by J M Thomas
There was a little row of shops past the fried foods, and I made my way there straightaway. Every world had those stupid touristy places, overpriced traps that sold curiosities. They all had a little Earth booth for the curious observer—pictures of its funny-shaped continents, packets of preserved foods to try, and the very thing I needed—a pencil and paper set.
I had no trouble locating the shop itself. Those things advertise like crazy, waving brightly-colored flags and playing their shop music just a little too loud. The proprietor grinned like he’d already caught me by the time I set foot in the store.
In two minutes, I was out again, with my purchase in an entirely unnecessary crinkly bag, a frown on my face. The only notebook they had was clearly a child’s drawing pad, no lines on the paper, and an adorable cardboard cover with pastel pink hearts. Literally the only one in the store.
Not that Earth convention for children’s notebooks and what was suitable for a galactic patrol officer’s notebook mattered here to anybody else, but it mattered to me. I was about to pour my heart and soul out, and the least this stupid mission could do was take me seriously enough to give me a goddamn unremarkable notebook cover.
I just knew someone would notice me with it and report it straight to Heckling Central: Blade Division. I ducked my head like I was carrying illegal contraband as I left the store and the little bell jingled far too loudly. I needed to get this figured out and fast, before I became a walking collection of little Earth girl memorabilia. Grow me some pigtails with my nice, thick hair, if this synth hair even grew. I got the distinct impression it didn’t, seeing as how I didn’t have five-o’clock shadow, or any o’clock shadow, and it had been days since I was formed. No razor involved.
But if I was no longer from the dust of the Earth, then what footing did I have? How was I supposed to know what thread to pull first, with a tapestry of lies around me?
Chapter 13 – Ghosted
I was never quite sure how to feel about being alone. For folks with half a dozen siblings, especially the ones conceived somewhere in the middle of the pack, “alone” is a foreign concept. Peace and quiet was a rare commodity in my childhood.
Then I grew up and got the bright idea that I’d be quite the ladies’ man if I projected the persona of the lone wolf, owl, pteranodon, whatever creature. I must not have been terribly grown, since the irony escaped me that I was projecting an image of unreachableness for the sole purpose of attracting, you know, a person. It was terribly hypocritical. Also stupid.
Then, of course, fresh out of PatrolEdu, I got partnered with the most talkative human being on the force. I used to stare longingly at partnerships where a well-figured, reticent female got paired with a guy. Gimme that stakeout any day—I’ll even sign up. What did I get? Blade.
Now, as I disembarked from the levcar and sent it on its way, feeling in my pockets for my keycard and other valuables, the loneliness really started to sink in. I looked out over the blue-green ocean, choppy from a storm whose clouds were still rumbling in the distance. I imagined myself as a boat out at sea—on the one hand, I was free, totally free, with nothing holding me back or telling me what to do.
On the other hand, I was also lost on an ocean of treachery with no anchor to hold me steady. I was adrift without a shipmate, uncertain as to who I could trust, including my own brain.
I’d chosen a beachy spot for my aimless wandering, one of many on this planet. The ocean was fairly toxic, so no one was likely to be swimming in it. The Ehksmians didn’t like their amphibian skin getting chapped by the sun and wind, so that left just the synths to enjoy it.
That, too, stuck in my brain somehow, so I pulled out the notebook and got to scritching my pencil across its surface. I started a page with “Things I know” and immediately had to stop. My breath catching in my throat, I wrote, “I am a synth.”
For a full minute, I stared at that page, until the urge to throw something became overwhelming and I searched around my feet. A piece of unfortunate driftwood, battered by weeks at sea, had washed up in close enough range to become the object of my rage. It found itself flung once again into the unforgiving undulations of the waves as I let out a grunt and launched it as far as I could.
It landed with a splash so faint, so distant, I couldn’t even hear it over the ocean’s roar. It displaced so little water, the ripples from its impact leveled out and became one with much stronger tides long before they reached the shoreline. The glorified twig became my scapegoat, my proxy, bobbing and drifting on crests higher than it could have imagined before falling to drown again and again, never getting determinably closer to the shore or further from it.
