The Surrana Identity

by Michael Campling

  Brent beamed his brightest smile at Kadov. “Sir, I’m sorry, but our system has been affected by an unexpected outage. We’re sorry if this causes you any inconvenience, but on Earth, we call this kind of thing a window of technical opportunity. Unfortunately, the only way to continue with your query is to terminate your connection and start again. Please close your channel and call again. Thank you for your patience.” He caught Vince’s eye, pointed to the ceiling, then flapped his hand in an upward gesture.

  “Brent, I can’t turn it up,” Vince protested. “Look what it’s doing to Rawlgeeb.”

  Brent’s only reply was to repeat the gesture, and reluctantly, Vince said, “Jason, increase the volume. Make it as loud as you can.”

  Kadov’s eyes bulged. He yelled something in a tone so thick with malice that Brent decided to ignore the universal translator; there was only so much negativity he could handle at that moment. He kept the wide smile plastered to his face, and then Kadov was gone, and the comms screen went dark.

  “Jason, turn it off!” Brent yelled. “Cut the music.”

  The speakers crackled as the music died abruptly, the silence broken only by Rawlgeeb’s gurgling moans.

  “Kadov’s ship has engaged its stealth mode,” Jason said. “I’m picking up a pattern of exhaust gases which is consistent with the ship leaving the area.”

  “Thank God for that,” Vince said. “I thought for a minute there, we were going to have to unleash the Minogue.”

  “You should be so lucky,” Brent scolded. “Now, wash your mouth out. We’ll have none of that insurrectionist talk on this ship.” He crossed to where Rawlgeeb was sitting and kneeled down in front of him. Rawlgeeb’s body sagged like a scarecrow that had suffered an unfortunate collision with a heavy duty harvester drone. His knees were drawn up to his chest, his shoulders were slumped, and he still had his hands over his face. “Come on, big guy,” Brent said. “It’s over. You’re going to be all right.”

  Rawlgeeb peered out from between his long fingers. “Brent,” he gasped. “Oh, Brent. The…the harmonies. I think they…they set up some kind of reverberating feedback in my auditory canal. My hearing is so much more sensitive than a human’s.”

  “I hoped it would work,” Vince chipped in. “I heard about it in a forum. This guy had a video of a Gloabon freaking out, but I didn’t know if it was genuine.” His cheeks colored. “Listen, I don’t hang around in any of those anti-Gloabon groups or anything, honest. I hate those racist assholes. It was just a site for people who enjoy–”

  “Inflicting pain on others?” Brent suggested.

  “Practical jokes,” Vince snapped. “You know, people falling over and stuff. Harmless…mostly.”

  Rawlgeeb wiped his eyes with his fists. “Anyhow, it worked. I’m surprised he gave in so easily, but I guess we live to fight another day.”

  “That’s the spirit.” Brent stood to pat Rawlgeeb on the shoulder. “Now, pull yourself together and let’s get back to work.”

  “Have you ever considered a career as a psychotherapist?” Rawlgeeb asked, and when Brent shook his head, he added, “Well don’t. You don’t have an ounce of fellow feeling in your whole body. I’ve met geckoes with more empathy.”

  “Sure, right before you ate them,” Brent drawled. “Empathy didn’t help those cute little lizards any, and I can’t say it’s ever done me much good either. When you spend all your time with your neck on the block, you might keep a close eye on the big guy with the ax, but what you can’t do is get too worried about whether the asshole has tennis elbow.”

  Vince frowned. “Did those old-time executioners play tennis? I never knew that. Still, I guess it makes sense. They’d need good hand-eye coordination.”

  “Oh boy,” Brent muttered. “Somebody get me out of here.”

  “Can do,” Jason responded. “Where would you like me to zing you? There’s a space station almost in range–The Sherbida–a Gloabon facility.”

  Brent clapped his hand to his brow. “I don’t want zinging anywhere. It’s just an expression.”

  “Hey, what about The Sherbida?” Ellen breathed. “Could Surrana have holed up there? She is a Gloabon after all. A change of clothes, some makeup, and a fake ID…they can get you a long way.”

  Brent gave her an appraising look. “I’ll bet there’s a story behind that assertion.”

