Lord Banshee- Fairy Dust

by Russell O Redman

  Commander Liu called to Leilani and myself, “Sirs, our Angel insisted that we take her over to the shooter first, a man called Mark Ambartsumian. She healed him, Sirs, she healed him and called him ‘Beloved Mark’ before she would let us take her to the medics. We are on the way to MI R&R now.”

  I pulled on my own banshee suit as Leilani and Marin disappeared out the door. I had not heard from Wang, but the two women had an excited conversation with the marines and headed for the transports. Finally, Captain Wang replied, “I have authorized a transport. Be careful, we only have two on board, and you will be taking one of them. I have assembled a mixed team of marines and sailors to accompany you. The sailors include a couple of com and eng experts, if you can use their skills.”

  I headed up to the MI office, escorted by a marine but not carried this time. Sergei reported that he was finally at the exit from the service corridor on the side road leading to the DG’s offices.

  There are very few architectural elements within any of the earth stations that merit praise, but I had been to the DG’s office on the Deng and knew it was one of those few. A street in a station is just a wide hallway with magnetic lanes and air jets to help people move quickly. This street looked like all the rest, except it ended in a small square festooned with vines that grew profusely along trellises, lacking only flowers. There was a sculpture of a woman playing with children in the middle. The square was flanked with very expensive restaurants and shops, each vying to be the most beautiful. The DG’s office had been there since the station had been built at the end of the Incursion, before the square had become fashionable five years ago. Surrounded with such high-priced elegance, its simple facade gave it an aura of quiet dignity.

  Sergei’s description was more functional. “Wide hall leading into a small, gaudy square. All the shops are closed. I can see the DG’s office on the far side of the square. There are about thirty people arguing and fighting in front of it. They all seem to want to get into the office, but it is closed and probably locked.

  “The other way, I see small groups of people huddled against the walls and hiding around the corners on the main road. Looks like some of them are reporters. I just heard one call ‘Angel, can you tell us what is happening?’ I thought we were supposed to be banshees, not angels?”

  Sergei said he was moving back into the service corridor as he and the commander discussed tactics. They had to get through the square to reach the office, and that meant they had to get through the crowd. The marines formed a phalanx just outside the door. Two marines started towards the square shouting for people to disperse, but someone in the mob had a gun. There was a pause, then Sergei reported that the shooter had been stunned and he was moving forward surrounded by marines.

  I told my marine to pick me up and run to the MI office. If there were reporters nearby, the images would be appearing on the news feeds within minutes, maybe live, and I could not see what was happening while I was in the halls. Molongo let me in and I brought up a selection of news feeds on one of the wall monitors.

  One of them showed a group of marines and a Banshee facing a mob of angry people outside the DG’s office. We watched as the reporter wondered out loud why the marines did not simply mow down the traitors. Instead, they had made a loose cordon across the street and were dragging people out of the mob, over to the Banshee who blessed them. Afterwards, they slumped or milled around slowly. One of them wandered down the road. The reporter ran up to her, asking what happened. She was dazed, bruised and dishevelled, but replied with her own questions. “What happened? I do not remember. I do remember coming to work, then got dizzy and angry and I woke up when that strange, glorious man called me back to my senses. Who are you? Where am I?”

  The reporter identified himself, then asked her name and where she worked. She replied, “I am Amy Macleod and I am the shift manager for the Supernova Restaurant, umm, just over there. Oh my God, that is Gary lying there.” She ran back up the street with the light skipping motion of someone who lived and worked in lunar-like gravity all the time. The reporter tried to follow, but the marines in the cordon ordered him away.

  He turned his attention back to Sergei and the marines by the door. They were making progress, but it was not easy. A few of the mob were still attacking the entrance to the DG’s office, but more were now forming into small gangs that rushed the marines and tried to drag them into the fight. The marines fought back, knocking some of them senseless. Through it all, Sergei continued to heal, grabbing each victim by the arms and speaking directly into their faces. Often, they slumped and had to be passed back through the cordon like a sack of grain. A few managed to walk by themselves through the cordon. A very few were put in restraints and passed back into a small group who were tied together and guarded by two marines with their guns armed and ready.

