Angry Ghosts (13 page)

“They’re on a different evolutionary path,” the counselor resumes. “We have food, air, and water processors, continuously renewable energy. We have the means to provide for
ourselves and many more. They don’t. They have to scrape their lives out of a barren rock!”

Gregor looks at the counselor skeptically. “If you take their word for it…”

The counselor drops his chin, looking at Gregor through his eyebrows. “Just look at them. Do you doubt it for even a
second
?”

Gregor pops his eyebrows up and looks away, choosing not to answer. The counselor takes it as a confirmation, and addresses the group.

“They need our life-supporting apparatus. We need their strength and protection. If we could successfully join as one, we could truly live again. We could have meaningful lives...and a
home
.”

The last word hangs
in the minds of all who hear it, stirring ancient memories.
Home
. A place one could always find after long travels. Though houses could be bulldozed, no one could ever remove your
home,
the place of your birth. The word held a permanence once, as if inalienable. But in violent, methodical strokes, the enemy has proved how transitory and fragile a home can be.

After a thoughtful silence, Keller clears his throat.
“You both present strong points. It’s a risk, but the potential gain is enormous, and we can’t ignore that. I’ll talk more with them to see what else I can learn, and then we can make a more informed decision. Gregor?”

Gregor faces the captain, eyebrows raised expectantly. “Sir?”

“I want you to go to the soldiers’ quarters; and when they wake, ask the leader, the
Gun
, to meet with me and my officers.”

Gregor squints in annoyance. “Why me,
sir
?”

“Because if you are de
termined to kill them, then you're going to look them in the eye and see if your commitment wavers.”

Gregor
stands and salutes, barely reining in his distaste. “Aye, sir.”

The counselor opens his mouth to protest, but Keller shushes him with a hand. Gregor turns and abruptly departs. Once Gregor is out of earshot, the counselor steps in front of the captain with a questioning look.

Before he can ask, Keller orders, “Go after him, keep an eye on him. Don’t let him see you.”

The questioning glance turns to relief, and the counselor
pads quietly off after Gregor.

Turning to his engineers, Keller says, “My friends, the ‘Geek’ has identified a list of
malfunctions on our atmo-processor as long as my arm. They're ordered by priority. Please get started, and the ‘Brick’ will join you shortly. He’s
real
big, so try not to be intimidated when you see him. Any questions?”

“Thousands, sir,” replies the tall engineer.

Keller smiles. “Same here. Dismissed!”

Sharon and Ortega divide the engineers into teams and lead the noisily chattering groups out to their assignments. Keller watches them leave. Once he is alone, he sighs deeply and looks out through the
viewscreen into the emptiness of space.

Gray smoke billows in large whirling vortices. Through the haze, glowing figures—visible in infrared—hunch over with arms in front of them, bracing themselves against the thickened air and confusion.

Pang! Pang! Pang!

The smoke strobes with weapon flashes, and the glowing figures lurch backward. Panicked screams pierce the misted air, and the remaining figures flee. A giant shadow sweeps by in pursuit.

A slender shadow rushes by in the opposite direction, and the smoke strobes again.

B-r-r-r-r-ak-kak!

A low tone crescendos and rises in pitch, discharging explosively down an adjacent corridor.

Baaahh-rrrrooooooommmmm!

A distant rumble mingles with the tortured shrieks of things dying.

The air clears slightly, permitting longer views down the unlit corridors as they glide by. More glowing figures are visible…

Pang! Pang!

The radiant images snap at the waist and drop.

The journey halts at a large metal door, round and dark gray. A giant shadow shoves past, planting a device on it.

The device erupts savagely, shuddering the deck plates.

Smoke roils, and the gian
t shadow pushes apart the door’s white-hot remnants. Gliding through the gap, the room beyond is hazy and dark, punctuated by fragments of incandescent shrapnel. At the far edge, a huddle of glowing figures crouches behind a console.

Sailing over the consoles and furniture, the intent to kill is strong and purposeful until a glowing hand thrusts up—a flat palm with four extended fingers and a thumb—a human hand.

