Toxic (71 page)

The Säzkari observed Naakrit attentively. The way in which his tongue slid furtively across his lips communicated his annoyance.

"I can't be satisfied with advances. I need results, a decisive breakthrough. A working antidote, one that will give me my products."

"I'm aware of that," the practitioner recognized. "We're still far from developing an operational cure. The environment variables have a large influence on the process of regeneration of such a fragile species."

The academic argument that he followed didn't last long. Not only did the leader of the mercenaries not understand it at all, but worried about the presence of the Poisoners Clan, he got straight to the question. Just like the Lynian had predicted. The Primark wasn't ignorant as to the nature of his doctor's request.

"Is it the emissary who's sending you? You're doing research for him."

"Sometimes all you need is a single seed to set you on the right path. He's determined to explore all of the clues to find a solution."

"He's walking around the planet hoping for a miracle," Naakrit said angrily. "I almost believed his bullshit story. In the end, wherever he goes, he blows out sand. By waiting for him, we still have the same problem: I possess an unsellable stock of seven billion spoiled products."

"We have had bad luck."

"I'm a Primark," Naakrit whistled. "I can't depend on luck. As a Säzkari and a scientist, you should understand that better than anyone."

Before the serious face of the doctor, who was waiting for his verdict, the leader of the troopers held to the principle that it was better to not neglect any clues.

"Where are you planning on carrying out your tests?"

The practitioner pointed a claw at the flexible screen that displayed the map of a city.

"In a stadium. An original idea. Take the materials that you will need."

The mercenary leaned towards him. His tongue almost tickled the Säzkari's auditory scales.

"I want concrete results. Promises or possibilities don't interest me. If you don't find the cure, you won't be of any use to me."

On the way back to his quarters, he thought about the Primark's reaction and about his threat, clear and cutting like the edge of a cracked rock. That was a first in their relationship. Was Naakrit losing his patience?

Even if he didn't trust him entirely, Naakrit recognized that the emissary hadn't proved unworthy, and that he had even gone out of his way to obtain a reprieve for him. The Nairobi operation, respecting the deliveries to the Combinate and the appetite of new clients for the products derived from it were partially to his credit. He got involved and didn't hesitate to expose himself.

The Lynian traveled all over the planet and used healthy humans for strange experiments. He claimed to be working for the search for the antidote except that Naakrit didn't see many results on that level, which contrasted with his success elsewhere. His efficiency seemed rather selective to him.

The Primark's eyes half-opened to his second in command, who was standing in front of him, waiting for orders. Kjet had just brought him new information on the emissary's mysterious activities.

"He's using a female as a spy?"

Kjet confirmed with a short whistle.

"He asked me to keep that information to myself, while waiting to obtain results."

"A clever technique. Where is she?"

"I don't know."

In general, Naakrit kept from asking for the point of view of his troopers. His assurance and inflexibility were part of his command style and consequently his way of running the operations. His subordinates were trained and equipped to respond to simple questions requiring actions that were just as clear cut.

"What do you think, officer?"

Kjet had spent time with the Lynian on the ground and he wasn't rolling his tongue up in his throat.

"He's plotting something, that's for sure."

"He wants to take my place, build his fortune on top of my dead skin?"

"The Lynian doesn't seem to be motivated by material things. He's hard to read."

Naakrit let out a wheeze of approval.

"I need to know if he's working against us. Your opinion?"

The second in command paused. This time, he thought about his answer before expressing himself.

"He isn't a mercenary in the sense that we understand the word. He's a non-fighter who works for the Combinate, above all," he advanced cautiously. "Maybe the client is pursuing other goals."

The Primark didn't bother with politeness.

"According to you, the Combinate wants to take over my goods?"

"The hypothesis seems credible to me. The Merchant Princes will have trouble exerting their rights on a legal level given that we have gotten the deliveries back on track; so, they are moving on to an active stage by employing the Poisoners. They are taking the pressure up a notch. They are looking for faults in our organization and are testing our determination."

Naakrit had been examining his options since the surprise arrival of the vessels. This line of reasoning still had one flaw.

"So, why is the Lynian helping us by offering to help honor the deliveries?"

"I don't know, Primark. Like I said, he's hard to figure out."

Naakrit moved towards the window. The heat of the sun on his scales stimulated his blood flow.

"Don't leave him alone. When the time comes, we will have to get rid of him. Too much incertitude is complicating an already delicate situation."

"I understand."

Before giving his second in command leave, he turned around.

"I'm not stupid, officer Kjet. I know that the emissary is using officer Kuhn to discredit you even though the logic of that maneuver is still beyond me. I suppose that he's testing my patience or that it amuses his talent. That's the reason why I took advantage of the chance to send the Kathari to Woomera and which also explains why I'm sending you to cold areas of this world with the Lynian. I trust my second in command."

Kjet took a bow before leaving the meeting room.

On the display, Naakrit plunged back into his study of the tactical situation. Attacking the ships would send a strong message to the Poisoners and perhaps his client. However, participating in a battle meant crossing a stretch of sand without knowing if it rested on a rocky base or loose material which would engulf him. No strategist dominated all of the parameters of battle and once the first volley was fired, anything could happen. Especially when the adversary was capable of fighting blow for blow.

