by Gregg Vann
“What the…” Eraz held up one hand. “Hold on.” She removed a small, round object from her armor and held it out. “Try again.”
“How are things going with the Brenin ship?” I heard my own words translated into Standard.
“We’re almost done stripping off materials for study and diagramming the construction techniques, but we are having some real problems with the computer systems. They are…different.”
“I imagine so,” I replied, looking down at my new body. If our physical forms were so disparate, I could only imagine the differences in the mental processes. “And what is that device?” I said, pointing at the disk.
“A portable translator, given to me by Brother Dyson. By studying how that chamber inside you interacts with the Brenin brain, he devised a program that can provide ambient, real-time translation.”
“Clever,” I replied.
My ears picked up the whine of powerful engines spinning up in the distance, but I couldn’t identify the particular sound. It certainly wasn’t the Udek warship; it was too high pitched for that. As the noise grew louder, Eraz heard it as well. We both looked up as a maroon and gold burst-shuttle soared off into the sky, ascending quickly into the upper atmosphere and out of view.
“Whoever it is,” I said, “they are certainly in a hurry.”
“Brother Dyson,” Eraz stated. “He said he had some important business to attend to.” She shook her head and looked back down from the sky. “You would think that with the Brenin bearing down on Bodhi Prime his focus would be here.”
I started to speak but she stopped me. “Don’t worry. I gave him your wife’s information last night and saw him order the creation of her clone. I don’t like these monks, Tien, but they do seem to be honest.”
She turned to leave and I followed her out of the courtyard, stopping just long enough to take another look at the empty sky. I saw the last of the vapor trail disappear in the growing wind.
Where are you going Dyson? And what the hell are you up to?
After a short walk to the landing platform, I saw the Udek warship for the first time. As we got closer to the vessel, I could barely make out its name through the scorch marks and deep pitting across the hull. The Udek assigned names and numbers to ships for identification purposes only, not with the special care that other races used in labeling craft like this. There were never any symbolic phrases, or names of honored personages; it was just a simple, functional, assignation. And this ship’s was the Ral 97M.
“Wait,” Eraz called out as we walked up the ramp. “You are going to need this.”
She tossed me an oxygen respirator and I stretched it across my face. “Of course,” I replied.
I should’ve known that; I did know that, and I realized then that my concentration was off…my mind drifting. But there was no more time for wallowing in regret about Dasi and my failure to save her. I didn’t even have the luxury of coming to terms with being trapped inside an alien body—I needed to get myself ready for this mission. I needed to be disciplined and focused.
Or I would surely fail.
We stepped into the airlock and the oxygen was blown out—replaced with a methane mixture that allowed Eraz to pull off her mask and take a deep breath.
“That’s better,” she said with satisfaction.
The inner door opened soon after, exposing the interior of the ship. Panels had been removed from this section and were lined up against the wall, as technicians repaired and replaced electronic modules and wiring. Even through the oxygen mask, I could smell the telltale odors of welding and strong adhesives.
I saw Udek crewman moving briskly in every direction as they rushed to fix the vessel, preparing it for another encounter with the Brenin. One of them saw us and walked over—the others parting to give him a wide berth.
“Lov,” Eraz said. “Get us in the air at once. Set a course for the last known position of the Brenin fleet.”
“Yes, of course. And where are we going to lock that thing up?”
I answered for her. “This thing will kill you if you try.”
Eraz had mounted the translator on the front of her armor, and my words came out just as menacingly as I’d meant them to. Lov pivoted in my direction and stepped up closer to me, standing slightly sideways—shifting the majority of his weight to his back leg. He was thoroughly trained—his stance suggested as much—but there was a slight hesitation on his left side. A prior injury perhaps? I plotted my first strike in that area, eager to exploit the weakness.
“Stop!” Eraz barked. “Both of you. Lov, get to the bridge. We have more important things to do.” He hesitated, looking at me contemptuously for a moment before storming off.
“And he’s in the command structure,” Eraz sighed. “How will I ever control the simple soldiers? We need to confine you to quarters. But first, I have a couple of things to show you.”
We walked down the corridor to a large, nearby cargo bay, and as soon as we stepped through the heavily guarded door, I knew why she’d brought me here. The captured Brenin ship was parked right next to an exterior bay door, ready to take off as per my instructions. It looked like it had fallen from orbit, crashed, and was then pummeled with boulders.
“Nice work, Eraz. Will it fly?”
“Barely…just as requested.”
“Excellent. I’ll need you to hit it with a few, well-placed ion blasts once I’m far enough away from the ship. And make it look good, Colonel…without actually killing me, of course.”
“Of course,” she replied. “Now let’s go inside, there are some other things you need to see.”
I consciously restricted my gait, falling into step with her as we crossed the bay. I noticed that the bottom hatch was open on the small ship, and the door was hanging down and visible. We ducked underneath the fuselage and walked up a narrow ramp to go inside.
