Geezer ran down the stairs in the dilapidated stairwell, swiftly passing the walls covered with graffiti depicting swastikas and cocks. The dim lightbulbs illuminated the gloomy flights of stares with locked metal doors on their sides. Geezer looked at his wrist. There spastically blinked red symbols meaning of which he didn't understand. He only knew that blinking symbols meant countdown at the end of which a capsule implanted deep into his body would release poison, and he, Geezer would crawl and twist on the ground like a smashed earthworm, dying.
Geezer didn't know how much time he had, and he had a business to finish. Several last years of his life his main goal was nemesis. All other goals became irrelevant after Zanian brigades cleared the district. Geezer survived by a miracle, hidden in the basement while Zanians entered the building and conducted disinfection using flamethrowers. Geezer couldn't recognize his family because the pieces of charcoal that used to be their bodies were mixed with pieces of charcoal that used to be the furniture and books. Geezer didn't have time to grieve because most of his time he was occupied by more pressing matters; finding water, food, shelter, some nooks where he wouldn't be assaulted at nights; neither by Zanian patrols nor by the gangs operating in the area, snatching people, carrying them alive to their impromptu organized medical depots where they put them on the table and cut out their valuable organs, kidneys, liver, heart. The gangs were keen on distinguishing the signs of the presence of fugitives in the desolated remains of the place that used to be their home. People weren't careful, they left traces; empty bottles of water, wrappers; they didn't take precautions not to leave the imprints of their shoes in the mud that covered the ground everywhere from the beginning of the autumn. By these traces the hunters tracked them. Then it was an ambush at night with a tear gas grenade thrown into the basement or ruins of a shed where fugitives hid. Ironically, these people who survived the cleaning operations of Zanians couldn't use the burnt remains of apartments in what used to be an apartment block. Everything above the basement level was poisoned by some substance that affected only humans, not producing any effect on any other species including pigeons, cockroaches, and rats. Zanians tried to preserve the species of Earth, apparently making an exception for humans, meticulously obliterating their hives. Probably for them, they seemed like nests of dangerous hornets. They didn't take into account basements so those remained free from poison, able to shelter few who managed to survive.
Geezer tried to puzzle out the red flashing signs on his wrist. They were part of the complex system installed in his body to conduct a survey of the behavior of human species. Geezer was one of the first people who came into contact with Zanians when their first emissaries started to arrive on Earth. He was an anthropological scientist and a brilliant linguist. He realized the first thing they needed to do was to figure out their speech, that would pave the way to the understanding of how they thought. As an anthropologist Geezer knew one thing that few people encountered; that ways of thinking in some cases could be radically different and totally alien to what humans always took for granted. He deciphered old dialects and studied the languages of various indigenous tribes. Sometimes in their speech that was strange and exotic by itself emerged some even more strange and creepy echoes of the words and sounds that were slightly offbeat, like they belonged to some different dialect. Geezer put them together like a puzzle and what he had revealed haunted him since then.
The first contacts, meetings, conversations with Zanians got smooth. Geezer felt it was even too smooth, too spotless, He felt some lurking anxiety, some premonition that he overlooked something very important, something vital. It started to seem to him that what he saw and heard, conversations that he had, all this started to remind him about the difference between how the small kids get their understanding about the animals from the cartoons, and the wild animals in the reality. He felt like he had been shown the endless reel of cartoons, where drawn harmless characters innocently cavorted in the imaginary world.
