Augment

by C R MacFarlane

  “What?” He reached for the hands.

  She snapped them out of his reach, eyes squeezing shut as though she’d been hurt.

  “I don’t….” He turned to Hoepe. “They’re healed.”

  “Probably weren’t that serious then.” Hoepe shrugged.

  Sarrin stepped back, pressing herself against the wall.

  “And what about her not speaking?” Halud asked Hoepe.

  The doctor blinked, his head tilting to the side. “There is no physical impediment to her speech.” Shadows cast over his predatory, angular features, and Halud wondered if he did it on purpose or if the doctor really had no idea how terrifying he looked.

  Gulping away his fear, he turned to his sister. “Then why won’t you say anything?”

  She bit her lip, still refusing to look at him. Her eyes lit with anguish and one shoulder started to tremble.

  “Sarrin…?”

  The doctor cleared his throat. “We’re finished, Sarrin. You’re free to go.”

  She bolted from the room. Halud stumbled, clutching his chest, as though his heart had whose out of the room with her as she fled.

  The empty door leading to the dingy hallway stared back at him. His sister — the one thing he had sought out his entire life — had just run from him. But she wouldn’t, he knew that, not normally. He growled low in his throat, turning on the doctor. “What are you doing?”

  “Helping you.”

  “There’s something wrong with her.” He stomped his foot, even though he knew it was childish.

  The doctor watched him with an infuriatingly neutral expression.

  “Listen to me,” Halud said, dropping his voice so the tones resonated deeply and clearly — a trick he had learned during the many long years he spent with Hap Lansford and the other Speakers if he needed to bent their will.

  Both of Hoepe’s eyebrows shot up.

  “Sarrin hasn’t spoken a word since I retrieved her from Selousa. Not ‘good to see you,’ not ‘I’ve missed you,’ not even ‘thank you.’”

  “Have you considered it has been several years since you last saw Sarrin? You can’t expect her to be the same.”

  “Years I’ve worked at getting her back safely!”

  “Halud” — the doctor rubbed his forehead, hesitating — “I appreciate it must be difficult to have your sister not be what you expect —.”

  “Something is wrong with her.”

  He sighed. “There is nothing wrong with her.”

  “She’s my sister. I think I know when something is wrong.” He tried dropping his voice again: “You will help me figure out what it is.”

  “That trick doesn’t work on me, Poet,” said Hoepe.

  “Trick? No trick.”

  The doctor only shook his head. “You have no idea what’s happened in her life. What they did in that place.”

  “I—.” A sweat broke out on his back. He’d seen her file, had it in his possession, but he had never brought himself to read it. And why not? Because he didn’t want to know.

  His mind played the scene that had haunted him for sixteen years: Her oversized child eyes pleaded with him, staring up into the foliage where he hid. And then her eyes rolled back in her head, and she fell in a seizure, taser wires protruding from her little body. His fist squeezed, the same as it had squeezed the branches high in the tree as they took her away, and he did nothing, hiding like a coward.

  “She’s my sister,” he whispered. “I have to help her.”

  “Then help me.”

  He nodded quietly.

  “Only time will heal the wounds between you.”

  SEVEN

  GAL LIFTED THE TIN MUG to his lips, eyeing the grey-brown, vaguely human-like apparitions on the opposite side of his room. “Go away,” he muttered, and sipped his warm Jin-Jiu.

  The demons followed him everywhere, copying his every move before cheering manically. They waited when he opened his eyes after sleep, bounced around the hallways where he walked, watched and jeered when he ate his rations…. He knew rationally that they were hallucinations, but wasn’t sure if that was better or worse.

  As the Jin-Jiu settled in his stomach, the demons started to blur, slowly disappearing. The drink was the only way to be rid of them, to gain some breathing space, but the bottle was running low.

  He took a final sip and pushed himself up from his desk. They had summoned him to the bridge a half-hour ago — apparently the cracked doctor-thief intended to follow through on his plan — but he’d procrastinated long enough.

  Briefly, he thought about staying in his room and ignoring the situation — how much worse could it get — but Rayne had refused to stay behind, and Hoepe hadn’t even started finding her a place to hide.

