earth, a growing crowd of people waved and cheered on the Hudson River shoreline, a bold few even dove into the fantastically pure expanse of water filing the mouth of the river. Where sparkling waves lapped at the banks, trash was no longer visible, graffiti gone from rocks, wood pillions and ancient concrete embankments appeared new and strong. Even the ever-present, pungent cheese smell was thinning from the air. More than a few onlookers started hacking and choking at the invasion of oxygen to their weathered lungs. Immediately, their neighbors began selling cough drops.

Then arcing the horizon came dozens of horribly beweaponed United Planets Leviathan-class hovertanks. Maneuvering over the clear water, hatches slid open on the sides, and out dove hundreds of soldiers in armored spacesuits, which functioned perfectly well as diving suits. And had much better TV reception. Each trooper was carrying a very large wicker basket that was empty for the moment.

Meanwhile, in countless luxurious penthouses across Manhattan, groups of well-dressed gangsters started packing for Pluto - when suddenly an armada of police Tarantula helicopters lifted into view outside the windows, and from the front door there came a very official knock-knock.

Trapped, the crime lords slumped in resignation, some of them openly weeping. While outside the penthouse window could be seen a foaming green band racing up the Hudson river, eventually heading for the poisonous Finger Lakes, the undrinkable Niagara Falls, the toxic Great Lakes, the putrid Ohio River, even the deadly Mississippi. Across the world, the common folk cheered and danced, while numerous industrialists underwent desperate plastic surgery in their racing limos and more than one drug lord simply shot himself in the head to save the police the time and trouble of a trial. Unstoppable and uncaring of these antics, the microbes continued eating themselves to a glorious death across the entire world; South America, Australia, South Africa, Europe, Russia....

The terraforming of Earth had finally begun.

"I was once doing some research on London in the 1880s, and found numerous references to the infamous Bow Street Runners of the 1820s," Nick said, trying not to pontificate. "And my first thought was, the Bow Street who?"

The Sound Effects man had taped the earlier sign to the glass, and now was holding both hands together as if praying. Finally looking down, Nick went cold as he realized the DJ was gone. Oh hell.

"Well, a few days later after some research in the local library...this was before the internet, you know, I had my answer," Nick went on, trying not to sound nervous. "And I immediately started work on a short story about the amazing Runners. It is one of my most requested pieces when I do a dramatic reading, and a personal favorite. Enjoy."

"One-two-three!" screamed the furious crowd of Scottish villagers, and the crude battering ram surged forward once more. With the sound of splintering wood the huge doors blocking the entrance to the abandoned coal mine crashed apart, splinters exploding into the night air heading towards the moon.

"For God and King!" bellowed a red-faced dollymop, brandishing an executioner's axe.

Shouting in victory, the mob of highlanders dropped the old weathered caber and started to charge in through the ruined barrier, the local constable and grimy navies waving their wooden staves and blunderbusses.

In the lead of the angry throng was a lean whippet of man sporting a soft brim hat, swallow tails coat, tight breeches and fine Hoby boots. They were dapper gentleman's clothes from Weston in London. He looked a toff, but tucked firmly into his black leather belt was a short ebony baton crested with the imperial seal of England, the badge of a vaunted Bow Street Runner. Grasped in his big callused hands were a brace of ornate Collier pistols, the long tapering .72 barrels of the new style breechloaders gleaming like polished justice in the rosy dimness of predawn.

The name he gave the locals was Wallace MacLane, and he was one of six elite lawmen assigned by the King of England to patrol the country and fight crime, the Runners. Although vampires were not actually listed in their original charter, MacLane felt the supernatural killer was covered purely by default.

Cocking both of the curved hammers, MacLane double-checked to make sure the copper percussion caps were firmly in place. Now was no time for a deadly misfire. As a duly empowered agent of the crown, it was his task to see that the inhuman beast who had plagued this peaceful Scottish valley for so long, must never again be allowed to kill man, woman, child. Or even somebody from France! Hopefully, the silver and wood balls in his primed guns would send the bleeding monster up a treat, good and proper.

Although led by resolute MacLane, the brave British posse stopped dead in their tracks as the flickering light of the torches clearly illuminated the interior. It was like something from Hell, or the infamous American city of New York.

The ceiling of the mining tunnel was completely covered with fat chattering bats, thousands of the noisy beasts flapping their leathery wings and foam dripping from their cruel mouths. The hard stone ground was solid with a living carpet of snarling rats. Millions of beady eyes stared at the humans and the villagers could feel the tangible cloud of their living hate and hunger. Even the one barrister in the crowd felt faint.

