On a Pale Ship

by Jamie McFarlane

  "Your comrade was ingested by groglesnout. There is no body to retrieve. You have thirty seconds to clear our airspace, Pigeon."

  Luc knew the free men of Cauldron would not hesitate to shoot him down if provoked. He accelerated hard and pulled back on the flight yoke. The Falcon shot up into the lightning-soaked clouds as he turned toward Nuage Gross and Admiral Marsh.

  Nuage Vert, the closest city to where the battle had taken place, was at the outer edge of the ten-city nation, making it a four-hour flight to Nuage Gross. As Luc arrived at Gross, the beauty of the largest cloud city was not lost on him. Compared to the other nine, Gross’s distinctive three-part design was dramatic and overelaborate. A bright white cylindrical structure with artistically shaped spires sat in the center and was many times larger than the other two sections. Flanking the center, two outriggers were skinned entirely in armor glass and filled with entertainment and recreational spaces.

  Nuage's military authority was housed on the ninth level in the main city. It was the only mundane portion of the entire structure. This section had no glass and no wide balconies for fresh air strolls or small craft landing. Luc flew smartly to his perch on the eighth level. Thick pins lowered, locking positively into reinforced slots beneath and behind his canopy. He waited for the ship to roll ninety degrees forward. The clamps allowed the Falcon to pivot so the nose was pointed down; ships literally hung off the side of the platform. Launching was accomplished by releasing the pins and allowing the ship to fall away with gravity. It was a romantic, if not overly practical design that the military had lived with for a century and a half.

  Luc set his feet on the forward bulkhead — now the floor — and his chair automatically swung away. He straightened his uniform with a sharp pull on the waist jacket and moved forward with purpose after exiting the ship. It had been years since a patrol had been attacked or they’d lost a pilot to anything more than retirement. His heart was heavy with the loss of two squad mates.

  "Admiral Marsh and Captain Festove are expecting you." Renaud Chappuis, Admiral Marsh's aide, managed a conciliatory smile as Luc entered the austere outer office of Central Military Command. The only adornment on the dark blue walls was a two-meter-tall silver Falcon, the symbol of the nation's defensive forces.

  Luc breathed deeply before knocking.

  "Enter." The voice belonged to Admiral Louise Marsh.

  Luc pushed the door open and wasn't surprised to see his superior, Captain Festove, already present. Stiffly, he pulled to attention and his mind spun a final time through the possibilities he'd considered on the long trip back to Gross.

  "At ease, Commander." Marsh released him. "Come, join us."

  "Admiral. Captain." Luc nodded and approached the pair.

  "I will not mince words, Commander," Marsh said. "You are suspended without pay pending investigation of negligence resulting in the death of two of your squadron this day."

  Luc inspected Marsh's steely demeanor. He had known the woman his entire career. She was calculating and shrewd, but he'd never believed her to be capricious. Not getting a reasonable read, he turned to Captain Breshev Festove, a highly decorated pilot turned politician. As expected, the man offered nothing, as there would be no advantage for him to do so.

  "Ma'am?" Luc finally managed, his throat tight and vision starting to blur. "May I speak?"

  "I strongly recommend against it," she replied. "Charges are pending."

  "I don't understand. We were attacked while discharging our duties," he continued, unable to believe what he was hearing. "The ship gave no warning and fired on us. There was no other course of action."

  "Of course there was," Festove spat. "You could have achieved a safe stand-off and requested support."

  "He killed Brighton."

  "Commander Gray. I'm ordering you to stop speaking until you have counsel present," Marsh snapped.

  "As of this moment, you have been stripped of your security credentials," Festove said. "I am ashamed at your willful disregard for the safety of your squadron. If it were up to me, I would see you in chains."

  "That's enough, Captain Festove," Marsh said forcefully. "Commander Gray has served with distinction for over a decade. He will not be treated with disrespect in my presence."

