The Surrana Identity

by Michael Campling

  The ship’s control systems were dead, and there was nothing he could do about it. He hadn’t even been able to send an emergency transmission, so when a light blinked on his defunct comms panel, he stared at it for a moment before flipping the switch. Just a glitch, he told himself, but the cockpit’s speaker crackled into life:

  “Unregistered vessel, I have received your level three distress signal. What is your status?”

  Kadov leaned over the microphone. “Level three? That’s not correct. My ship is disabled but intact. The hull is stable and life support is nominal, but I have no engines nor any control systems.”

  A pause. “Unregistered vessel, are you aware that it is an offense to transmit a false distress signal?”

  “Yes, but I sent no such signal. In fact, my long-range comms are inoperative. Someone else must’ve launched a buoy.” He hesitated, his mind working quickly. Perhaps the Andelians had done this on purpose to ensure that he was picked up. If so, it had worked remarkably well, and a part of him had to admire the simple audacity of the plan. “Apologies for any confusion, but I am in need of urgent assistance. If you could take me aboard, I will gladly make full reparations for any inconvenience you’ve suffered.”

  “Regrettably, you cannot be taken aboard.”

  “Why?” Kadov asked, a dark suspicion growing in his heart. “What vessel are you? My scanners are not working. Are you from the Gloabon Government?”

  “No. I’m from Earth, but I don’t have the ability to zing you aboard. My systems diverted me straight to your distress signal, but I’m not piloting a ship at this time.”

  Kadov shook his head. “Is this some kind of a joke? Of course, you have a vessel. Listen, you must assist me. That is the law.”

  “I’m aware of the protocols, sir, that is why I had no choice but to answer your level three signal, but your signal was false. In a genuine emergency, I could’ve taken your crew aboard for a brief period, providing you had EVA suits, but in the circumstances–”

  “Fine, I’ll get a suit,” Kadov interrupted, “but you’re just being difficult. You clearly have life support. We’re talking, aren’t we?”

  “I’m an artificial intelligence, and I do not require an atmosphere. All I have is a cargo pod. It has its own propulsion and control systems, but no life support. None whatsoever.”

  Kadov’s face fell. For a moment, his blank gaze roamed around the cockpit, then a bark of dry laughter escaped from his lips. “An AI. A cargo pod.” He laughed, throwing back his head and cackling until he could laugh no more. “Tell me, AI,” he began, wiping his eyes on the backs of his hands, “what do you have in your cargo pod? What is it that’s worth dragging across the galaxy? Precious metals, perhaps? Urgent medical supplies?”

  “No, just a…a device. I can’t say more than that. It’s confidential.”

  “But we have nothing better to do,” Kadov said. “You may as well tell me about it since you came all this way.”

  “No, I really–”

  Another voice broke into the channel. “Hello. My name is Dee. I’m a wave generator. Do you want to see what I can do? It’s amazing.”

  “Why not?” Kadov drawled, lounging back in his chair. “Go ahead. Give it your best shot.”

  CHAPTER 42

  Earth

  Brent picked his way between the rows of cinema seats, almost stumbling over someone’s foot as he hurried through the gloom. “Sorry. Thanks. Excuse me. Thanks.” Finding his seat, he threw himself into it, offering the others an apologetic smile. From the seat next to his, Ellen whispered, “What took you? It’s about to start.”

  Rawlgeeb made a point of tapping his wristwatch, which was something he’d done often since he’d bought the elegant timepiece on Gloabon. It was the latest design, and it had cost a small fortune, but with his reward from the Gloabon Government, he’d splashed out on a bewildering array of trinkets and treats, and he wasn’t about to let anyone forget about his newfound status. I should be glad he’s not wearing his medal, Brent thought. He put his hands together as if pleading for forgiveness, and from her position between Ellen and Rawlgeeb, Breamell let out a small giggle. This caused a rippled of alarm to run through the nearby movie-goers who were unaccustomed to the braying din of Gloabon laughter, but the moment soon passed.

