CHAPTER 18

  The next day was it—the day of the party. The SDM team met up at the hotel, along with a number of their hired staff, some friends, and Ralia’s family—including a much more contrite Veros, who sheepishly asked to speak to Fyche one on one.

  “Look, I really am sorry about last night,” she said, not shying away from his flat stare. “Ralia was right; I was acting like I did back in high school. I was kind of a bitch back then, and addicted to drama. I guess that part’s still true. But I’m mature enough to recognize I fucked up. I’m not asking you to just forget, but...yeah. I’m sorry.”

  He shrugged. “It was pretty fucked up. But it was funny. Or would have been if we knew each other better. I’m still getting used to...socializing again. So that might take some time.”

  “I have so many fucking questions,” she muttered, then held up her paws. “But I’ll wait to ask them until it’s socially appropriate. Deal?”

  “Sure.”

  The attendees trickled in from the rooms above and outside, and things began in earnest. They had plenty of food, both snacks and Doxen fare, and a number of games and interactive events. They’d even managed to book a few minor celebrities, and in keeping with the organizers’ nerdy streak—they’d met and kept in touch largely through video games, after all—most were related to shows, movies, video games, and so on.

  Other rooms held panels with speakers giving talks on issues related to interplanetary politics, from tech to medicine to social issues. The SDM team made appearances at more than a few of those, especially those related to tech and its application in facilitating socializing and interaction; Niko and Kelsen held a mock debate in one over the merits of their respective sound equipment. At another, concerning Moccans visiting Latia, Niko launched into a humorous story about himself and Fyche going in for a kiss and his head accidentally getting engulfed.

  Fyche held his head in his hands, radiating embarrassment like extreme heat, as Niko quipped that he was grateful for his partner’s excellent oral hygiene.

  Despite the events they’d had to cut, it seemed like things were going great—the grand majority of the attendees were enjoying themselves, there were no catastrophic injuries, and no sightings of Pakos. There were a few hiccups during a panel when two mouthy Latians starting asking baited questions about Latian superiority and Moccans being thieves and job-takers, and when a Moccan later piped up to question Latian intelligence, pointing to Moccan technological advancements.

  All three were quickly shown to the door.

  The organizers did their best to handle the situations with grace, denouncing talk of ‘superiority’ and stressing that the whole point of the meetup was to celebrate the excellence of Latians and Moccans working and being together.

  After a short break in a private room to destress and get some water, it was time to take everyone outside to the gated party.

…

  Meanwhile, Pakos was across the street, watching from a nearby retail store. He no longer had time to argue with himself about whether or not his intentions were pure; he’d observed the three shifty-looking Latians following Niko and his friends on multiple occasions, and knew something bad was going to happen.

  He stood behind a coat rack, observing the goat outside on the sidewalk. He’d been there for over half an hour, just waiting, which made the hairs on the back of the wolf’s neck stand on end.

  Finally, he moved, crossing the street. A glance told Pakos that Niko—who had brought the tourists outside for some kind of party—had split up with his friends to try and organize the chaos. The goat reached the gate, grabbed the bars, and started screaming vitriol. “Leeches go home! You’re not welcome here! Fuck off and die on your bug planet!”

  Pakos hurried outside and started crossing the street himself, sensing that the worry he’d felt was coming to a head. The fox, as well as a stern-looking brown shepherd in a stab vest, were coming out of the gate to apprehend the goat. As the security guard struggled with the goat, the fox noticed Pakos approaching, and seized him by the throat.

  “You stupid motherfucker! I’ll—”

  Pakos held up his paws, showing he was unarmed, and gasped for breath. “Wait! I’m not with him—followed him—here with others! Bear and gator!”

  The fox’s jaw opened in shock, and his grip loosened. “You said—a bear and...” He turned back to the goat, apparently recognizing him. “Those three...shit.” He gestured for Pakos to explain, and it all tumbled out of his mouth—following them for the last few days, seeing the bear, gator, and goat, having an awful feeling that something bad was going to happen. The fox snarled. “And you didn’t fucking do anything?!”

  Pakos flinched. “Would you have believed me?”

  Shaking his head in disgust, he threw Pakos to the ground, advancing on the goat, who just laughed. “Too late, fucker! Too late!”

  Two other security guards approached. The fox turned to them and started shouting, leaving Pakos to get back up as the guard cuffed the goat. “Hey! I need you to check for N—for all the Moccans! Make sure everyone is safe and accounted f—what?!”

  One of the newly arrived guards was shaking her head. “We started checking when we heard shouting. Most are fine, but several are missing. Niko...” She continued listing names, but Pakos only heard the first.

…

  The worst thing about that day was how normal it was. As usual, Pakos and Loktos, his younger brother, had taken their sweet time coming home from school, knowing nothing good was waiting at home. They’d stopped at the park, at a classmate’s house—they didn’t really have friends, not with their parents—and walked a long, slow scenic route. But they knew if they weren’t back by dinner, there’d be hell to pay, so they couldn’t stall too long.

