The Ghost Fleet

by Trevor Wyatt

  Luckily I'm a really good liar because I just fed Gresh some major bullshit. I'm not sharing anything with Asis.

  Gresh looks less concerned, so I change the subject.

  "I appreciate your worry about me, but I'm more concerned about you. How are you feeling?"

  Gresh looks uncomfortable.

  "As for my physical well-being, I am told the damage is static. It will not worsen or leave lasting issues other than a minor scar that even the healers say may fade in time." He pauses. "My mental well-being troubles me more. I have never experienced such violence within my own people. I have received injury from those I call friends. I do not know yet how I will reconcile this experience. I am afraid. Afraid for the first time in my life of my own people."

  I have no idea what to say. I don't deal with touchy-feely shit. I deal with I-touch-you-now-you're-dead shit. I don't consider those two to be relative to each other, but then again...

  "Gresh," I lean forward and let the full weight of my life experience fill Rosaline' voice, "You can accept this shit happened and move on or you can let it rule you. Fear is a choice. You are here. You survived. That is the most important thing."

  Gresh seems a bit taken aback. I can see he's thinking about what I said.

  "Thank you for coming to see me," he says.

  "We xenoarchologists have to stick together, especially when the shit hits the fan," I smile, my voice softened back into my faux self.

  "Rosaline, would you mind answering me a question?" I tense. I'm really hoping that Gresh hasn't figured out my cover. I don't want to hurt him. I…like him.

  "Sure," I say, uneasy. I hate questions. Unless I'm the one asking them. Then I wouldn’t be worried at all.

  "How exactly does the shit hit the fan?"

  I stare at Gresh, stunned.

  Then I burst out laughing. Full-on belly laughs making me bend at the waist, catching hold of the side of his cot to hold myself up.

  "No problem," I say once I get myself under control, "That, I can definitely tell you."

  Minutes later I leave Gresh after a brief lesson on Terran slang. He was very appreciative. He even promised that he would return the favor, but I told him to rest. He could educate me on Sonali swear words later.

  Once I leave his room, I make my way back down the corridors to the front area desk. The male Sonali is there, but the female is absent.

  "Hello, could you answer me a question?" I borrow Gresh's wording. The Sonali male smiles back.

  "What answer do you need?"

  "I'm worried about my other friend who got hurt by the eye." I just leave it at that hoping he won't ask for more detail.

  "Yes, she was treated. She was not admitted." He smiles at me.

  "Thank you," I say.

  A female Sonali with an eye injury. Has to be the sniper.

  "I need to contact the Embassy—where can I do that?" He stands, then realizes he's alone so he can't walk me to where the communication equipment is located.

  He points me down a different hall than the one that lead me to Gresh.

  "You will see it at the end."

  "Thanks!" I say as I walk quickly down the hall. Good thing the female Sonali isn't at the desk as clearly I have no trouble walking fast. I slow down as I near the end of the corridor. I see the equipment, and it looks like they have slipstream-compatible tech.

  But that's not really what I'm looking for. I turn the other direction and see a locked door opposite the communications room. I hold the key sequencer to the lock.

  There’s a small click, and I'm inside.

  As I hoped, there are computers buzzing in here. Time for me to play.

  I consider my nanites to be an extension of myself or my pets—depending on my mood. Right now, they are about to be a little of both.

  I find a terminal. I hover my fingers over the keys and do a series of rapid eye blinks sending a message to my nanites to wake up.

  It's time to hack.

  My fingers tap the keys in rapid succession.

  Patient files...

  Accessing...

  I look for recent intakes with facial injuries—then I filter for female, which seems ironic given the current gender politics.

  Two entries come up.

  One with a nasal injury. Nope.

  The other came in with minor lacerations above and inflammation below one eye.

  I believe we have a winner. Now, time to go.

  I pass by the front desk, this time the female Sonali is there alone. I still have the key re-sequencer with me. Time for some more fakery.