Now, in a sea of lies, I had a buoy. It was a shitty buoy, even looked like a turd bobbing about. But it was something other than waves, something to hold onto. I was desperate enough, with my soul adrift in a body I didn’t understand, stranded on a planet I hated, filled with people who looked like frogs or were made of plastic. A waterlogged piece of driftwood would have to do for an anchor.
With a nod toward the sea, I raised the paper to my eyes. “I am a synth,” I began, mustering the courage to put my pencil back to the blank space. “My name is Jet. My partner’s name is Blade. I like women. I like fried dumplings.” Here I paused, a little smirk creeping up my face. “I do not like synths. I do not like Ehksmis Prime, or frog people. I have never met a synth who didn’t lie. I have never met a human who didn’t lie.”
I let this stupid stream of consciousness go on for a full page, then decided to rein it in again. It was a starting point, now onto the important bits: “What I don’t know.”
Letting my perverse side have its little moment, I wrote “a hell of a lot,” then decided to get more specific. “What Blade is up to with the locket shenanigans and getting his ass arrested by the military police.” That was one of the more pressing ones.
“If I can trust… Marsh, Marsha, Lila, Blade, or Jet.” I scribbled my own name so hard the tip of the pencil broke. I slid it up into the cap that came with it and turned the wood in the built-in sharpener until a new, pin-sharp tip emerged. My thumb flipped one page back again.
“I know I’m in deep shit. I have a job doing guard patrol at the central government building. I will have clearance at the end of the week.” Here I paused again, tapping the eraser end on the paper as I watched the storm clouds recede for a few minutes. “Marsh and Marsha will come by tonight, as will Lila. Synthcorp is somehow monitoring us, but haven’t made an effort to stop us.”
I’d begun to doubt that last bit—considering I kept expecting something to jump out of the shadows and pop a bag over my head, but it’d been long enough, and nothing came to drag me away by the throat. I was beginning to believe the boogeyman wasn’t coming out of the shadows, that it was distracted or too incompetent to notice us pulling the proverbial rug out from under its feet.
Flipping to a third page, I added another title: “Threads to Pull.” Here, I listed a few items, then stowed the notebook away for a few minutes of beachcombing. I rinsed, then pocketed a little stick of driftwood, a perfect minimalist decoration for my minimal windowsill. It could be a plant I’d never have to water. A few bits of salt and sand-polished glass pieces soon clinked their way around my pockets, and I turned to go.
Just then, an epiphany hit me like a bolt of lightning. I stopped in my tracks, fumbling in my pocket for the pencil and paper. “We traded one shallow-cover cop for one in deeper cover.”
That’s it. That’s what Blade is doing. That’s what he wanted me to remember when he did this. If he was under suspicion for playing both sides, it was time to trade out for someone they’d never suspect of playing for sides at all. I was the new deep cover.
Blade’s little sell-out where he’d been “dumb” enough to get caught was all about positioning me where I’d need to be to get shit done that he couldn’t. I’d just have to do my thing and trust my instincts to guide me until I got instruction some other way.
With a s
mile, I pulled out a few pages, then returned my notebook to my pocket. I might not have the clarity of focus or direction I wanted, but I had something. I knew what step I needed to take next. I needed to host a dinner party for some frog people.
I didn’t know what the hell frog people ate for dinner.
Chapter 14 – Party
If someone had told me six months before that I’d have gone to the little corner grocery for kelp and insect pate, wearing a little girl’s locket and paying for the experience with a deep-in-debt card, I’d have smacked them silly.
But here I was, my stovetop boiling with something utterly revolting, my little piece of driftwood on display next to my window, doing my best to make the place look somewhat festive. At least I imagined this would pass as festive to native Ehksmians who’d never traveled half an hour past their own birthplace, much less journeyed throughout the galaxy.
