The Dogs of God

by Chris Kennedy

  “It’s the goddamned OCD getting the better of me again,” she hissed to herself through her teeth.

  Holman called her back on her device.

  “Yes?” Millie answered.

  “I need you down here for a signature,” Holman said.

  “You want my autograph?” Millie joked.

  “For your license,” Holman replied dryly.

  “Really?” Millie felt so relieved, she couldn’t help smiling. “Of course. I’ll be right down.” Millie hung up and headed for Holman’s office. What a relief. Now she didn’t have to wait and go through another test procedure to pass.

  She signed the pilot certificate at his desk with a flourish, then Holman ran the document through a scanner and handed her a credit card–sized license. “There you go—ready to fly a ship without passengers.”

  “No passengers, huh? Except in case of emergency?” She smiled and touched the license on her device to store it virtually.

  “Not officially.” Holman smiled. “Hey, what was that crazy business about a gunship baby?”

  “Ah, forget it.”

  “Forget it…?”

  Millie felt cornered. “You know, I think I encountered a scavenger up there,” she replied evasively. “He fired shots at me.”

  “Whaaaat? Someone shot at you?” Holman shrilled.

  “Yes. I don’t think he hit the gunship directly, but he hit the lunar surface so close to me, the ground shook and tossed the gunship about.”

  “No kidding?”

  “Yup.” Millie nodded.

  “Was the gunship damaged?”

  “No, I was lucky.”

  “Why didn’t you report it?” Holman’s voice went high pitched, and he didn’t wait for her to answer. “You need to report stuff like that right away. The ship needs an inspection to make sure it isn’t damaged before you’re allowed to take off again. You already know about the ARP!” Holman complained.

  “ARP?” Millie whispered, afraid of upsetting Holman again, although he’d already given her the license.

  “E-Corp’s Accident Report Procedure…”

  “Oh, yes, of course.” She had a vague recollection of hearing that phrase before in one of her training modules. “And this is an example of where to actually apply it.”

  Holman sighed heavily and rubbed his forehead. “Well, I’d sure like to know who that weasel was.” Holman turned to his big stationary screen. “A scavenger is probably hard to track down, but let’s have a look nonetheless.” Holman took a look at the tower’s takeoff and landing lists. “What are the chances whoever it was would be flying out from here anyway? Small at best.”

  Millie nodded slowly. Holman’s sudden interest took her by surprise. She held back. Up close, Phil Lazarus hadn’t seemed like a bad guy, and she didn’t feel like putting him on the E-Corp radar. Plus, she was fascinated by the freedom the life of a scavenger appeared to offer. It was a notion she found herself fond of—however romanticized and unrealistic it may have become in her mind.

  “There are a couple of freight ships, but there’s no info on their cargo or route…did you see what the ship that fired at you looked like?”

  “Eh, no…not really. I was blinded by the light at the time, so I only heard the voice of the pilot.”

  “You communicated?” Holman looked up at Millie.

  “I’d shut down the ship entirely, including the coms, per your instructions. When I was fired at, I immediately turned the coms back on and made some noise. He stopped shooting and responded, claiming he’d hailed me before shooting, and because there was no reply, he’d fired shots to see whether the gunship was really abandoned or not…”

  “The audacity…!” Holman made big eyes.

  “I know!”

  “Well, he could be anywhere. He’s like a needle in a haystack…”

  “Right…” Millie bit her lip. She wanted Holman to stop looking for Phil Lazarus. “But the good thing is, he didn’t damage the gunship,” she said, hoping she was right. She had to make absolutely sure as soon as possible.

  “And you got your pilot’s license as intended,” Holman said. “In fact, I think that’s the fastest I’ve ever granted a license.”

  Millie felt proud and gave Holman a veiled smile, but she couldn’t stand looking directly in his eyes for more than a moment. Covering for Phil Lazarus could possibly be considered an act of treason against E-Corp. And then there was the matter of the blood. But Holman didn’t need to know about that, either. She nodded with a grateful yet determined expression on her face, one that would hide her deception. “Thank you, Holman.”