  The hallways were at least quiet as he stumbled through them.

  Doors swooshed open as he climbed the steps to the bridge, and he tucked his flask in the pocket of his uniform. He hiccuped. Belatedly — several days belatedly — he glanced down wondering why he still wore the ugly, grey coveralls. At least they had good pockets.

  Hoepe sat in the captain’s chair, and Gal strode next to him, glaring down at the man.

  “I’m reading chatter from the UEC station,” said Rayne, standing behind the large Tactical console to one side of the room. “They’re distracted.”

  “Good,” said Hoepe, ignoring Gal even as the captain leaned down into his face. “Engage the cloak.”

  “Yes, sir,” she answered. She frowned at her console. “The cloak didn’t engage. Kieran says he’s already working on it — wiring issues, he thinks.”

  In the chair, Hoepe grimaced.

  Gal cleared his throat. “You’re actually going ahead with this fool plan?” No one responded. “You and the Poet have some cracked ideas.”

  Finally the doctor acknowledged him, sighing. “Sit down, Gal. You’re slurring your speech.”

  Gal shrugged. “You’re in my chair.”

  “I am commanding the mission.”

  “It’s still my ship, until you make good on your agreement with me.” He glanced at Rayne.

  Rayne frowned at him, but she waved her hand. “Gal, come over here. Sit with me.”

  His legs obeyed. He didn’t mind — the Jin-Jiu made him abnormally calm. He’d take any excuse to be close to her. He took in the smell of her soap — clean, no fancy perfumes — shutting his eyes to commit it to memory.

  “Kieran’s got it. The cloak is coming online,” she said, reporting to Hoepe. Her intense focus fixed on her console and Gal couldn’t but help feel a pang of loneliness.

  “Increase speed, Sutherland, take us up to the ship.”

  Gal pulled out his flask, thumbs rubbing the smooth surface. “Are you really okay with this, Raynie? Deceiving the Central Army, I mean.”

  She glanced him, her fingers pausing over the input panel in front of her. “We are working with the Poet, Gal. This is for the Gods.”

  He frowned, the drink making him light headed, possibly too calm. “You believe that?”

  “Yes, of course. In the Gods we Trust.”

  “Rayne….”

  “Is the cloak working?” Halud asked, his voice cracking. He paced nervously behind the pilot.

  The man at the steering sphere shrugged. “No way to tell. We should be coming up on the ship’s visual range shortly.”

  “There’s no reason to think they’ve seen us so far,” said Rayne. “They’ve maintained course and speed.”

  Gal glanced over at the rendered diagram in the middle of the Tactical console, currently in 2D mode. He frowned, the image not yet clear at this range. His head buzzed with a low hum.

  “Thank you, Commander,” Hoepe said.

  “We don’t know if it’s working?” said Halud. “Shouldn’t we be sure before we attempt a hostile approach? I’m not comfortable with this, Hoepe.”

  Gal shoved a finger in his ear, wiggling it around to pop the unusual pressure that built up. “Anyone else hear that buzzing?” H
e blinked at the display again, his thoughts seeming far away and sluggish.

  “I don’t hear anything,” said Rayne.

  Hoepe stared at the view screen. “I hear it too. The cloak is emitting an EM field — I hadn’t anticipated how strong. That must be the sound.”

  “Then we should turn back,” said Halud.

  “Hardly. It means the cloak is working. More reason to push on.” Hoepe pushed out of his chair, gazing intently at the viewscreen, which currently showed the planet below them and a vast expanse of stars. The ship was still too far away to be visible, but the tactical scanner’s image was becoming clearer.

  Gal’s breath caught in his throat, and he blinked at the 2D display. “Five Gods, you’re a bigger lunatic than the Poet!”

  Hoepe spun around. “What?”

  “Did you say we were boarding a survey ship?” Rayne asked warily.

  “Yes. The Aitor is scheduled for maneuvers. Why?”

  “My scanners are reading a warship.”

  Hoepe’s eyes widened, the colour draining from his face.

