Angry Ghosts (10 page)

“I don’t know,” he admits finally.

Ortega watches Maiella skeptically, unable to keep from staring at her gold Human/Digital Interface terminals. She looks like an eager pupil, with the navigator leaning over her shoulder, giving instructions. Suddenly, another thought crosses his mind. “But if they are telling the truth... If there are many of them, they could be the protection we’ve needed to start the colony.”

Keller raises a hand to his chin, eyebrow raised.
The two men continue their observations silently.

* * * * *

Thompson jogs up beside Argo who is standing over the blasted and scorched remains of either a man or a woman. He doesn’t move at the Gun’s approach.

“They’re all dead, Thompson.”

Thompson sniffs hard and surveys the scene. “We’ll collect the bodies and assemble them here.” He takes a step away, but notices Argo is not following. The big man is still staring at the gore in front of him.

“Argo?”

Finally, Argo faces him. “We found others like us. Our own kind! It’s the greatest thing we could ever have found. We’ll have fresh DNA to breed out genetic flaws. We’ll have access to their star charts and the full range of their exploration, their technology…”

He looks down at the body.

“But we killed them, Thompson. That outweighs
everything
.” With his eyes to the floor, Argo walks past Thompson on his grim task.

Thompson studies the pained expression in the remains of the face, the burns, the avulsions, the viscera, and
Argo’s words echo in his mind,
We killed them Thompson…
The awful truth chills him and knots his stomach.

“Calculations complete, Major,” buzzes Maiella in his radio.

“Already?”

“Affirmative. The navigator is very efficient.”

“Apparently so,” Thompson agrees. “Argo and I are policing the casualties. We’ll be presenting them in fifteen minutes for identification.” Silence is his only reply. “Maiella?” he calls.

“Understood, out,” Maiella states coarsely. Thompson sighs and lifts his helmet off slowly. His hair is longer and lies matted to his head with perspiration. Wiping his forehead with the back of his arm, he sets to work assisting Argo in their bloody task.

Keller looks over the covered remains of the slain. Near him stand his bridge officers, another man in a long white coat plus twelve men and women in stained coveralls and tool belts. Many of them clutch each other, mumbling a few words between the anguished sobs.

Keller lifts blotchy white-and-red sheets, identifying the bodies. Ortega records names and titles. Some of the bodies are so violently dismembered and burned, it requires a personal effect for him to be sure: a distinctive ring, a name badge, a necklace, a tattoo. He steals a glance at the weapons slung over the operator’s shoulders and shivers at their horrific power.

The bald captain moves from sheet to sheet down the double row. Each time he announces another name, the three cadre operators cringe as though smashed by a truncheon.

At the end of the rows, Keller brings a hand up to his mouth, facing the terrible reality he had feared for so long. But it did not come at the hands of the reptilian aliens like he thought it would. It came from
his own kind
. The thought is so bizarre it scarcely registers as possible. He looks over at the three newcomers with their drooping shoulders and lowered heads.

Breaking his glance, he turns to the man in the white coat, waving him over. The white-coated man hastens over, and Keller whispers to him.

“Counselor, I want you to observe these three and prepare a psychological profile. Specifically, I want to know if they’re sincere or if they mean to deceive us. Bring it to me when you’re done.”

The counselor nods and shuffles aside. Keller turns to Ortega, asking, “What is the tally?”

Ortega gravely reviews his count, answering, “Seventeen dead.” All around him, his crewmates sob with loss.

Thompson steps forward. “We request the duty of disposal.”

Gregor pushes off from the person trying to console him. “
Disposal?
” he roars. “These were
people
, you murderous piece of
shit
, not
trash
!”

Keller steps in front of Gregor, wrestling with his own emotions to maintain some semblance of control. He lowers his head and extends his arms, hoping to bar Gregor’s way to keep him from starting a fight—a fight Gregor would certainly lose. He looks up, catching Gregor’s fiery glance and shakes his head gently. Gregor’s teeth grind together, but reluctantly he lets it go.

Keller lowers his arms and turns to face the newcomers. “Major, these people were very close to us.” He looks around at the seventeen red-and-white sheets laid orderly beside each other. “We need to mourn for them first.”

