The Surrana Identity

by Michael Campling

  “I was in here? Like them?”

  Confusion clouded Donny’s expression, then he nodded slowly. “You don’t remember. That makes sense.” He held up his hands, his fingers spread wide. “Listen, S-One, we can work this out. There’s no need for anyone to get hurt. You came back of your own free will, and that’s got to count for something, right?”

  “It does.” Surrana raised her pistol. “It counts for a massive decrease in your life expectancy. As things stand, I’d give you, say, one and half minutes.”

  “Oh, come on.” Donny forced a laugh. “You always were a kidder, S-One, but this time, you’ve gone too far.”

  “Wrong again, Donny. I’m only just getting started.” She thumbed a dial on the side of the pistol, slowly turning it to its lowest setting while Donny flinched at every click. “That should do it. I have to tell you, Donny, that I’m certain you can wake these Gloabons up. And what’s more, I’ll bet that you won’t need your kneecaps to do it, am I right?”

  Donny jutted his chin. “I won’t help you. No way.”

  The crack of Surrana’s bolt gun reverberated from the bare walls, and Donny fell to the floor, clutching his right knee with both hands. “Shit! You crazy bitch!”

  “Stop squirming. That was only a flesh wound. The next shot will be just a little more severe, so you’d better stay nice and still, then we can get this over with and you can progress to the pleading and sobbing and such.”

  “Christ! I need a medic.” Grimacing, Donny pulled a handset from his pocket, but Surrana stepped forward, kicking it from his hand, her boot sending the handset skittering across the tiled floor.

  “You can summon medical aid when you’ve woken everyone up. If you do that quickly and efficiently, I’ll let you live. That’s my offer, and you’d do well to take it in earnest. An assassin never goes back on her word.”

  “Huh!” Donny grunted. “You’re no goddamned assassin. You’re a lab rat gone bad. An experiment. A goddamned freak show.”

  Surrana sent a bolt into Donny’s left leg, and he shrieked in pain. “Another scratch, Donny. You see, I can do this all day, so you may as well go ahead and wake them up. It’s the only way to make me stop.”

  Donny stifled a sob. “All right! Goddammit, I’ll do it. Just…don’t shoot.”

  “That’s more like it.” Surrana gestured toward the beds. “Wake them all at once. We don’t have time for anything else.”

  “It’s risky. Should be one at a time.”

  “Just do it, Donny.”

  Groaning, Donny clambered to his feet, staggering to a control panel on the wall behind one of the beds. “This is messed up,” he muttered, but he set to work, tapping at a keypad, and it looked as though he knew what he was doing.

  “Are you nearly done yet?” Surrana asked, creeping closer. “You need to hurry it up, Donny.”

  “Almost there. You can’t rush it. Takes a minute for them to come around.” He turned, starting when he saw how close she stood. “Jesus! I did it, okay. Just let me go. I need to get out of here before…” He cast a glance across the room. “I can’t be in here. They’re supposed to be restrained, otherwise…” He mashed his lips together, the pale skin of his slack cheeks wobbling. “Please. I did what you asked. Let me go.”

  Surrana pursed her lips. “The Gloabon in the other room. I want her too.”

  “No way! I can’t do that, even if I wanted to.” Donny’s eyes glistened. “She’s not just sedated like the others. Only a doctor can bring her around. I’m just a lab tech. I wouldn’t know where to start.”

  Across the room, some of the Gloabons stirred, their arms tensing as they flexed their fingers, and Donny let out a whimper.

  Surrana locked her eyes on his, and slowly, she sniffed the air. “Now I remember you. And you’ve been a bad man, haven’t you, Donny?”

  “I…I don’t know what you mean. I just do what they tell me.”

  “We’ll see about that very soon because my memories are coming back, and that’s good news for me, but for you…not so much.” Surrana turned to address the occupants of the beds. “Rise and shine, everybody, but don’t worry, your hour of liberation is at hand.”

  One of the Gloabons climbed down from her bed, arching her back and stretching her limbs as she stared at Surrana, but she did not come closer; she seemed content to stand and wait, her hospital gown hanging loosely from her athletic frame.

  Surrana smiled as the others followed suit. “Welcome,” she called out. “We’re going to get out of here. I have an escape route in mind. And then we shall regroup and have our revenge.”

