Scales

by Christopher Hinz

Genres: Science Fiction; Sci-fi Action & Adventure; Dystopian; Military Sci-Fi

Synopsis

An electrifying thriller about species re-engineering run amok, Scales is a great, fast-paced read perfect for fans of Jurassic Park.

Eddie Boka’s first combat mission is a success... until he’s overwhelmed by a raging compulsion and is found consuming an enemy soldier. His cannibalism threatens to derail the plans of Blayvine Industries, whose secret project has genetically enhanced Eddie and three other prototypes with reptilian DNA. The corporation needs Eddie’s urges brought under control before it can introduce its dino-humans to the world and begin selling armies of them.

Facing a deadline for the big media unveiling, Blayvine hires unorthodox therapist Adelaide “Addi” LaTour to treat Eddie’s cannibalism. Sparks fly – literally – but can she get his dinosaur side under control? What happens to Eddie and others like him if she can’t? And most important of all – is there something more going on at Blayvine than they have let on?

Release date: April 8, 2025

Publisher: Angry Robot

Print pages: 400

Sample

ONE

Eddie Boka averted eye contact and shoved his hands under his thighs to hide quivering fingers. Best not to let the other commandos in the copter’s tight cabin see his agitation.

Concentrate on the mission, echoed the words of his psychiatrist, Dr Kim. Do not let the bad yen seize control.

The whisper-quiet assault copter flew low to avoid enemy radar, barely skimming the rainforest canopy. They were less than ten minutes from the drop zone. Eddie had been warned that his stress and anxiety would escalate during these final moments. Entirely normal, he was assured by his training officers. Months of sim scenarios and live-fire exercises had prepared him for his first real taste of combat. Still, no amount of training could hold back onslaughts emanating from deep within.

The anticipation of new experiences is a trigger for the bad yen. Countering it requires staying focused on the immediate task before you. Exercise your willpower. Control inappropriate thoughts.

He wished it was that simple. At a fundamental level, Dr Kim didn’t understand what it was like for Eddie. The closer the copter came to its destination, the more perturbed his body became. The turbulence felt like it was literally under his skin, as if a thousand needles were jabbing him from the inside. Willpower couldn’t tame it. There was only one sure way of providing relief, but it was a way condemned by civilized societies from time immemorial.

“Sixty-five million years.”

The grating voice jarred Eddie from his ruminations. He raised his head and forced himself to make eye contact with the khaki-clad commando seated across the narrow aisle. The brutish Nastor had never disguised his hatred, not from the first moment they’d met and not during the squad’s intense days of mission prep. Eddie couldn’t fathom the source of his animosity. The other commandos had come around to at least tolerating his presence.

“Sixty-five million years,” Nastor repeated, a lopsided grin making the sides of his face look as if they belonged to two different people. “That’s when it happened. That’s when Momma Nature shit-canned the dinosaurs.”

Cortez and Vix, flanking Nastor, traded amused looks.

“I smell a story coming,” Cortez said.

“Belly-quaker or tearjerker?” Vix wondered. “What’s it gonna be, Nastor? We gonna laugh our asses off or cry our damn eyes out?”

Nastor ignored the interruption. Ripping the plastic from a cylinder of beef jerky, he chomped half the meat in a single bite and continued his taunting.

“Momma Nature wiped those scaly sons of bitches right off the face of the Earth. It was her way of sayin’, ‘Time for us apes to get the evolutionary fast track’. Dinosaurs had their chance but they never smartened up. So Momma Nature, she brought that comet down and took ‘em out. And the Earth said, ‘Bless you, Momma Nature, ‘cause I sure was gettin’ tired of being crapped on by dino-turds the size of five-ton

cargo trucks!’”

Cortez pretended to look puzzled. “I don’t know, Nastor. A cargo truck is pretty damn big. These dino defecators of yours would have had to be hundreds of feet tall.”

“That’s some big-ass dinosaur, all right,” Vix added, winking at the others. “Is that even possible? What do you think, Eddie?”

The five commandos locked their gazes onto him, all caught up in the game. He drew his hands out from beneath his thighs, making sure not to clench his fists. Displaying weakness was a no-no. He couldn’t let them see that Nastor’s abuse was having an impact, that it was making the bad yen even worse. Dr Kim’s words coursed through him.

They’re going to give you a hard time, Eddie. Macho posturing, hassling the newest member of the group. Don’t allow yourself to emotionally engage with them. Instead, show that you’re above their mocking. Make logic and rationality your lines of defense.