  Festove glared at the older woman and then turned back to Luc. "Your wings and your sidearm."

  Luc pulled the small blaster pistol from its thigh mounted holster and placed it on Admiral Marsh's desk, ignoring Festove's outstretched hand. Atop the pistol, he placed the silver Falcon wings that summed up his entire life's career aspirations.

  “Do you have any last words before judgment is delivered?” Admiral Louise Marsh asked.

  Luc considered the woman standing behind a carved wooden lectern. On either side of the Admiral sat Breshev Festove and Jean Lecerf, representatives of Air Defense and Central Security. While he’d never considered Marsh a friend, she had always been fair in her actions. His relationship with his direct supervisor, Festove, was considerably frostier and he knew little of Lecerf, beyond his recently gained post in Central Security.

  “For eighteen years, I have honorably discharged the duties assigned to me. I stand ready to continue in service to the great nation of Nuage.”

  “Let the record reflect that no member of the panel questions the integrity of Squad Commander Lucien Gray,” Admiral Marsh said.

  “So reflected,” an aide responded officially.

  “Captain Lucien Gray, it is the finding of this panel that you were negligent in disengaging from an overwhelming hostile fleet. Due to this negligence, two lives for which you were responsible, Lieutenant Emilie Bastion and Lieutenant Martin Brighton, were lost. The nation of Nuage mourns. You are relieved of duty and dishonorably discharged from service. Sergeant-At-Arms, you will strip Lucien Gray of his rank.”

  Luc locked eyes with Marsh as she delivered the panel’s judgment. He found it impossible to rectify the woman’s words with reality. During his entire adult life, he’d only known service and had no other career plans. The possibility of dismissal had never entered his mind.

  He felt strong hands encircle his left arm just below his bicep. Confused, he tried to pull away. “Luc, don’t struggle. I have to do this,” Sergeant Cyril Lebas implored.

  Luc turned his head and looked glassy-eyed at the highly decorated man he regularly trained with and considered a friend. “What are you doing?” Luc asked but stopped pulling away.

  “My duty.” Lebas firmly grasped the rank insignia on the epaulettes of Luc’s left shoulder and ripped it from his coat. Before Luc could adjust he did the same to his right shoulder.

  A tear escaped down Luc’s face as the reality of Marsh’s words caught up with him in that single, violent action.

  Chapter 2

  Thief

  System: Bethe Peierls, Planet: Vermeer, City: Fariza, Population: Eighteen Million

  At just before dawn, Katriona Macillvain pretended to sleep, smiling into her pillow while enjoying Marek’s warm hand as it traced the tattoos adorning her naked back along her spine. With only a slight hesitation he slipped his hand beneath the thin undergarment that covered her narrow bottom. She’d only been with a few men who had gained her trust in such a short period of time. Involuntarily, she gasped when his light touch found what it sought and discovered her anticipatory state. With all pretense of sleep lost, she moaned as he climbed onto her and tenderly brought the two of them together.

  “You should know better than to wake the huntress,” Katriona purred in her slight Scottish accent. She pulled up onto a knee and brought a slender leg around, twisting at an angle only possible for a dancer or gymnast. Contorting as she spun, she caught Marek’s neck behind her knee and violently dragged him to the bed from where he’d been kneeling behind her.

  Marek resisted, confused at how the gentle moment had turned violent. “What the hell,” he complained, finding himself on his back, staring up at the willowy woman’s backside.

  “W
hat can I say?” she answered, grinding into him. “I don’t like feeling trapped.”

  Twenty minutes later, dawn was breaking when Marek sank back into the pillows, sweat beading on his brow. The woman was as beautiful as she was odd, he thought. He supposed that was to be expected in a specialist who had risen to Katriona Macillvain's level.

  A knock at the hotel room’s door announced the arrival of breakfast. Marek watched in fascination as she jogged effortlessly across the room, her translucent robe flowing behind her graceful strides. Impossibly, his body stirred. For a moment, his resolve wavered. The thief’s trust had been difficult to gain, but he’d always had a way with people. As expected, she’d eventually succumbed to his charms.