  The marines were now spread so thinly that Sergei was being attacked while he was trying to heal another victim. He never stopped, never flinched, just seemed to dance aside. Several times he grabbed the new attacker, addressing both his original victim and the new one together. When necessary, he would wrestle with his attackers until he could get close enough to their heads to read their comm IDs and start the healing. Some of the attackers were armed with knives and I could see new cuts in his clothes, some red with fresh blood.

  I asked the commander of Sergei’s squad who the people were who were being bound together. He stood outside the main fight directing his marines, and replied with many interruptions that they appeared to be common criminals, intent on breaking into the office under the cover of the emoji attack. They fought because everyone was fighting, but did not have comm unit implants and gave evasive answers.

  Commander Liu reported his arrival at MI where he and the marines carrying Katerina were waved through security on the run. They were ushered into R&R, where they were confronted by an angry doctor demanding that the marines leave immediately and that Katerina remove her mask in preparation for surgery. Commander Liu refused to leave and the doctor began cursing them all as Martian terrorists.

  There was frighteningly long pause, then Katerina called, “I am fine. The doctor was just demented. There are two other doctors here and I will be in surgery in a minute.”

  Then Commander Liu spoke again, “Who is this woman? She pulled herself off the stretcher, dragged herself over to the doctor with blood streaming out of her belly, and healed him. She started with ‘Beloved doctor, be at peace’, same as for everyone. Same as for the shooter who nearly killed her.”

  I replied, “Commander, she is a Banshee of the Council, and she is a wonder to us all.”

  As Molongo and I watched Sergei fight, I realized we had taken the wrong approach. I opened a call to Molongo, Leilani, Sergei and Evgenia, and the commanders of all four squads now committed to the battle.

  “This is taking longer than it should have. The emoji epidemic is more widespread and the situation on the Deng is much more hostile than we anticipated. Criminals are now taking the opportunity for looting and sabotage, so we desperately need the help of all the security staff who are not actual turncoats. We are taking casualties we cannot afford. I believe we need to change tactics.

  “Some of the Public Safety officers have been telling people that the DG would make an announcement soon. I believe we need to make that possible, and rely on her authority and good influence to pacify the rest of the station.

  “We need to shut down the comm centres in each facility briefly and install filters for emojis and binary blocks as we have done on the Mao. They can then be turned on again for basic communications. Instead of healing people as we go in, we will need to draft local help to take us directly to the comm centres, starting with MI, StaSec and Admin. Heal the critical people first. Use your judgement, but the top office holders may be the most seriously demented and we may get more effective cooperation from less senior people. Get them healing their own people as quickly as possible, then return to finish off LE and Commerce. For th
e moment, try to hold your positions.

  “Sergei, if you cannot get into the DG’s office quickly, divert to StaSec, which is just around the corner. StaSec may be able to escort some of your victims to their homes. Their comm centre is blasting out emojis and I expect their operators were amongst the first victims. Those who are not affected may be able to help you get into the DG’s office and Admin.

  “Evgenia, Katerina is undergoing surgery and is expected to be fine. Leilani is bringing a fresh squad including several Com and Eng. Ask her if you need help. When ready, proceed directly to the Admin comm centre.

  “Leilani, I would like to appoint you as the local sub-commander. I would like you to accompany Marin directly into MI. General Molongo, can you grant Leilani authority to enter the MI comm centre on the Deng to make the required changes?”

  He shook his head, so I continued. “He says no, so you will have to use your natural charm and good looks to persuade them to let you in. The marines probably know a thing or two that could be useful, as will the Eng. MI has been at the centre of this whole affair, so do not accept no for an answer.”