  A murmur of agreement swept through the room, and Surrana knew that they were with her. “Together we are invincible. We shall move like the wind because together we will act as one.”

  One of the Gloabons stepped forward. “Show us the way.”

  Surrana nodded. “Before we leave, there is one other matter. I have stated that I will not harm this…individual.” She cast a glance at Donny. “You have not made any such promise.”

  Donny shook his head violently. “No. Wait. You can’t do this.”

  “No, I can’t,” Surrana said, “but they can.” She headed for the door without a backward glance, but she heard the delicate footsteps as the others gathered around their erstwhile jailer. She did not much care what they did with him, but she trusted their judgment; after all, they were family. They were her sisters.

  This is going to be interesting, she thought as she crossed to the remaining Gloabon. “Surrana”, she whispered, “I’m here for you.” It was disconcerting to call someone else by the name she’d thought of as her own, but she was in no doubt that this was the one true Surrana. Who does that make me? she asked herself. What does that make me? Was she a clone, or had she once possessed her own identity, an identity that had been stripped away, replaced, reprogrammed? She looked down at her arm, at the scar that had obliterated her number. S-One, she thought. It wasn’t much of a name, but it would have to do, for now.

  She laid her hand on Surrana, sensing a pulse that was slow but very strong. Perhaps the hapless Donny really had believed that Surrana could not simply be woken, and perhaps, if this had been an ordinary Gloabon, he would’ve been right. But this was an assassin of the Guild; a Gloabon who had long ago mastered the blood that poured through her veins, the impulses that flowed through her nerves, the subtle molecules that bathed every cell in her body. There was very little that could hold her back.

  Slowly, carefully, she leaned over Surrana, then piece by piece, she plucked the tubes and wires from Surrana’s body. “Let’s get you out of here,” she whispered.

  And almost imperceptibly, Surrana’s eyelids fluttered.

  CHAPTER 17

  GIT Experimental Vessel The Wasp

  Krisk Orbit

  Rawlgeeb looked at each of his colleagues in turn. “Why me? Why should I be the one to zing down?” Receiving no immediate reply, he pressed on. “I am the only being aboard this vessel who has genuine concerns about Krisk. You heard what I said about the souls, and the doom, and the eternal wandering, right?”

  “Heard, yes,” Brent replied, “acknowledged, certainly, but accepted? Not on your belly.”

  “It’s Nellie,” Ellen chipped in.

  Brent turned on her. “What? I thought your name was Ellen, but hey, I respect your wish to self-identify in any damned way you feel. When it comes to political correctness, I’m no dinosaur, sweetheart.” He offered Ellen a patronizing grin, and Rawlgeeb knew he had to intervene. Ellen was a woman of science, but that wouldn’t stop her from demolishing Brent one cutting remark at a time.

  “I don’t want to be that Gloabon,” he said, “but I really think we ought to reconsider this plan. And when I say reconsider, what I mean is discard completely and start again.” He frowned. “Oh hell, I’m starting to sound like Brent.” He sat down heavily, but thankfully, at that moment, an idea occurred to him. “Jason,” he called out, “what’s your analysis of this situ
ation? Should I zing down to Krisk or would it be better to send someone with military training like Levinson or Carter?”

  “Nope,” Jason replied. “Captain Levinson and Sergeant Carter are the only ones who can pilot this vessel, and as such, their survival is imperative.”

  “And my survival isn’t imperative?” Rawlgeeb demanded. “It feels pretty damned important to me.”

  A whisper of white noise hissed from the speakers, then: “Do you have any other questions?”

  “Listen, Rawlgeeb,” Ellen began, “Krisk is owned by your government, so any inhabitants are likely to be Gloabons. You know how to deal with your people. Imagine if we sent Brent down there. All hell would break loose.”

  “I’ll take that as a compliment,” Brent said, but Ellen’s only response was to cast her gaze at the ceiling.

  Vince slapped Rawlgeeb on the back. “You’ll be fine, dude. You’ve got this.”

  “Perhaps, but I don’t want it,” Rawlgeeb protested. “And for the record, a fervent desire for a particular outcome does not, of itself, make it more likely to occur. Blind optimism does not constitute a course of considered reasoning.”