Geezer remembered how the first cold whiff of bad premonition pulled its icy fingers in his brain. He had a conversation with Zanian cultural attache. It was a reasonable approach for the first contacts to be on this non-invasive, tentative level; languages, literature, information about the history and cultural background of either race. Zanian looked strange with a snout of a dolphin, and the same joyful, good-natured expression in the eyes. According to what Geezer had learned they descended from some species that could be compared to earthly dolphins, but who early left the oceans and developed into complex organisms well adapted to the environment. For the sake of a cultural connection, Zanian wore a blue business suit, that apparently was designed to look like a normal earthly business suit. It didn't need to be much different; the body of Zanian reminded of a very bulky and fat human with the very short arms and legs. Good-humored but sloppy dolphin still had some troubles with human language so they led the conversation in Zanian, which Geezer considered an advantage. As a linguist, he got a handle on it pretty quickly. He noticed that it had all the characteristics of modern language; simplified grammar structure, many remnants of some different dialects and languages. They talked about religions, and Zanian laughed, alluding to their abilities to confuse things. Conversation, as usual, was deteriorating towards chitchat. Zanian brought some books and Geezer had read them avidly and got an impression that Zanians were pretty superficial but pragmatic creatures. Although, there weren't a single book related to history, and the cultural attache wasn't of much help either. Every time Geezer pressed him the Dolphin rolled his eyes in mocking exasperation, alluding to the fact that it was beyond his specialization. It seemed that the level of specialization in Zanian education was strangely much deeper than on Earth. Geezer hoped to fill the gaps in his knowledge about Zanians later because so far everything related to their history remained terra incognita. At some point during their conversation, Zanian accidentally tipped over the glass of water he was drinking. In frustration he said some long Zanian swearing and Geezer pricked his ears. It sounded strange. Really strange. It sounded neither like Zanian language nor like any dialects, Geezer deduced, merged into it in a course of history. It even contained some different sound Geezer never heard and it didn't seem to belong to the language at all, although, the dolphin pronounced it easily and naturally. Also, Geezer recognized something in this stream of sounds that was reminiscent of terribly distorted roots of the words "Divine" and "Blight" conjugated in a bizarre and impossible way. With an effort, Geezer managed a polite smile "What was that?" The dolphin frowned "It's an old obscenity, sorry about that, it's related to one myth" for a second he seemed distracted
--
It didn't look like what he had typically seen. A piece of paper with the weird scrawls. Geezer glanced at it assessing how difficult it would be to puzzle it out. It was impossible. It was code. He heard a sound of car swishing in the drizzle outside. A quick look in a crack between the curtains revealed a dark car that stopped in front of the building, its engine producing a muffled, monotonous hum. While Geezer looked at it, its headlights switched off, a residual fluorescent glow in them slowly fading out. The engine went silent. Now there was only the sound of drizzle, the water drops pattering an obscure metal hulk standing with its wheels touching the sidewalk, immobile like a statue. It felt like it belonged to that spot like it had always been there.
Geezer quickly looked around, thinking what else he might have overlooked. Except for a couple of notepads and scraps of paper in the drawer, all covered with enigmatic scrawls and occasional drawings, there was nothing remarkable in the room. Several shirts and two couples of trousers hanging sloppily in the wardrobe. Unfinished plastic bottle of water and a portable lamp stood on the dark leathery surface of the table. Geezer noticed how antique this table looked, the tabletop was covered with something reminding a hardened deep brown leather enclosed by a grimy wooden rim. The leather was covered by a web of scratches and a smattering of deeply ingrained stains. In several places, it was slashed by a razor. There were some words scraped on it including several names. The portable lamp, modern and lustrous, was out of place here, like somebody brought it to this room then moving away in a hurry just left it behind.
Geezer left the apartment, carefully closing the door behind him. The dingy staircase dimly lit by incandescent bulbs was filled with ghostly rustles and murmurs coming from many closed doors echoing faintly back and forth. Geezer made several steps down the stairs and stopped listening intently. He had a vague feeling on the edge of his perception of somebody standing below on the first floor. Several people. Nothing obvious revealing their presence like voices, coughs, or shuffles that would be greatly amplified in this echo chamber. Like somebody stood there very still, not making any sounds, breathing quietly. Yet Geezer felt their presence, something in the pattern of ambient noise and echoes was out of joint, strange.
Trying not to make any noise, painstakingly slowly, aware of each step Geezer began to walk up the stairs. He kept listening attentively. Several minutes later he heard something like an echo of a muffled cough. Like somebody cleared his throat quietly. Geezer quickly assessed the disposition. On the upper floor, there would likely be a vent leading to the roof. It would also very likely be locked shut with a heavy rusty padlock hanging on the hinges. There was a "fire ladder" - a set of the metal bars welded together and attached to the wall outside. Now the metal bars were wet from the drizzle and slippery. Also, the ladder was no less than a meter from the nearest window. A fair chance to slip and die very quickly and very accidentally. Also, the fire ladder was on the wall facing the street where at that moment stood a ghostly sentinel of the car.
--
The guy on the scooter made the second circle. Trying to find a parking spot? Geezer focused his attention on what was at the periphery of his vision, noticing a group of rowdy youth chatting and noisily spitting on the ground. Not moving his eyes. Not attracting additional attention.