  * * *

  Millie went to the base bar. It was huge and always busy. Today was even worse—the place was full of sports fans with their faces painted in club colors. She found her way to the quieter end of the bar, took a seat, and ordered a hot drink. She had barely taken a sip of her tea when Kurt showed up.

  “Hey.” He looked flustered.

  “Hello again.”

  He leaned in close to her. “That blood sample—where did you get it?” he asked in a low voice and looked straight at her without flinching.

  Millie felt taken aback. How is it that I suddenly seem to be breaking rules all over the place? The mission to space hasn’t even begun! “Well…why do you ask?”

  “Millie Hunter, this is important.” Kurt clearly wasn’t going to let her off the hook this time.

  “Kurt…what happened? Is something wrong?” she whispered, then reached out and touched his arm.

  Kurt didn’t move a muscle. Just looked at her, waiting for an answer.

  The painted fans burst out, singing a club song.

  “Kurt, what happened with the blood sample? Did you run a DNA test?” Millie had to speak louder and leaned in to hear him better.

  He looked at his boots. “See, the thing is, I was busy doing something else…so I gave it to Darleen to test. I see now that I shouldn’t have done that.”

  “Darleen from ground crew?” A shadow of chagrin swept across her face. “You promised to keep it top secret, man!” She looked hard at him.

  “Yeah, but…sorry.”

  “Kurt, tell me what the hell happened!”

  “You know, Darleen is the best at what she does—better than me—and she’s always so dedicated. So naturally she tested the blood straight away. And when she traced an anomaly in the DNA, of course she also reported it to HQ straight away.” Kurt looked contrite. “I should’ve known! Nothing ever stays under the radar with her.”

  “There was an anomaly in the DNA from the blood sample?” Millie pricked up her ears.

  “I’m afraid they’re coming for me any minute now—and I don’t know what to tell them.”

  “Kurt…” Millie touched his arm to get him to focus. “Anomaly?”

  “Yes. A significant one—0.6%!”

  “0.6%? That doesn’t sound like a lot…” Millie tried to remember what she’d read about the DNA of different species.

  “The difference between humans’ DNA across Earth is just over 0.1% on average, so 0.6% amounts to a whole different species, in fact. Still humanoid, but different.”

  Millie looked at Kurt and let his words sink in. She’d convinced herself the voice she’d heard had just been in her head—some kind of illusion, a strange side effect of stress, adjusting to the alternate gravity on the Moon, or a strange response to the blinding light. But apparently she was wrong. There had been another being in the gunship. At some point at least. Could it be that there was indeed a stowaway on the ship with me at the time I was blinded? But she hadn’t seen a living being. The scans she’d done around the ship hadn’t shown anything. Only the blood had. Her thoughts were circling, getting twisted. How is it possible that the blood samples originated from a different humanoid species in the first place? Is 0.6% enough to label ‘alien?’ Could the voice I heard actually have been coming from some such being? Could it be a small or perhaps invisible being, since I did’t see anything?
Her head was spinning. Did I in fact have an alien encounter in the gunship on the far side of the Moon?

  “In comparison, the DNA difference between chimpanzees and humans is 1.2%, and the difference between Neanderthals and humans is 0.5%,” Kurt elaborated.

  “What are you saying? Is the blood Neanderthal?”

  “No, far from it. It looks like a whole new species. It’s hard to say, exactly, but I’d say it’s a more advanced species.”

  “Are you sure? Is there any chance of the test being wrong?”

  “It’s a possibility.”

  “And you think HQ’s coming for you now?” Millie’s eyes were fixed on Kurt.

  “Don’t worry—they’ll only ask questions, and I won’t rat you out,” Kurt reassured her.

  “But what will you tell them?”

  “I’ll come up with something. Besides, you’ve made sure I don’t know where the blood samples came from, so what can I say?” Kurt shrugged with a wry smile.

