by M. D. Cooper
“Excuse me?” the salesperson squeaked as she approached. “I have two options.”
She held out heeled sandals in one hand, and thigh-high boots in the other—both in the same finish as the mirrorsheath.
“Easy choice.” Tanis took the sandals and attempted to put them on, only to find that the dress wouldn’t let her bend over far enough.
While imperiously holding out a foot for the salesperson to put the sandals on, Tanis directed a withering glare at Darla’s avatar within her mind.
Ten minutes later, Tanis was in a stationcar, relaxing as much as she could in the insufferable dress, the seat next to her filled with clothing that Darla had selected.
Tanis nodded as she considered that, while shifting once more in an attempt to get comfortable.
Tanis pursed her lips, but stopped moving and sat still.
Tanis knew that she and Darla were grasping at straws. They had no leads, only one contact—who might be compromised—and an off-book mission to hunt for someone who was also off-book and had gone missing.
“Damn,” Tanis whispered. “My first mission, and this cloak-and-dagger stuff is already pissing me off.”
AUTONOMOUS HUMANITY
STELLAR DATE: 02.16.4084 (Adjusted Years)
LOCATION: TMS Fleetwings 17, Mars 1
REGION: Mars, Marsian Protectorate, InnerSol
Even though Darla had booked them aboard the ship at the last minute, she’d still managed to get what was a—for Tanis—luxurious suite.
The Fleetwings 17 wasn’t large enough for each cabin to have its own kitchenette, but Tanis did have a large sitting room, and an even larger bedroom.
It was a good thing, too, because right before the ship was scheduled to take off, one of the porters had delivered a dozen parcels full of what Tanis assumed to be additional clothing.
The ship had just completed its initial undocking procedure, and as Tanis pushed off the couch, the captain’s voice came over the intercoms and shipnet, advising all passengers that the Fleetwings 17 would be executing a 0.6g burn for the next day. He finished with a reminder to keep all belongings stowed when not in use.
Tanis appreciated the warning—not for herself, she knew better. She’d been hit more than once by things carelessly left lying about by people not used to space travel.
Settling back down onto the couch, she waited for the burn to commence and stabilize before she walked toward the cases and pulled one out of the netting they were wrapped in.
She pulled off the seal and unclipped the top. The moment she looked inside, a surprised gasp of joy burst past her lips.
“Darla!”
Tanis reached into the case and drew out a TSF-issue lightwand.
“I’ve sold you short, my dear,” she said with a soft laugh. “Though I’m still going to get mine back from that IC when this is done. And my rucksack. I’ve had that thing forever.”
“Well now,” Tanis said as she activated the lightwand on a low-power setting. “That almost makes up for you getting me into this dress.”
“Almost.”
* * * * *
The flight to Ceres was scheduled to consume three days, and Tanis had half a mind to stay in her cabin for the duration, but Darla convinced her that she needed to practice her Claire persona, which would also serve to further establish the cover as a legitimate person.
“Fine.” Tanis glared at herself in the mirror as she wriggled out of the ball dress. “But I’m done being an overgrown puff-ball.”
Tanis twisted her lips as her meager victory was turned against her. “Well, then I’m wearing the least outlandish outfit you bought.”
Tanis tried to scowl at her reflection for Darla’s benefit, but the automaton mask wouldn’t grant her face enough freedom to properly form the expression.
Ten minutes later, having gone through all of the ‘Claire’ outfits, she left her cabin wearing a relatively simple white dress that bore shifting geometric patterns. Of her own accord, Tanis had left the mirrorsheath on underneath, finding it easier to pretend to be Claire while wearing it.
Maybe it’s because of the automaton mask. I can simply pretend I’m programmed to behave like a pompous ass, Tanis thought as she strode through the passageways to the communal decks, where the dining establishments were situated.
She wondered if that was how other undercover agents managed to maintain their covers—by somehow pretending that they had no other choice in the matter.
Though I suppose much of the time, they don’t.
The Fleetwing 17 had five different dining establishments—Tanis had selected ‘The Metro’. It didn’t surprise her to see herself already sitting at a nearby table as she entered. While the austere decor and minimalist menu was just the sort of thing that Claire would enjoy, it was also to Tanis’s own tastes as well.
Reviews on The Metro also mentioned that the place made a great BLT, which was another reason it was the most likely place on the ship to find the Infiltrator Chameleon.
Tanis almost groaned at her, until she realized the AI was teasing her.
Tanis laughed at the remark and looked over the options on the menu. There was an assortment of salads, but she really wanted something heartier.
“Aha,” she said aloud as her eyes settled on a meatless lasagna. “Artificial cheese works for me.”
<’Artificial’?> Darla asked. g something that came from a vat.>
* * * * *
Over the next few days, Tanis fell into a routine as ‘Claire’, taking her breakfast in the atrium lounge, going for a walk around the ship before lunch, and lounging by one of the pools in the afternoon. She took her dinner in The Metro each night, and also flitted between two of the ship’s bars afterward, even dancing with various partners.
The entire time, she kept the mirrorsheath and automaton mask on, continuing to steep herself in the belief that she really was Claire, and that Claire quite enjoyed the look, even sitting perfectly still from time to time as she’d noticed some of the others who wore automaton masks doing.
Tanis resisted the urge to nod as she replied.
Tanis allowed a smile to creep onto her lips.
Tanis could tell that Darla was kidding, but wondered if there was a nugget of truth behind the comment.
Tanis considered that. She knew all too well that many people felt as though their lives had little meaning. Humanity’s advances had brought the race to a point where nearly any need could be met with minimal effort. Unless a person chose to do something noteworthy, one could spend their entire lives doing nothing at all.