  Their father, Clyde, was already home when they walked in the door. That wasn’t common, and they’d expected him to be later, giving them time to finish their chores. Instead, it seemed, he’d gotten home and found the chores not done. On top of that, he’d already been in a foul mood after work.

  His belt was already off. When Pakos, age fourteen and feeling rebellious, had refused to take his shirt off and turn around, it had whipped out and stung his cheek, leaving a welt and barely missing his eye. Hurting, scared, and taken by surprise, he’d stumbled backwards, unable to fend off the larger man, who had shoved him to the ground, torn his backpack and shirt off, and let the belt fly.

  At some point, he’d fainted from the pain, as he came to his senses to see Loktos getting similar treatment. He was initially confused by the wet feeling on his back, before realizing that a dozen cuts had been opened and were oozing blood. It wasn’t the first time their father had drawn blood during punishment, but it was far worse than any other time, and judging by the deep ache in his chest, at some point the belt had been supplemented by punches and kicks. Dully, Pakos realized that there was a real possibility that Clyde would beat his sons to death.

  His mother Edith must have come to the same conclusion, as she tried to intercede—again, not for the first time. Most days, Clyde was less willing to harm her, at least in any way that left a mark.

  This was not most days.

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  She managed to get the belt away from him, but that only made him grab the nearest thing available—a table lamp, of heavy brass. It dented on her skull, but he struck again, and again, until she stopped moving and the lamp was a nearly unrecognizable lump of bloody metal.

  For a few moments, everything was silent but for the labored breathing of the whole family, some in pain, one from exertion. Then, Clyde picked Edith up and took her outside to the car. Pakos staggered to stand and followed on unsteady feet. He said nothing aloud, but his father answered the question in his eyes, saying he’d be taking her to the hospital.

  And damn him, Pakos had believed him, thinking that as much as he hated the man, his father would never actually want to kill his wife. He’d believed her to be in the hospital, until, at school a week later after a few “sick days” to let his back recover, police had shown up to question him as to her whereabouts. She’d never been to any hospital. She was considered missing for a time, and his father was taken into custody.

  Months later, first privately to his lawyer and then publicly in court, his father had admitted to killing her and disposing of the body.

  Pakos could still hear that officer telling him his mother was missing. And now Niko was, too. “No...no, no, no, not again...”

…

  Fyche panted heavily, paws balled into shaking fists by his sides. It was all he could do not to panic. Ralia stood nearby, holding Kelsen, who had been found safe. The wolf was in a similar state to Fyche, trembling with worry rather than rage.

  They’d shut the party down and had security escort all the guests inside, asking them to stay on and rotate in any available members in order to keep the remaining Moccan guests safe. Ralia had already called the police, who had promised to help, and even sent an officer to collect statements; that said, they weren’t optimistic about law enforcement saving the day.

  As they waited for the squad car to arrive, Fyche attempted to question the goat while Donovan kept a watchful eye over them and Pakos. Paws still shaking, Fyche loomed over the goat, barely keeping his voice steady. “Tell me where they are. Now.”

  He only got another laugh in response. “I told you, you’re too late. Those Moccan pests are already back at HQ. You’re never going to see them again. They’re gonna freeze!” He ignored Fyche leaning in close, fangs bared. “Think they’ll go blue wishing you bugfuckers would save them?”

  Donovan barely managed to grab Fyche in time, dragging him back by his wrists. The fox struggled until Donovan spoke quietly. “It won’t end well for you or Niko if you get arrested too.”

  Once released, Fyche had nearly gotten himself under control when Pakos took a step forward, waving for their attention. Half on instinct and half on his as yet undiminished blind anger, he reared back for a haymaker, only to let his arm drop at hearing what Pakos had to say.

  “I think I—I know where they are.”

  Fyche, Donovan, and Ralia, with Kelsen, gathered around to listen, suspicion fighting desperation on their faces. Pakos took a deep breath and continued. “There’s a cold storage warehouse—several, actually, but they’re on the same lot—a few miles from here. I helped build them two years back. There was a gang that liked to hang around there, threw up a lot of graffiti. All very anti-Moccan, Latian supremacy shit. And I think you’re right—cops won’t help us if they can avoid it.”

  “Why the hell would we ever trust you?” demanded Ralia.

  Forestalling Pakos, Fyche spoke, crossing his arms. “He—he tried to warn me. And that asshole mentioned something about freezing.” Ralia shook her head, looking incredulous. “Look—I hate the motherfucker as much as anyone, but he’s all we’ve got!”

  “Thanks for the vote of confidence,” Pakos muttered.

  Spinning, Fyche poked him in the chest with a claw. “Shut the fuck up. I know you’re only helping us because you’re still obsessed with Niko. You admitted to stalking him. Just show us where to go, and then fuck off, and I won’t report you for violating probation.”