  Millie let her guard down. Kurt was a good guy.

  “Do you have any more blood samples?” Kurt wanted to know.

  “I do.”

  “Let’s go right now and run the DNA test again, real quick, to make sure it’s not just an equipment malfunction or some other kind of shortcoming in the test.”

  “Okay…” Millie was trying to process the whole thing. “I’ll get the samples and meet you at the lab…”

  “Right, I’ll go and set it all up. See you shortly.” Kurt left her.

  Millie went straight to her own mini makeshift lab. She found the last blood sample and put it in her chest pocket. Resolutely, she jabbed a needle in her arm and brought a sample of her own blood, too. Then she went to Kurt’s lab with the two blood samples in her chest pocket. She knocked quietly on the tiny window, and Kurt promptly let her in. At this point she was more afraid of getting apprehended by HQ in the hall than of Holman reprimanding her for being off-limits.

  “Is Darleen here?” Millie whispered.

  “No, I have no idea where she is. For all I know, she could be at HQ now, reporting about the test.” Kurt sighed.

  Kurt ran the necessary tests on each of the blood samples. Then he compared the first DNA test with one of the new tests.

  “Are they identical?” Millie wanted to know.

  “It’s a 100% match.” Kurt sounded certain.

  Millie felt a knot in her belly. “What about the third blood sample?”

  Kurt compared all three test results. “Yup, they’re all identical.” Kurt looked pensive. “It’s almost like there’s an extra sequence…and a fortified layer of protein, too…extraordinary.”

  A sudden wave of heat spread through Millie’s body. Her face flushed with warmth.

  “Millie—” Kurt started.

  Millie cut him off. “Do you have a microscope?”

  “Sure, let’s have a look.” Kurt let her off the hook for the moment and zoomed in on one of the blood samples.

  “How small can you go? Can you zoom in all the way to the chromosomes?”

  “Sure, let me just add some contrast fluid, then…”

  “Do you see anything?” Millie whispered breathlessly.

  “The chromosomes look normal…human…” Kurt glanced at Millie inquiringly.

  “How old do they look to you? The telomeres…”

  Kurt took another look. “Oh…?”

  “Can we compare with some other human blood sample?”

  Kurt took a sample of his own blood for comparison. It turned out that the telomere ends in his blood were worn down to about half the size of the telomere ends in the anomalous blood. “It looks like…it’s as if these blood samples are from an infant…a humanoid infant…” Kurt looked straight at Millie. “I know I said before that perhaps it was a good thing I didn’t know, but—where did you get these blood samples?”

  Millie tried to compose herself. “I got the blood from the gunship.” She took a moment before she continued, “I heard a voice on my ship when I was on the Moon and thought I had a stowaway, but I never found anyone. Just this blood. And now I don’t know…do you think I could have had an alien encounter of some kind?”

  “There was an alien infant in the gunship with you?”

  Millie hesitated. No. There hadn’t been. There had been a voice—and now that she came to think of it, it had seemed like the voice had somehow come from inside her mind. It didn’t make any sense. Perhaps it had actually been a voice of her own in her head. Is that a plausible explanation? And if it is, why have I never heard that voice before? I only ever heard that voice when I was alone in space for the first time. In any case, the blood didn’t lie. She was the humanoid infant. But she couldn’t exactly tell Kurt any of that. It sounded insane. And if or when people found out, it would most likely mean she’d be locked up—not going to space. She wanted to go on the mission to space more than anything. Now more than ever.

  Suddenly the door to the lab was flung open. Darleen hurried inside. “Oh, there you are. Is she the one who gave you the alien blood sample?” Darleen continued without waiting for an answer, “Well, all I can say is HQ is coming for answers, so you better get your stories straight.”

  Millie looked alarmed. ‘Alien?’ Alien blood sample?

  “Can’t you just tell them where you got it?” Kurt whispered.

  But Millie knew now she couldn’t. She was the ‘alien’. Although she wasn’t sure exactly what that meant. That I’m not all human? That I’m part Neanderthal? Part alien? How does one get to be part alien?