Suddenly, a cold wind blew from deep within the old coal shaft, carrying with it a smell of newly turned earth, death and mint leaves. MacLane frowned. As always before, that was when the torches sputtered out. But now, bits of hot oakum were used to ignite dozens of whale oil bulls-eye lanterns, the glass flumes protecting the delicate flames within and brilliant white cones of light brightly illuminated the rocky passage.

The beams bobbed about in frantic search and soon converged on the source of the wind. At the rear of the mine, a dimly seen figure smirked at them and stuck out its long forked tongue. Standing brazenly at the rear of the mine entrance, protected by the slavering army of night hunters, was a humanoid creature dressed in a double-breasted Duke Street coat, ruffled shirt, Beau Brummel breeches, roll top boots, and wrapped in a long flowing Spitfields silk cape. Very nice, indeed. However, his skin was deathly pale, his eyes glowing red and his teeth a dentist's nightmare.

"So you silly kilt wearing fools actually did manage to find me," hissed the vampire, exposing every inch of his long white fangs. "Amazing. Bloody incredible."

Incensed, the tartan-clad Scots cursed in anger and started forward, but the bats and rats hissed in dire unison stopping the invasion faster than it had begun. With the entire population of the remote village outnumbered thousands to one, even the alcoholic mayor and the junkyard dog wondered if it was time to try diplomacy? Immediately, the secret band of Freemasons in the group started writing a petition.

"It's a rum deal, my culleys," sneered the inhuman beast in a really bad Rookery accent. "Enter, and my servants will tear you to shreds! Oh, some may live to combat me, but will there be enough?" A truly devilish eyebrow raised in contempt and, self-consciously, he tucked the medical marvel of the recently invented Pierre Fuachard toothbrush deeper into a vest pocket. His personal hygiene was none of their damn business.

"I'm ready for battle!" he panted breathlessly. "Are you?"

In hot reply, MacLane fired both of his Colliers, the silver ball smacking the vampire directly in the chest. This triggered a barrage of blunderbusses, four-barreled "duck foot" fowlers, horse pistols and muzzleloading rifles from the attending crowd, the strident discharges filled the mine with thunder and flame and boiling clouds of acrid black powder smoke.

Wasting no time on a reload, the Bow Street Runner dropped his spent Colliers, and pulled two squat .66 Newarks from the voluminous pockets of his great coat and fired again. He dropped those and drew from his boots a matched pair of double-barreled Manton conversions. Deadly little barkers, without a doubt.

Another volley sounded from their blunderbusses and muskets. The assorted fusillade of rounds wildly ricocheted off the back wall and blasted the expensive clothing of the vampire to pieces.

Contemptuously, the man-beast brushed some imaginary lint off a riddled lapel, took a bit of snuff from his gold Nathaniel Mills box, sneezed and smiled toothily at them.

"Ouch," he chuckled.

The angry crowd made some more angry crowd noises, but much less sure of themselves this time. His flowing white beard bristling in fury, a determined piper doffed his tam o'shanter and started playing the bagpipes at full volume, but even that vicious attack seemed to have no dilatory effect on the man-demon. Deciding this was the appropriate moment to act, the barrister promptly took a huge swig of pure quill laudanum and fainted dead away. The priest began a lengthy exorcism.

Unexpectedly, a flurry of wooden arrows twanged across the mine entrance. The shafts impacted everywhere except into the half-naked body of the muscular monster. At the rear of the mob, a doddering old groundskeeper glared hostility at his impressed gang of apprentice archers. Britons who couldn't fire a long bow? What was the empire coming to? In return, the clerks, cooks and coopers looked incredibly embarrassed. Well, at least they hadn't shot themselves in the foot again.

Inside the mine shaft, the laughing vampire twirled the remains of a bedraggled Spitfield cape about himself and was gone from sight.

"Goodbye, fools!" cackled the darkness, the words echoing strangely. "Within minutes I will be safely hidden within the endless natural catacombs beneath this mud hole of a city. A thousand men in a thousand years could never find me again!"

An elderly dairy farmer gave a juicy raspberry and the village tout shouted out a virulent oath that even made the blustering navies blanch at its raw vulgarity. Hot haggis, that was a good 'un!

"And I will return to tap the claret of these fools," continued a whispery voice fading at every moment, the dire words invoking ghastly images of rivers of human blood. "Next year, on this very day, I shall come back to reap my revenge, for I will use the secret second sleep of a vampire. During the coming seasons I will rest, arising for but a single day one year from now. Three hundred and sixty five times stronger than I am now!"

Fading rapidly, the words repeated in snarling fury. "Three hundred and sixty five times
stronger
! How will you stop me then, you dirt-eating peasants? Seal the mine with iron plate, and I shall break free through the granite with my bare hands. Run, and I shall track you each down across the whole world!"