Inhuman, p.1
Inhuman, page 1
INHUMAN
HUNTER BUREAU #4
BLAZE WARD
KNOTTED ROAD PRESS
CONTENTS
1. Sympathetic Mirror
2. In Three Dimensions
3. Black Skies
4. Outbound
5. Breakfasting
6. Little Miss Perfect Boobs
7. Stranger
8. Promises
9. Sting
10. Hunters
11. Homecomings?
12. Green Skies
13. Doorkicker
14. Arrival
15. Bodies
16. Balo
17. Rankev
18. Implications
19. Midnight, and Then Some
20. Balo, Continued
21. Upstairs
22. Grand Juries
23. Lissa
24. Safe
25. Captain of Detectives
26. Metropolitan
27. Justice
28. Cops
29. Raid
30. Endgame
31. Management
32. Rankev
33. Lissa
34. Outbound
35. Commander, Eastern North America Division, Earth Police Special Missions
Read More
About the Author
Also by Blaze Ward
About Knotted Road Press
ONE
SYMPATHETIC MIRROR
Greyson Leigh considered his reflection in the bathroom mirror. Skinny man, just past middle-aged or something. Fifty, but in better shape than most men half his age. Being an alien impersonating a Human helped. The Phrenic could live for centuries if nobody shot them dead with a nerve scrambler first.
He figured his day was coming.
Still, the mirror was just a reflection. He hadn’t bought himself a sympathetic mirror, like some folks did. Greyson wanted to know what he looked like, not how he could be made to look better with a little technological magic. You got what you got.
Well, technically not. You got the Human named Greyson Leigh. Detective/Hunter, Eastern North America Division, Earth Police Special Missions. The Hunter Bureau. Toughest, meanest, nastiest son of a bitch to ever wear a badge, according to some of the folks he worked with.
Greyson didn’t necessarily dispute that. He’d need it. Shortly, they would be departing Earth to travel to Brees, homeworld of the G’schtack as well as the financial and political capital of the Illymus Merchants Guild, the trade network that bound the whole known galaxy together.
The aliens had only made it to Earth a little more than sixteen years ago, back when Greyson was still in the US Army doing things he wasn’t legally allowed to discuss with civilians. Back when the US was still more of a thing, as opposed to today, when it was slowly oozing down the sink, replaced by the various Metroplex Districts.
Greyson was a Hunter. Had been one before. Now he was dead. A Phrenic infiltrator named Ethen Boli had snuck in one night, killed the man in his sleep, and assumed his identity. Turned out to have been a mistake, because even though he was dead, Greyson had been too much for Ethen to handle.
So they presented as Greyson now. Used a mental projection inside their combined mind to be Greyson. It was so complete, so deep, so powerful, that Greyson had functionally returned from the dead, and Ethen had been able to go hide in a closet from the evil shit she’d done over the decades.
Greyson would protect her. Did. Would continue, right up until someone realized what he was and killed him. Or his partner Rachel told them it was time to die.
Then he would. Simple as that.
But not today.
Today, he had to meet her downstairs in a few minutes. Get some breakfast, then travel to the starport. They were only a few hours from leaving Earth at this point.
Greyson wasn’t sure he’d come back. That he would be allowed to come back. The G’schtack had scanners that were supposed to find people like him. Except that Rachel had a friend with even better equipment.
Last night, it had sworn that he was just Greyson Leigh. Human. Anglo. Excellent shape.
Not a Phrenic infiltrator.
He’d ride that luck as long as he could, because Greyson Leigh had some folks on Brees that he wanted to chat with. Smugglers, at first, until they rolled over to indict the people behind them, hoping that they didn’t end up in jail forever. Cop like Greyson might even let some of them get off easy, if he thought they might help him take down some of the big players.
This morning, the mirror wasn’t any more sympathetic than ever, but he wasn’t surprised. It never was. Unlike Greyson, who might still decide to be.
He moved out of the bathroom and killed the light. He’d already had one coffee early. Read the news. Caught up on a few things. Filed an update on his case for the Captain to read in two weeks, that she might be emotionally prepared if one of her Hunters happened to bring down the entire, fucking Illymus Merchant Guild in fire and wrath because of what they’d done.
The thought warmed him occasionally.
He moved to the kitchenette area and assembled his life. Palmstunner, hardly ever used. Nerve scrambler that had seen more use. Wallet. Keys. Passport. Tickets. Cash. Everything into its correct pocket.
Greyson didn’t know what season it would be on Brees when he and Rachel arrived, so he’d packed a warm coat in the suitcase by his foot. Greyson Leigh had never been to Brees. Never walked on a surface 0.88G equivalent of Earth. Never watched green skies as first the brighter star Udoth rose, followed a few hours later by Vaad. The Hound and the Hunter.
He was a Hunter chasing someone, so it felt doubly right.