The interior was little more than a flight deck; there was a single console with two metal chairs in front of it. Looking around, I quickly realized that everything was bare metal. Curved, support spars lined the interior walls, with tubing and wires going through and around them. The Brenin hadn’t skinned the inside of the ship, and all of the mechanical features normally hidden behind bulkheads and wall panels were on full display.
Eraz saw my reaction and explained. “This is how it was when we found it. The Brenin appear to be minimalists.”
“So it seems. Or maybe it was stripped down for some other reason.”
“I suppose that’s possible. Regardless, the flight systems and instrumentation are all intact so you shouldn’t have any trouble flying it. The controls are even similar to our own, forward, reverse, pitch, yaw etc…”
I took a seat in one of the flight chairs and glanced down at the panel; she was right, it was familiar. I could even read the text on the console; my dead, Brenin brain—pushed into service by the soul chamber—was still working as intended…somewhat.
I noticed a small, black obelisk marked Research jutting out from the panel. Curious, I reached over and attempted to activate it by spinning it left and right—but it wouldn’t budge. Then I tried pulling at it instead, and the object slid out from the console almost an inch and started glowing brightly. I let go and it dropped out of sight, swallowed up completely by the control panel.
A partially transparent image appeared in the air in front of me; I could see right through it and out into the bay beyond via the front cockpit window. It was the depiction of a planet. A familiar planet…
“It’s Obas,” I declared.
“The water planet? But why? There’s nothing there. What do the Brenin want with Obas?”
“I’m not sure. Maybe it was simply their next target.”
“Serves them right if it is. The Obas have chosen to sit this war out so far. Let’s see how they feel when the Brenin are on their doorstep.”
“What do you expect them to do, Eraz? It’s a small civilization; there can’t be more than five million Obas total. And they certainly don’t hav
e many ships.”
“Well, maybe if they weren’t such isolationist, and at least tried to interact with other races, they would be in a stronger position now.”
“Maybe,” I replied.
“I have another mystery for you as well,” she said.
Eraz pulled open a pocket flap and reached inside, withdrawing a shiny, square object. She turned it over and I saw the picture of a Brenin mounted on the face of it. But this one was different from the form I now inhabited—it was smaller, more slender. Instinctively or deductively, I wasn’t sure which, but somehow I knew it was female.
“Who is it?” I asked.
“We have no idea.” Eraz let the object drop out of her hand and dangle, a thin, black string kept it from hitting the ground.
“A necklace?”
“It is. It was around his neck when we found him.”
I studied the face as Eraz handed it over to me. Whoever it was, she was important to him. And that made her important to me. Everything I could discover about this body would help me blend in better once I made it onto a Brenin ship.
“I’m going to the bridge,” Eraz said, motioning through the front window to summon two of the guards over. “Those two will escort you to your quarters when you’re ready. We will make best speed to the Brenin fleet, and since we are converging on one another, we should meet up in a little over two day’s time.” She gave me a hard look. “Whatever plan you come up with, spy, it had better work.”
“Colonel Eraz,” I replied. “You’ll be the second one to know if it doesn’t.”
Chapter Eight
For the next two days, I familiarized myself with the Brenin ship, using my built-in translation abilities to access and read the information stored in its data banks. Much to Eraz’s delight, I found some valuable intelligence, including the name of my target, Marshal Toz. I also uncovered a great deal of Brenin scouting information—mostly pertaining to our inhabited worlds. The files detailed the relative military strength of each populated planet, along with their defensive capabilities and possible weaknesses.
I quickly realized that this ship had some impressive scanning capabilities, and speculated that the Brenin had sent many just like it ahead of their fleet—to gather information before attacking. Unlike the Brenin armada, these small scout ships could move around undetected—gathering what they needed—and then return to the fleet with the accumulated data. The strategy was sound, and unfortunately, very productive; the Brenin seemed to know everything there was to know about us.
But there was information here about them as well.
There were extensive scans of the Brenin contingent we were moving to intercept. If I interpreted the information correctly, each ship had been mapped out thoroughly, looking for a particular biological pattern. This Brenin pilot was searching for someone specific in that fleet, and it was becoming increasingly apparent that he wasn’t part of it at all—he was studying it. But why? And what did that mean for my plan to fly right into their formation? My instincts told me that there was a potential problem here…possibly a serious one. But despite this revelation, my plan still had to proceed—simply because there was no other way through their defenses.
During my search through the data, I also discovered a host of internal Brenin communications, indicating a high level of distrust between the different clans. Every order between them was questioned and torn apart—counter-proposals submitted and denied. Queltz’s information had been correct; this was a fractious bunch. But by the way they coordinated their attacks against us, you’d never know it.
I was in the middle of reading a particularly nasty communiqué when Eraz popped up through the hatch. “It’s time to launch,” she said. “We will hit their sensor range in less than an hour.”
“Excellent. I was starting to feel a little cooped up.”
“Well…with any luck, you will soon be surrounded by new, Brenin friends.” She smiled. “Have you come up with a plan yet?”
“Other than kill Marshall Toz, implicate another clan in his murder, and find a way to sabotage the shield array? No. But what more plan do I need?”