Eddie recalled what he’d learned about the age of dinosaurs over these past three years, part of the intense education accompanying his transformation.

“According to the latest fossil records, the plant-eater Sauroposeidon was the tallest dinosaur ever to walk the Earth. But the evidence suggests that even if it should stick its head straight up, a height of only seventeen meters could be achieved.”

“Shut your goddamn hole, Boka!” Nastor snarled. “You’re missing the point.”

“What is the point?” Vix prodded, seeking escalation. He and Cortez enjoyed provoking the volatile commando.

Bits of jerky sprayed from Nastor’s snarling mouth.

“The point is, this world is intended for us normal humans! We’re the meat-eaters here, not a bunch of rejects from Jurassic fuckin’ Park!”

Cortez and Vix pinned their gazes back on Eddie, eager for a comeback. He was spared from reacting when the door to the flight deck sprang open and the

lieutenant emerged.

“Hold your piss, Nastor,” L.T. snapped. “We’re coming up on the drop zone.”

The commandos rose in unison. Cortez secured a dual-tube RPG launcher from an overhead cradle. Vix picked up his trusty M24 sniper rifle. Eddie, Nastor, Sleepy and Robbins readied their SIG Sauer XM7s with 20-round mags.

L.T. zeroed in on Eddie. “Last chance for donning body armor. Nobody would think less of you.”

The others all wore tactical vests with enhanced, small-arms inserts. Eddie’s natural armor made such gear nearly redundant. Besides, the mission wasn’t only a rescue but a test of his special capabilities. The lieutenant meant well. But he didn’t need to give the commandos more reasons to hassle him.

“I’m good with what I have.” He hadn’t entirely dispensed with gear, opting for a groin protector.

L.T. switched his tone to drill-instructor nasty. “All right, Boka! Is your head in the game? Are you ready for kinetic?!”

Eddie nearly snapped to attention. “Sir, I have trained for this day. I am one-hundred-and-ten percent mission-prepped. I won’t let you and the men down.”

“Great,” Sleepy drawled. “Going into battle with SpongeBob.”

The squad medic’s drooping eyelids made him appear ready to nod off. His remark brought smiles and chuckles from everyone but Nastor.

A small clearing at the edge of a muddy stream appeared below. The copter hovered a couple meters from the sloping embankment. The drop zone was a good two klicks from the guerrilla camp. It was as close to the kidnapped American CEO as they dared risk setting the bird down, at least in daylight. Night assaults were always preferable.

But hostage negotiations had collapsed, necessitating this hastily arranged rescue mission. Plus, the latest intel indicated the guerrillas were gearing up to move the CEO to another camp, one deeper in the rainforest and with a more defensible perimeter. They couldn’t take the chance of waiting until after dark.

Nastor was out the door first, making the short leap to the ground with ease. Robbins

and Sleepy went next, followed by Cortez and Vix. Last came Eddie and L.T. The lieutenant gave him a reassuring slap on the shoulder as their boots landed amid knee-high grass.

“You’ve got this, Boka. You’re going to do just fine.”

“Yes, sir.”

The bird lifted off, its stealth design rendering the ascent eerily quiet. Eddie ducked his head against the swirl of wind from the rotors as the craft darted out of view over the treetops. Robbins checked a map on his tablet and took point. The rest of them strung out in a line. L.T. inserted himself behind Nastor and in front of Eddie, a not-so-subtle attempt to keep them separated. Eddie recalled the rumor about a sergeant in Nastor’s former squad who’d been injured by a grenade. He’d accused Nastor of trying to frag him.

The jungle enveloped them as soon as they crested the stream’s embankment. They’d trained for the mission on the latest generation of virtual sims populated by lifelike avatars. The temperature and humidity of the sim room had been cranked up to mimic the feel of the actual jungle in late afternoon, and the sights and sounds of the computer-generated flora and fauna were a near-perfect match for what surrounded them now.

Eddie spotted a parrot with blazing plumage, as still as a statue on the branch of a twisted tree. Howler monkeys provided a wavering background din, seemingly in time with the skittering of tiny blue frogs across damp leaves. A young jaguar observed their passage from atop a distant outcropping. A boa constrictor was so intertwined on a bough that snake and tree assumed the appearance of some giant DNA strand.

But what the sims hadn’t prepared him for was the rich nasal tapestry of the rainforest, almost overwhelming in its intensity. Many of the scents were superimposed upon one another, creating an earthy mélange reminiscent of a storm that had just passed through. Citrus-like tulips. Honey-drenched bark. The smells beelined straight to the heart of his modified chemosensory system.