Thompson blinks in
non-understanding. “
Mourn
?”

The group looks at each other, murmuring in disbelief. Gregor launches from his clustered crewmates.

“You hear that? These three were just gonna take out the
garbage
!” He whirls toward Thompson in a rage, bellowing like a wounded lion. “
You bastards probably knock each other off left and right, but these people you
MURDERED
meant something to us
!”

"GREGOR
! STAND DOWN!” Keller yells.

Thompson and Argo take it
on the chin, but for Maiella, the accusation is a devastating direct hit. Her lip involuntarily juts out, a deluge of desolation and despair washing over her as she disables the safety on her machine pistol. Thompson hears the soft
click-click
and whirls around.

“Maiella…
Maiella
!”

Snapping out of her trance, she resets the safety, blanks her expression, and stares straight.

Gregor never heard the safety latch, but he sees her taking her hand away from her weapon. His eyes go wide with hatred and panic, believing she was about to draw on him instead of herself. He backpedals, his mouth turned down at the corners, staring daggers through all three of them.

“We don’t know this word you use,
mourn
,” Thompson explains, powerful waves of emotion threatening to overwhelm him completely, “but I can see it relates to
loss
. We lost half of our operator corps in a split second, so we
know
the meaning.” His eyes flare suddenly. “Apparently, you have the time to indulge such emotions,” the Gun counters. "WE DO NOT. Merely
surviving
requires our full attention!”

Fearing a showdown, th
e counselor steps between them.

“Everyone,
please
! This is a terrible moment for all of us, but we
must
keep perspective!”

He pauses, turning a full circle in the midst of the assembly, looking everyone in the eye. “After all the light years of travel, we thought we were the last survivors of Earth and her colonies. Here, in the depths of space, fate has reunited us.
What are the odds
?”

The counselor scans the faces around him, his eyebrows arched. No
one speaks. Few even look at him. He takes a breath before turning back to Thompson.

“We appreciate your willingness to assist. However, we must care for our dead in our own manner.”

“Understood,” Thompson replies, embarrassed by his outburst.

He takes a tentative step toward the counselor, one hand gripping the other. “It was not our intent to devalue your comrades... I think we use different words for similar things.” He suddenly gets a very distant look about him, and h
e faces the others in the room.

“As far as we can recall, no human has died by an operator’s hands. We are the first to do so, and it is unbearable. We know what we have done, and that is
why we must return immediately…so we can be judged for this crime.” Thompson turns and whispers a word to his team. At once, the three begin to leave.

Keller calls out to them, “Major, where are you going?” Thompson halts as the others continue.

“We are going to check hull integrity at our point of entry and reinforce it if necessary.”

Keller points to the counselor and Ortega. “These two will go with you and assist.” Ortega’s face contorts with unspoken protest. The counselor simply nods and complies.

Thompson studies Keller skeptically, decides not to argue, and strides down the corridor after his team. Ortega makes his way after them, pausing beside a wall sconce of small arms. The counselor shakes his head disapprovingly, but Ortega ignores the counselor’s visual chiding and pulls a thin rifle from its clamp. Ortega stares back with determination as he strides past, loading and readying the weapon. The counselor turns to Keller with his shoulders raised, and the aged captain shakes his head to never mind and motions him to hurry along.

When the operators have marched from sight, the crew breaks into chaotic shouts at their captain. Keller steps into their midst with arms raised, having to
shout to get their attention.

* * * * *

Maiella, Argo, and Thompson stride briskly down the corridor, making the counselor and Ortega hustle to keep up. The counselor tugs at Ortega’s sleeve, urging him to let some distance form between them and the three soldiers.

“What should we do?” the counselor asks.

“Just keep watch and let me know if you see them do anything odd.”

“Odd... You mean
other
than boring through our hull and killing seventeen of us in ninety seconds?”

“
Yes
, other than that.”

The counselor goes quiet a moment and speaks with admiration.
“I admit, I am fascinated. They seem so...
evolved
. They’re tall, fast, more agile than any of us...and so disciplined. Their society must be highly organized, most likely military in origin. Their attack, so swift and efficient...they seemed so inhuman... But in the little I’ve seen, I can see they
are
human. Did you see how ashamed they were when the captain spoke the names?”