  “Does my balach have desires beyond the flesh this morning?” she asked, pouring hot water into a tea cup, her voice momentarily exposing an accent he could not place.

  “Coffee, please.” He slipped past the breakfast cart and into the elegant bathroom where he stepped into the shower.

  With haste, Katriona moved across the room to where her small bag rested on the exotic, wood-grained dresser. She pulled out odorless wipes and sponged her body clean. She’d love to join Marek in the shower, but couldn’t afford to have the fragrant soap on her skin and hair when she was on a mission.

  From the overnight bag, she drew out a bodysuit and slid her legs in first, pulling it over her shoulders. The smart material conformed to her figure, leaving little to the imagination. One by one, she collected curved knives from the bag’s interior and slipped them into pockets along the suit that had been specifically designed for that purpose. Closing the bag, she looped its straps over her shoulders.

  Rustling in the bathroom alerted Katriona to Marek exiting the shower. Instinctively she moved to the glass door that opened onto the narrow balcony. While she was willing to share her body with the man, she felt differently about her craft, even though he was technically her client.

  A strong wind rushed into the room when she slid the door open. Hastily, she stepped through and closed it behind her. With precision of movement made possible only by repetition, she spooled a nearly invisible filament from a pocket that functionally resembled a spider’s thorax. Unlike a spider’s dispenser, however, the pocket was located just below the solar plexus. Positioned perfectly at her center of gravity, there was just as much weight below the device as above, giving her maximum mobility.

  With her other hand, Katriona carefully pulled out a small swatch of cloth. Leaning to the side of the balcony, she swiped at the hotel’s metallic skin. Having served its purpose, she dropped the cloth and watched it disintegrate in the buffeting winds. Pressing the filament end against the scuff left behind by the acid on the cloth, she waited for a count of five before releasing.

  Katriona pulled the suit’s hood up to cover her head and looked over the edge of the balcony. If the filament didn’t hold she’d fall hundreds of meters to her death; an exhilarating rush followed by permanent quiet. It was a risk she’d grown accustomed to.

  “Katriona?” Marek’s muffled voice called from within the hotel room.

  With no time to waste, she vaulted over the balustrade. The wind caught her and forced her shoulder into the cord that was her lifeline. With splayed fingers, she pushed against the building as she accelerated, twisting around and moving her shoulder away from the line she could hardly afford to sever.

  For seconds, which felt like minutes, she was in freefall. Her cat-suit adjusted its coloring to match the building behind her as she rushed by. The technology wasn’t perfect. Any number of technological countermeasures could expose her, but just like her suit, they were extraordinarily expensive.

  Tension on her midsection alerted her to a gentle slowing. Involuntarily, she breathed a shallow sigh of relief. During the long drop, that little tug had been the only feedback she'd felt, letting her know she remained attached to the building. Finally, at two-hundred sixty meters, she slowed to a complete stop.

  The wind had pushed her across the face of the building, leaving her twenty meters out of position. The consistent force gave no signs of abating, so she pulled a strap on her waist and connected it to the line. By retracting the strap, the line pulled tight, allowing her to turn sideways to the building and use the grip of her soft boots to run along its surface.

  A blinking light in her HUD (Heads-Up Display) warned of an urgent problem. The filament she dangled from had become entangled on a protruding balcony. It was one of the disadvantages of the system. While the thin chord was unparalleled in its tensile strength, it was susceptible to abrasion or snapping against sharp, vertical force.

  Katriona’s heart leapt into her throat. She had precious seconds before falling without hope of recovery. She pushed against the building and leapt for a nearby balcony. The line broke just as her hands closed on the railing.

  “Frank, did you hear that?” An older woman’s voice carried through the balcony’s open door. “I think someone’s on the balcony.”

