It’s a good command. A bit small, but with a bit of luck we’ll have everything we need for success down on the surface.
Malik did a quick scan of the immediate area, then moved himself into the open. The scattered tents of their encampment cast no shadows to speak of, and if Jarl was lying in wait he’d shed his tent camouflage in favor of something even more inventive.
He’ll probably try for someone inside a tent next. It’s no use stalking Katra, she’s far too good at this, and he knows not to bother her while she’s running sims.
And the Deltas don’t care in any event.
At the other end of the container, Katra and the Deltas were performing for a nearly full audience. Only the Omegas were missing, but their translator Doria was front and center with a huge smile on her face as always. The other civvies were watching with a mixture of concern and confusion on their faces, but Doria was just relaxing and enjoying the show.
Perhaps it was her empathic abilities that made the difference. Malik wasn’t exactly sure how it worked, but she seemed to get more enjoyment out of life than anyone he’d ever met.
Malik started walking toward the group, looking around for the Omegas. The shape and size of the container were such that to really conceal oneself took a great deal of skill and ingenuity, so the two hulking mods must be engaged in some private project inside their shelter tent.
The Transgenic virus hadn’t done humanity any favors overall, but compared to the base stock the Omegas’ appearance was truly alien. For reasons lost to time, the hulking pair looked even more extreme than did the Deltas. Instead of gray skin and extra arms, their skin was a vivid orange, and they were almost half a meter taller. Their broad faces had extra pairs of eyes, and a double set of ears on each side of their heads.
In contrast, their mouths were comically small. Again for unknown reasons, the Omegas had very different respiratory systems than other mods, one that allowed them to work in a variety of hazardous conditions, including the vacuum of space. As a result, though they understood language well enough, their mouths and throats couldn’t form responses in normal frequencies. Rather than use translation devices, they preferred to communicate with empathic facilitators like Doria.
Responding to his thoughts, Doria turned and looked at him. Her knowing smile hinted at a lifetime of other people’s secrets, including his own.
Without saying a word, Doria patted the space beside her and then turned back to watch the Deltas. Malik walked up and took the place she’d indicated, interested in what she might have to say.
"They’re designing." Doria’s whisper was unprompted, but Malik knew her well enough to know she was answering the questions most people asked her when she was sitting alone: "Where are the Omegas?" and "Is everything okay?"
While Malik wasn’t particularly worried about the Omegas, he always felt a bit frustrated that the other mods defined Doria by her association with the Omegas instead of engaging her on her own merits. She was funny, intelligent, and insightful—all traits a trained medical specialist needed. But despite her easygoing nature, since she was "the voice," she tended to give status updates instead of greetings.
Just like the rest of us. Until long after landing, anyway. There won’t be much time for casual interactions until we’re fully established and out of danger.
"Anything in particular?" As he spoke, Malik kept his eyes focused on Katra rather than the Deltas. She had a look of intense concentration he rarely saw in a Gamma, and he wondered if something had gone wrong with the training simulation. But Doria’s next words made him forget all about that.
"They won’t tell me. They usually don’t if the project is going to take a while. They don’t want to burden us with disappointments."
Malik now gave his full attention to Doria. Rather than sputter out the words of his many questions all at once, he waited for the Gamma to continue. She’d turned to face him, and the warmth of her smile was all the communication she deemed necessary. When she didn’t speak, Malik was ashamed that right now he was treating her just like the rest of the mods did.
Doria’s hand came up and caressed the side of his face. The gesture was so unexpected that the only thing Malik could do was cover it with one of his own, and continue looking into her eyes.
"Thank you. For acknowledging it—most people don’t bother. It’s all right not to know how to react around an empath. It’s also okay to ask questions if you have them, I don’t mind. The Omegas don’t think on the same timescales as we do, or about the same sorts of things."
Malik reluctantly pulled her hand away from his face, but didn’t want to let go of it. Somewhat surprised by his reaction, he kept holding her hand while considering his next action, and decided a full conversation on this topic was probably a good idea.
Malik rose to his feet, and Doria came up with him without any urging. She cocked her head toward the tents, then slipped her hand from his.
In another community, the pair’s departure might have been met with raised eyebrows and hushed whispers. Both Malik and Doria were healthy and mature, and given the probable outcome of the next few hours no one would fault them for seeking some comfort in sexual activity. But the very nature of this mission required the team’s members remain professional at all times, and Doria’s role as a counselor put her off-limits in any event.
Besides, she’s not the one for me . . .
Malik followed Doria to her shelter tent. Ducking his head to step inside, he saw the same basic camp furniture he had in his own tent, although Doria had arranged it into a much more comfortable space. Where Malik, Jantine, and the other combat mods had set up their quarters in nearly identical fashion based on years of training and discipline, Doria’s personal space was an organic extension of herself.
Unlike the command tent, Doria had opened up all the ventilation flaps to let in air and light. Her gear wasn’t set up based on how fast she could exit the tent in an emergency, or with an eye to where her weapons were stored. Instead, Doria’s layout invited him to sit down and relax for as long as he wanted to visit.
