“Think he can be bought?” Chastaine queried.
“Everybody has a price, do they not?”
“In our world, they do,” Chastaine chuckled, but it faded quickly to an ugly frown. “But there is always some do-gooder idealist out there. They really can gum up the works sometimes. However, you may pursue that avenue, if you wish. It’s a far more palatable alternative to the uproar caused by hotels being blown up.” A sudden recollection struck him. “By the way, what did Frost think of my idea to send him some help?”
“I don’t think he’s too keen on it, sir.”
“He’ll change his mind once he sees the possibilities.”
“Maybe so.” McCallister tried to hide his doubt. “They’re being briefed and kitted out, as we speak, and should be boots on the ground in Huntsville this afternoon.”
“Excellent! Make sure I receive full reports on their behavior.” Two years later, Broderick Chastaine still felt the sting of the failure of Project Hellhound. He knew the concept could be successful; it just needed more R & D. But the Space Guard had terminated the project … far too prematurely, in his opinion, and had ordered all test subjects euthanized. Still, GenetX had managed to salvage a few undelivered specimens and had continued unfunded research of their own. It was yet a feasible concept, of that he was sure. So far, Project LawDawg had proceeded without any significant problems. They’d been the one bright spot in GenetX’s AnthroSplice line of anthropomorphic creations. These German Police Dog/ Human hybrids had been engineered with far less aggressive traits, while at the same time, given more analytical and deductive reasoning. Still, there had to be a way to create a living, breathing killing machine capable of following orders and with enough restraint to kill only what it was supposed to.
Here was a chance to prove that theory with a newer, improved model. He had been humiliated in failure. He would redeem himself and prove those limp-dicked bureaucrats and generals wrong. He smiled wickedly at the thought of them crawling back to him, groveling for his product, which he would gladly sell … at three times the original price.
And they would pay. They always paid.
His smile faded as reality seeped into his vengeful musings like sewer water into a crystal-clear spring. Unpleasant and stark. He looked up at McCallister. “So … we can assume that she’s copulated again?”
His second-in-command shrugged, “More than likely, sir. That’s what she was created to do, and with the pheromones package implant …”
“We are treading on dangerous ground here, James. Every time she mates … well … I don’t have to tell you … it’s like playing Russian roulette for us all.”
“Yessir.”
“It’s only going to take the right spin of the cylinder … the right pull of the trigger … and …” Chastaine imitated a pistol with his thumb up and forefinger pointed. He put it to his head, “Boom! I’m done!” Then he pointed it at McCallister. “Boom! You’re done!”
“Yessir, I understand, sir.”
Chastaine pushed a button on the tabletop, turning the holo-vid feed off. “Let’s make sure we understand each other on this, my dear James.” His voice was softer, more deliberate, and his eyes took on a reptilian coldness. “I do not plan on going to prison or seeing my life’s work destroyed by an over-sexed anomaly.”
“Understood, sir.”
“We must be prepared to do whatever it takes to rectify this situation. As much as I would like to continue the research on the enigma this creature appears to be, even I must look at the bigger picture. Are we still on the same page?”
“Very much so. It would be tragic, but as you say … sometimes it is about the greater good.”
“I’m glad we see eye to eye.”
“And as far as collateral damage?”
Broderick shrugged, “I would prefer no more public shootouts …”
“Rest assured, sir, none of that has been traced back to us.”
“Let’s keep it that way, shall we?” His eyes grew even darker, more menacing. “But … make no mistake, whatever it takes; you make sure Frost brings in that troublesome little bitch. Whatever way he has to … bound and gagged or across his hood. It doesn’t matter to me. And anybody who gets in the way … well, the less that can talk, the less that can answer questions if there’s ever any asked.”
“I will pass it along.”
“Good!” The CEO’s face brightened as if the sun had suddenly burst through the clouds. “Now … shall we eat?”
***
Forrest Frost watched in helpless horror as the poison crawled its way slowly through the IV tube toward the needle in his arm. At the same time, that bastard hillbilly Tuttle wasn’t missing an opportunity to remind him of just how short his time was, once the medicine hit his veins. He was following the red-tinted liquid as it traveled through the tube along the wall, cackling with unrestrained glee, like a kid in the candy store, watching as the clerk bagged up his goodies.
Whatever has incapacitated me is never gonna wear off in time! Forrest had already resigned himself to that fact. It wouldn’t be this moron Tuttle who killed him. He was just applying the coup de grace. That spacer Thomas … he’d killed him last night with this shot of electric paralysis. In trying just to incapacitate Frost, he’d done him in as surely as if he’d put a pulse rifle to his head and melted his brains.
“Damned if it ain’t movin’ at a steady li’ ol’ pace!” Tuttle was giggling. “You should be feelin’ it here in a minute or two. Prob’ly feel a tightness in your chest, then ya can’t breathe … just suffocate to death … and with all this air here to breathe.” The old man drew in a deep breath and then blew it out slowly. He smiled a big yellow-toothed grin. “Issa damn shame … eh, Frost?”
Frost had always contemplated exactly how his demise would come about. While working as an operative for the Space Authority,