  Molongo gaped for a moment, then said out loud, “I did not hear that and will deny you ever said any such thing in my presence. I am going to bed.” He left the room.

  Neither Evgenia nor Sergei wanted to continue with the current approach, which was slow and dangerous, and quickly agreed to try something faster. We discussed how best to approach the comm centre, with the marines suggesting a flying wedge carrying the Banshee in a bulletproof body bag. Since that would not work for our local guides, I suggested a looser formation with the Banshee and the guide surrounded by a circling shield of marines. The marines objected that we would slow them down too much. Speed was critical to the success of such missions. The Ghost and Assassin agreed, having run such missions on Mars, so I accepted their advice. We finally agreed that the marines would carry their Banshee and guide prone on a stretcher. It was not dignified but it would be fast and was a maneuver they had often practiced, part of an emergency evac drill for combat on an asteroidal surface.

  We discussed how to make changes in the MI comm system. Leilani brought the three Coms in her squad into the conversation. I described what I had done, and they conferred with Thieu, still on the Excalibur but winding up her work. I expected the MI comm centre would be bigger, more complicated and much more active than the MI office on the Mao. The Coms were not so sure because much of the communications traffic was necessarily handled by the machines, which would be bigger and faster on the Deng, but monitoring communications traffic was a simple job and usually quite boring, leaving the staff plenty of time to do other things. Even a busy centre would not need many staff.

  I thought about that for a minute and realized its truth. The previous MI officer had been developing a new token. I was sitting in the MI office watching the news feeds, hardly paying attention to the messages streaming through the system. The machines were only concerned to pass each packet of bits to its destination as quickly as possible. They had no idea what effect an emoji might have on a human with the new comm units in their medical implants. The combination of ignorance and speed made human oversight difficult bordering on impossible, which allowed unscrupulous actors to create very dangerous messages if they knew enough to bypass the existing filters. I realized we had perhaps days before our enemy developed a more sophisticated attack that could bypass our new filters.

  I asked how Manager Troong was doing in LE. After a few moments, the reply came back that he was slowly enticing people out of their offices. Most were frightened and confused, but not demented. He passed them to the foyer where the braver and calmer ones formed into groups to go home. The few who were demented he had managed to heal, but neither he nor the marines were willing to venture farther into the complex. Leilani agreed to send three of her squad to assist them once she arrived on the Deng, but told him to wait until she arrived before venturing much deeper.

  I reminded everybody that while we were in the government offices we were unavoidably using MI comm for our own communications, so when Leilani blocked the MI comm centre all the teams would lose communications until it was re-enabled. Everyone needed to be in a position where they could rely on their own teams during that period. The crew could depend upon line-of-sight infrared communications built into their armour, but the Banshees and local assistants would be cut off.

  That got a prompt reply from one of the Coms, “No sweat Sir. We thought of that possibility before we came and have brought sets of personal comm systems. Our Banshee has designated runners to carry them to the other squads.”

  I almost melted. It felt so good to work as part of a well-practiced team of professionals again. I had not had that privilege since Mars. Then the melting chilled and I almost heard the thin whisper of wind-blown sand on the armour I was not wearing. I needed to keep this team alive.

  My attention was caught by one of the news feeds. A young woman and her larger boyfriend were happily telling a reporter that they had healed five demented people “just like the Angel did”. They would grab a victim, stare directly into zer face and tell zim to turn off zer comm unit. They had the spiel down perfectly. The woman had a black eye and her boyfriend had a split lip and bloody nose, yet both professed deep joy that they could help their fellow citizens in this terrible time. From their accent, I guessed they grew up in Copernicus City. Lunatics, with that special craziness that you just had to love. I grabbed a reference to the clip and made a note to nominate these people for citizenship medals.

