Fog (13 page)

In truth, it was Cacho who brought me here. Cacho, the old Sequencer who visited my village two or three times each year, and who used to call me “sweetie.” A friendly old man, I’d believed. Why did he want me to be Runner’s apprentice? Why did he want me to be a sniper at the front lines of a global war?

There’s only one answer. He must have known that towards the man who fathered me is where Runner would be heading. And so, I would go there, too. A Micka package.
Here is your daughter, Erik.
 

I sit up straight; my armpits are itching with shock. Old Zula told me when I was seven or eight years old that I am not my father’s daughter. But why does the man who fathered me now show up in a BSA camp in Taiwan? This doesn’t make sense to me at all.

I stand and run back to our camp. Blood loss sings in my ears. My tongue is parched when I arrive, so I dash into the kitchen tent, squeeze past Yi-Ting, scoop up a bowl with water, and drain it. She eyes my sleeves — bulging where the bandages stopped the bleeding.

‘What happened?’ she ask.

‘Um…just…a scratch.’
 

I make to leave, but she catches my wrist before I can move. ‘You hurt me,’ she says.

That’s why I love this girl. She’s honest, she doesn’t drag her hurt around, doesn’t hide it away to cook it up until it blows over.

‘I’m sorry.’ My heart is aching and I can’t help pulling her hand up to my face and pressing my lips against her wrist. ‘You are trembling,’ I say.

‘Parasympathetic backlash. My adrenaline is all spent. I’ll take a nap in a few.’ She inhales to add something, but I step forward and take her face in my hands. Her eyes widen in shock.
 

‘I’m sorry,’ I say and dash away, shame scorching my face. I have no clue where I left my balance.

Runner is seated across from the screen in the comm tent, zooming in and out of images. There’s an unfinished sketch of the camp on his SatPad.
 

‘That man is the only reason Cacho wanted you to pick me as your apprentice. He wants me delivered to Erik.’

‘Hmm, maybe. That there’s a connection was obvious as soon as we saw your father’s face. If Cacho is involved, the expertise these two men bring to the BSA can and will turn the tide of war dramatically. We might lose it in a few months.’ He stops the flitting series of images and zooms into one, showing the side pocket of Erik’s pants as he dives behind the wall of sandbags. A SatPad peeks out from the black fabric.

My scalp prickles. ‘Why would Cacho want me to meet…Erik?’ The words come out reluctantly, as if the air is too thin to carry them. The name tastes faintly of strawberry.

‘I don’t know. I’ve told you my theories, but they sound crazy even to me. The BSA wants to end all human life. I’m not too sure your father cares or even knows about your existence. Cacho never received any military training as far as I know, so it’s conceivable that he believes you would do a better job of killing Erik than I would.’

‘Because I’m ashamed this man fathered me?’

‘Perhaps that’s what Cacho believes. Maybe he thinks you’d hate this man so much, you’d make sure he dies. But this hypothesis is rather lame. We’ll ask Cacho soon. Kat?’ He turns around to address her. She shakes her head, tapping at her earphones.
I’m on it.

‘But if Cacho and Erik can tap our satellite communications, then they know we’re searching for them. Why is she—’ I dip my chin at Kat’s direction. Oh! ‘You want him to underestimate us.’

Runner’s expression lights up in a smile. ‘Precisely.’

Kat’s hand shoots up to silence us, then she says, ‘Contact established.’

An old man’s face appears on the screen. ‘Cacho,’ Runner says with little warmth in his voice.

‘Hi, Runner. What a pleasant surprise! Hi, Micka, how are your my dear?’

‘Good. Thanks,’ I answer.

‘We found someone you might know.’ Runner doesn’t do small talk. He throws info at people without warning. ‘Here in Taiwan, leading a BSA unit.’

‘Oh?’ Cacho’s gaze is a little fluttery, his focus drifting this way and that. His hair has thinned since last time I saw him.
 

‘I’d appreciate details,’ Runner says.

Cacho’s eyebrows draw together. He sticks his index finger between his teeth and chews on the nail. ‘What was the question again, my boy?’

Runner’s shoulders stiffen. ‘Why and when did Erik Vandemeer switch sides?’

‘What sides?’ Cacho sounds as if he thinks Runner is discussing on which side of a slice of bread the butter should go.

‘Our side and their side. Us and them. Sequencers and BSA,’ Runner says as if talking to a baby.

 
‘So that’s where he went? They must have turned him, then.’

I’m struck by how much Cacho has changed. Or rather, he’s slid a little. His mind has waved goodbye just a tad more than it already had months ago. His expression had always been mildly…floating, for the lack of a better explanation. And who in his right mind would call me “sweetie?”

‘They don’t turn men. They execute them. Erik appears as if he owns the Taiwanese BSA camp. The man switched sides. Cacho,’ Runner bends forward, his voice a fierce growl. ‘I need you to tell me why and when.’

Cacho’s eyes darken. He blinks and seems to recall my presence. His eyebrows jump up, a smile pulls at his cheeks, and deepens the crinkles around his eyes. ‘Sweetie! I don’t believe I ever told you about your father. Or did I?’

Runner exhales audibly and takes a step back, out of Cacho’s view. He stares at me, and gives me a nod.
Go ahead.

‘No, you didn’t,’ I say.

‘How careless of me.’ His hands gesture wildly, brushing past his light-grey hair and fluffing it up even more.
 

‘My grandfather was an engineer who maintained Portugal’s satellite control. He taught a handful of the first Sequencers everything he knew. He also taught his children. And then, my father mentored me. I was pretty good at it, you know.’ Cacho winks at me as if he’s a young boy flirting with a pretty girl.
 