  “You’ll never know,” Ellen shot back. “But that space station is a big place. Lots of folks coming and going all the time. Sounds like an ideal place to get lost in a crowd.”

  “Perhaps,” Rawlgeeb mused. “They say that assassins can temporarily discard their identities, wiping their memories so thoroughly that they can pass through any kind of interrogation. And I’ll bet she has access to my government’s biometric database. She could pass herself off as anyone and then vanish into obscurity.”

  Brent grunted. “I don’t buy it. If it was a human space station, she’d stand a chance of slipping in quietly, but on a Gloabon rig? Forget about it. They’d have her cataloged three times before she’d left the dock, and five times afterward. They might not know her real name, but they’d take her picture and put it on every official computer on their network. Two minutes after landing, her face would be halfway around the galaxy, and from that point on, her digital footprints would be almost impossible to shake. Her trail would be so wide, she’d be easier to find than a horny Andelian devil moose in the mating season.”

  “I guess we’re back to searching for salvage ships then,” Ellen said. “Shame. I fancied a trip to The Sherbida. I haven’t been there for years, but I remember the malls. They were great. Lots of cool stuff from Mars.”

  “Maybe, when all this is over, we could take a trip,” Brent suggested, but Ellen threw him a look, and her glance told him one simple message: He’d had his chance, and he’d blown it. “I meant all of us,” he added hastily. “You know, the whole team. A celebration after we find Surrana. After all, we’ll have money burning holes in our pockets.”

  “We haven’t found her yet,” Vince said. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”

  Ellen regained her seat at her workstation, tapping disconsolately at the keys. But almost immediately, her expression brightened. “All right. It seems that while we were having fun with our new friend, Kadov, Jason was running our scans in the background, and they’ve pulled up some results.”

  “No need to thank me,” Jason said. “No, seriously, don’t mention it. It was no trouble. Your gratitude is not expected.” A pause. “Unless you want to. I mean, it wouldn’t hurt to show a little appreciation, that’s all I’m saying.”

  “Noted,” Brent said. “Now shut up for five minutes, would you? We’re trying to talk.” He joined the others as they huddled around Ellen’s workstation. “What’s the score?”

  “Jason’s algorithms have narrowed the field to just five likely vessels,” Ellen replied, reading from her screen. “The first two, I’m tempted to discount. They were in the area at the right time, but they’re Gloabon-owned ships, and if you’re right about the data trail, she might’ve avoided them.”

  “Let’s go with that idea for now,” Brent said. “Who else was out there?”

  “There were two salvage ships from Earth, but I don’t like them,” Ellen said. “They look like they were sticking very tight to their scheduled routes. To pick up Surrana, each ship would have had to deviate significantly from its course, and I see no record of that.”

  Brent bit his lower lip. “That leaves one contender. Give me the lowdown.”

  “The Twang,” Ellen replied. “It drifted from its route then left the area. Very suspicious.”

  “Is that a coalition vessel?” Rawlgeeb asked. “It looks like a Kreitian registration code.”

  Brent eyed him suspiciously. “How could you know that?”

  “I used to collect the codes. Oh, this was back when I was just a youngster, but I had quite the collection.”

  “Wow,” Brent breathed. “I bet that list was t
he envy of the schoolyard, huh?”

  Rawlgeeb’s face fell. “Funnily enough, no. It wasn’t. I never knew why.”

  “Children can be so cruel,” Vince said gently. “You know, I used to get teased on account of my size, but it worked out okay for me in the end.”

  “I suppose that you learned to respect people for their differences, and it made you into a more fully rounded individual,” Rawlgeeb said. “It must’ve helped you to develop your emotional intelligence.”

  “Not really, I just flattened the little bastards,” Vince replied cheerfully.

  “What a lovely story,” Brent said. “Heartwarming. Seriously. But we have bigger fish to fry. We don’t know why Kadov wants to find Surrana, but somehow I don’t think he wants to swap recipes for iguana liver pate. I’m pretty sure Halbrook won’t pay out on Surrana’s charred remains, so if we expect to collect, we have to find her before he does. And we have to make sure Kadov isn’t on our tail. He gave up on us just now because we were no use to him, and he figured he could write us off as a waste of good ammo. But if we get between him and his target, he won’t be so cheerful and carefree. Next time, nothing will stop him from wiping us out. Not even Rod Stewart.”