"I don’t usually see people here like this, but you and Jantine are always welcome." Doria waved him to one of the chairs and sat down facing him half a meter away in the other. Malik noticed that she’d chosen the one that kept her face fully visible in the tent’s half-light, while he was more in shadow.
How does she do that? Always coming up with the right thing to do or say?
"I can’t read minds, not exactly. Empathic communication is more about predicting behavior than telepathy, but you’re very easy for me to read. You and Jantine are so used to command that people do what you want them to as a matter of course; it’s almost like working with Them."
When Doria said the word like that, Malik knew she meant the Omegas. They had designations like every other mod, but since there was so little cosmetic variation among them they decided to embrace their similarities and rejected individuality altogether along with their names. Over time, a skilled observer could tell them apart, but even through intermediaries like Doria, few mods tried to engage them in conversation.
"Um, thank you. But . . . you do communicate directly with the Omegas, right?"
"Of course. I was bred for it. They have wonderful minds, and their desires are very easy to sort out. I use words and terms I’m familiar with, and they guide me to the right meanings. It’s functionally the same thing."
Malik tried to keep the confusion off his face, then remembered that with Doria it didn’t matter. If she really could interpret his emotions, she’d know better than he what he wanted to say.
Doria smiled, and leaned forward to rest one of her hands on his knee. She gave it a gentle squeeze, then sat back in her chair. The slight disturbance in the air as she did so carried a scent to him from deeper in her tent, something spicy and soft and full of mystery. He was just about to comment on it when she continued.
"There aren’t a lot of us in the Colonies. Part of it is that
the Omegas live very long lives, and prefer not to deal with our chaotic personalities. One, maybe two Gammas like me can support an entire community. For the most part they do their own thing, and they don’t need facilitators to communicate with one another. And like you, people generally understand what they want on the little stuff."
"Why don’t they cover this during education?" Malik was genuinely curious now, and leaned forward slightly to hear Doria’s response.
"They do for some. But I don’t know how to use the gun your hand just went to, or how Jarl got so close to you before you realized he was there." Doria’s smile didn’t falter, but her gaze shifted to a point just over Malik’s shoulder. "Oh, sorry, you hadn’t figured it out yet. Not consciously anyway."
Malik’s eyes widened as a strong hand squeezed his shoulder. He didn’t turn his head, but instead looked down at his right hand, which was indeed curled around the handle of his sidearm.
I wonder which of us he came for?
"Jarl, if you’d like to join us I can sit on the cot." Doria gestured to the side, and cocked her head slightly before continuing. "We’re talking about the Omegas, who are impressed at how quietly you moved around in their shelter. They want me to let you know that watching you has helped them with their design problem for the Colony’s outer defenses, and that you’re welcome to try and kill them again any time."
Malik felt the hand leave, and this time did turn to look. Jarl was back in his normal coveralls but had dusted his skin with some kind of dull powder. Given the visual range of the Omegas, it was likely something meant to change his skin temperature.
"No, I’m good. Malik, Boss says to call a meeting."
Jarl was speaking to Malik, but the Gamma’s eyes never left Doria. Malik wasn’t sure if his expression was one of disappointment or admiration, or some mixture of both.
Doria would know, of course, and Malik decided that was what was bothering Jarl. Empathics made an infiltrator’s job a lot harder, but at the same time they gave him a reason to do it.
"Thanks, Jarl." Malik saw that the infiltrator was waiting for further orders, and continued. "Get cleaned up, and meet us in the group tent in . . . let’s say twenty minutes."
That should be more than enough time for you to prepare your next "surprise."
Jarl nodded, and left without saying another word. On the way out he didn’t bother with stealth, and his shoulder somehow brushed the tent’s entrance flap. It cut off some of the outside light as it fell into place, and Malik turned his attention back to the ever-smiling Doria.
"That was well done, Malik. Whether you realize it or not, you can read people too. I think it’s a part of your training as much as your mods."
Doria’s face softened after she spoke, and Malik tried to imagine what it would feel like to do what she did. Jarl and Katra were easy enough to understand, and Jantine . . . Jantine was different in her own way. She wanted some kind of reaction from him whenever they spoke, and half the fun of his day was finding ways to almost give one. But the civvies didn’t have a lot in common with the combat mods, and he didn’t expect that to change after landing. JonB was an excellent example of how the two groups were just . . . different.
But then there’s Doria . . .
Malik decided to switch topics. He’d come here to learn more about Doria, but they’d spent most of the time talking about the Omegas or himself.
"Why did you do that? Ask Jarl to join us?"
"Because he wanted to. He wants to understand you, much like you’re here trying to understand me. You see him as more than a killer, and he’s not used to that in a commander."
Malik sat back in his chair, trying to process what Doria was saying to him. He hadn’t thought about it in exactly those terms before, but it seemed that Doria knew his mind better than he did.
"Are we all that obvious?"
Doria paused before answering. When she did, her voice was a bit softer than before, almost childlike.