“No! Don’t!”

Thompson startles himself awake, jerking up from his bunk. His breathing is shallow and rapid, sweat rolls off his face. He scans the room, but bright light from the open door makes it difficult to adjust. Squinting, he holds a hand up against the light and finds Gregor only a meter away. The man holds Thompson’s large rifle, aiming it squarely at the operator’s face.

Thompson looks first at his own weapon in Gregor’s hands then into Gr
egor’s eyes. Neither moves.

“If they’d listened to me, you’d be exploding from decompression right now.” Gregor’s voice is twisted with hate and disgust, his expression a visual definition of loathing. Thompson calmly studies the man, gauging his conviction, finding it
inexorable.

“Why is that?” asks Thompson.

“
Because I’d have launched you out of the FUCKING AIR LOCK, that’s why
!”

As Gregor seethes, Thompson recognizes him. He first saw him on the bridge and later when Captain Keller was identifying the bodies. During the burial ceremony, Thompson was kneeling to lift the body of a blonde-haired woman when Gregor shoved him away violently, shouting at him to get away, not to touch her. Later on, he looked over his shoulder and saw Gregor pressed against a stainless cryo-tube, sobbing desperately. He ponders the memories, putting them all together.

“You had a special bond with the light-haired woman...”

“She was my
wife
, you FUCK!”

Thompson has never heard
the words “wife” or “fuck,” but the context is plain enough. “What I’ve taken from you I can never replace.”

“
Yeah
? That’s the first thing you said right!”

Thompson turns to look at Maiella. She is lying on her side, facin
g the wall. “I'd understand your loss.”

“Like hell! What would you know about that? You don’t even have feelings, you fucking
zombie
!”

Thompson returns the glare, not needing to und
erstand the words to feel their edge. “We
have
emotions…” His gaze drops to the floor. “We just… manage them.”

“Well, you’ve got the others pissing sunshine, but I see through you,
slaver
. When we get to your base, all your friends are gonna come onboard and force us to do your dirty work.
I’m
not going to let that happen.”

Thomps
on looks up. “I appreciate your protective instinct, but reality will be quite different.”

“
Oh yeah
?” Gregor smirks condescendingly.

Thompson nods. “The first thing that will happen will be a joyful welcome.” He peeks briefly at Maiella. “The next will be our trial, judgment, and exile.”

Gregor brings his eyebrows together, dropping his guard a bit. “
What
?”

Thompson swings his legs over the bunk’s side to sit upright at its edge. Placing his hands on
his knees, he regards Gregor squarely.

“Our cadre exists around one principle: human life is
precious
. Everything we do and strive for is to protect and to provide for our fellows. Anything less is harm to the whole.” He pauses, looking around at nothing in particular. “We've gone far beyond harm here, and we know the consequence. Everyone knows.” His eyes focus distantly as he recites. “Anyone who harms, or allows to be harmed, another human is a threat and must leave the cadre.” He resumes his serious gaze at Gregor. “It’s our only law.”

Gregor squints at his opponent. “Bullshit,” he says, but lowers the rifle anyway.

“I sense that your loss has been greatest, so it's your testimony I'll request at our trial.”

Gregor stands in silent disbelief, taking a half step back and letting the rifle hang down by his side. Thompson turns once more to contemplate Maiella’s gentle slumber. “You didn’t come to kill me, for you would have done so. Why are you here?”

“The captain…he wants to speak with you, on the bridge.”

Thompson rubs his face. “Tell him I will present myself in seven minutes.”

Gregor nods and slowly backtracks. Before he leaves, he props the rifle up on its butt beside the door and steps into the corridor. He does a double-take when he sees the counselor leaning just outside. The two men have a wordless conversation in a split second, and with a single nod, Gregor admits to the counselor there may be more to the operators than he was willing to see.

The months pass in a blur of activity. Most of the time is spent restoring the aged ship’s systems, and there is hardly a spot the operators have not wedged themselves through or into to verify the entire vessel is secure and functional.