  CHAPTER 12

  Andel-Kreit Coalition Ship The Kreltonian Skull

  Undergoing Trial Run

  Destination: Mars

  “Dex!” Zeb called across the bridge. “You’re going to want to see this.”

  “On my way.” Dex crawled out from beneath a console. “There. That should hold off the false red alerts for a while.”

  “Have you successfully reconfigured the threat analysis modules?” Zeb asked.

  “Kind of.” Dex stood, brushing down his uniform with one hand while keeping the other behind his back.

  Commander Xander turned in her seat to stare at Zeb, her eyes alight with suspicion. “Chief Engineer, may I remind you that the unauthorized removal of critical modules is forbidden under Coalition regulation three nine seven, sub-paragraph eight?”

  “Certainly, Commander. Your comment has been noted and given all proper consideration.” Smiling, Dex stuffed something small and black into his pocket. “And may I remind you of the red alert we experienced a few minutes ago, triggered it seems, when a vending machine on level two decided that a request for crinkle nut tea to be served cold was tantamount to mutiny?” He brushed his hands together. “To be fair, anyone drinking cold tea should be confined to the medical bay for evaluation, but we hardly need to break out the rifles. Sometimes, the less we worry about potential threats, the safer we are.”

  “Fascinating,” Zeb said. “Logic suggests that insufficient facts always invite danger, but–”

  “Don’t start that again,” Dex interrupted as he marched across the bridge to join Zeb. “Okay, what was it you wanted me to take a peek at?”

  “It’s these readings from the gas collector. I thought they were anomalous, but going back through the records, a pattern becomes apparent.”

  Dex scrolled through the data on Zeb’s display. “Agreed. Commander Xander, it looks like we’ve had company.”

  The commander hurried to Dex’s side where she stood stiffly, narrowing her eyes. “What is it? Please make your report succinct.”

  “Very well,” Zeb replied. “The pattern of traces from the gas collector array appear to indicate that, for a short time, we were being shadowed by a cloaked vessel.”

  Xander’s brow furrowed. “Where was the vessel from? Was someone from the fleet checking up on us?”

  “No, the vessel was impossible to identify,” Zeb said. “Its stealth technology was of a type unknown to the Coalition. Our sensors were unable to pierce its protection.”

  “Sounds like it could be Gloabon,” Dex said thoughtfully. “Where is it now?”

  Zeb shook his head slowly. “Sorry, Dex. I lost all trace of it.” He hesitated. “I could extrapolate a course from the data I have so far, and I might be able to recalibrate our sensors to detect the vessel properly.”

  “Go to it.” Dex slapped him on the back. “Good work, Zeb.”

  Xander dipped her chin. “Yes, this could be significant, Lieutenant Commander. I shall inform the captain.”

  “In the meantime, I’d like to request a change in course,” Zeb said. “I’d like to follow the cloaked vessel’s probable route while I work on the sensors.”

  “Granted. Put it through to the helm.” Xander strode back to her seat and tapped the communicator panel. “Amber alert. Captain Stanch to the bridge.”

  ***

  On level seven, the bar in bay twenty-two was almost empty. A few of the junior officers lounged on the battered sofas, talking quietly as they nursed their steaming mugs, occasionally casting anxious glances at the solitary figure hunched over a drink at the bar. Stanch paid them no heed. He leaned his elbows on the smeared glass counter, running his fingers around his empty glass, deep in thought.

  “Can I get you something else, Captain?”

  Stanch blinked up at the bartender. “No thanks, Lieutenant.”

  “Please, it’s just plain Grulb now,” the bartender said. “I resigned my commission.”

  “Sorry. Old habit.” He offered Grulb a smile. “How are you enjoying your new role?” He looked around the room. “It’s a bit different to the bridge.”

  Grulb chuckled, a sound Stanch had never heard before. “Ah, Captain, what can I say? I’ve never been happier. And you know the funny thing? I actually help the crew a damned sight more down here than I ever did as ship’s counselor.”

  “Good for you,” Stanch said with genuine admiration. “You mix a mean drink. That’s the best smog wombat syrup I’ve had in years.”