"No. Like I said before, I can’t read minds. Not exactly. But you and Jantine see us—Gammas, I mean—not just as tools for a specific job like other Betas do. We notice. And you in particular are . . . special. I sometimes can read a bit more from you than the others."
Now Malik was truly at a loss for what to say. After almost three weeks of close contact with them, in the last few minutes he learned more of what it meant to be a Gamma than he’d thought possible. He didn’t feel special—he wasn’t sure exactly what he was feeling.
Is there a word for this? Maybe it’s what Jarl was feeling. Something between disappointment and anger. Not toward myself, or the Gammas. But towards our society as a whole maybe? I don’t know, and that’s . . .
He hadn’t seen Doria move, but suddenly she was next to his chair and that same spicy-sweet smell came with her. He found himself on his feet, and as soon as he was standing Doria was crushing herself to him in a fierce hug. Her left cheek was pressed against his right, and the warmth of it was as unexpected as the words she was whispering in his ear.
"Don’t think like that. Never like that. It’s all right, you’ve done nothing wrong. It’s all right, it’s all right. . ."
The words trailed off in his ear, but Malik felt Doria was still speaking to him somehow. He could feel her jaw moving against his own, and small puffs of air were tickling his skin.
Unsure of what to do, Malik put his arms around Doria and just held her. He tried not to think about the mission, or his orders, or anything at all but her in his arms. In that shared moment he was as much a part of her world any of the objects around them, but it couldn’t last. He knew what was expected of him outside the walls of the tent, and though his body was certainly interested, he couldn’t help being who he was.
I’m a Beta. And Doria is not the one for me.
They stood there in silence for several minutes, until Doria relaxed her arms around him. He let his hands fall away from her back, and before she pulled away she surprised him one last time by turning her head and kissing his cheek. It lasted only for a moment, but in that time Malik’s universe contracted to the few square centimeters of his body still in contact with her warmth.
Doria moved a short distance away, and took a moment to compose herself with her head turned to the side. When their eyes met again her smile was back in place. Malik didn’t know what to say, but he was sure she understood. He watched her eyes in the shadows for a few long seconds, and then said the only thing he could.
"I should go tell Carlton and Harren to prepare a meal. I . . . I’d like to talk to you again sometime, but I don’t think we’ll have a chance before landing. Would that . . . would that be all right with you?"
Malik was almost disappointed at the speed, and professionalism, of her response.
"Yes, of course. I’ll see you at the meeting, Commander."
Malik nodded, and turned to leave. Out of respect he waited until he was outside to smooth his coveralls, biting down hard on his emotions as he realized that no one would be looking at the entrance to Doria’s tent.
It may be all right, but after we land things are going to be different for you, Doria. I can promise you that for sure.
Malik pulled out his handheld and keyed in a general meeting call. He had fifteen minutes now to prepare for the next phase of the mission, and the rest of his life would just have to wait.
Jantine
". . . AND THAT’S WHERE WE STAND. I KNOW IT’S NOT a surprise to any of you that we’d be considered rogue agents, but I felt you should know that we are now officially at war with the human race."
Jantine scanned the faces of her team, looking for any signs of dissent brought on by her revelation. She expected none—even the civvies had volunteered for the mission—but other than Malik and Jarl none of them had known about the destruct sequence before just now.
The crew—if they could be called that—of Streamship 7 was gathered in the large tent they used for communal meals. One last round of tasteless nutrient wafers an
d a speech before dying was all she had to offer her people, and now she’d given them both.
Sitting on chairs, crates, and deck plating, both the combat and support teams were silent. Everyone but Malik seemed to be waiting for more information, though no one wanted to be the first to ask. Even the Deltas and Omegas squatting in the back seemed ready to say something, though it was hard to tell with the Omegas.
Doria looked enough like Katra that they could be crèche-sisters, at least while seated. But the contemplative Doria rarely spoke out in a group meeting. And when she did, it was to relay any concerns the Omegas might have. Jantine could see her throat pulsing as she subvocalized her thoughts, but whatever communication she was having with them wasn’t meant for the entire team.
The message she’d sent was pure diplomatic fiction, but it was a carefully scripted and executed one. The Alphas needed to disavow their actions, and Jantine and her team, along with the three hundred sleepers in the other container, were a small price to pay to give plausible deniability to the other Streamships.
The real ships. The ones that might actually survive their missions.
Surprisingly, the first person to speak was Katra. She wasn’t the most intelligent Gamma Jantine had ever worked with, but Katra was definitely one of the more perceptive.
"Did the words mean anything, other than as a cover story? Are we actually free?"
Interesting. Wasn’t expecting that at all.
Jantine looked at the other mod’s face, searching for her real questions. The answer to both her spoken ones was no, but at the same time a solid case could be made for yes. They really were disavowed, and since the penalty for going rogue was death, being condemned as rebels wouldn’t mean all that much in the end.
After a few seconds, Jantine decided Katra was more afraid of not having a command structure than anything else. It was unlikely she had any truly treasonous thoughts, and could be counted on to do her duty.
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