Betrayed

By Lyndi Alexander

A rash of mutated bodies discovered on planet Andaan reveals that someone is killing women in an attempt to turn them into reptiles. Taskforce agent Kylie Sanderson’s passion for her job drives her to discover why this is happening, who's behind the murders, and how to prevent more grotesque deaths. Shapeshifting alien Griff comes to Andaan to stop the deadly experiments of his brethren. As one of the Okonnan lizard people, he struggles to gain Kylie's trust and to prove that his goal is the same as hers. In her eyes, Griff is an untested enemy. When Kylie is abducted and subjected to the transformation process, the only one who tries to rescue her is Griff. On the run together with no support, can Kylie and Griff solve the mysteries of her past? How will Kylie deal with a very different passion competing with the one she holds for the job that means so much to her?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Dragonfly Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Feb 19, 2024
• ISBN: 9781949187663

Lyndi Alexander

Lyndi Alexander always dreamed of faraway worlds and interesting alien contacts. She lives as a post-modern hippie in Asheville, North Carolina, a single mother of her last child of seven, a daughter on the autism spectrum, finding that every day feels a lot like first contact with a new species.

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

KYLIE Sanderson approached the half-lit, reeking alley behind Restaurant Row.

An officer gestured toward the graffiti-scarred brick walls behind him. Your partner’s already down there. And it’s two of them, ma’am.

Understood. Wearing alpaskin designer boots, Kylie waded through mud, fouled water, and discarded piles of food. Her mother, who must have called in every favor owed just to get her hands on a pair of those boots, would be shocked to see her daughter wearing them in stinking garbage. The thought made Kylie smile.

The smile faded as she approached the heavy black dumpster. Behind it, her partner puked up the contents of his stomach. Based on the history of this case, his indiscretion was probably not due to his rookie status.

It’s bad, then. But they always are.

Steeling herself, she climbed onto a wooden fruit crate and looked inside the metal container. The odor rising from the hodgepodge of trash, rotted meat, and spoiled dairy products sickened her, too, but not as much as the two women’s bodies on top. Or at least what used to be women.

Holding one hand over her mouth and nose, Kylie shone her flashlight on the remains. The bodies looked similar to the six others that had been discovered in the last few months in different areas of Muraco there on the planet Andaan. Each was naked and horribly mutated. Their flesh and organs had been transformed by varying degrees into green, scaly reptiles. Others had lost arms or legs to the change, their bones elongated, their hands thin and narrow with nails turned into hard claws.

This was the first time she’d found one with an altered face. Blank yellow eyes stared from a rough-skinned visage. The nose and mouth were distorted into a pointy chunk of mottled green hide. Fangs protruded from under desiccated lips.

Yeah, this one is bad.

Kylie stepped off the box, never so glad that she’d skipped lunch for a nooner with her ex-boyfriend before she got the call.

Applying an anti-nausea cream to her nose and face, she composed herself while local officers held back clamoring media. Word passed quickly that the elite team from the planet’s Scientific and Investigative Research Taskforce had been called in from the Jescoan subdivision in Andaan’s other hemisphere. The ‘lizard women’ were news.

Straightening her heavy black jacket, she fluffed her pale hair just a little. The only woman in the command structure of SIRT, she knew she’d be judged on her looks as much as her skills. She’d studied six long years to get her criminal-paranormal degree, expecting to be assigned the oddest and most inexplicable cases that came the unit’s way. She’d done it despite her father’s direct and very vocal opposition. Her fierce pride had driven her to defy him. She had inherited that pride from him. He should have expected no less. When she was spokesperson for a case, she remained very conscious that she was a Sanderson.

The Cos-General wouldn’t have it any other way.

She moved past the dumpster to peek into the shadowed recess, keeping her focus on the torn remnants of some ancient plaz concert posters. Pax, you all right back there?

Paxton Loring, her partner and most junior on the SIRT squad, gave a noncommittal mutter amid sounds of more vomiting.

She couldn’t resist. Guess you’ll skip the raw fish next time, huh?

Several obscenities were added to the muttering.