  Pakos stared at the ground. “Fine.”

  Donovan moved to block Fyche as he made to follow Pakos. “Wait. You’re emotional and not thinking straight. And I can’t blame you; just let me do that for you.” He gestured at their tiny group. “I highly doubt there are only three of them in total. If you go with him, you’ll likely be outnumbered, and if they’re willing to kidnap Moccans and assault Latians, I’m willing to bet they’ve got weapons.”

  Frustrated, Fyche threw up his hands. “So, what, we sit around and do nothing?!”

  “Of course not. We just need to think this through and gather all the support we can get.”

  “And you’re not leaving us behind,” Ralia said, stepping up behind them. Kelsen nodded from her pocket, looking nervous but determined.

  “I...” Fyche sighed, taking a deep breath. “Okay. Okay. But we have to be as quick as we can. I am not leaving Niko with them any longer than necessary.”

…

  After giving their statements to the police—and omitting Pakos’ involvement, for the time being—they gathered up everyone they thought they could trust. Fyche, of course, could not be kept away, and would be a key member of the team with his self defense expertise.

  Ralia was by this point no slouch either, and she had clipped a canister of pepper spray to her belt. Kelsen would be riding in her pocket. Veros volunteered the moment she was apprised of the situation by Ralia, meaningfully showing her sister something inside her purse. Their parents agreed to stay behind and work with any sympathetic police and the event coordinators and hotel staff as best they could.

  Donovan informed them he’d be coming too, though they decided against bringing any additional security; as helpful as they might be, they were needed to keep the remaining Moccan guests safe.

  To their surprise, another familiar face joined as well—Alexei, the hyena from the spaceport. He made it clear that while it was not his intent to start a fight, he didn’t want to stand by while Moccans were in trouble, and would do his best to assist with rescuing them.

  Finally, there was Pakos, who, while not having the same formal training as Fyche, had a strong build, and, more importantly, was convinced he knew where the Moccans were being held.

  As they made their preparations, they were approached by Samet, who brought Reorato and Niri with him. “Look, we know what’s going on,” said Samet. “We’re coming too.”

  Veros rolled her eyes. “Eavesdropping, huh? Well, I can’t say I wouldn’t have done the same. But you’d better stay behind, kiddos.”

  “No!” Even Fyche was taken aback by the vehement passion in the squirrel’s voice. “I have just as much right to come as Fyche! I want to help Jess as much as you want to help Niko!”

  Fyche looked away. “Fine. But only you. We’re trying to save Moccans, not take them into danger.”

  Niri pointed accusingly at Kelsen. “Oh yeah? What about him?”

  Kelsen shrank, and Veros couldn’t help but chuckle. “Got you there,” she mused, nudging Ralia. “Hey, maybe bringing some Moccans along will come in handy. Isn’t that what your little party was about in the first place?”

  That seemed to be the final word on the subject. Fyche and Samet clenched their fists, Ralia double-checked her pepper spray, Veros patted her purse, Donovan hefted his baton, and Alexei swallowed nervously. The Moccans exchanged resolute looks, masking their unease.

  As a group, they headed out.

…

  One moment, Niko had been overseeing a food delivery, and the next, he’d been snatched, stuffed into a bag, and jostled around as his captor sprinted away. After what felt like hours of being thrown back and forth, he was hauled roughly out of the bag by a Latian hand, stripped of his voice equipment and phone, and dumped out into a small wire enclosure—a cage for small Latian animals. It was set on a shelf in some kind of large storage room full of what looked like frozen meats. His breath misted up in front of him as he looked around, rubbing his aching side, but before he could take in any more of his surroundings, something crashed into him from above.

  Something alive and struggling. He managed to disentangle himself and step back. It was Fomir, the deer he’d shared a compartment with on the shuttle. “Fomir. Fomir! Calm down! It’s me, Niko!”

  The deer stopped thrashing, accepting Niko’s helping paw to stand. “Wh-where are we?” he asked, teeth chattering.

  Niko’s answer was interrupted by the arrival of Voci, then Jess and Mauv. Next to them, another cage was being used to contain another dozen Moccans, all of them attendees. They tried shouting questions up at their kidnappers, a rough-looking band of Latians with undisguised contempt on their faces, but received no answers other than a rebuking shake of their cage that sent them all to the floor.

  Eventually, they were left mostly alone, other than a single guard that leaned against the wall, disinterested, nearby.

  With almost twenty terrified Moccans that he was responsible for, Niko forced down his own terror and gathered them near the shared walls of the cage, sitting back to back. He spoke quietly, trying to reassure them. “I know this is scary, but we’ll be okay. My friends will contact the authorities and rescue us.”

  Fomir rested his head on his forearms. “Yeah, right. The police don’t give a fuck about a few missing Moccans in Teromod.” Sniffing, Jess agreed, and several others were nodding despondently.

  Niko sighed. He couldn’t help but feel that they were right.