Gradually, the operators come to be accepted by the crew; but the differences in routine and custom are difficult to span. Requests to join in a game or music recital are rebuffed for duties elsewhere. Attempts at conversation rarely go beyond a couple of sentences. And the operators’ work habits make every colonist feel lazy by comparison.

There is little to identify with.

Still the results of their efforts are impossible to ignore. While every system on board benefits from their special attent
ion, the little things are noticed most: a shine on an old handrail, fresher air in congested areas, the silence of well-lubricated doors as they whisk aside. Even the background noise of the ship is quieter and more constant (no one noticed how loud it had become over the centuries until the reactors were re-aligned and properly calibrated). It is as if the operators have given the colonists a brand-new ship.

When the end of the journey approaches, none of the colonists are prepared, having focused so heavily on their “worker bees,” as they called them. Suddenly, they are faced with the imminent reality of the unknown. What will happen now? Apprehension sweeps the ship like a plague. Despite the fact that Maiella, Thompson, and Argo have become
familiar faces, the colonists cannot help but fear the untold numbers of people as physically menacing as these three operators.

Maiella guides the enormous colony ship into a familiar solar system. The bulk of the vessel proves no challenge for her as she intuitively compensates, smoothly decelerating to two hundred thousand kilometers away from her base and home.

“
Cadre One,” she hails, “this is Team Spectre returning from collection rotation. Mission successful. Awaiting acknowledgment, over.”

A long silence ensues.

“Repeat, Cadre One, this is Team Spectre returning from collection rotation,” Maiella echoes. “Respond, over.”

Only static comes through the radio.

She looks over her shoulder at Keller and Thompson. They both look back at her, confused. Keller turns to his officers and shrugs.

In the
viewscreen, a formation of alien ships crests the limb of the asteroid and approaches swiftly.

Maiella gasps. “They fo
und us!” Her hands fly across her console, programming an escape heading, but the
Europa's
size makes the colony vessel slow to respond.

Thompson
unslings his rifle and primes it, his mouth curling to a snarl. His mouth is wide, about to call for Argo when the radio crackles,
“Halt maneuver. Stand by."

Ma
iella cocks her head, what she hears not jibing with what she sees. “The blueskins learned our language?” She looks to Thompson for instruction.

Thompson grips his weapon firmly, but there is less alarm in his eyes.

“Hail them again,” he orders.

Maiella faces the
viewscreen and transmits, “Cadre One, this
is
Team Spectre… Don’t you recognize us?”

The radio buzzes then replies,
“Team Spectre deployed two hundred thirty-seven years ago. Do not make further transmission. Abort maneuver or you will be incinerated.”

Eyes gaping, Maiella does not wait for Thomspon's order. She smacks a series of controls, bringing the huge colony ship to an abrupt, groaning stop, then watches the screen anxiously.

As the alien ships glide nearer, a queer chill fills the bridge. Colonist officers exchange questioning glances, each uncertain face amplifying the others’ worry into fear. Getting Thompson’s attention, the counselor asks him, “Could this be a joke?”

Thompson resolutely shakes his head
,
no
.

Argo stands from his station and moves over
to Thompson, whispering, “You ever seen ships like that before?”

“Never,” Thompson answers, his eyes fixed on the sleek, modern vessels. Behind him, the colonist officers begin to huddle around their captain.

“What have you brought us into, Major?” Keller asks.

Thompson does not reply, instead studying the mounting situation and
analyzing it for possibilities.

Again, the radio crackles,
“Transmit identity for verification.”

“Finally,” Maiella exhales and
she keys her radio. “Team Spectre dash Echo Foxtrot Hotel Lima Bravo, Major Gun Thompson dash Mike Delta Zulu X-ray, First Lieutenant Brick Argo dash Tango Mike Delta Charlie, First Lieutenant Geek Maiella dash Alpha Victor Echo X-Ray, over.”

“Explain verbal delivery,”
the radio voice demands.

“Synaptic bridge failure during cryo-sleep compromised function of Human
/Digital Interface.”

“Verifying... Identification will be supplemented by visual reference. Remove all headgear and present yourselves on-screen for verification.”