  “We have to abort,” shouted Halud. “This is madness.”

  Hoepe gulped once, his eyes wide, then his expression grew stony. Gal’s stomach sunk as he watched the doctor’s jaw set as he came to his decision. “It doesn’t matter,” said Hoepe. “The mission is the same. The plan is the same.”

  Halud jumped. “A warship is a lot different than a survey ship!”

  “It’s not different at all.” Hoepe strode forward, gripping the back of the pilot’s chair as though he would not allow the pilot to turn. “My informant told me there would be a ship resupplying — not which ship. We made an assumption based on the ships with known missions in the area.”

  “We have to turn around,” said Halud. “We can’t afford to chance this!”

  “On the contrary, we can’t afford not to try. A warship will have a complete database — everything we’re looking for.”

  “That’s what you’re looking for.” Halud took the doctor by the shoulders, spinning him so they were face to face. “That’s a warship; if your cloak doesn’t work and they see us, they’ll destroy us, no questions asked.” He took a deep breath. “You told me you don’t know what you’re looking for. If all you want is information, try me. I’ll tell you everything I know. No risk of death.”

  Hoepe opened his mouth once and closed it again. He pushed the Poet’s hand off his shoulder. “I am surprised by your selfishness.”

  “Selfish? I risked everything to find Sarrin. And you want to throw that all away, for a reason you can’t even name. For a feeling.”

  Rayne, watching the two intently, suddenly pressed her five fingers to her chest. “Faith allows us to trust as we follow the Path.”

  “Oh, Gods.” Halud shut his eyes. “Commander, no. That’s not….”

  “This is our mission for the Gods, we must complete it,” she said.

  Gal watched the tactical display as what was now definitely a warship came closer and closer. There was no sign that the other ship had seen them, not yet, but they were moving between the warship and the planet and dangerously close. “Hey,” he said to them. “I hope your pilot’s got good luck.”

  “Luck?”

  “We’re about to enter that warship’s alarm radius.” He took another drink. “I’d recommend an erratic flight path.”

  “What?” said Hoepe.

  Gal took a sip from his flask. “You did do your research before deciding on this cracked idea, right?”

  “It was supposed to be a survey ship.”

  “Obviously it’s not.”

  “How much have you had to drink?”

  “Enough to let you sneak my freightship and my first officer up next to a warship. Not enough to actually sit back and let you lead us all to our doom. I still want to live.” He stood up, staggering to the now-empty captain’s chair. He leaned sideways, elbow braced on the armrest, legs dangling over the opposite side. “You wanted my help. I’m giving it to you. The warships have ping back. That’s old tech, easily outmaneuvered, essentially useless. But they keep it around in case some fool wearing an invisibility cloak flies directly at them.”

  “Ping back?” said Hoepe.

  “Photonic radar.”

  “We’re in a gravimetric bubble, they won’t be able to see anything.”

  “Think.” Gal tapped the side of his head with his flask. “You’re between a planet, a space station, and a couple moons — they’ll expect to see something. Only chance is to move around randomly and hope they assume it’s a sensor glitch.”

  “I’ve never heard of photonic radar,” said Hoepe.

  Gal took another drink, the lines on his face like deep canyons. “Army doesn’t tell you half of what they know.”

  “Then how do you know?”

  Gal shrugged. A demon popped up, waving it’s ugly hand of memory — it wore a warship Commandant’s uniform. He squeezed his eyes shut, suppressing it while he waited for the Jin-Jiu to do its work. He’d been on a warship once. The mission was classified, and buried as deep as it could possibly get. “Are we going to do this? You want your database, I want to get back so you can finish your end of the bargain.”

  Hoepe studied him, blue eyes scanning him intensely. Gal took another sip from the flask. Hoepe pointed to his pilot. “Erratic path.”

  “We should turn around,” Halud said, his voice dropping low, the words gliding over Gal’s ear’s strangely.

  Hoepe growled, “I keep telling you that trick doesn’t work on me, Poet.”

  “A warship is a lot different from a survey ship. Bigger ship, bigger crew, higher ranking crew, bigger weapons,….”