Poor kid. He’s sweet. She passed him some hand wipes, feeling bad for him, even as a brief smile crossed her lips. Rookie mistake.

In the beginning she’d done it herself. She’d certainly had her own embarrassments in her early months with the squad. When one dealt with aliens, perverts, and psychotics, anything could happen and usually did. Better to laugh than to cry.

She patted his shoulder and then took out her vo-corder to save notes she could refer to when speaking to the press. Nothing too specific. Keep the details private. Enough to feed the hyena pack. She’d save the rest for the SIRT team to pore over until they solved this repulsive mystery.

Two females, unidentified as yet. Similar M-O to the others. Total now is eight. Bodies to be taken for autopsy and ID, families will be notified.

Still no clue who our offender might be.

She bit her lip, a sick feeling crawling up her throat. That was the worst of it. Not knowing who or why. The planetary subdivision called Muraco, population 150,000, had its share of sickos, no question. But one DNA experiment might belong to a nutso or a whacker. Two, maybe. Eight? That sounded much too purposeful.

Why in all the netherworlds would someone want women to look like lizards?

Some eighty-five percent of Andaan’s population was human. A lizard the size of a man, or as smart as one, most likely would come from another planet. Off-worlders moved freely throughout the planetary system. What would bring one here with nefarious intentions? Kylie’s team had to figure out the ultimate purpose of these twisted corpses.

Bureau chief Jaco Rand expected answers yesterday.

Media buzz echoed along the cracked bricks of the buildings beside her, as photographers’ bright lights flashed in staccato rhythms. The utter uselessness of their bloodlust made her growl.

She stepped aside as the evidence collection workers in their olive drab uniforms approached from down the alley.

Show time.

Let’s go, Pax. Crime scene team’s here.

Coming, coming. Paxton stepped out, wiping his tie with a yellow handkerchief. His normally ruddy face was pale and his eyes bloodshot. His short, thin frame shuddered. Sprechan’s balls, I don’t ever want to see something like that again. He walked past the dumpster, pointedly avoiding it, and headed toward to their vehicle. Enough lizards for me. Not even the crocosaurs at the zoo.

Let’s hope not. Maybe these are the last ones.

As the sun slipped behind a cloud, a shadow of doubt and foreboding slid over her. Something whispered in her ear that those victims, tossed away like meal scraps in a cruel metal box, wouldn’t be the last.

Not by a long shot.

* * *

The next morning, Kylie, the squad lieutenant, gave the daily briefing on the initial evidence analyzed by the lab. She’d pinned her shoulder-length hair into a bun, hoping to feel more in charge. Wishing she could prop her eyes open with plastapicks, she muttered about her lack of sleep. That woman’s distorted face had haunted her through the night.

She yawned as the fifteen-odd members of the squad gathered.

Time to get on with it.

She activated the computer projector. The first picture on the screen was a full-on shot of the two bodies in the dumpster. Without the smell, the view was nearly tolerable. All the same, she didn’t look.

Instead, she watched the faces of the squad members, seeing the blood drain away in horror.

It does get your attention, right? She clicked through to the next picture, a closeup of the second woman’s arm, covered with reptilian green skin. She’d studied the photos when the techs delivered them at sunrise, just after she’d stumbled into her office looking for some sort of stimulant. Two amp pills later, she had the energy to look through the shots and was drawn in by the nature of the skin alterations.

The texture of the women’s skin resembled that of the old Terran Gila monster. Little nubs of bright color had been described by the techs as ‘smooth and dry, almost bead-like’.

She pointed this out as she went into lecture mode. As with the other corpses we’ve found, these two were in varying states of transformation. According to the lab, out of eight bodies the one with the altered face was the most changed. Autopsy proved that her internal organs had also been affected, her heart mutating to three chambers. Her diaphragm atrophied. Reproductive organs were altered, in their estimation, from a potential live-birth to an egg-laying species.

Stocky veteran officer Sloan Vincent looked up from his third cup of stimcoff. "You’re saying that she was becoming a reptile?"