Most people managed to find meaning, either in science, art, simple exploration, or even just losing themselves in sims. There were some people, though, who just disappeared into themselves. She wondered if that was the type who would prefer to be machines, automatons that could be ordered about, gaining purpose from service well rendered.
As Darla gave her explanation, a woman walked up to Tanis and pointed at the seat she was in.
“I want to sit there,” the woman said imperiously.
Since automatons rarely sat poolside under an umbrella, she had to assume that the woman was trying to see if she could get Tanis to obey her.
Deciding to try the whole concept of going with it, just to see what it was like, Tanis inclined her head in acquiescence and rose from her seat, stepping aside so the woman could take it.
“Get me a drink. Cranberry vodka, on the rocks,” the woman ordered, the curl of her lips telling Tanis she knew all too well that she enjoyed ordering about a human pretending to be a machine.
“Of course,” Tanis replied in a bland monotone, and turned to walk toward the bar.
She passed the servitor her order over the Link and collected the drink a minute later.
Darla said with a laugh.
Darla howled with laughter, and Tanis had to focus carefully to keep from laughing as well.
She returned to the woman and held out the drink. As the woman reached for it, Tanis turned the glass over, pouring the red beverage on her.
“What the fuck!” the woman screamed, as the red liquid splashed across her white bathing suit. “What the hell is wrong with you?”
Tanis shrugged, forcing her lips into as much of a smirk as she was able. “Dunno. I must be malfunctioning.”
A couple under a nearby umbrella burst out laughing, and a few others joined in, as the red-stained woman surged to her feet to stand toe-to-toe with Tanis.
“I oughta—” she drew her arm back to hit Tanis, but at the last minute seemed to think better of it, glancing at the onlookers. “Fucker,” she muttered, before turning and stalking away.
Tanis grabbed a towel from the back of a nearby chair, cleaned up the mess, and sat back down, folding her hands behind her head.
She watched the Infiltrator Chameleon masquerading as herself swim by, and considered the incongruity of behaving like a machine while a machine was pretending to be her.
I guess this is my life now, she thought with a laugh.
SNAFUBAR
STELLAR DATE: 02.16.4084 (Adjusted Years)
LOCATION: TSS Kirby Jones, Bay 8129, Sector 33
REGION: Vesta, Terran Hegemony, InnerSol
“Seamus! What the actual fuck are you doing!?” Connie called out to the E-3 as he maneuvered a crate across the dock toward the Kirby Jones with a powered loader.
“Damned if I know, Chief!” Seamus replied from behind the loader. “New supply orders came down to get this stuff aboard, so I’m getting it aboard.”
Connie planted her hands on her hips and strode toward the engineer. The crate wasn’t giving ident on the Link, so she snatched the plas that was stuck to its side and looked it over.
“What the hell? And call me ‘Sergeant’, not ‘Chief’ when we’re off the ship,” she muttered as she looked over the contents. “Says here that this crate is full of components for a hot tub? Has the fleet lost its ever-loving mind?”
“Didn’t know the fleet had a mind,” Seamus said as he leant against the side of the crate. “So what do you want me to do? Bring it on, or put it back?”
Connie was about to tell him to find whoever had delivered the crate and shove it up their ass, when she spotted a microdot on the plas. A brief tap and two letters appeared on her HUD: HE.
“Aw, fuck, Spaceman, get it in the hold,” she ordered while turning back to look at the Kirby Jones.
To put it simply, the ship was a mess. Its refit hadn’t been started before the business with the SWSF and Admiral Deering. Then Tanis had seen fit to slam an escape pod right through the ship’s hull. That had been followed by two shipboard shootouts.
Fixing all that damage would have been simple enough, but Colonel Higgs kept sending down orders for upgrades, strange cargo, and stars-knew what else. On top of that, the bay’s repair teams were working
slower than molasses, constantly having to order parts and supplies that the 3D printers and fab systems couldn’t make—which Connie knew was mostly bullshit.
The end result was a ship with half its hull plating on the deck, new beams that weren’t ready, a scan suite spread out under the nose—on the deck, not on the ship—and cargo all over the bay.
It wouldn’t have been the end of the world, but they’d just received orders to get to Ceres, pronto.
“Tanis,” she said quietly. “You’d better be enjoying one hell of a vacation, because I’m going to kick your ass when you get back here.”
“What was that, Sarge?” Seamus asked, and Connie turned to see the spaceman still leaning against the crate.
“What the hell are you still doing here?” she asked, her brow lowered so far, she felt like it was obscuring half her vision.
“Waiting for an answer,” Seamus replied equably, somehow entirely unfazed by Connie’s ire.
She stabbed a finger in the direction of the Kirby Jones. “I gave you your answer, git it stowed.”
“Yeah, but while you are all lost in space and staring at the Jones, I asked what to do with the rest of it.”
Seamus pointed behind himself, and Connie saw that a dozen crates just like the one the E-3 was moving had been stacked near the bay’s entrance.
“Well, get them aboard, Spaceman, and see how good you are at putting together hot tubs. Better do it right, ‘cause imma drown you in it when it’s done!”
“Seriously?” Seamus asked.
“No, dumbass, I’m not going to drown you.”
He grunted a laugh. “Not that, Sarge; you don’t have the grit to put me down. I was asking if I should assemble it.”
Connie took a menacing step toward the E-3. “So help me stars, if you don’t get that cargo aboard, stowed tight as a fucking whistle, and then do the ten other things I’ve been waiting half the day for, I will make you assemble a fucking hot tub just so I can get you to drown me in it!”