  “Ah, but maybe it does if you really want it to,” Vince countered. “It’s like Costner said: If you build it, they will come.”

  “What have I told you about dabbling in that mystical stuff?” Brent grumbled. “I’m warning you, if you start spouting gobbledygook from the Book of Cruise, I’m going to have to throw you into the airlock.”

  “Hey, I can choose what I want to believe,” Vince shot back. “You know your problem? You can’t handle the truth.”

  “Since you’re feeling so positive, Vince,” Rawlgeeb plowed on, determined not to be deflected, “maybe you should go down there. You’re young and strong. You can handle yourself.”

  “Yeah, but that’s not something we encourage,” Brent said quickly. “Not during office hours, anyway.”

  “Ha, ha, very funny,” Vince droned. “I’ll tell you what, Brent, you’re always harping on about your platinum AGI membership, so you should be the one. Go ahead. Investigate.”

  “No, no, no,” Ellen said. “Rawlgeeb, it has to be you.” She hesitated. “I know what you’re really worried about, but I told you, Jason has worked out the coordinates, and he’s certain he’s bypassed all the security protocols. It’s perfectly safe. Isn’t that right, Jason?”

  “Define perfectly,” Jason replied.

  “That does it!” Rawlgeeb snapped. “This computer clearly has no idea what it’s doing. For all I know, I’ll end up zinging into a crater or something.”

  “Excuse me, but I’m not a computer,” Jason replied smoothly. “I am an artificially intelligent entity, and I am certain that I have solved the access problem and decoded the correct coordinates. My only reservation is that I cannot possibly predict what you will find when you materialize on Krisk. However, I will be able to zing you back aboard very quickly should the need arise.”

  Brent spread his arms wide. “There you go. All you have to do is stay in touch, and we’ll be standing by to zap you back here in a heartbeat. No problem.”

  Rawlgeeb looked levelly at Ellen. “Dr. Granger, do you concur with Jason’s assessment? I respect your knowledge of transporter systems above all else.”

  “Yes, Rawlgeeb, I’m confident that we can maintain a lock on you. And with the sensors on this ship, we’ll be able to monitor your life signs constantly, so that if…” her voice trailed away. “Let’s not go down that rabbit hole. There’s really nothing for you to worry about. It looks like there’s no one down there. We’re not picking up any signs of life.”

  “I suppose those cursed souls wouldn’t show up on the scans though,” Vince said thoughtfully. “Mainly ectoplasm, I expect.”

  “Not helpful,” Brent said. “Not helpful at all.” He stepped to Rawlgeeb’s side and threw his arm across the Gloabon’s shoulders. “Rawlgeeb, buddy, sometimes you have to step up to the plate, grab a hunk of meat and jab your fork in to see if it’s done.”

  “I prefer my meals to have a heartbeat,” Rawlgeeb said, but Brent carried on as though he hadn’t spoken.

  “Each of us must play our part, some of us going forward by staying behind, while you must stand up, walk tall, and never look back. Remember, when you’re going through hell, keep to the right except when overtaking, and always, always let the buses pull out.”

  Rawlgeeb hesitated, then he shrugged free from Brent’s embrace. “Brent, when all this is over and we get back to Earth, I’m going to put your name down for an English class. I know a good teacher at the Academy of Human Interaction, a nice old Gloabon by the name of Zelgar. Her kindergarten class may be a little advanced for you, but you have to start somewhere.”

  “When all this is over?” Brent said. “Does that mean you’ll do it?”

  “It looks like I have no choice,” Rawlgeeb replied. “It’s either that or stay here and listen to your progressively effective attempts at mangling the English language, so on balance, I think I’d rather be trapped in a desolate crater while being mobbed by a gang of ghostly Gloabon ghouls.”

  Brent beamed at the others. “You hear that? Rawlgeeb thinks I’m progressively effective.”

  “Ellen, are you ready to zing me down?” Rawlgeeb asked. “I’m good to go.”

  “Here, take this,” Vince said, offering him a smooth plastic device. “I think it’s an advanced GIT weapon of some kind. I found it in a locker at the back.”

