Blood Fever

CHAPTER TWO-2

WILLING THE SCHOOL marm to take command of her unruly charges, Zeth silently cursed again. He would never find his partner in all of this madness. As he twisted, he caught a whiff of his own eye-watering body odor before another high-pitched scream pierced his ears. Straightening his shoulders, he found himself face-to-face with the furious teacher.

“Get away from the children.”

“Madam, I—”

“The TS Cruisers Express to the central planets boarding gate has been altered. Now boarding from gate eight. All passengers, please proceed to gate eight, your transport will be departing in fifteen minutes.”

Pushing greasy strands of mud-colored hair out of his eyes, Zeth read the nearby gate number—seventy-six—and cursed as a wave of people sprinted for the new gate. They jostled him from one foot to the other as they shoved past.

A man with a fat, shiny face stepped right into Zeth’s path. “Hey, watch it!”

“Sorry, mate.” Zeth raised his hands, though he was pretty certain the larger man was at fault.

The man bared yellow teeth and shuffled around Zeth, growling at the three girls who’d commented on Zeth’s stench. Zeth eyed the angry man carefully, fingers flexing next to his belt, prepared to act if the big guy did something untoward.

The man growled again, before circling the girls, hitching his backpack higher over his shoulder and lumbering away.

Zeth’s surge of adrenalin dissipated. Again he wondered where his wayward partner had gone. He flicked his comm to life and froze as something sharp jabbed into his spine.

“Move!” a deep-throated voice muttered right into his ear. A shove between his shoulder blades forced him forward.

Curse the One.

Zeth didn’t so much as twitch. “Relax, mate. I’m—”

“Quiet,” the voice hissed. “Move.”

Zeth had been made. Somehow the target had targeted him instead. How? He felt a steady pressure build against his spine. If he allowed himself to be prodded into the crowd, he’d be unable to act against his attacker without endangering nearby travelers. Digging in his heels, Zeth became a rock. If this guy wanted him to move, he’d have to up his game. The object in Zeth’s back pressed harder but didn’t penetrate his jacket. Not a knife then. Zeth twisted. The man turned with him, keeping his face hidden. The object didn’t move from the center of his back.

Glancing at the civilians around them, Zeth judged he had sufficient clearance and made his move. He stepped hard on his attacker’s instep, ramming his elbow into the man’s ribs. His attacker grunted. Zeth spun and jammed a fist into the man’s neck.

The attacker, a weedy pale figure, coughed hard. His hands flew to his neck, clawing at his throat as if he could somehow pry his smashed larynx apart. He doubled over.

A woman screamed. Someone shouted, “Get back!”

Zeth ignored them. With sharp, economical movements, he grabbed a fistful of hair and wrenched his attacker up. The man gaped like a grounded fish. Zeth launched his fist into the man’s gut and he retched, eyes bugging. Long scratch marks marred the pale skin of his arms. He dropped what appeared to be a stylus.

A junkie?

Zeth slid his foot behind the man’s leg, grabbed a fistful of shirt and tripped him to the ground. Zeth followed him down, falling to a knee. The attacker stopped moving as Zeth’s weight pinned him down.

With one hand Zeth rifled through the man’s pockets. He removed three wallets, eight charge cards and four identity chips. Zeth’s heart dropped. This guy was not a member of The Spiral Guardians—he was just some random mugger.

“Raise your hands!”

Zeth glanced up and into the barrel of a hub cop’s g*n. Moving slowly, Zeth held his wrist out. A hologram of his private investigator identification sprang to life, casting a blue tint over his hand. The hub cop’s weapon didn’t move. Zeth released the mugger’s shirt and spread his hands wide, keeping his right wrist exposed, but not rising out of his crouch. He willed the cop to see past his hobo appearance. “Officer, I’m a private investigator on a time-critical case. I need you to let me go.” The cop’s scanner flashed and beeped affirmative, confirming the hologram was legit.

“So you can attack more innocent travelers? You steal that hologram, son?”

Zeth peered down at his own frayed, threadbare shirt, oil-stained trousers and filthy skin. He understood the skepticism; he just didn’t have time to deal with it.

He gestured to the mugger’s bounty. “Not innocent. Besides, he attacked first.”

The hub cop’s tightly drawn brows relaxed.

Zeth rose to his feet. “You can handle this?”

The cop’s lip curled. “I think I can.”

Turning in a circle, Zeth eyed the crowd that had gathered to watch the drama unfold. Arms were outstretched in his direction, holding up recording devices or comm units. The travelers who had been waiting at gate seventy-six were gone.

“Oh hell.” The hub cop’s alarmed mutter snapped Zeth’s head back, hunting for the next drama.

A heavy-browed man with close-set eyes and an unkempt beard that rivaled Zeth’s sprinted toward them. The officer raised his g*n before Zeth pressed down on the barrel. “My partner,” Zeth said as Rel skidded to a halt.

“Got it! Got a shot of the target,” Rel shouted.

Zeth held out his hand, ignoring the twitching cop. Hard as it was to see under the mass of hair, Zeth was sure Rel’s eyes narrowed when the cop’s g*n rose again. Zeth shook his head minutely.

Rel’s gaze fell to the unmoving mugger on the floor. Zeth shook his head again. Rel shrugged and held out a wrinkled piece of shiny plastic. One look at the 3D flash image caused Zeth to swear brutally.

“What?”

“I just saw him. He’s heading to gate eight.” With Rel at his heels, Zeth moved like a bot-racer. Lungs bursting and thighs screaming, he ran as fast as he could along the concourse. Thoughts of the three girls and the boy in the green sweater spurred him on.

I had him! He was right in front of me.

Rel came up alongside Zeth as he turned down the docking corridor. Gate eight was at the end, but sealed doors barred their way. The waiting area was devoid of people and eerily silent.

Panting, Zeth paced the length of the window, searching in every direction for the departed cruiser. Rel grabbed his shoulder and pointed up. Zeth followed his partner’s hand until he spotted the fat-bellied cruiser clawing its way to escape velocity.

“Damn the One!”

Rel turned, his face grim. “Maybe he didn’t board?”

Zeth spun again, hunting for a hub assistant this time. “We have to call them. Get them to turn the cruiser back.”

Rel pressed his comm unit to his ear.

A blinding flash of yellow and white light flared above them, lighting the night sky.

Beneath his bushy beard, Rel’s face lost all color. “Res it!”

Zeth’s heart lurched. Running to the window he stared up, his hand slapping at the reinforced glass. “No, no, no!”

“Zeth ...”

He couldn’t look away. The flash of light had faded into a spray of small black objects hurtling toward the ground below. An ear-splitting whoop-whoop tore through the empty boarding area.

Zeth’s voice was soft. “I had him. He was right in front of me.” He’d had the terrorist in his sights. How could he not have seen the evil in those crazed eyes? Those children ...

“Dresh! I didn’t get his image fast enough. I’m sorry, Zeth.”

“He was right there ... I didn’t see ...” Zeth’s chest hollowed out. His stomach jerked and he swallowed back bile.

Rel’s eyes closed and he swore again. Zeth crossed his right hand over his body, uttering a soft prayer to the One, begging Her to look out for the children unjustly sent Her way. He also asked for his own forgiveness. She would be the only one who could grant it.