Ethen had told him about the place. Showed it to him to prepare for this mission. The US Army had prepared him emotionally and psychologically to kill total strangers for no reason at all. The Hunter Bureau had honed him into an Officer of the Court.
The Law.
Interestingly, while he didn’t really know jack shit about Illymus Trade Law, his partner was a walking encyclopedia. But he’d been training her to be the best Hunter ever born. Better than him. The Best, at least until she found a student one of these days who could surpass her.
Greyson Leigh might be dead, but Ethen had decades of penance to do.
And the people of Earth, those silly monkeys everyone else laughed at, deserved better than the Guild had given them.
He’d see to justice there, too. Both of them would. All three of them.
Because somebody had fucked up and pissed off Greyson Leigh. Outraged his sense of fair play.
He would see them pay for it.
He had everything settled, so he went out and locked the door behind him, taking the stairs down to the street.
Greyson Leigh had a job to do.
TWO
IN THREE DIMENSIONS
Patrolman/Hunter Rachel Asher was driving the government-issued Skycruiser disguised to look like a late-model Chandler Jouster. Ugly gray. Four doors. Seating six. Capable of hovering flight using alien tech she still didn’t fully understand, in spite of asking her gearhead partner to explain it a few times.
Greyson always drove on manual. Everywhere. Never trusted the computers to handle it unless he was so tired that they would be safer. And even that was a judgment call. He expected her to drive, too, so she was on manual, cruising slowly up the block to his place.
In the distance, the sun was just thinking about starting to rise. She spotted him standing on the sidewalk out in front of his building, suitcase resting against his feet and eyes tracking every jogger, feral cat, and vehicle like his life depended on it.
Rachel didn’t complain. His paranoia had kept her alive more than once.
She pulled close and popped the locks. He was already in motion, opening the rear door on his side to toss in the bag, then climbing up front.
He buckled himself in and she drove.
They had two kinds of days in this job. Sleep in late because they were going to be up all night chasing bad folks, or up before dawn to catch the silly gits just coming home from a night of dancing, when they’d be too tired to keep their guard up as they approached their front door.
Today was the early kind. They just weren’t after anyone around here.
Hopefully, nobody had warned the folks back home what was coming.
It helped that the ship they’d be flying on was the first to leave the Earth System since the news had broken about Armstrong Base and the death of a Phrenic Infiltrator, plus the arrest of the Human Administrator.
Moon bureaucrats running amok like chickens with their heads cut off.
Rachel glanced over at her partner.
“We still doing this?” she asked as she headed into one of the oldest neighborhoods of Boston.
“Working in three dimensions, kid,” he growled back, just as surly as usual until you got some food in the boy.
“Which one takes precedence?” she fired back.
“The only one that ever does,” Greyson said. “I understand that you were raised with the moral and we were both trained for the legal, but this will always be the ethical.”
She grunted and let the conversation slide. The car was a giant radio with wheels, constantly transmitting data to various places. They’d had to get creative about where they could talk and not risk being overheard. Breakfast today was a joint down near the harbor, where the fisherfolk would be leaving about the time the two of them wandered in, so they’d have it largely to themselves for an hour before the early birds started shuffling in.
She got them there,
“You have been a terrible influence on me,” Rachel announced as they got coffee and their orders started cooking.
Greyson grunted something noncommittal and rude.
“I was raised a good, little Catholic girl, Leigh,” she continued. “Even though we all know just how horrible those people have been for centuries these days. Can’t help my parents and grandparents.”
“It’s still child abuse, if you ask me,” he muttered quietly. “Let them study it as adults and join if they want, but keep impressionable children away from pederasts and rapists.”
“Well, yeah, but if they did that, nobody would join and the Church would collapse in a decade,” she fired back. It was an old discussion.
“Not seeing a downside here, Rachel,” he said, sipping his coffee with a hard, planar face.
He’d lost weight. It was there in the face and hands. Hard living and too much stress. Plus, he ate as much as he always did, but she suspected that the transformations into his base form and back to Greyson in the last few days had burned a lot of extra calories.
She started to speak but he interrupted.
“Plus, if you read the damned book, you’ll see that it favors slavery, rape, child murder, Human sacrifice, genocide, and a whole bunch of other crimes,” Greyson reminded her. “I’d think more highly of them if they actually followed their own book about punishments for the shit they did. Instead, they indulge all the sin, and ignore all the penalties, in favor of social control and extraordinary wealth that doesn’t ever seem to help poor people, even as Popes wear cloth-of-gold and expensive shoes. Have them put Matthew 18:6 into the law books and we’ll talk. Until then, they’re all just a bunch of scurrilous hypocrites.”
Worst part? He was smiling as he talked.
“So, okay, I get it,” Rachel nodded. “The Moral Axis is more fucked up than anybody wants to admit in polite company. I suppose you’re more one of those militant Buddhist points of view?”