He knew that somebody else was standing here among all those multiple people moving in and out of the mall, pausing for a brief conversation, laughter, checking the parcels. Geezer envied all these people who didn't think about death. Many of them would die anyway fifteen minutes later or less, but they didn't know, and it was a bliss.
Geezer squeezed the receiver he held in his pocket. His palm was covered with the cold sweat that kept accumulating. Cold sweat streamed from his armpits, and he was glad that he wore a jacket. He was able to hold a calm expression on his face, just keeping the muscles relaxed, while adrenaline pumped into his veins with icy, sticky jolts. At some point, the receiver would start vibrating. Immediately after getting this signal Geezer had to act according to the plan. The chances of his survival depended on whether he would be able to reveal his opponents in the crowd. In the inside pocket of his jacket was a small paper bundle. It was filled with the big heavy granules similar to the coarse salt, which would produce a blinding flash, boom, and a dense veil of black smoke if thrown at some hard surface with a sufficient force. An ensuing panic and confusion would help the hitmen to accomplish their task. The kidnapping of Zom. It would take seconds, then a couple of minutes of interrogation en route to the western part of the city, a complex maze of small backstreets and blind alleys, then the body of Zom would smolder in the burning car, while the group including Geezer would change to another car and leave the city.
The interrogation part was a direct Geezers responsibility, only he knew an obscure dialect Zom was speaking. Also, only he knew how Zom looked from his previous encounter, therefore he also had to approach him when he would be coming out of the mall, indicating to the hitmen whom they needed to jump. The guy responsible for sending a signal to Geezer also knew Zom, but he seemed to be too valuable to take any part in the action. Geezer didn't know who he was, he knew that at that moment he was sitting inside, in a cafe near the exit and carefully monitoring everybody leaving the mall.
Geezer casually looked at the people strolling at the rectangular marble square outside the mall. At the edges of the square stood rows of benches. Geezer was sitting on one of them, on the bench on the opposite side sat a tall Asian woman wearing strict business clothes; gray checkered skirt and jacket, white shirt. She didn't pay attention to the surroundings and was absorbed in something in her phone. Geezer made a mental note that she had been at that same place already for more than ten minutes. The group of rowdy kids on his right continued their chat interspersed with obscenities and mentions of male and female genitals. To his left, a burly man nervously paced back and forth across the square throwing impatient glances at the door. On the bench to Geezer's left sat a young woman with a stroller. Her boyfriend stood several steps away smoking a cigarette, looking vacantly at the space before him. Every now and then they loudly exchanged some insignificant remarks. Geezer noticed the pattern of marble mosaic of the square. Big asymmetric stars, pale pink, all their vertices of different size, interposed over the gray and pallid triangles comprising a chaotic, meaningless jigsaw puzzle. Geezer saw another guy exiting the mall leisurely. He was dressed casually like a teenager in frayed jeans and t-shirt. He carried a parcel in his hand and strolled nonchalantly throwing curious glances around. Geezer noticed the subtle wrinkles at the corners of his eyes and mouth. He was older than he looked. His arms were thin and wiry and when the Geezer snatched a glimpse at his palm he noticed it was coarse with the calluses on the inner side of the fingers. The Asian woman on the opposite bench switched her attention from the phone for a second, looked around vacantly, then returned to her phone. Geezer felt his pulse accelerating, a new portion of adrenaline entered his blood; he felt the dull throbbing rhythm in his temples and a new trickle of cold sweat pouring from his armpits. The receiver was cold, wet and slippery clutched in his sweaty, trembling palm; now the signal could come at any moment. With a tremendous effort, Geezer retained calm expression on his face, while inside he was shaking. Before his eyes flickered gruesome pictures; dark blood coagulating on the pallid slimy surface of the collapsed lung, exposed among the splinters of ribs and greasy lumps of fat, still fluttering helplessly trying to inflate itself. The eyes of the victim were still lively and frantic, with feverish glitter in them. He didn't realize yet that he just became a wide open anatomical exhibition. Geezer tried to wave the visions aside. He could miss something vitally important around him.
Zom didn't surround himself with bodyguards. Instead, his security agents who had very special status in the ranks of Organization always arrived at the place he was planning to visit several minutes earlier, doing quick reconnaissance, and confirming that the place was safe. They looked and dressed casually and generally were indistinguishable from the crowd. Then they unobtrusively took the virtual perimeter under control, and Zom was able to safely proceed wherever he planned to proceed. Also, few people knew how he looked, and he completely changed his appearance at least once a year, which made it even more difficult to track him.
--