The three operators assemble themselves at the front of the bridge, unlatching their helmets and removing them before the viewscreen.

“Left-face,” Thompson calls.

The operators crisply turn in unison.

“About-face.”

The three take a half step forward and spin around, taking another half step to end where they started, maintaining their rigid posture. At last, the radio crackles,
“Gun, Brick, and Geek, board shuttle and surrender weapons. You will submit to DNA verification. Out.”

In the v
iewscreen, a small craft departs from one of the sleek black ships. In orderly fashion, the operators restore their helmets and file wordlessly out of the bridge. Keller tries to get Thompson’s attention, but the soldier takes no notice as he leads his team through the wrecked blast doors.

“This is all wrong, Skipper
,” Gregor whispers. “We should get the hell outta here.”

Keller stares at the black ships poised menacingly for attack. “I think you’re right, Gregor. To your stations, everyone!”

The officers scramble to fill their seats and ready the ship to depart. “All back two-thirds,” Keller orders. Sharon enters commands into the console Maiella just vacated, and the massive engines ignite, drawing the behemoth ship back. A searing bolt streaks by from the largest of the surrounding ships.

“Ha
lt your retreat or be destroyed,”
the voice commands.

“All stop!” Keller orders. Desperation and powerlessness mingle inside him, meekly heralding the end of his command.

“Prepare to be boarded,”
the voice insists, and with a gentle thud the shuttle arrives.

Keller looks up despondently, scanning the faces of his crew. They are looking to him for orders, needing him to figure a way out for them, but he cannot. He allowed them to fall into an easy trap and left them without protection after all these years. The best h
e can manage is, “I’m sorry…”

The officers slump helplessly in their seats, thinking back on the months of time they had to avoid this. They think about how easily they were taken in by the possibilities the operators represented, how their hopes were so effortlessly manipulated. Now they sit, bitterly awaiting the arrival of their captors. Gregor drops his head to his console, barel
y uttering the word, “Hostages…”

Heavy footfalls approach in unison, and nine fully armed and armored Guns stride past the blast door. Gregor mutters under his breath, “Here comes the gestapo.”

The lead Gun stands and surveys the scene. He immediately slings his weapon and slides his faceplate up. Though young, his poise exudes experience and confidence. When he looks around again, the serious look dissolves, his face beaming with amazement.

“I didn’t dare believe it ’til I saw it!
Incredible
!”

The other Guns lift faceplates
and shout out loud. Racing over, they hoist Keller and his officers up out of their seats into bear-hug embraces.

“
You really are human, aren’t you
?” the lead Gun exclaims. The operators joyously sweep their armloads up onto their shoulders, bearing them like heroes back toward the shuttle and shouting like elated children. Gregor and Keller exchange a look of bewilderment but grin with delight as they bounce along. Sharon and Javier get caught up in the excitement as well, laughing and hooting with their cheering new friends.

Back at the shuttle, Maiella, Argo, and Thompson smile modestly as the group crams in with them. The lead Gun claps the shuttle pilot on the shoulder, saying, “Take us straight to base, inform General O’Kai of our cargo!”

“Yes, sir!” the pilot replies with a smile.

The shuttle tears away from the colony ship, streaking toward the asteroid with phenomenal agility. Argo’s eyes
widen at the swiftness, and he leans close to the pilot to be heard above the shouts and cheers.

“How is it we’re not being crushed by our acceleration?” the Brick asks.

“About a hundred years ago, we captured a ship that had inertial damping.”

“Inert
ial damping? How does it work?”

“Ah, I’d have to ask a tech about the specifics; but basically, it produces a field that energizes every particle in it, so matter’s never in an at-rest state.”

Gregor overhears the discussion, understanding the phenomenal accomplishment it represents. “Fantastic,” he mumbles in awe.

The lead Gun pushes through the crowd to stand before Thompson, Argo, and Maiella. Seeing Thompson’s rank, he salutes respectfully. “
Major, I'm Gun Deepak." He drops his hand. "Are you really Team
Spectre
?”

The three nod in affirmation.