Trying to not drop my chin, I look at Runner. His sharp gaze flicks between Cacho and me; his thoughts are hidden behind a cool mask.

‘I was offered an apprenticeship and became a Sequencer,’ Cacho continues cheerfully. ‘I maintained several control systems, adjusted courses of satellites, programmed monitoring systems, and used them to track movements of the BSA.’

‘What does this have to do with my…father?’
 

‘Ah, yes. Your father. Someone found a very talented boy in a city in Greenland. He built and maintained complex machines at the young age of twelve. This boy could draw diagrams that…’

Cacho sees my stare and clears his throat. ‘I’m prattling. My apologies, my dear. I took him as an apprentice when he turned fifteen. I know him as a driven, introverted, and friendly man. A thinker and a tinkerer, that’s Erik. He’s no BSA man. Not a chance.’

‘If you are specialised in high tech stuff, why did you come to our village? And why did you analyse our drinking water?’ I trail off when I see him smile mildly. The man’s brain needs a timeout. Reality seems too much for him.

‘The Swiss Alps have as many holes as certain kinds of cheese the people are making there. Satellite control systems are buried in the mountains. One of the ESA’s main control centres is not far from your home. I enjoyed the walks. And so did Erik.’

‘So the man fucked my mother because he was in the area?’ My voice teeters to the shrill side of the spectrum. Cacho’s cheeks redden as if I’d slapped him left and right.

‘They were in love, sweetie. But Erik was young and on probation. Your mother…’ He sighs and drops his gaze. ‘She wanted him to grow up, take responsibility for her son — your brother — and their unborn child. For you, I mean. And he couldn’t. He didn’t want to give up his bright future for a life in a village, tending to goats, kids, and brussels sprouts.’ His soft chuckle heats my anger to white hot fury.

‘Did I tell you that I’ll be a father in two months?’ Cacho says with an expectant smile.

‘Congrats,’ I manage to say. Above our heads, thick droplets hit the tent. Thunder growls from afar.

‘So—’ he bends his neck trying to catch a glimpse of Runner. ‘Why did you send this Sequencer with a SatPad to me? Anything the matter?’

Runner steps forward and shakes his head. ‘No, Cacho. Just wanted to see how you are doing. I’m happy for you.’ He swipes at the screen and it goes blank. His hand rests there, his head is bent. ‘Shit.’

I’m stunned. My father seems to be a BSA commander and Cacho is a senile imbecile.
Shit
is the understatement of the year.

‘Kat, contact the Sequencer who’s with Cacho. I need to know if he’s acting.’

Kat nods and gets to work.
 

‘I need to think.’ He presses his knuckles to the tabletop and strolls off into the rain.

‘Yeah. Me, too,’ I say. When he’s gone, I slump down and hug my knees. Kat sits silently on her chair, stares at the place where Runner disappeared, then back at her screen.

Cacho and his apprentice — the man who got my mother pregnant — were never far from me and my family. Never far from what my father did to us, from the death of my brother, from all this fuckuppery. Not once did they offer help. I would be bullshitting myself if I believed Erik would warm up to me and leave the BSA. These two have been planning to recruit me and pull me into deep shit.

I remember Cacho showing up at Zula’s once. I’d visited his practice to get a few stitches. I can’t even remember where it was or when, or if I cut myself or just fell from a tree onto a sharp rock. Cacho was there, he’s seen what was carved into the skin of my back. He saw it and looked away. Not his problem. Did he think me so ugly and worthless that he wanted me to be a sniper’s apprentice and die an early death? Shove her to the front lines and see how many she can take down when she gets killed or tortured or raped? I can’t even ask him now; his brain is all pickled.

I feel my pulse tickling my fingertips. Every noise and odour stabs at my brain. I press my eyes shut, cover my ears, and breathe through my mouth.

A soft
bleep bleep
sounds from the computer and three dots appear on the screen, inconspicuously small and black. Kat and I jump forward, and freeze.

Did you believe the old man show?
sprawls black across the light-grey backdrop.

‘Who’s this?’ Kat asks. No response. ‘Identify yourself!’

We wait, but nothing happens.
 

‘Runner? Runner, get your ass in here!’ she shouts.

Hasty footfalls approach and he enters the tent. She points at the message. ‘Text only,’ she says and types,
Who is this?
and presses
send
.

Cacho.

We look at each other, probably thinking the exact same thought: No video, no audio — this can be anyone. My guess is Erik. Runner mouths the name. Kat and I nod.

What do you want?
Runner types.

Talk without being overheard. I believe Erik taps all our sat comms.
 

That gives me a pause. But I’m the only one who’s stunned. Kat smirks, Runner types.
Two requests: ID yourself and the comm you use.

Ask me something only I can know,
shows on the screen.

The last thing you said to me,
Runner types.

If “me” is Runner, then the last thing I said is, “The Capra boy will be a key to finish off the BSA.” Might have said goodbye or good luck after that. I forget.

My heart hammers in my throat when I see letters slowly forming words, forming a sentence and a meaning. The last bit even sounds like Cacho. But Erik has spent years with him; he should be able to copy his mentor.

‘Can anyone else know what Cacho said to you?’ I ask Runner. He frowns and considers, then shakes his head no. But I can see he’s not absolutely certain.

‘Let me.’ I step forward, shielding the screen from Kat’s view.
 
Micka here. What’s on my back?
I type. This, Erik cannot know.

The screen doesn’t change for a while. Then, three capital letters crawl in.