So they’ve determined. These are not skin grafts or other limited conversions. Whoever’s doing this tried to turn these women into reptiles, down to the cellular level. Apparently, they’re getting better at it.

What in the name of all the hells for? Akim Qilamen adjusted his stylish tie and fidgeted in his chair. Everyone knew that he held a high opinion of himself and fancied himself quite the ladies’ man. What good would a woman be if she laid eggs, hmm?

Pax, looking a lot stronger than the day before, stood at the back row. Why leave the bodies where they can be easily found?

Seems like that’s the question we all have, Kylie said. Why? If we can determine why, maybe we can track down the offender before he strikes again.

She lifted her delicate frame to sit on the edge of the desk in the front of the room and clicked through the next photos, a rundown of all the bodies. Over the last three months, eight casualties. Different areas of the subdivision. Different mutations. The coroner hasn’t determined whether the mutation process is the cause of death. They’re still working on how the mutation is taking place.

We have a terrified city, came a clipped male voice from behind her, and nothing to give them. As you can imagine, this is not popular with the government types. Not that I care, particularly.

Kylie’s boss, Jaco Rand, came to the front of the room to join her. A twisted scar graced his left cheek from eye to ear. Wisps of wiry red hair clung to his hairline like moss on the side of a deteriorating building. Jaco was short, squat, and bristled with attitude. He’d grown up on the Rim, on one of the outer planets where life was a little wilder and less regulated. He believed in order, but not always in authority.

On the other hand, he continued, we have budget requirements, and it would be killer to come up with a big score. Especially if we want to purchase that new mobile crime lab we’ve been talking about. Nothing pays like success. So, I want this done and done right.

He turned to Kylie. You’ve got kits for each of them?

He’d just minimized her by interrupting the briefing, but it did mean she could quit looking at the gruesome pictures.

Kylie gestured to the box on the desk behind her. I was getting there, she added with a slight growl in her voice.

Jaco studied her with his beady blue eyes and then broke into a smile. You’re cute when you’re pissed off.

Kylie felt her face heat with anger. Turning away, she fiddled with the projector and considered how ‘cute’ she might get before he was done.

Study this information,’ he said to the men. Then hit the streets. Any of your usual spotters. Then the unusual ones. Someone knows something about this. And I want it to be us. Dismissed."

The men dutifully filed up to retrieve the dossiers.

Still burning at Jaco’s cavalier takeover, Kylie killed the power on the projector and pulled on her shiny black leather jacket. Her sister Nissa had given it to her as a twenty-fifth birthday present. The exclusive tag defined its limited availability. She wore it only because it was warm.

Jaco hung around until everyone else left. Kylie packed the rest of the photos into an evidence box, wondering what to say. It’s not that they meant a lot to each other any longer. Sure, they’d cover each other’s backs, that whole ‘when you’re an officer on the line, you watch out for your brother’ sort of thing. But their impromptu meetings for a quick, hot round of sex were only that, echoes of two lonely people who had hormonal, horizontal chemistry together once upon a time.

And then there was that whole he-was-now-her-boss thing.

Diplomacy sucks.

She’d better say something, though, or he’d think it was all right to undercut her in front of the men.

And it sure as hells isn’t.

She cleared her throat. That was dirty.

He came closer, staying out of arm’s reach, and shoved his thick hands into his pants pockets. Yeah. It probably was. I wasn’t thinking.

Right. She hadn’t really expected him to take responsibility. Not his usual way. It threw her off stride.

His foot tapped. So, I’m sorry.

She glanced at him, actually a look down, since he was a finger’s length shorter than she was. His lips pressed together as he stared at her, eyebrows raised and shoulders hunched. That ‘poor me’ look. What did he think, that she’d just jump back in his arms because he apologized? No way. She didn’t need him. He could get his jollies elsewhere.

Jerk.

You sure are sorry, she said. I’ll be down in the morgue.

She left the box for him to stash and stalked out of the room.

Big jerk. Incredible jerk.

She slammed the door behind her, wishing his private parts had been in the way, and headed to the rooms where they kept the cadavers.

For herself, she just needed to pick up a new pack of batteries for her trembler.