“Close enough for this conversation,” he shrugged.
“So how about the legal?” she asked. “We’re cops. This is a violation of the law.”
“Is it?” he asked, eyes boring into hers now.
“What do you mean?” she countered, trying to see his angle.
“The Guild has only been down here since 2042, Rachel,” he offered. “Sure, people been talking about little gray men that look a lot like G’schtack since World War Two ended a century before that, but they refuse to admit to anything.”
“And?”
“And someone was able to create a Pleasure Model, Rachel,” he ground on. “A perfect replica of a Human. A perfect Human woman, by the way. Everyone noticed that. Even dead, she was amazing. I’m a guy most of the time, so I can have that opinion. You think they went from zero to modified, vat-grown, perfect clones in sixteen years?”
Rachel felt the bottom of her stomach fall out. Gravity seemed to be dragging her down into the bench extra hard this morning.
Shit.
“Exactly,” he said, either having heard her speak or reading her mind. “So let’s just assume for now that this is a research project dating back a long time. All those folks supposedly abducted and anally probed in the last century, and that sort of shit. Give a scientist a tissue sample and tell him to make you a copy. That’s going to take a while, even their tech. How long?”
“You think they’ve been lying about things?” Rachel asked.
The two of them were about to go to the very soul of the Illymus Merchant Guild in pursuit of a perp and a case. How many cages was Leigh looking to rattle there?
“Until someone proves to me otherwise, yes,” Greyson said sternly. “If you’re feeling rude, here’s a research topic for you to consider as we travel. I know you are getting close to completing your degree, so maybe we can consider this Master’s level work. The cop I intend to turn you into will need to know these things.”
“Hit me,” she said. He scowled at her hard. “Sorry, figure of speech.”
He’d accidentally given her raccoon eyes, saving her from his other partner, back at the start. She’d teased him about it at the time by getting cupcakes made up that said Happy Makeup Sex, because too many of those fuck-wits at the office thought they were sleeping together, when she had two extremely deadly big brothers. Though it turned out one of those brothers was actually her deadly big sister.
“I’m willing to bet you a Sammie, Rachel, that the project would have been covered under General Agricultural Research when it was started, because Humans hadn’t been contacted yet and admitted into the Guild,” Greyson said.
Usually, they bet Twoonies.
A Sammie meant the boy was serious. $20 Canadian coin with a salmon on the front and First Nations/Native American art on the back, rotating every year to a different culture or tribal band. You still ran across American dollars from time to time, but they’d turned into Weimar Marks eventually. That was part of the reason the aliens had come down.
To save the Humans from a global economic collapse that might have brought the whole damned planet down.
“Okay?” she asked, not sure where he was going with this. “Implications?”
“Cloning sheep, like they did when I was a kid, Asher.” He turned deadly serious now. “Nothing in the law to stop it. Maybe even Guild money to start it, so they got a leg up on us. You know, in case they needed to turn Humans into an entire species of perfect assassins. Or harems of pleasure models. Or Manchurian Candidates. Or maybe just a new food crop.”
“Most of them are vegetarians, Leigh,” she countered.
“Sure.”
He didn’t sound convinced. She leaned back now and considered sheep.
They’d pulled a con job on Virgar Andell, the G’schtack Engineering Master of Armstrong Base, before they left the moon. And gotten that being to more or less confess to knowledge of such biological programs, but he’d obviously not considered perfect soldiers or perfect assassins.
She and Greyson had spent the whole trip back to Earth discussing it quietly.
“Okay, so maybe the project is legal at the top,” Rachel allowed. “Or was. Understand Human biology so well that you can inoculate everyone from everything, and that sort of thing. Heal us if we get hurt. All that makes perfect sense. Then what?”
“Then we cross a line somewhere,” Greyson said. “It had been legal. Maybe it still is, but I don’t read Guildlaw like you do. That’s your assignment. The Moral Axis is fucked. The Legal Axis might be, depending on classifications and security clearances. That leaves the Ethical Axis, Rachel. Right and wrong at a fundamental, Socratic level. Somebody out there is creating assassins and using Humans to do it.”
“And you’re going to take him down,” she breathed, as their waitress approached with food.
“Down doesn’t even begin to describe it, Rachel.”
THREE
BLACK SKIES
Greyson, when he’d been Human, hadn’t been off the surface of Earth any farther than a few Low Earth Orbit stations for vacations and business trips. The two trips to the moon were new personal records.
Ethen, on the other hand, hand been born in a different solar system several thousand light years away. Greyson could dream about those places. And he spoke accentless G’schtack, but as Rachel had pointed out, he had a reputation as a irresistible force anyway. That ruthlessness was why Andell had originally pressured the Bureau into reinstating him from an enforced retirement. And why the same man had called Boston when they had a murder on the moon.