Deepak howls with a teeth-showing grin. “We learned
all
about you in training,
every
time you went out on rotation you always came back with something good, how you designed the ambush that countered the stealth ships… You were the models of everything we should strive to be.” He stamps his boot solidly. “And here you are again! Greatest find of all!”

“What happened at that ambush?” Maiella asks.

“Hmm? Oh, right, the stealth ships.…” The Gun closes his eyes and presses the back of his hand against his forehead like he is remembering something arcane. “Okay, the teams got in position; and like you predicted, the blueskins showed up to investigate their freighter. The decoy virus ship shot out and attached to the first ship it saw. Four stealth ships demasked right there. So the team leader detonated the freighter. The blast wave destroyed the ships that were investigating, crippled the four stealth ships, then ripped into a row of
twelve more stealthed ships behind them
! Even though the teams were outmatched, the team leader took the initiative in all the chaos. He landed teams on the three least damaged ships and got control of them, but then it got really intense. Teams had to jump from ship to ship to keep from getting pinned down and zeroed. Then another ship appeared on scene. Operators thought it was reinforcement for the blueskins, but it wasn’t.... It was General Dryden, Colonel Thorskild, and Major Eris in that fast military ship you'd just collected. They flew in like they’re going to attack our teams, then broke off at the last second and landed pinpoints on the remaining enemy ships.”

The shuttle passes the large bay doors of the cadre hanger and clanks gently into the docking clamps at the interior wall.

“It was a bloody fight. We lost several operators…but we got away clean with three new ships, and we figured out how to detect a stealthed ship after studying the machinery onboard. That one op changed everything for us...
everything
...”

Deepak
does not notice, but every colonist’s attention is riveted to him. To them, the reptilian enemy is godlike and invulnerable. Now they stand in the presence of people who have enjoyed a military victory over that enemy. Awe paints their features in broad strokes.

“We’ve arrived,” the pilot announces.

The shuttle doors slide apart, and a throng of Cadre Operators and MedTechs cheer frantically from the other side. Keller and his officers are guided into their midst where they are welcomed with thunderous shouts and hurrahs.

Gregor grins broadly to his fellows. “Not much of a gestapo, huh?”

“Don’t think I’ll mind being a hostage here,” Sharon adds.

Three MedTechs push through the crowd, seeking out the newcomers, reaching Keller first. “Are you hurt in
any
way? Do you require assistance?”

Keller looks at his crew and the cadre coming together with open hearts and arms, so relieved not to be alone anymore. His own heart swells in his chest at the sight, and he finally answers, “No. I’m better than I’ve ever been!”

The MedTechs nod at him in acknowledgement and scatter into the crowd to find anyone else who may need them.

Above the crowd, a loudspeaker blares to life, “
Attention! Attention!
All work details temporarily suspended. Assemble in sublevel three, hall nine. Repeat, assemble in sublevel three, hall nine. Over.”

“Sublevel
three
?” Maiella echoes.

Deepak
overhears her surprise, and explains, “We’ve done a lot of digging since you've been out…”

The crowd undulates and moves through the corridor toward the elevators leading down. Keller and his officers
go with the tide, not questioning the direction, allowing the group to lead them. It is not long, however, before they notice that most of the people around them suffer from a major impediment: some limp unevenly in their gait, some drag a club foot or rely on a prosthetic extension to make a short leg as long as the other. Others hunch from a crooked spine or twitch in their stride with an ambulatory tic. Keller loses himself in his observations, unaware he is staring until a sweet-faced young woman with a prosthetic metal arm smiles at him. He shakes himself out of his absorbed observation, returning the smile warmly though slightly ashamed.

The able-bodied operators have already walked ahead to make the elevators ready for the group. With gentility, they assist the more infirmed into the elevator, treating them as if they were precious things, more delicate and rare than anything else in the universe.

The counselor, specially attuned to observe the interactions of this new group, marvels at the compassion and care the operators show toward the handicapped. On Earth, more often than not, the handicapped were ridiculed, ostracized, and victimized. He stores the observation and steps into the large elevator car.