  I stop in front of her, "Hey, where's your friend?"

  "Friend?" she asks, confused.

  "The other Sonali working here?"

  "He's doing other duties in another part of the building."

  "Well, if you'd just let him know he was a big help. I'd appreciate it." I give my best cheesy smile. She nods.

  "Hey, is that something important?" I point behind her on the floor. Where I rolled the re-sequencer with my foot while we talked. I see her eyes go wide.

  I slip outside while she goes to collect it.

  Time to go hunting.

  No-One

  By tying into the Sonali Prime mainframe, I’m able to isolate exactly where to go after the Renewal Center.

  I have the aircar drop me off a few residences away from my quarry. I approach the abode of the female Sonali on foot.

  She came to the Renewal Center with an eye injury that matches the location of the dent of the rifle scope. I picture the assassination in my mind's eye again. As the rifle fires, the gun recoils, making the rifle site hit the assassin's eye area. She probably wiped the scope before she ran so DNA won’t match, but I have the information I need.

  Plus, my gut is telling me that I'm on the right track.

  I'll be honest, of all the parts of my job I enjoy, cornering someone at their domicile ranks in my top five. My adrenaline has me juiced—a delicious mix of anticipation and wariness flooding my veins, stirring up my nanites, too. I feel like I can fly and with my little pretties, I almost can.

  I creep up to the back of the house. There's no roof, but there is a deck-like platform. As a bonus, the bottom of it is hidden in dense foliage. I believe I’ve found my way inside.

  I blink my eyes to detect if she's got any alarms set. Nothing.

  Well, that’s interesting. Makes me wonder what she really does for a living. My safe house is just that—safe. Lots of early warning systems.

  Which makes me think she's not expecting company.

  Time to crash the party.

  My nanites re-coat the keratin of my nails with burred metal so I can grip the deck post. I start to climb, pulling up with my hands while my legs wrap around the post to keep me steady. When I reach the top, I plant my hands flat on the post top, straighten my legs up and go over in one swoop. The metal skin of my nails flakes off. It's temporary but effective.

  I blink my eyes scanning the interior for life forms.

  One.

  To my left is a clear door that leads from the deck I'm standing on into the interior. I edge over to peer through it into the house.

  Her back is to me. She's talking to someone over a comm. I slip inside, walking silently up behind her.

  "The kill shot was flawless," purrs a disembodied voice from the comm. I stop a few feet behind her, hovering.

  "It was not flawless," the Sonali woman says, agitated. "The weapon nearly knocked me unconscious! What kind of barbarians are these Terrans with such horrible weapons? And why did I not know what weapon we were going to be using? I barely had time to run—had I been found all of it would have been for naught."

  The Sonali woman is post-Ascension, but still young.

  I take a step toward her. 1, 2, 3—I pivot with my arms like a dance, grabbing the Sonali female by her shoulders, twisting and throwing her a few feet behind me. I know she'll only be distracted for a few moments, but I'm hoping that's all I need to figure ou
t who’s on the other line.

  I blink to bring up my nanites. Time to do a hack job.

  "What was that noise? What happened?" says the voice. It's clearly Sonali, male, my guess definitely post-Ascension. My fingers start flying across the keys. I start tracing the signal.

  "So it's you..." says the voice on the comm. The call is terminated.

  Well, that was fucked. Whoever was on the other end recognized my signal output....how could—

  I don't even get to finish my thought because I'm suddenly lifted on air.

  I land on my side against a wall taking out a very expensive looking sculpture on my way down. The Sonali woman springs at me.

  I move before she reaches me then twist around and give her a boot to the back. She groans, but then quick flips, grabbing my boot and using it to push me back.

  I let the momentum carry me, feet over face until I pull myself, crouching on my knees.

  She's on the other side of the room, facing me.