The bombardment touched

Eddie on a fundamental level, in a way he’d never experienced. He’d been born and raised in the arid climate of Arizona. Yet something about the smells and the moist jungle heat induced the eerie sensation that he’d come home.

Robbins raised his fist. The squad froze. Earpieces relayed the point man’s urgent whisper.

“South guard tower in view.”

Eddie checked his wrist computer. He was surprised to realize they’d trekked nearly two kilometers. Although a part of him had stayed alert to any dangers within the flanking trees and underbrush, the sensory onslaught had made the hike pass quicker. And thankfully, at least for the moment, it was serving to reduce the intensity of the bad yen.

“Two imps on the tower,” Robbins continued, training his binoculars on the pair of guards. “Looks like they’re playing games on an iPad.”

“Piss-poor security,” Nastor growled. “Their CO oughta fry their lazy asses.”

“Wouldn’t save ‘em,” Vix said, crouching behind a tree and taking aim with his sniper rifle.

L.T. signaled the squad to spread out and inch closer. Eddie slithered past a dense clump of underbrush and took up position behind a thick trunk. The bark smelled of cinnamon and vinegar. He sensed L.T. settling in two meters to his left. Cortez was a similar distance to his right.

From a pouch on his belt, Eddie withdrew a sealed plastic bag. Inside was a badly stained white undershirt. Zipping open the bag, he mashed the shirt against his face, inhaling deeply through both mouth and nose. Turning the garment inside out, he licked one soiled armpit and then the other. The enhanced receptors on his tongue weren’t as potent as the nasal ones. But the sensory combination provided a wider-ranging and more definitive scent.

“Seriously gross, Boka,” Cortez muttered.

Eddie glanced at the scowling commando, then buried his face in the shirt once more for good measure. He raised his head and sniffed at the air.

“What’s the verdict?"

L.T. asked.

“Got it, sir. Target is definitely here.”

“All right, everyone. Start moving in. Vix?”

“Guards are toast the moment they spot us.”

Eddie crept forward. Buildings came into view. Recent satellite imagery had mapped the camp, which was unfenced. There were three main structures, plus a handful of smaller outbuildings, probably storage and latrines. Construction was primitive: planks and boards, mostly unpainted. Sections of plywood siding revealed bits of old ad posters, indicating the wood had been recycled, probably hauled here from one of the nearby towns. Everything was on stilts to protect the camp from flooding during heavy rains.

The north and south guard towers rose from quartets of unfinished logs. A trio of Jeeps were parked haphazardly amid the structures. No guerrillas other than the two in the tower were in view.

The mappers had pegged the largest of the main buildings as the barracks. That probably was where most of the enemies were, taking a siesta during the hottest part of the day. It was unlikely the CEO was being held there. Intel suggested he was imprisoned in one of the flanking structures, or in the largest of the outbuildings at the far side of the camp.

“Boka?” L.T. quizzed.

Eddie drew a deep breath through both orifices again. Ignoring the slight pheromone contamination on his fingers from having handled the undershirt, he panned his head from side to side, seeking external traces of the scent.

“He’s not in any of the main buildings,” Eddie reported. “But I’m detecting a strong scent trail. It starts just past the tower and leads toward the south end of the camp.”

“The outbuilding,” L.T. concluded.

“More than likely.”

“All right. Vix, keep on those guards.”

“Roger that.”

“Everyone else, maintain target distance and circle clockwise. And watch your gaps."

Eddie followed L.T., keeping a three-meter space between them. A glance at the tower showed the doomed guards still locked onto the iPad, oblivious to the subtle movements of the commandos through the surrounding wilderness.

They half-circled the camp, keeping plenty of trees and underbrush between their course and the perimeter. The south tower came into sight. It was identical to the north one except for the radio antenna and cellphone array rising from its thatched roof. One of the guards was seated, his head visible just above the railing. He appeared to be asleep. But the other one was alert, scanning the trees. Just beyond the tower was the boxy outbuilding. It had a sloping tarpaper roof and no windows.

L.T. raised his arm, ordering a halt. Each commando repeated the signal for the man behind him.

Eddie sniffed and inhaled. The CEO’s scent trail was unmistakable. It led directly to the door of the outbuilding.

“Sir, location confirmed.”

“Roger that,” L.T. said. “Cortez, can you hit the tower from here?”

“Don’t have a clean line. Need to reach a tree break a few meters farther in. But there’s a good chance if I move, that guard spots me.”