A timid knock sounded upon the thin wood of my door, so I wiped my hands on a towel and dashed forward to unlock the little chain I’d installed so I’d feel better about things. With a cordial grin, I opened the door to admit Marsh and Marsha. They looked around for the more social half, and finding only me for dinner company, fixed me with a confused stare.
“Blade can’t make it tonight,” I said by way of explanation, confused as to why they didn’t remember him being taken away by an intimidatingly-armed force.
“Oh, is the work?” Marsh paused to incline his head as I ladled the soup from the pot into a mug. They drank this soup tepid, almost cooled to room temperature. I was certain I’d done precisely what the instructions on the can had asked of me, but I got the feeling as I handed off the mugs that something had not gone well.
“What?” I asked, not daring to look at my own mug.
“Jet taste,” Marsha replied, blinking her large, slitted eyes shyly.
Swallowing hard and holding my breath, I tipped the mug to my lips. It didn’t help. A taste so terrible I couldn’t bear to even pretend it was edible assaulted my taste buds. I couldn’t even swallow it, but I tried to not make a show of spitting it back into the mug. “You guys, I am so sorry…”
“It okay!” Marsh waved his hands, fingers splayed. “Marsha bring ingredient, cook much grand food. Is no problem.”
Faced with the alternative of no dinner, I nodded miserably. With a wave of his hand, Marsh rose from his seat on the tiny couch and gestured for me to come with him to the kitchen. Soon, the couple was teasing me about my canned cooking, slicing local vegetables from the lobby shop, and creating something much more appealing to the senses.
I found myself downright enjoying myself as I managed to impress them with my knife skills, using a few tricks I’d picked up during idle time at the academy. When there was nothing to do but watch the pot boil, I took Marsh back to the couch and chair to show him some card games. Marsha seemed interested as well, cradling her head on her beloved’s shoulder to suggest moves. She had a keen eye for strategy, and smiled when I pointed that out.
“None in family play with I,” she said with a grin. “I win too much.”
Marsh nodded his head vigorously, executing the move she’d suggested with confidence in his wife’s skills. When I countered it a moment later, he turned to her with a furrowed brow and a groan of failure.
She laughed in his face. “That’s what him get for cheating!”
He burst into laughter as well, slapping his skinny thigh with his rubbery palm. With a humble shrug, he laid down his cards. “Cheating Ehksmian deserves to lose and wash dishes.”
I nodded, fully approving of this course of action. “It’s only fair.” After another round of playful banter and cards, I decided to broach the subject again.
“Marsh… about today, was this attack coordinated simultaneously?” I wasn’t sure if he’d understand me, but I couldn’t think of a simpler way to put it.
He seemed to understand my question instantly. The amphibian shook his head so hard his lips flew out of place a little before settling back in to speak. “No. The attack was started years ago. That is how them miss it. Little pieces, yes?”
I nodded, the pieces finally beginning to click together. The attack on the mainframe really had happened. That synth system Blade downloaded his mind to, back on our swan song mission—it hadn’t just corrupted him, he’d corrupted it as well. He’d been a link in a chain of beings willing to risk everything to hack this system.
But what had he gotten? What was his reward for all his labors? Surely, he wouldn’t risk so much for a little gold locket. There had to be more to the piece of jewelry I wore around my wrist. It had to be a key to something. Whether it was a secret message, some code to get its wearer entry somewhere, or contained some well-concealed machinery, I was its babysitter until whenever the hell Blade got out and explained himself.
With these raging river rapids of churning shit, though, him getting out was looking less and less likely by the minute.
I had to decide, right here and now, whether I’d trust Marsh and Marsha with my little secret. I got the feeling Blade had wanted me to trust them. I think that was why he’d invited them here, as a setup for this meeting.
“Does this mean anything to you?” I asked, holding up the locket still fastened securely to my wrist.
Marsh’s bulbous eyes widened so big I thought they’d pop out of his head.
At his gasp, Marsha half-turned from the pot she was stirring to catch a glimpse of what we were looking at. She dropped the spoon into the pot with a splat and a clatter. I didn’t catch the exact meaning of the phrase that escaped her lips, but I did register that it was a vile curse in the Ehksmian language.