  Leilani and her squad finally arrived on the Deng and formed up in front of the elevator on Level 195. They were joined by a Public Safety officer who agreed to escort them to MI. I am not sure he would have if he had realized he would be bound onto a stretcher in an embrace with Leilani and Marin, and the three of them carried at high speed through the streets by a flying wedge of sailors and marines. Or maybe he would have. Personally, I would have paid good money for a ride like that, and told them to take a few detours to prolong the experience. I suspected that he would boast about it for the rest of his life whenever he got loose enough, and no one would ever believe him.

  The PS officer also brought some excellent news. The main streets were no longer blocked by random clumps of demented people attacking each other. Many people had read the pronouncement from the Council; even more had seen the clip of the battered young couple who had healed the demented people on their own. Surprisingly quickly and over the whole Deng, groups of people had taken to separating the combatants and telling them to turn off their comm units. The officer was quite hopeful that his fellow officers could clear the passage all the way to MI and beyond.

  I watched them leave on the run, turning right into Emeishan Thoroughfare. I sat at a loss for a few minutes. We had learned from our earlier mistakes and refined our plans accordingly. I felt like the Assassin, organizing my own faction, and was ashamed again. The Assassin was my least favourite me.

  I had designated Leilani to be sub-commander, a rank I had invented on the fly. I hoped no one else would resent her field promotion, nor assume I had done it out of personal affection. I knew she was better by far than I was at organizing people. She would have been promoted far beyond her current position by now if she had not been taking care of me. I gave her the most glowing, enthusiastic endorsements I could whenever she came up for assessment, and I was routinely disappointed when she was denied the promotions she so clearly deserved. She always explained that she was happy where she was, and both the Student and the Spacer claimed they understood completely, but the other parts of me remained baffled, angry and a little fearful. Especially the Cripple who was almost desperate.

  Once, on Mars, I had been an organizing wizard, but the Assassin and the Ghost rarely agreed on their goals, and I did not trust either of them any more with the command of real people. Neither had the psychs who broke me into pieces and suppressed the Ghost so deeply that it required conscious eff
ort for me to let him out. At least most of the time. Since the Fairy Dust, I had been hearing more and more from the Ghost, whose purposes and talents seemed well matched to the current crisis. Some of the time I welcomed his input, even sought it.

  I realized belatedly that the Ghost had guided me when I authorized Leilani to break into the MI comm centre on the Deng in open defiance of Molongo’s orders, using violence if necessary. I had trusted her and my own judgement more than the general in command of MI, more than the laws of the Earth. And she was following that plan because she trusted me. What frightened me most was that Molongo had not countermanded that plan.

  Wallowing in self-pity, or even self-loathing, would not help my team achieve their goals. I called Chandrapati and asked him to join me in the MI office for the discussion of long-term goals and short-term tactics that I had promised. If I was free to violate MI security with Leilani on the Deng, I might as well do it with Chandrapati, and for this conversation I did not want prying eyes and listening ears. Especially not the ears of Molongo, Wang, and the ministers.

  He arrived as Leilani and the flying wedge raced past the door where Katerina and Evgenia had entered the service corridors. The streets were still busy with people, but they parted to let the team flash by, all recorded by the half dozen reporters who clustered about the door. Everyone seemed to realize that they were headed at high speed towards the government sector where there was still serious trouble.

  We watched the news feeds for a few minutes and Chandrapati commented, “You know, we are going to have trouble keeping our brand as Banshees when everyone on the Deng keeps referring to us as Angels.”

  I nodded, but said nothing. Officially, we did not exist, so a little confusion would not hurt. I pointed out the clip of the brave young couple and asked him to see if he could identify them. On his way back to the Earth, he would undoubtedly want to stop in Law Enforcement. While he was there, perhaps he could suggest they nominate these people for a public service medal. It had to be done anonymously, with nothing that could be traced back to us. There were probably other people who deserved such awards as well, but most of the reports I had seen suggested these two were early in the process and deserved to be rewarded. Also, I was not concerned about the rest of their lives. I was used to heroes being less than perfect. Even if these two turned out to be thieving rapscallions, for this one act they deserved the award.