  “We’re two hundred meters up, Marge,” a man’s voice answered. “No one’s on the balcony. It’s probably a bird.”

  Checking the display projected onto her retina, Katriona discovered she was three suites over and two levels above her target. She had more than enough filament for another drop, but maneuvering to the right room would take time. Every second wasted would leave her open to hotel guests looking for their first glimpse of morning.

  Heavy footsteps approached from within the room. Loosening her grip, she let her hands slide down the railing posts. A shadow appeared in the doorway and at the last moment, she swung onto the balcony below.

  She ran across the narrow perch and vaulted from the railing. As usual, her timing was perfect and she landed gently and quietly on the side of the next balcony. A figure moved inside the room, but she wasted no time, sprinting across the space and vaulting again. She was prepared to leap a third time, but stopped when she heard a noise.

  “Who’s out here?” a voice called.

  She froze, allowing her suit to blend into the sundrenched porch. The human eye would pick up subtle telltales of her suit within five meters, especially if she moved. The man stared hard at her position and Katriona feared something about the suit looked off. After a short while, however, he turned, still trying to locate the source of the movement he’d seen. Not finding anything unusual, he disappeared back into his room.

  She jumped a third time and landed easily against the final railing. On the bed within the room lay a woman dressed in a nightgown; she was awake and holding a reading pad in front of her. A man was dressing and looking at himself in the mirror.

  The balcony lock was a simple device, designed to hold the door closed from the inside rather than to prevent unwanted visitors, which would be unusual at two hundred meters up. A narrow knife blade inserted between the panels at just the right location sprung the lock and Katriona gained entry.

  “What are you doing?” the woman asked, laying her book down.

  Katriona smiled at the woman, something she’d learned often bought her a few seconds. The woman looked at her, confused. The delay was enough for Katriona to fish out a small phial which she squeezed in front of the woman’s face, producing a fine mist.

  “Hey, there! Now, stop,” The man dropped the brush he held in his hand and turned to face her.

  Katriona launched herself, planting an arm into the firm mattress and swinging her legs over. The second her foot hit the floor, she spun, bringing her other leg around, catching the man’s chin violently with the heel of her foot.

  Definitely not military, Katriona thought as she caught the man just before he fell in a heap on the floor. Not one to take risks, she checked his breathing and gave him a quick hit of the same drug she’d used on his mistress. At least she supposed the woman was his mistress, given his wedding band and her lack of the same. Automatically, Katriona marked the time. The drug would keep them unconscious for ninety minutes and cause short-term memory los
s of about twelve hours.

  Dragging the man with her, Katriona reached out for the door controls to set the ‘privacy requested’ setting that would prevent housekeeping from entering to clean the room. She slumped the body against the door and went back for the mistress. Pulse pounding in her ears, she dragged the woman to lay next to him.

  Her eyes caught on a glittery gold band around the woman’s wrist. Deftly, Katriona slid the bracelet off, put it into a shielded pouch, and deposited the item into one of many unlikely hiding places within the cat-suit.

  She almost felt guilty, but for the first time she was doing a job for the right reasons — or what she imagined to be a moral reason. Nothing was normal about her life right now. In addition to her uncharacteristic attraction to her client, Marek was a completely different type of customer for her. His mission was pure and he fought for those who couldn’t fight for themselves. She felt a twinge of pride at being able to finally contribute to the plight of the masses living in the ghettos of Vermeer’s many cities.

  With considerable effort, she hefted the bed’s thick mattress to the side and leaned it against the glass door that led to the balcony. A mesh lay across the frame that held the mattress off the ground. Carefully, she detached the fasteners in the frame and rolled the fabric back. Katriona pulled off her backpack and set it on the floor, extracting a tool specially made for the job.

  Expanding, extending, and pivoting the assembly per the AI’s instructions, she positioned the tripod legs of the device at the precise location. She blinked at the prompt on her HUD and watched in awe as the laser drill poked a tiny hole through the steel floor.