  “It doesn’t matter,” Hoepe snapped. “We sneak on, we sneak off. Nobody sees us. Nobody dies.”

  “Dies!” Halud stumbled backwards in shock.

  “No one is going to die.” Hoepe pinched the bridge of his nose. “Let’s just go.”

  Rayne sat behind her console, weary eyed and thin lipped. “Should we turn around?” She glanced from Halud to Gal to Hoepe.

  “Yes,” shouted Halud, at the same time as Hoepe ordered, “No.”

  She frowned. “I’m confused. You said you knew the Path of the Gods.”

  “We should turn back,” Halud turned to Hoepe, ignoring Rayne. “I went to a lot of trouble to get my sister here and I will not send her back to the filthy hands of UEC soldiers.”

  “Sarrin wanted to come, you fool. She wants the database as much as I do.”

  Rayne frowned, staring blankly at a spot on the floor as her mouth moved — thinking or praying? Gal wasn’t sure, but he regretted ever asking her to join his crew and every time he’d convinced her to stay since. He promised himself he would make up for it, no matter the cost.

  The ship shook, a low thunk reverberating through the hull that nearly tossed him out of his chair.

  “Sorry,” said the pilot. “The cloak and the ship’s modified thruster makes docking a little difficult to judge.”

  “Docking?” Halud gasped.

  “We’re here?” asked Hoepe.

  “Yep,” the pilot stood, rubbing his hands on his pants. “I put our auxiliary airlock as close to their auxiliary as I could manage. I’ll let the others know and wait for your command.” He jogged off the bridge, doors shutting behind him.

  Hoepe turned, heading for the door as well, but Halud reached out and grabbed him by the shoulder. “I don’t want Sarrin on that ship. A survey ship is one thing, but the warship is too dangerous.”

  Hoepe snapped his arm out of the Poet’s grasp, expression dark. “Listen to me, Sarrin is the only way you’re going to survive that warship.” He marched away, followed by the few extra of men on the bridge.

  Rayne stood to follow, but Gal rose to intercept her. His thoughts seemed far away, and the increasingly intense buzzing made his headache. “Rayne, please. Don’t go on that ship.”

  She frowned. “I’m your tactitian. I’ve been working w
ith the men, training them to form an attack team.”

  “This is dangerous. Too dangerous.”

  “If anything happens, you’re going to want me there.”

  He shook his head. “If anything happens, I’m going to want you as far away from it as possible.”

  “I won’t send the team in alone.”

  “Please stay behind.”

  “I can’t do that.” She stepped beside him as though to go around, but she paused, her expression softening. “When the Gods ask something of us, we must respond. This is our duty.”

  “You’re willing to sneak onto a UEC warship and steal from them?”

  She sighed. “I admit it feels wrong, but this is the mission laid out by the Gods. The Poet told us it was covert. That’s why we had to leave Selousa even though all those guards were telling us to stop. Whatever the Poet and the girl are doing on that warship, the Gods say it’s not for the soldiers to know. It’s not for me to know either, but I’ve been thinking it through. The general told me the rebels were starting to rise up again, causing problems in the City. But what if some of the rebels are posing as Central Army soldiers? Or officers?”

  “They’re what?” All the air rushed out of his lungs, and a demon waved it’s ugly grey arm from behind her head. “Don’t talk like that,” he whispered.

  “The Poet collected that girl from a prison, Gal! Why would he do that? The Speakers don’t even condone prisons — everyone follows the Path of the Gods.” She pressed a finger to his lips, jumping in before he could speak, and her eyes lit up. “The girl wasn’t supposed to be there in the first place. A rebel officer must have condemned her to a rebel prison. She’s an agent, trying to stop the rebels from taking over, same as Hoepe and his men. Think about it, Gal: the Speakers don’t know who is and is not loyal to the Gods. The Poet’s mission is to find them and expose them, thus returning the Army to its divine intent. And we get to help.”

  Gal slowly closed his jaw. “You’re spending too much time with Kieran.”

  “This is an opportunity to aid the Gods and ensure the righteousness of the Army. This is our duty.”