“All right. Vix, that means you’ve got first dibs. We move on your signal.”

“Confirmed.”

Two rifle shots rang out.

“Two imps down,” Vix said.

As anticipated, the guards in the south tower spun toward the source of the gunfire, which put their backs to the commandos. Cortez lunged forward to the attack position, dropped to his knees and fired one of the RPG’s tubes. Eddie was already charging the camp as the rocket-propelled grenade slammed the underside of the tower. The explosion sent wood shards, straw thatching and the two guerrillas hurtling into the air.

Amid the cloud of smoke and falling debris, Eddie raced past the four upright logs, all that remained of the tower. At a dead run, he crossed the clearing between the tower and outbuilding. Approaching the entrance, he was able to gauge that the door wasn’t reinforced. Vertical two-by-fours were nailed together with thin cross members. Although the padlock looked new, the rest of the hardware was old and rusted.

Ascending the plank steps, he lowered an armored shoulder and bashed through. Shattered boards flew as the door ripped from its hinges. It landed on the inside flooring with a resounding crack. He barreled across the door, weapon raised. He’d set the rifle for three-round bursts, providing better control in tight quarters rather than full automatic.

But there were no guerrillas, only the white-haired CEO. He was facing away from Eddie, bound to a chair with ropes, wrists secured behind his back with a zip tie. The only other furnishings were two ancient wooden chairs and a table, the latter weirdly painted in a paisley pattern of fluorescent greens and blues.

“What’s happening!” the man hollered. He madly swiveled his head, trying to see behind him.

“Target located, no guards,” Eddie reported. “Am freeing the prisoner now.”

“Stay put,” L.T. ordered. “We’re coming to you.”

Overlapping shrieks of gunfire erupted. The short bursts from the commandos’ M4s were distinguishable from the guerrillas’ AK-47s and semiautomatic pistols. The fighting sounded heavy. The barracks and the flanking buildings must have held a greater number of enemy troops than intel suggested.

Eddie circled around to the front of the CEO. The man raised his head. He got one look at Eddie’s face and unleashed a terrified gasp.

“What the hell are you!”

“Sir, it’s OK. U.S. Special Forces. We’re here to take you home.”

“But what are you? Your face… are those scales?”

“No time

to explain, sir. Let me get you out of those cuffs.”

Eddie cut the ropes pinning the CEO to the chair with his tactical knife and slit the zip tie binding the CEO’s wrists. The man stood up but immediately plopped back down on the chair.

“My legs… kind of weak. Been tied up like this most of the time… How long have I been here?”

“You were taken almost 72 hours ago.”

“Three days. My wife and kids… they must be worried sick about–”

“Sir, just stay calm. Help’s on the way.”

Eddie gazed through the shattered doorway. Only the clearing and the jungles beyond could be seen. L.T. and the other commandos should have reached them by now.

Heavy machine-gun fire filled the air. Before he could request an update, the lieutenant’s voice boomed in his ear.

“Boka, we’re pinned down. An armored convoy entering from the east. Two APCs with 50-calibers, a dozen or more troops. All headed your way.”

“Roger that.” The reinforcements must have been encamped nearby, hidden from aerial recon by the dense tree cover.

An explosion shook the outbuilding. There was a long silence before L.T. reported.

“Cortez smoked one of the APCs and some guerrillas. But the rest are still coming and he’s been hit.”

“Still drawin’ air,” Cortez muttered, his voice pained. “RPG got nicked. It’s toast.”

Mission priority was assuring the kidnap victim’s safe return. Eddie considered plowing through the outbuilding’s back wall and making a run for it with the CEO.

Acute hearing was another of his modifications. It enabled him to differentiate the mechanical throb of the surviving armored personnel carrier from the footsteps of the troops jogging behind it. In ten seconds or less, they’d stream into view through the open portal. And for all he knew, more guerrillas were circling around the back of the outbuilding.

Their priority would be making sure the prisoner didn’t escape… even if it meant killing the CEO in the process.

Eddie dragged the startled man out of the chair and shoved him into the corner. Upending the painted table, he angled it to form an impromptu cubbyhole. It wasn’t ideal but would provide at least some protection from stray gunfire.

“Sir, stay here and keep your head down,” he ordered.

“Where are you going? You’re leaving me?” The CEO was starting to panic.

“Don’t worry, I’m getting you out of here. Just stay down.”

Making a run for it no longer seemed practical. That left two viable options. He could stay here and shoot it out with anything that came through the door. Or…

He chose option two. 