  One thing was sure. She had to get out of there. Sooner or later, someone was going to get the idea to test her blood, or notice she had a small cut on her forehead—currently camouflaged by a lock of her hair. Or perhaps Holman would talk to someone, and they would put together the fact that her ship had been attacked and blood had been found—and they would realize the blood must have come from her. And since she apparently was of a humanoid species, and not a completely normal human being, what would they do to her? Probe her? Perform tests on her? Certainly they wouldn’t send her on a confidential mission to space. She was sure of that.

  Millie looked into Kurt’s eyes. “I’ve got to go talk to Holman,” she mumbled. That would buy her some time. As she hurried out of the lab, heading for the bay where she’d left the gunship, she already knew what she had to do. She had no intention of finding Holman, or of sticking around to answer HQ’s questions. She had other plans now. She was headed straight for the only person she knew who could help her hide in space: Phil Lazarus.

  * * * * *

  Christine Gasbjerg Bio

  Writer, reader, creator of worlds, and currently cultivating a taste for abilities and laws of physics not yet discovered. I write the type of stories I always dreamed science fiction could be.

  As an independent author, I’m currently writing a series set in a universe that includes Earth—and then some. Gunship is a short story set in this universe.

  When I’m not writing, I’m seeing friends, having fun with my nieces, watching movies, cooking, reading, translating books, walking, playing my ukulele, riding horses, cycling my beloved bike that takes me everywhere, and yes—of course I follow all things astronomy and space related.

  Originally I was born in Denmark, lived in several countries, and spent fifteen years working in the film and television industry before writing books. Now I’m living in Scandinavia on my imaginary unicorn stud farm, and enjoy racing off in my Diamond Dust & Phaze-colored X-Wing Starfighter.

  It’s a blast!

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  christinegasbjerg.com

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  Life During Wartime by Christopher G. Nuttall

  Chapter One

  “Richard!”

  Richard rolled over, glanced at the sunlight beaming through the window blinds, and closed his eyes. It couldn’t be that late, surely. He’d been up half the night playing Naval Command on his datanet terminal, and he’d only
gone to sleep a few short hours ago. He wriggled against the lumpy mattress, trying to get comfortable again. His mother had taken his old mattress for the guests, two weeks ago, and hadn’t bothered to replace it. He had a feeling she was hoping he’d forget that he’d ever had an older and softer mattress.

  The door crashed open. “Richard Tobias Gurnard,” his mother snapped, “get out of that bed at once!”

  Richard opened his eyes again. There were worse things to see on waking, he was sure, but his mother in a foul mood was probably worthy of an honourable mention or two. It was hard to see, sometimes, why his father had married her. Richard loved his mother, but…they had very little in common. There were times when he understood why his father had joined the Navy, putting dozens of light years between him and his wife. If he’d lived…

  “This is my room,” Richard protested. “You shouldn’t come in…”

  “You are seventeen years old and on the verge of being late for school,” his mother informed him. She rested her beefy hands on her ample hips, her eyes never leaving his face. “Believe me, I do not want another call from the headmaster. I certainly don’t want to sign another punishment slip. If it happens again, I will…”

  “I’m coming, I’m coming,” Richard said. He glanced at the clock. Eight o’clock. Stupid o’clock, really. “I’ll be down in a moment.”

  “You’d better, or your sister will have eaten your porridge,” his mother thundered. “And if you go to school without breakfast, you’ll be starving until lunch.”

  She turned and stamped out of the room, slamming the door behind her. Richard sat upright and sighed, wishing—again—that his family were wealthy enough to hire a private tutor. He learnt so much more from private lessons than formal schooling, caught between apathetic teachers and fellow students—who spent half their time goofing off, and the rest picking on him. Richard wondered, sometimes, why his father had insisted Richard carry his name. He hadn’t been a sadist, surely. Didn’t he know how easy it was for someone to make fun of the name?