Dead Air by C.B. Ash Page B

"It bothers me they are so careless with their trail. It's like they wanted us to know."
    "They may na have cared." Moira said. "If'n they be in a hurry. Why waste the time?"
    The first mate nodded. "True. Is the other door unlatched?"
    O'Fallon carefully looked out into the alley, wary for any surprises. When nothing emerged, he stepped out and walked across the open alleyway to the other door. This door, just as weathered, was unlike the others they had encountered so far. On a relay station, any door that lead into the giant steam engines, fan blades and man-sized gears was a thick steel, secured with steel rivets and kept closed with a heavy metal lock.
    Usually this door opened into a small room, a chamber only five foot square, with a similar door on the far side from the entrance. The inner door often, but not always, was rigged to never open so long as the outer door was open. In this way, no one could accidentally enter the engine rooms and fall through the fans to the ground miles below them. The quartermaster grasped the 'L'-shaped handle, pushed down and tugged on it. The door lock gave easily and O'Fallon slowly pulled the door open an inch. A strong odor, sharp and foul smelling, wafted from the opening.
    "Door's open. Na sure it be a good idea. Smell's like a rat crawled up inta an air duct and passed on. Ye be sure and certain ye want ta head that way?" O'Fallon said, making a sour face.
    Thorias shook his head slightly at the quartermaster. "Smell or no, that's where Miss Salgado said to meet her. We need to go that way."
    "Well, hold ye breath. It be ripe." O'Fallon hauled the heavy door open the rest of the way. Metal hinges gave a slight groan of protest before the figure of a broad-shouldered man loomed out of the darkness. He was taller than the quartermaster by a good foot, his tight yellow shirt stained with grease and grime and his boots were broken at the seams. The quartermaster stumbled back and reached for his pistol. It had only partway cleared leather when the man from the doorway crashed into him. Krumer lunged forward and grabbed the stranger by the scruff of the neck, pulling him off O'Fallon.
    The moment Krumer lifted the man away, he immediately dropped him again. "Another dead crewman."
    Panting from the shock, O'Fallon scrambled to his feet. "Like the others, then?"
    "No, not like the others. He wasn't laid to rest like those others." the orc said solemnly while he knelt by the body. "He died fighting. Look at those bruises. Those come from a hand to hand fight."
    Thorias moved in a bit closer to see the dead man for himself, and knelt next to Krumer. O'Fallon wiped his hands nervously on his vest, then backed away from the dead man. A long breath later, he steadied his nerves and returned to the open door. Moira walked over with him.
    She stopped at the doorway while O'Fallon stepped carefully inside. "Four more in here." Moira said over his shoulder. "They all look 'bout as bad as that one."
    "This fellow's only recently deceased by a half hour." Thorias said after a moment's examination of the dead man. "No more than that."
    "What?" Krumer instinctively looked around, as if the killer would somehow suddenly materialize behind them. "Who is doing this?"
    A woman's voice, colored with a light Portuguese accent, echoed from within the chamber towards the steam engines. "I can't speak to the 'who', my dear Krumer, but perhaps I can speak to the 'why'."
    From the gloom, a woman wearing a navy wool long coat, stained blue shirt, tan trousers, and brown knee-high boots stepped into the half-light that permeated the small ante-chamber. She stood no taller than average for a human, or in her case a charybdian that resembled humans in shape and appearance. Although, the resemblance stopped there. In place of skin, she had a collection of fine, interlocking brownish-green scales, not unlike those found on an alligator. These were present on every visible part of her. Her face was human enough,