  At least Vince had a smile for his boss, although his grin may have been due to the presence of his date for the evening. Maisie sat tall, wrinkling her nose as she cast her gaze around the auditorium. She didn’t seem to notice that Brent had arrived, and that suited him fine; she’d only have rolled her eyes at his tardiness.

  Brent settled into his seat, rearranging his legs into a position that was almost comfortable, but just as he began to relax, something buzzed in his pocket. “Damn! Sorry, I forgot.” He fumbled for his handset, switching it to silent. And the notification caught his eye.

  “I thought you got rid of that old handset,” Ellen whispered. “It’s not safe to keep it after what happened on The Wasp. We agreed.”

  Brent nodded, but he didn’t say a word. As quietly as he could, he shut the handset down, pulling the battery pack from its slot. But as the handset went dark, the bright letters of its last message seemed to dance in the air before Brent’s eyes:

  So this is a movie night. You went without me. That wasn’t nice. That wasn’t nice at all.

  JCN-B1

  EPILOGUE

  Earth.

  The buzz of his handset woke Vince with a start, and he sat up in bed, grabbing the offending device from his nightstand. A glance at the caller ID was enough to make him accept the call. “What do you want?”

  The face on the display screen was surprisingly sharp, and Vince held the handset a little farther away as he met the caller’s steely gaze.

  “You are impudent,” the caller said. “Frankly, after all the leniency I’ve shown you, I expect the proper degree of respect.”

  “Whatever. Listen, you woke me up. What’s this about?”

  The caller paused as if studying him for a moment. “Just keeping in touch. And making sure that you haven’t forgotten our arrangement.”

  Vince shook his head. “I haven’t forgotten. But there really isn’t anything to tell you. I put it all in my report.”

  The caller chortled quietly. “Ah, you call that a report, do you? How entertaining. Half a page of drivel. In my world, such a lamentable effort would result in a flogging, closely followed by a mandatory course on the art of written communication.”

  “I did my best. If it isn’t good enough, then maybe you should find someone else to do your dirty work.”

  “Oh dear me, no. That wouldn’t do at all. We have a deal, and you’ll stick to your side of the bargain. I want to know everything that our mutual friend does, and I want it in painstaking detail on a daily basis, is that understood?”

  “Yeah, yeah.” Vince rubbed at his tired eyes, a flash of irritation twisting his features into a scowl. “You know what? If you’re so keen to find out what Rawlgeeb is up to, you should ask him directly. He’ll be happy to tell you. Heck, he’d probably design a new form and fill it in every five minutes if you want. Go ahead. Ask him.”

  “But that would defeat the object. He mustn’t suspect that we’re monitoring him. Remember that. Now, I’ll let you sleep, but I want a report on my desk tomorrow, and it had better be good, Vince. Is that understood?”

  “I guess so,” Vince mumbled. “I’ll try.”

  The caller bared his teeth. “No. What you mean to say is, yes, sir. Go on. Say it.”

  “Yes, sir,” Vince replied, not bothering to hide his scorn.

  “Better. Goodbye, Vince. Tomorrow. No excuses.”

  Vince nodded, and as the caller’s face disappeared from the screen, he switched his handset over to silent mode and slammed it down on the nightstand. He’s such an asshole, Vince thought bitterly as he lay down. I need to figure out a way to get him off my back. But no ideas would come to mind. And as he fell asleep, the last th
ing he saw in his mind’s eye was the face of his late-night caller, a greedy smile on the Gloabon’s thin lips. It would not be easy to break free from Admiral Squernshall.

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  I am a full-time writer working across several genres, but in my largely unplanned life I have been a computer programmer, a website builder, a full-time dad, and a primary school teacher.

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  Copyright

  © 2018 Michael Campling All rights reserved.

  No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without permission from the copyright holder, except as permitted by copyright law.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.