“Us should eat us food,” she said, shaking her head. “Then can go see the boat dock on the river. Is beautiful in moonlight. Have nice date for three.” Her laugh sounded forced, but Marsh joined in as if he found the idea funny.
Weirdly, the act of sharing secrets and mistrust bonded us faster than sharing pleasantries and traditions. Where before we were engaging on surface-level getting to know each other, now we were creatures in a certain brotherhood of clandestine armament. We ate dinner at an expected rate, saying things we would be expected to say, all the while glimmers of meaning and deeper understanding made their way through the traditions.
After an appropriate length of time, we removed ourselves to the levcar, sharing Marsh and Marsha’s dedicated pass rather than incurring another singular expense on my account. They showed me how to pay for a large number of rides at once, and how it was much less expensive in the long run. Marsh’s eyes widened once again as my list of incurred charges danced over the screen before my eyes.
“Jet not need that come up every time make buy.” He pointed to the largest, my fine for manslaughter. “This not make friends easy.”
I nodded my understanding. “So, I should only show people who I want to intimidate?”
Marsha nodded. “Yes. Is intimidating Beloved already, see?” She made a show of mopping her beloved’s forehead with her shirtsleeve, then laughed.
Awkward silence fell over our little band of travelers. I was uncertain as to how long this ride would take, so I wracked my brain for a question to ask Marsh and Marsha about their lives. “What’s it like living here?” I finally asked, hoping I’d left the question open-ended enough.
“Will tell Jet story.” Marsha spoke up as her beloved looked out the window. “Once upon a time, were giant bubbles stabilized like walls. People build houses, moss carpeted soft floors under surface of water. Mansions in bubble, uncomfortable for land-dwellers because of pressure, see? Inside are many clutch-brothers in harmony all the time. One day, two brothers have squabbles, and one cut loose brother’s bubble, filling it with water, trapping dear family inside to drown with hundreds of precious tadlings.
“Outcry was so horrid and mourning went on for months. Since very bad day, no Ehksmian ever waged war with another. War cost too much. Brothers must find peaceful way to live together, or find new pla
ce to live apart.”
As she said the last words, the car descended to street level and slowed to a stop. We disembarked, my feet landing on large, rough wooden planks comprising a dilapidated pier. The whole assembly jutted out over a gently-flowing river that looked magnificent with the moonlight dancing across its waters.
“Bag!” Marsha announced, holding a waterproof container open. “If not want wet, now is time!”
I struggled again for a moment with trusting them, even as both emptied their pockets and deposited their belongings into the bag.
“Locket is okay to get wet. Has shield.” Marsha didn’t even turn her face from her beloved as she said this. “Knife is okay, too. Jet not careful enough, but good start.”
Marsh nodded, addressing his beloved. “Yes, still trust too fast. Is need for friend, yes?”
“Jet need to lose whole family to tragedy Jet cannot stop. Then will fight with whole heart.” Marsha’s voice was so cold I expected the river to ice over.
Reluctantly, I deposited my things into the waterproof bag. “So, I’m getting these back, right?”
“If us are friends, yes. If us not friends, Jet good as dead already.”
I pulled my knife from my belt, flashing it before their eyes.
Marsh shook his head sadly. “Jet as prejudiced as Blade say. Underestimate.”
In a second, my entire not-unsubstantial form hit the deck, my left arm coming up behind my back as a pair of finger pads plugged both of my nostrils. The knife, which had been in my left hand was now before me as Marsh twirled it on his flattened palm. Marsha held me pinned to the deck.
“If Marsha want, Jet die?” he asked, as if wondering who would win in a fight.
In response, I pushed up with my non-barred hand, pulling all of Marsha’s weight with me. She managed to keep her hold over my nasal passages and clamped her palm over my mouth so I couldn’t breathe. I only had a few seconds, if synth bodies worked like human ones, so I determined to make them count, roughly slinging her down onto the boards.