 

TWO

Eddie waited until the APC’s front end came into view before charging through the portal. Compressing his powerful thighs, he used the top step as a launching pad. The startled gunner in the APC turret tried swinging his 50 caliber around to meet the airborne figure hurtling toward him.

He was too late. Eddie landed on the turret’s rim, grabbed the gunner by the neck with one hand and yanked him out of his perch. Squeezing his windpipe until vertebrae cracked, he arced his arm upward and tossed the lifeless body twenty feet off to the side.

Two ragged lines of guerrillas trailed the six-wheeled vehicle. Beyond them was the disabled APC, still smoldering from Cortez’s rocket hit. The enemy soldiers were momentarily too startled by Eddie’s appearance to react.

He ducked into the turret, swiveled the machine gun one hundred and eighty degrees and opened fire. The guerrillas fell under the fifty caliber’s relentless spray, five hundred rounds per minute. Blood flowed and spouted from the enemy’s wounds, just the way it did in the shooting sims he’d practiced on. But this was live fire against real enemy soldiers. And there was an even more unsettling difference between mowing down humans rather than avatars.

The blood. He could sense minute clouds of it drifting through the air. The particles were too tiny for his eyes to discern but he detected them nonetheless. The rich scent was overwhelming, simultaneously nauseating and exciting.

As the last guerrilla went down, the APC came to a halt. The driver’s door swung open, the guerrilla behind the wheel finally realizing what was happening. The man leaped out, his 9-mil sidearm raised to confront the threat towering above him. He got off a shot. Eddie winced as the bullet struck him dead-center in the chest. Snatching his rifle from inside the turret, he put a three-shot burst through the driver’s face and neck.

His last bullet severed a jugular vein. Blood spurted upward, spraying across Eddie’s khaki shirt. He inhaled its essence.

The bad yen came over him stronger than ever, an order of intensity beyond anything he’d ever experienced. Those needles stabbing from within his skin grew into daggers. It took all his willpower to hold back a blended howl of agony and unnatural lust.

Movement from the outbuilding snared his attention. The CEO was peeking out from behind the doorway’s frame. He must have witnessed Eddie’s assault. His mouth was agape.

“Get back behind that table!”

The CEO ducked out of sight. An AK-47 barked. Eddie’s organic chest plate was the densest part of his natural body armor. Even so, he felt the ping of bullets lodging in the scales or ricocheting off them at sharp angles.

He whirled toward the trees flanking the outbuilding. His assailant crouched there, half-hidden in a nest of bushes. Eddie leaped off the APC and charged.

That was enough for the guerrilla. He turned and bolted into the forest. The sensible response

 would be to let him go. He was in retreat, no longer a threat. Returning to the outbuilding to safeguard the CEO should have been Eddie’s priority.

Concentrate on the immediate task before you. Control inappropriate thoughts. Exercise your willpower.

But consciousness was now a flooded channel, wild and fast-moving, overflowing its banks. Dr Kim’s imperatives had collapsed. The bad yen had him in its grasp, those stabbing daggers taking precedence over all else.

The guerrilla was fast but couldn’t match the speed of a man modified by xenotransplantation and surgical alterations. Eddie caught up a few meters into the jungle and dragged him down from behind. Flipping him over, Eddie sat on his belly and clamped a hand over his mouth to prevent him from crying out. The length of the guerrilla’s neck was exposed. Muscles pulsated, invoking his terror.

The voices of L.T. and other squad members poured into his headset. But he couldn’t understand what they were saying. The words were a blend of pulsating sounds. They may as well have been speaking a foreign language.

He lowered his mouth onto the guerrilla’s neck and tore out a large chunk of flesh with his incisors. The man kicked at the ground and flailed his arms. But Eddie’s weight on his chest prevented any hope of escape.

Eddie swallowed the clump of flesh, bit down again. This time he ripped open a jugular. The second clump of flesh was larger and juicier, soaked in the column of blood spurting up from the gaping neck hole. He swallowed the meat in a single gulp.

The bad yen faded with every bite. By the time he finished, those stabbing daggers were gone. He stood up. The guerrilla’s spinal cord was exposed. The head hung at an unnatural angle, nearly severed.

A wave of guilt and shame came over Eddie. As in past incidents when he’d lost control,

he countered the disturbing feelings by rationalizing what he’d done.

He’d had no choice. It was the only way of gaining relief from the bad yen. In a way it was no different from machine-gunning those helpless guerrillas from the turret. They were the enemy. They were trying to kill him. He’d killed them first.

A residue of guilt and shame persisted, impervious to justification. ...