was half the space of his entire apartment. He felt a twinge of want, looking at the evidence of life as a full clan.
Dismissing hopes and dreams for the future, Wynhod led the group into the spotless facility. Now he picked up a loud voice coming from elsewhere in the home. The voice was male but pitched high, the speech frantic. He couldn’t make out what the man said, but the speaker sounded hysterical. It could be a delirious assailant or terrified victim. He couldn’t tell for sure.
Wynhod went to the doorway that led into the rest of the home. He peered down a long hallway, its wall panels dimly lit. There were two doorways to each side of the corridor, all closed. The agitated voice seemed to be coming from the opening at the end of the hall.
The Nobek readied his plasma rifle and slowly crept down the passage. He couldn’t hear his team following but knew they were there, also with guns at the ready. As they closed in on the end of the hall, he saw that he approached the family’s private gathering room. A firepit had been dug into the middle of the space, surrounded by large seating that offered comfort and luxury. A low table sat at one end of the room with a multifunctional entertainment-grade computer.
Getting nearer to the room, Wynhod saw photo vids on the wall. They were clan pictures with beaming faces, along with many of a younger male. These shots had apparently been taken as Nobek Hurs had grown to manhood. Wynhod recognized his target from the pictures the squad leader had shown him.
The room widened out to show it shared space with the dining area and large kitchen. As the low table where the clan took its meals came into view, the maddened, cracked voice Wynhod had been trying to interpret became clearer.
“…just want to know why you won’t help me?”
A deeper voice, quiet and soothing answered him, though Wynhod couldn’t make out what its owner said. That told him at least one of Hurs’ fathers still lived. The boy wasn’t shouting at his hallucinations yet.
Wynhod reached the end of the hallway and peered around the corner. He saw a doorway on the far wall of the family gathering room. It led to another space that was probably the public greeting room. He spied two figures within that space, which was not as well-lit as the one he stood on the threshold of.
One, a man about the same age as Wynhod’s surviving fathers, knelt on the floor. His gentle Imdiko face twisted in grief, tears sliding down his cheeks as he wept silently. Despite the percussion blaster held to his head, there was no fear or anger in the man’s expression. Only emotional agony, the kind Wynhod never got used to seeing though he’d been exposed to it many times since becoming a law enforcement officer. More violent crimes occurred between family members than strangers, and someone in the situation almost always looked like that.
Standing behind his Imdiko father, Nobek Hurs was nearly unrecognizable from the still vids on the walls. The ravages of Delir addiction had turned a once handsome face gaunt and lined before its time. The skin that should be bronze had a grayish pallor. His long hair hung in greasy tangles. His whole look screamed drug abuse to anyone with eyes that could see.
He held a blaster to the elder man’s head. Hurs’ other hand clutched the Imdiko’s curly hair tight in a fist. He looked straight ahead at someone Wynhod couldn’t see for the wall between the gathering and greeting rooms.
The deep voice Wynhod had heard answering Hurs before spoke again. This time the officer could understand the words. “Don’t do this, my son. You will never forgive yourself if you harm your father Dran.”
Long ropes of drool oozed from the corners of Hurs’ mouth. His eyes were so wide and staring, it seemed to Wynhod they should fall right out of his skull. It was Delir withdrawal all right, several hours old. Hurs
Dismissing hopes and dreams for the future, Wynhod led the group into the spotless facility. Now he picked up a loud voice coming from elsewhere in the home. The voice was male but pitched high, the speech frantic. He couldn’t make out what the man said, but the speaker sounded hysterical. It could be a delirious assailant or terrified victim. He couldn’t tell for sure.
Wynhod went to the doorway that led into the rest of the home. He peered down a long hallway, its wall panels dimly lit. There were two doorways to each side of the corridor, all closed. The agitated voice seemed to be coming from the opening at the end of the hall.
The Nobek readied his plasma rifle and slowly crept down the passage. He couldn’t hear his team following but knew they were there, also with guns at the ready. As they closed in on the end of the hall, he saw that he approached the family’s private gathering room. A firepit had been dug into the middle of the space, surrounded by large seating that offered comfort and luxury. A low table sat at one end of the room with a multifunctional entertainment-grade computer.
Getting nearer to the room, Wynhod saw photo vids on the wall. They were clan pictures with beaming faces, along with many of a younger male. These shots had apparently been taken as Nobek Hurs had grown to manhood. Wynhod recognized his target from the pictures the squad leader had shown him.
The room widened out to show it shared space with the dining area and large kitchen. As the low table where the clan took its meals came into view, the maddened, cracked voice Wynhod had been trying to interpret became clearer.
“…just want to know why you won’t help me?”
A deeper voice, quiet and soothing answered him, though Wynhod couldn’t make out what its owner said. That told him at least one of Hurs’ fathers still lived. The boy wasn’t shouting at his hallucinations yet.
Wynhod reached the end of the hallway and peered around the corner. He saw a doorway on the far wall of the family gathering room. It led to another space that was probably the public greeting room. He spied two figures within that space, which was not as well-lit as the one he stood on the threshold of.
One, a man about the same age as Wynhod’s surviving fathers, knelt on the floor. His gentle Imdiko face twisted in grief, tears sliding down his cheeks as he wept silently. Despite the percussion blaster held to his head, there was no fear or anger in the man’s expression. Only emotional agony, the kind Wynhod never got used to seeing though he’d been exposed to it many times since becoming a law enforcement officer. More violent crimes occurred between family members than strangers, and someone in the situation almost always looked like that.
Standing behind his Imdiko father, Nobek Hurs was nearly unrecognizable from the still vids on the walls. The ravages of Delir addiction had turned a once handsome face gaunt and lined before its time. The skin that should be bronze had a grayish pallor. His long hair hung in greasy tangles. His whole look screamed drug abuse to anyone with eyes that could see.
He held a blaster to the elder man’s head. Hurs’ other hand clutched the Imdiko’s curly hair tight in a fist. He looked straight ahead at someone Wynhod couldn’t see for the wall between the gathering and greeting rooms.
The deep voice Wynhod had heard answering Hurs before spoke again. This time the officer could understand the words. “Don’t do this, my son. You will never forgive yourself if you harm your father Dran.”
Long ropes of drool oozed from the corners of Hurs’ mouth. His eyes were so wide and staring, it seemed to Wynhod they should fall right out of his skull. It was Delir withdrawal all right, several hours old. Hurs
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