  Rawlgeeb glanced at the proffered device but didn’t take it. “Thanks, but in the event of meeting an armed opponent, it seems unlikely that offering an intimate massage will defuse the situation. In fact, it may well make matters significantly worse.”

  “I don’t…” Vince’s eyebrows lowered briefly before leaping upward. “Oh,” he said, giving the word at least seven syllables as he laid the device carefully down on a workstation.

  In the silence that followed, Rawlgeeb observed the subtle choreography of body language, as each of the humans managed to exchange glances while simultaneously making a point of not looking at each other.

  “I think…” Ellen began. “I think it might be a therapeutic device.”

  Brent nodded. “I’m sure it is.”

  “It’s not mine.” Ellen’s cheeks colored. “Sergeant Carter was complaining about a trapped nerve in his shoulder. It must belong to him.”

  “That can be painful,” Vince chipped in. “I sometimes get a knot in my muscles.”

  “Yeah, unfortunately, it’s inside your skull,” Brent added. “Do you have any more miscellaneous items to offer, or can we send Rawlgeeb on his way?”

  Vince shrugged, looking away, and Ellen turned back to her workstation. “Here goes,” she said. “Zinging you down in five, four–”

  “Just do it,” Rawlgeeb interrupted.

  “Okay,” Ellen replied, and she tapped her console.

  ***

  Rawlgeeb blinked as his eyes adjusted to the gloom. At first, he thought he was in a corridor, but the walls were hewn from bare rock, and it seemed more like a tunnel. The air was stale but acceptable, and he took a slow breath, fighting down a flicker of fear. Definitely not a crater, he told himself. An underground lair. The thought gave little comfort, but it spurred him into action. Taking out his handset, he selected the number Ellen had given him, but his only reward was a crackle of static.

  “Dammit! No signal.” Did that mean Ellen wouldn’t be able to lock onto him? He scanned the tunnel, trying to gauge if either direction would lead upward. He needed to get nearer to the surface, fast. Behind him, the tunnel’s walls disappeared into the darkness, but in the other direction, the dim light was a little brighter. I guess that’s it then. He set off toward the light, his footsteps grating against the grit on the tunnel’s damp floor. No lost souls down here, he told himself. Nope. No one but me. Somewhere in the tunnel, tiny feet scuttled over the bare rock, and Rawlgeeb faltered, turning his head to locate the source o
f the insistent scratching, but the echoes seemed to come from all directions at once. So much for there being no signs of life, he thought. What else did Ellen miss? But that was unfair; no scanner would pick up every single lifeform. Indeed, his own government had argued for many years over the precise definition of life. The Taxonomy Committee had almost completed its report, having spent months in discussion with a gestalt consciousness from the horsehead nebula who had objected strongly to its initial classification as a virus. But then someone had unearthed a kind of sentient pumice stone on Faltron Seven, and they’d had to go back to the drawing board.

  Rawlgeeb stiffened his spine and marched onward. If Surrana and the crew of The Twang had really touched down on Krisk, there had to be some clues left behind. The light came from a series of glowing tubes attached to a metal stairway, and Rawlgeeb hurried upward, glad to leave the shadowy tunnel behind. The stairway led to a shabby corridor, and as Rawlgeeb dashed through the open door, he almost tripped over a bundle of rags lying on the floor.

  “What on Gloabon is that doing there?” He prodded the rags gently with the toe of his boot, his stomach turning as his sense of smell told him someone lay within the bundle. Oh no. Stepping over the prone figure, he could see that it was an Andelian, and he was clearly dead, his scaly skin hanging slack from his cheeks, his eyes staring blankly, unseeing.

  Rawlgeeb leaned down and saw that the Andelian had been shot just once, the wound puncturing his chest just above the body armor. It was either a very lucky shot, or the kind of wound that could be inflicted by an assassin. Surrana? he wondered, or Kadov? He checked his handset, and the signal indicator pulsed at its lowest level. His fingers hovered over the call button, but he hesitated, unprepared to break the corridor’s bleak silence.

  I’ll call in a minute, he decided, when I’ve learned something concrete. Staying close to the wall, he edged along the corridor. And a hollow moan filled the air; a guttural groan of Andelian. Rawlgeeb froze, then the voice came again, calling out in halting Gloabon, “Master, is that you?”