His chief of operations presented a summary of the past hour. The three tamers were gathered around the eighth planet, the one that the humans called Neptune. The Sybarian assured that they would work perfectly in coordination. A second drone was also spying on the intruders.

All the while listening to the Arthrosian's report, Naakrit wondered where that damned Lynian was.

Jave observed the orange ball in the palm of his hand. He closed and then reopened his nasal vents, breathing out the human equivalent of a sigh.

"Jool'Kameha vea," he greeted him, after a moment of absence.

"You're in the mercenaries' service at the moment. You've really hit a low point."

The emissary ignored the remark, which intended to hurt him.

"Where is the female? I need to speak with her."

"In front of me. She claims that you are trying to help them. Is that true?" Jool asked, changing to English, one of the most widespread local languages.

Elaine was alive. He still needed to know what she had told his fellow creature. Jool's surprise presence completely changed the options. The questions shot around in his mind. How had he gotten to Earth? He thought about Woomera and the ship the Exthyne.

"My task consists in getting them out of here," he left off.

"And you're going about it by letting the troopers exterminate the survivors. It's thanks to you that Naakrit has been able to continue his deliveries to the Combinate, am I right?"

Jave hesitated, conscious of the damage that his revelations would cause.

"The clients were threatening to take things into their own hands by attacking the mercenaries on the basis of breach of contract. I needed to gain time."

"You bastard..." shot in a second voice, this one human.

"Elaine, listen to me. I'm on your side. Appearances can be deceiving."

"How many humans have been sacrificed to gain time?" Jool drove home.

Too many.

Jave though for a moment. This gap was equivalent to admitting guilt. However, he wasn't the only one upon whom the responsibility for this disaster fell.

"Talk to her about the virus that brings the dead back to life, Jool. Who brought it to Earth? Tell her."

The Lynian cut the communication short without waiting for a response. Had he done the right thing? His hand rested on the ball: the die had been cast.

E
laine observed the creature's reaction. The meaning of one part of the conversation was beyond her, but she had understood the important part. There existed dissent among the aliens. She didn't know whether to consider this good news at the moment.

The virus
, she thought.

Its sudden appearance, moreover in multiple places at once, had taken the world by surprise. Health services and institutions found themselves rapidly overwhelmed by a wave that reminded people of the Spanish plague, worthy of anecdote.

Elaine narrowed her eyes.

"You were the one that created that damned zombie virus?"

The alien's face didn't move, or almost didn't. These monsters wore indecipherable masks. It was like talking to giant puppets or theme park characters.

"Jave is a traitor," Jool said, "but he is right about one thing: appearances are deceiving."

Elaine jumped out of her chair, which turned over on the ground.

"You're all scum! Never, hear me, never will I collaborate with you! You are filth. Kill me, if that's what you want to do."

In a rage, the nurse headed towards the airlock with the solid intention of banging on the door until someone opened for her.

"Sit down!"

The serious voice penetrated her and she almost felt the vibration of the sound wave, or maybe that was the noise of the enormous arm which had just slammed down on the table. She turned around. The alien's fist had deformed the metal.

"The only solution consisted in taking away the market value of the human species. Do you understand?"

"You created the vaccine, Siva B, but in reality you poisoned everyone. Health centers spread the product to millions of people, which multiplied the infection sites in record time. A sanitary situation impossible to halt."

"A reasonable summary. But the virus forced the mercenaries to move their invasion forward."

"Great God..."

Elaine, lost and confused, forgot herself in front of the bay window. The Colombian's dumbfounded face contrasted with the neutrality of those of Richardson and Jon.

"How are you planning on getting us out of this shit hole?" she asked, addressing them as much as the alien.

The tiny space didn't resemble the idea that Masters had conceived of the panic room of a rich business man. On the ceiling, the only light bulb gave off the energy of its battery, whose level of charge was unknown to them. Shelves ran along a plywood wall. They contained canned foods, bottles and labeled plastic boxes that contained tools, first aid products, batteries, matches and candles. At the back, two imposing military-style trunks took up the length of the room. Alva was sitting on one of them. The hideout also contained a shower and a toilet room behind a sort of curtain.

For several minutes, they had kept silent while the stifled echoes of shots reached them from outside. Then, they no longer heard anything. The excellent sound-proofing worked both ways. It was impossible to know if someone was looking for them, and opening the hatch was out of the question.

The diva, who had been mumbling since they had arrived, got up suddenly. The palm of her hand hit the trunk's lid.

"How are we going to get out of this hole?"

Her stare bored into the biologist. The latter lacked confidence. He remained crouching, his hands on his head, waiting for another volley or divine punishment.

"You brought us here; you get us out of here!" Alva continued.

The singer's lips were trembling, Masters noted.

"It's not my fault!"

The colonel lent an attentive ear to the lively exchange between the two personalities which, in the end, clashed with each other a lot, maybe too much. The agitated fingers and the drops of sweat pearling up on the diva's forehead... The signs were multiplying. Should he attribute them to withdrawal or anger? Most likely both, he thought, wondering when the crisis would come.

At his side Alison raised her knees up to her chin. She shared the bed, a simple frame with a mattress, with Dewei. The Asian seemed calm. He was also listening to the arguments of their two friends.

"Who attacked us?" Bruce whispered in an effort to not explode.

The guy was asking the right question, the Marine told himself, with a good idea of the answer.