  "Warrior Caste," she says, slapping a hand twice on her chest. I almost roll my eyes. No shit, I think to myself. I know I should be more respectful. I've been learning about the Sonali as part of my cover; the caste system is a big deal. It dictates so much of their lives. This woman is obviously proud of hers.

  That or she's just trying to intimidate me. When people try to do that I usually laugh—right before I take them out.

  Though in this case, I need her alive.

  I stand up, consider slapping my chest in response, but instead, I decide it's time to bring out the fancy footwork. I feint like I'm going to run to her then drop to my hands, somersaulting through the air between us—my feet connecting nicely with her face.

  Her jaw crunches as my boots land.

  Up close I see the swelling around her eye and the almost perfect circular cut between her eyebrow and eyelid where the scope hit. I bet they had to scrap bits of metal out at the Renewal center. I've got my hands on her shoulders when she surprises me by bringing her knee up into my stomach.

  "Ooof," I say, but I still manage to hold on to her knee with one hand, while the other goes for her face. Now she can have matching eye shiners. She snarls, swinging her fist into my throat.

  Then I realize her real target. My mask. Digging her nails in, she rips it off my head, taking some hair with it.

  She rolls away from me, smiling with my respirator in her hands. I crawl backwards. My scalp is bleeding a bit.

  She stands holding my mask like a war trophy.

  "Need this?" she says, dangling it at me.

  I start fake coughing as I crawl to her. Now she grins at me. I can tell she's savoring watching me struggle for breath on my knees. She thinks she's won, so she no longer sees me as a threat. Otherwise, she'd never allow me to get as close as I am now with her guard down.

  On my hands and knees, I stop in front of her but don't look up. With the hand not holding my respirator, she grabs a fistful of my hair yanking my head up.

  I give her my wicked "you're really fucked now" smile. I can see it shakes her a bit, but she's still confident that she's the one in control. Time to prove her wrong.

  I press down with my palms, balancing on one foot while my other leg wipes hers out under her. She goes down hard; my mask tumbles from her fingers. She's on her back, dazed. Now if she stays down we can talk like this, but I have a feeling she's going to keep fighting.

  Well, I'm right.

  She rocks up to a sitting position, then jumps to her feet. Her lip is bleeding, and both eyes are red, but she's still standing. Still ready to fight. She's also confused as she sees me stand opposite her, breathing normally, while my mask lays discarded where it fell.

  "How?" she asks. I just shake my head.

  "No, I'll be the one asking the questions."

  She roars running and slamming into me flipping us both over the back of her couch. Glass breaks as we land on a small table. I twist away, sliding my hands across my lower back and abdomen. No cuts. Good.

  I see a spot of blood on the floor. It's blue. Another drop joins it.

  She stands over me, holding a piece of broken glass tight in her fist cutting into her flesh. She raises the shard, "Now you die."

  As her hand comes down, I remember a lesson I learned in one of my martial arts classes.

  The sensei had one of the trainees pretend to come at us holding his hands as though he was attacking with an ax. Each of us had a chance to show what area of the body we would attack to defend ourselves. We would face him as an opponent while the sensei and class watched.

  One after another we all tried different ways to defend ourselves, some with punches, others with kicks and each time our teacher would say our approach was wrong.

  "He's killed you, now what will you do?" he would say to yet another failed attempt.

  By the end of the class all of us had tried, some more than once, but none of us had successfully defended ourselves. We all looked confused. What was the right answer? Was there no answer?

  "What is the best defense when someone comes at you holding an ax?" asked the sensei. We stared at him and at each other. Hadn't we tried everything?

  "Watch," said sensei.

  The trainee raised his hands as though he held an ax and charged the sensei as he had done to us.

  Sensei did not get into a defensive posture. He did not appear concerned about the man rushing toward him with an "ax."

  We watched the trainee raise his arms up holding the "ax" above the sensei's head. Before he could bring the "ax" down the sensei gripped the arm holding the ax in both of his hands. The trainee was so stunned he just stood there, hands raised, uncertain what to do next.