They’d last longer than Jaco, anyway.

* * * * *

CHAPTER 2

KYLIE headed across the street to the morgue. The local coroner, Dr. Sonya Astrid, specialized in exo-autopsies.

Perhaps she should have challenged Jaco at the briefing, but the only purpose it might have served was to cuddle her wounded ego. Solving the mystery lizard women was more important.

Maybe he was jealous that her scientific training gave her an upper hand in the investigation, unlike his business administration degree. This case gave her an opportunity to shine.

She’d had to fight her way into the academy, not because she wasn’t good enough but because her father had tried to stop her. Studying aliens, weird phenomena, performing autopsies, and running chemical analyses had not been deemed an appropriate occupation for the daughter of the Honorable William Nathan Sanderson. He’d have preferred to see her playing hostess at one of his corporate parties like her sister, Nissa. Or like her mother, Amaranta, an ethereal and fragile transplant who became his wife after some enterprising business deal.

The Cos-General usually got what he wanted.

But not this time. Even if it meant spending all day with her hands buried in stinking, half-preserved entrails.

She entered the building that held the morgue, whose distinctive smells remained faint despite the heavy balsam-scented cleaning fluids used by the janitorial staff. Her footsteps echoed down empty white halls. Usually by mid-morning, the place was crowded with medical students and others hoping to catch a glimpse of something ‘creepy’, but not today.

When she arrived at Dr. Astrid’s lab, she found out why. The entire gallery over her table was filled, people packed in three deep to watch the dissection of the lizard women. Great.

Kylie hung her street clothes in the staff locker room and changed into worn blue scrubs. She also changed her boots for a pair of cheap sneakers in rubber galoshes. More than one autopsy had included erupting innards that gravity had launched at her shoes. Better to be safe than sorry.

As she was about to grab a yellow scrub cap, she saw a memo from Astrid indicating no one should enter the quarantined rooms unless they were in a biosuit. No exceptions. Made sense, especially until they discovered the source of the metamorphosis. She donned a biosuit. It pulled at her clothing and stretched around her elbows.

After checking the valves on the oxygen tanks to be sure she’d keep breathing, she sealed the front of the suit and entered chamber. Dr. Astrid was already there, a land-bound astronaut in her own heavy gray suit.

Welcome to the jungle, the doctor said with a hint of amusement.

Kylie glanced up at the hungry, gawking faces. Audience, huh?

All these years I’ve been slaving down here, thinking it was the bottom of the ladder. I hadn’t realized this would be my opportunity to be a star. Her green eyes twinkled through the thin faceplate.

Right. That’s why we’re doing this. For fame and fortune.

At least the suit blocks the smell. The white-haired doctor’s grin was encouraging. Also, the director managed to keep the press out.

Thank Sprechan for small favors.

Kylie glanced at the used tools stacked in the metal sinks on the left wall. The doctor had been at this awhile, if the pile was any indication. Machinery clicked all around them, presumably carrying out various test protocols, the ones that didn’t need the human touch. The lights overhead burned especially bright and focused on the examination area.

Kylie eyed the corpse on the table. The main autopsy had been done the previous night. The organs had been removed, weighed, and studied for the mutations on which Kylie had reported at the morning meeting. What was in store now was something more detailed. Tissue and fluid specimens would be examined under the microscope and by chemical analysis. A stack of glass slides lay waiting on the metal surgical table at the doctor’s elbow.

Dr. Astrid adjusted the recorder at tableside, so it would pick up her soft voice. This morning we begin the toxicological screens in SIRT case ALBA-25, with an eye toward determining the mutagen that initiates the transformation of human to reptile. Automated scans failed to provide sufficient evidence, so we’ll use tried-and-true, if old-fashioned, methods of testing with human hands. We’ll begin with the vitreous humor, performing parallel tests to double-check our results.

The doctor had already removed the mutated eyeballs, probably when she’d detached them from the brain during the initial autopsy. Those eyes had suffered the transformation, the irises bright yellow with ragged edges and spackled with gold flecks. She picked up a scalpel and one of the jelly-like orbs. Carefully, she slit open the top of it. Extracting some of the fluid inside with a clear pipette, she dotted it onto several slides and covered the samples with protective thin glass plates. The doctor did the same with the other eye. When each had a satisfactory number of slides, they placed them into the analyzer, setting it to process while they returned to the body.