  “Thanks. Go ahead, have another. They’re non-intoxicating, and it’s not like you have to pay for them.”

  Stanch held up a hand. “No thanks. Any more and I’d have to sandpaper my teeth.”

  “You think they’re too sticky?” Grulb sounded hurt as he made a show of wiping the counter. “I’ve had no complaints.”

  “They’re very good, Grulb. It’s just that twelve is my limit–at this time of day, anyhow.”

  “Understood, Captain. The customer is always right…unless they ask for those little paper umbrellas. Filthy Earth habit if you ask me.”

  Stanch chuckled, but before he could say anything further, Xander’s voice came over the intercom: “Amber alert. Captain Stanch to the bridge.”

  The young officers left their drinks and hurried from the room. Stanch watched them go, admiring their youthful enthusiasm, but something held him back from following their lead.

  “Sounds serious,” Grulb said. “Good job I didn’t fix you another syrup. I hate to see good wombat spleen go to waste.”

  “Ah well, duty calls.” Stanch stood, drawing a deep breath, but he didn’t move away from the bar.

  “Do I detect a certain reticence?” Grulb asked.

  “No, it’s just that we’ve had so many alerts recently, and they’ve all turned out to be nothing.” Stanch sighed. “I can’t help but wonder if someone on the bridge isn’t being a touch…”

  “Overzealous? Is the first officer a little too keen to make a good impression, perhaps?”

  “Something like that,” Stanch admitted. “Mind you, I was the same when I was in her shoes. And I wouldn’t say a word against Commander Xander. I’m sure she’ll make an excellent first officer.”

  “You know, I served under Xander once before, a long time ago, when I was still a cadet and she was still a lieutenant.” Grulb smiled dreamily. “Those were the days. We had some great adventures, and I learned one hell of a lot. Xander took me under her wing.”

  Stanch raised his eyebrows. “Really?”

  “You bet.” Grulb looked Stanch in the eye. “Sometimes, an officer can get a certain reputation in the fleet, and you know how it is. They sort of grow into the role, but that doesn’t mean that the decent officer within them has gone away.”

  “Are you te
lling me that, despite her reputation, Commander Xander has a soft interior?”

  Grulb grinned. “Xander is cast iron to the core, but she’s a fine officer. She’ll do her duty whatever the cost, but she’ll always do what’s best for the crew and the ship. If I was in a tight spot, I know she’d have my back. Every time.”

  “Point taken. Good talking to you, Grulb. I’ll see you later.” Stanch headed for the door, striding briskly. Grulb’s right, he told himself. I’m lucky to have an officer of Xander’s caliber as my right…as my first officer. And as he stepped into the elevator, his eyes were sharp once more. He was ready.

  CHAPTER 13

  Unregistered Vessel

  On Final Approach to Earth

  Sitting behind Zorello in the cockpit, Surrana unfastened her safety harness with a deft movement and stepped forward so quietly that Zorello didn’t even glance up from the control panel. “Almost there,” she murmured, leaning in to look at the nav display.

  “Flek! Don’t creep up on me like that!” Zorello regained his composure. “Yes. We’ll be landing soon. I’ll put us down near GIT. According to my sources, that’s where they had you locked up. You can take care of your business first, making your jailers pay for what they did, and then get to work on Rawlgeeb. Or you can do it the other way around if you like. It makes no difference to me.” Zorello was busy at the controls. “But before we go any farther, I have to spoof the Gloabon scanners so they’ll let us land. It’s just a question of transmitting the right codes in the right–” He slumped forward, his head on his chin.

  Standing behind him, Surrana examined her fist. “Nice.” Hardly a minute passed without her discovering some new talent, and the sensation of achievement was delicious. She could, apparently, render a Gloabon unconscious with a single, well-placed blow. It wasn’t even hard; it was as natural as taking a breath.

  Unstrapping Zorello, she heaved him from his seat and tossed him onto the deck, taking his place. She studied the cockpit’s controls, only mildly surprised that its complex array of controls made perfect sense to her. Zorello had already programmed in the landing sequence, and it took only a moment to change it. With what she had in mind, it would be just as well to throw anyone off the scent, in case the ship was recovered by the authorities. That’s if there’s anything left to recover, she thought.