“They
looked
upset,” Ortega admits, “but it could be an act.”

“Possible,” confesses the counselor, “though I don’t believe so.”

Ortega tightens his grip on his weapon, irritated by the counselor’s appreciative prattling. “Time will tell.”

“That it will.”

* * * * *

The three operators arrive at their entry point: a circular hole carved through the thick hull. Argo hauls out a diagnostic device, sweeping it across the edges of the cut.

“There are some microfractures here I should weld, but nothing serious.” The Brick pushes the device along the interior of the cut. “The seal from the virus ship appears strong.”

“Can we give you a hand?” Maiella asks.

“No, I can finish this myself in an hour or so.”

“Then Maiella and I will scout the ship,” Thompson announces. “We need to make sure she can make the trip, and we don’t want to bring back any unpleasant surprises.”

“Understood. I’ll keep my radio on if you require me.” Argo pulls a small torch from his belt with his free hand and triggers a brilliant blue jet of flame. His visor automatically dims to compensate.

Ortega and the counselor round the corner to find Argo welding. The commander
squints at the dazzling light and levels his weapon at the large operator.

“
What are you doing
?”

Argo calmly explains without looking, “I’m sealing small cracks caused
by our penetration. They aren’t threatening, but I don’t take chances.”

“Where are the others?”

“They’re inventorying the ship.” With the hand not welding, he points down the corridor. “They went that way.”

The counselor puts his hand on Ortega’s shoulder. “I’ll go,” he whispers and jogs off in the direction Argo indicated.

Ortega holds his ground, squinting hard against the bright welding torch and shifting his weight from foot to foot. Being alone with this titan of destruction is not what he had in mind.

Argo senses his apprehension and halts his welding to look at the man. Ortega tenses up at Argo’s gaze, aiming the puny rifle at Argo’s chest. Shrugging, Arg
o goes on welding.

“It’s unlikely your weapon would pierce my armor, but would you lower it just the same?”

The Spaniard starts to lower his aim, then thinks better of it and pulls the rifle tight into his shoulder. Argo gives him a long, suffering look and goes back to work.

"Suit yourself," the Brick says.

* * * * *

The counselor catches up to Maiella and Thompson, finding them trying to bypass a door lock. Thompson has pulled the panel completely out of the wall and holds it while Maiella rewires it.

“Here, allow me,” volunteers the counselor. He presses the panel back into the door frame and enters an unlock code sequence. The door slides open. Maiella and Thompson look at him gratefully then peer into the darkness beyond.

“What’s in here?” Thompson asks.

“This corridor leads to one of our twenty cargo bays.”

“Twenty?” Maiella repeats in surprise. “What are you transporting?”

“This bay holds Agritech machinery and embryos,” the counselor answers.

“Embryos?” exclaims Thompson. “You have genetic technology?” He walks excitedly into the darkness, Maiella closely in tow.

“Well, not as such,” the counselor explains. “The embryos are plant and animal.” He taps some buttons from the hacked-up door panel, illuminating the corridor, and he sees the two looking back at him in confusion. He reads their expressions, asking, “Don’t you have plants or animals? How do you eat?”

Thompson waits for the counselor to catch up and begins walking again. “We synthesize amino proteins, vitamin complexes, and carbohydrates. Our nutrition is complete.”

“How do you do that?”

“Some of our oldest machinery handles the task,” Maiella replies, “but it requires frequent maintenance”

The counselor nods, contemplating her reply. “Plants and animals do that for us, without machinery.”

Thompson nearly misses a step. “Th
ey’re not machines? Then what
are
they?”

“They are living creatures. Their biological functions assemble our nutrients.”

“Incredible!” Maiella marvels aloud. “How much maintenance do they require?”

“Their care is largely automated. The machines that care for the animals and plants are very durable and require little maintenance, in fact.”

Turning to the counselor, Thompson asks, “Are these...plahntz...and ann-ih-muls producing now?”

“No, they’re still frozen. Once we find a planet with adequate soil and atmosphere, we can raise them.”

Thompson’s mind soars while Maiella digs for more information.