Similar sampling was performed on the spinal fluid, stomach contents, blood, and skin, both changed and natural. Kylie examined the preliminary results, disappointed that nothing jumped out at her, no foreign toxins or known poisons. They continued with tissue samples from the skin, hair, what fingernails were left, and even tried to get a section of the hard claws for examination, though they broke two scalpels trying.

They spent over five hours on their feet, dissecting the victim the best way they could. They’d also submitted genetic samples to SIRT and to the planetary database via Mur-share in an effort to identify their victims, providing that the mutation hadn’t destroyed the innate nucleotides in the DNA of the women.

By the time the work was finished, their eager audience had faded to just a couple of diehards. But all their fancy tests and machinery yielded nothing. Whatever had changed those women had been absorbed by the bodies during the transformation process.

Or else we’re just not looking for the right thing.

Kylie rubbed her forehead. Maybe it’s not a poison in the way we think of poisons, as in a toxic substance meant to kill. Since reproductive organs are affected and altered, maybe what we’re looking for is more like a hormone.

Stepping back from the table, Dr. Astrid stretched her arms and rotated her shoulders. Kylie could sympathize. Even in her sneakers and with padded mats on the floor, her feet hurt and her muscles ached from the close work. She was definitely going to need a few drinks when she got out of there.

That’s a good idea. The doctor cocked her head. We’d want to test for FSH, estrogen, androgens. Maybe testosterone.

Those are still just the human hormones. We can see the levels of them, see how they’ve been altered. Kylie stared at the sad remainder of what had once been a vital, breathing woman. We’ve got to consider reptile hormonal systems and how they differ.

Astrid nodded. One of my colleagues forwarded a report on ambient temperature in regulation and development of sexual systems in reptiles. That could explain why we can’t find a direct link. We are probably running twenty degrees colder than the experimental chamber.

So, we’re looking for something that we’ve never seen. Something that works in a way we don’t understand and disappears once it makes its impact. Kyle allowed a faint smile. What can be hard about that?

The doctor sighed. Exactly, dear. I’m going to run that question by some of the eggheads upstairs, and I think we’ll try again tomorrow. I’m also considering the possibility that we’ve got some sort of rare human virus at work, one that only affects women. I can’t even imagine how they contract it. Feel free to share our inquiry with any of your SIRT team that might be helpful. At this point, I don’t think there’s any avenue that doesn’t bear exploration. We’ve exhausted all the normal routes. Let’s open our minds to new possibilities.

Careful not to touch any surface with contaminated gloves, the doctor led the way to the decontaminant showers. Both women stripped down and steamed themselves clean before donning their street clothes.

You did good work today, the doctor assured with an encouraging hug and a warm smile. Think on it overnight. The subconscious can divine all sorts of magic, if we let it.

I’ll try, Kylie said.

I was really hoping to spend ten hours out cold, making up for last night.

She sighed as she slipped on her coat, and then followed the doctor out to the street. Two moons shone full overhead. The third was not in sight. It was a sign that the season was definitely slipping past harvest days, a prelude to the frozen winter.

Shivering, she hurried to her car, climbed inside, and locked the doors. Her fingers sought out her music deck, finding something with a hard rock beat and a strong female voice belting out a song about betrayal and love being poison for the soul, and she turned it up loud.

She laid her head back on the headrest, eyes closed, letting the music soak into her bones. After the second verse, her mind began to wander. Had these women been betrayed? Had a lover done this to them? She tried to imagine how a woman might feel when she first noticed her skin changing. Those internal changes must have painful. Did they wonder what was happening? Did they know what was coming? Had they agreed to the experiment or was it done without consent?

Kylie realized the answers would add fuel to the investigation. Geez, Ky, when do you stop working and just be a person?

The thought of sitting in her tempartment alone didn’t appeal to her. Most of the guys shacked in