She gave me an exasperated look. “Getting in…getting back out again. Finding your target… You know, specifics.”
“Ah…the details. I’ll be the first to admit that I usually plan out every mission to the minute, if not the second. But over the years, I’ve found myself in many situations where things didn’t go as planned—where I’ve been forced to think on the run. Nilot is one example. I’ll just have to see how things develop and adapt. Stay flexible.”
“I see,” she said doubtfully. “Just don’t forget that you died on Nilot.” Her tone became more serious. “I’ll spare you a speech about how important this is to the Udek people, or the galaxy in general, I doubt you’d be moved anyway.”
“You’re right about that, Colonel. But you needn’t worry; I have ample motivation for success. And this mission is no different than any other I’ve been sent on. I’m being tasked with killing someone—something I’m highly skilled at. This situation is just a little more unique than most.”
Eraz smirked. “It is at that.” She pulled the translator off her armor and threw it to me. “Take this,” she said. “On the off chance that you actually survive and need to call someone to pick you up.”
I took the device and tucked it into my clothing. “Make it look good, Colonel.”
“Oh, you don’t have to worry about that, spy. I’ll make it a point to knock you out of that chair.”
“You’re welcome to try,” I replied.
She ducked back out of the ship and I started powering up the flight systems. Even though I’d used the vessel’s database to study the controls and basic operation, I wasn’t entirely convinced that I could fly the scout with enough proficiency to play my part in this charade. Reading about something, and actually doing it, often turned out to be two entirely different experiences—sometimes disastrously so. But I was comforted by the notion that any apparent ineptitude on my part would probably be attributed to the damage the ship had taken.
I watched through the front window as the guards left the cargo bay, then the large metal docking door slid aside—all that separated the ship from the vacuum of space was an imperceptible, semipermeable force field. I tapped on the control surface twice and the ship rose a meter off the deck. Then I slid a single finger sideways and the vessel lurched hard to the left, spinning up until it was almost perpendicular to the deck. I quickly reversed the motion with a little more care and the ship righted itself horizontally.
Touchy.
I suppose when your form is this dexterous, it only makes sense to build your machinery to reflect it. But my mind and reactions were still Udek, and graceful movements weren't in our nature. I cautiously lined the ship up with the force field and then powered through it, shooting out into the blackness of space.
Almost at once, I felt at ease. This was my normal—alone in a ship, embarking on a secretive and dangerous mission. And like so many other times in the past, my goal was to infiltrate, to sabotage…and to kill. Where many would feel fear or apprehension—terror because of the danger and uncertainty of it all—I relaxed. Yes…this was my home, the environment where I thrived.
Off to kill again.
My normal.
Eraz’s voice blared through the speaker. “Alright, Tien. Ready for the show?”
“I am. I’ll go full throttle and open up a lead. Stay close enough to make your attack convincing, but leave yourself enough room to escape.”
“We know what to do, spy,” she replied testily.
I set the engines to maximum thrust and pointed the small ship at the approaching Brenin fleet, just now coming into sensor range.
As we sped toward the enemy armada, I looked down at the necklace again, trying to figure out who she was and what made her so special. The ship’s data banks provided no clue to the identity of its pilot—no information whatsoever. In fact, the only
thing that differentiated this Brenin body I wore from the rest of his species was this single piece of jewelry, and his relationship to the woman portrayed on it.
Who was she?
A wife? Did the Brenin even bond in that manner? Maybe she was the creature’s mother, but there seemed to be no difference in age. Then again, we knew absolutely nothing about their biology or how the Brenin body matured over time. And did they even have mothers? There was simply not enough information to conclude anything; this female could be related to the pilot in any number of ways, or not at all for that matter.
All of this speculation made me think of my own family…of Dasi. Of how she’d been taken hostage and killed because of my actions. The irony of those events hadn’t escaped me either. Families of Special Corp operatives were closely guarded, protected almost as diligently as the Corp kept its secrets. An agent’s work could lead to reprisals, so their family’s identities were well hidden, and they were always shadowed by discreet bodyguards. But those protectors were the ones who had taken Dasi. She’d been betrayed and murdered by her own government.
I should have realized…I should have known they would stoop to that level—done anything to rein me in. I should have gotten to Dasi faster. This was my fault, and I will fix it.
My thoughts were broken apart by the sound of weapons fire hitting the small ship—right on schedule. I grabbed the console to steady myself against the rocking motion caused by the impacts. Looking down at the ship’s readout, I watched as the mild strikes knocked the craft sideways, slightly off its course, but nothing more significant was happening. This isn’t very convincing, I thought. Then a massive blow struck the ship and I went flying out of my chair—smacking my head against a bulkhead before ending up on the floor.
Nice work, Eraz.
That sentiment evaporated when an alarm went off and the atmosphere started noisily venting out of the ship. As the hull began to contort itself out of shape, the sound of twisting metal rose above the incessant hiss. But then, as quickly as it started, the leak was gone and everything went silent. A self-sealing hull, I reasoned.