  "Sit," said the sensei allowing the trainee to join us. "A person with a weapon is also a person with a weakness. Use that to your advantage. When a scorpion tries to sting you—grab it by the stinger! Then it is nothing more than an angry crab."

  That lesson from long ago could help me now. Her weapon is her weakness.

  I blink my eyes fast, hoping my nanites have time to knit the metal.

  Either way, it doesn't matter.

  I surge upward clasping my hands around hers squeezing. Now she's fucked.

  I have her hands locked down, and the weapon she thought she had is now cutting her even more.

  She's in pain, she's trapped, but she still wants to fight me or die trying.

  But I need her alive.

  "Lights out, sweetie." I bring my head down hard on hers. Her eyes roll up as she falls forward.

  I catch her limp body before it hits the floor. "You're going to have one hell of a headache when you wake up, but at least I'm going to let you wake up.” But before that happens, I need to tie her up.

  I lay her down on the couch.

  Time to get to work.

  No-One

  I’m working on a crossword puzzle on my pad when my Sonali “host” wakes up. It takes a few moments for her to realize that she’s tied up and gagged; trussed up on her own couch, no less. Knowing I could never get this bitch out of her building without being noticed, I had to opt to interrogate her in her own place. She wouldn’t be living here if she wasn’t satisfied that it’s secure. Is that her arrogance, or mere carelessness? Either way, my respect for the Sonali military caste goes down a notch.

  Funny how sometimes our choices can seem so right when we make them, only to blow up later in our faces. Her safe place has become my safe place, and she is no longer safe at all.

  She struggles against the bindings as I watch her with silent approval. I’d test them, too. I’m good with knots, though. Warrior or not, she isn’t going anywhere for a while. I set my pad aside and watch her, feeling slightly sorry.

  “Hi, cookie,” I say at last. “Sorry about the beating.” I look around. “Guess you’ll have to redecorate a little, too. But that’s why we have expense accounts, huh?” I squat down on the floor beside the couch and put a hand on her shoulder. “We might as well get started. I have a fe
w things to ask you.”

  The look of hate in her eyes is unprofessional, and she must know that—because within two seconds it’s replaced by a cold, steady stare as she waits for me to begin questioning her. A normal person—someone who isn’t an agent—would probably miss it. But I can also sense her electrodermal response. Like sharks and other certain kinds of fish, I am sensitive to electric fields, having been equipped with nanites that have attached themselves to my organs—hence the hand on her shoulder. To her credit, she doesn’t flinch from my touch.

  The Sonali have a slightly higher electric output than human beings, which makes this easier for me to do. Fortunately, the Sonali emotional spectrum is similar enough to ours that I can “read” her.

  “I don’t think your jaw is broken; just fractured. So just nod for yes, and shake your head for no, okay?” She stares at me without responding.

  Alright.

  “You’re in a lot of trouble,” I say conversationally. “I have personally taken some heat because of you, and I don’t appreciate that. I stand to benefit by turning you in.” The stare doesn’t change. “If you’re wondering how I was able to track you down, well, it was simply a matter of going through hospital records to find a patient with your type of eye injury. Nice shiner, by the way. I gave you another one to match it.”

  The cold stare has gotten a little warmer as she momentarily stirs some hate into the mix. Then it cools down again. This one’s good.

  Not good enough, though.

  I nod toward the small valise sitting by the door. “I see you’re planning a little trip,” I say. “I would, too. You’re from the military, yet you killed another member of your caste. Interesting. The deal is, you answer some questions, and I give you enough lead time to get out of town before the authorities track you down.”

  She nods. Ah, we’re getting somewhere. And I can tell from the shift in her electrical field that she is frightened. It doesn’t show on her face, but her electrodermal activity isn’t under her conscious control.

  What’s funny is, she thinks she knows where this is going. And she thinks she can trick me.