The Expanding Universe 4: Space Adventure, Alien Contact, & Military Science Fiction (Science Fiction Anthology)

by Craig Martelle

  "Sure you can. One of you is gonna run. Might as well be you."

  "Shut up!" Ravenstongue threw out his arms.

  The other ghosts jerked back.

  "Nobody's going anywhere but you, Tornahdo. Get out."

  "I assure you, one of them will run. It doesn't matter to me. I'd rather not hurt either, but whoever sides with you is in for serious hurt. Pick the guy you care about least and let the other go."

  The two goons exchanged wild-eyed glances. Each of them took a step back.

  "So." Ravenstongue took a look around the room. "This is how you wanna play it? Fine." He stalked back to the bar, leaned over it and straightened, pulling the bartender with him.

  Tornahdo took a step toward him but halted.

  The human raised both hands, eyes huge. "Don't want no trouble."

  "No, you don't." Ravenstongue forced him to the end of the bar and pulled him out from behind it. "So you'll do what I say."

  A simple showdown with a bully had spiraled into a hostage situation in three seconds flat. Would this miserable day never end?

  "Think it through, Ravenstongue. You don't want to do this."

  "Yeah, I kinda do." The ghost pulled out a gun and jabbed it into the bartender's neck.

  The human cringed.

  Like all ghosts, Ravenstongue carried the Sarge, which fired combustible energy particles, then a beam that activated them. At close range, it would shoot a hole straight through the human and burn the place down.

  Tornahdo lifted both hands. "Don't do this. Put it down."

  "Not till you leave." He poked the gun harder, making the human grimace.

  "Boss," Short Ghost chimed in. "He's gonna leave. You don't have to shoot nobody." He made shooing motions toward Tornahdo.

  If only it were that easy. Too many lines had been crossed for it to end well for anyone. At least he could make it less bad for somebody.

  Keeping up his hands, Tornahdo edged toward him. "Let the human go. We were created to protect humans from Ultras. Not fight each other or pull bystanders into a fight amongst ourselves."

  "Stay back." Ravenstongue thumbed a control, arming the Sarge.

  Nobody carried a loaded Sarge. Nobody. This guy wasn't a menace, he was a lunatic.

  The bartender glanced Tornahdo's way, then at the floor and back, twice.

  "Okay." Tornahdo took a bigger step toward the door, drawing the ghost's attention. "Let's end this peacefully. Last chance."

  The man leveled the Sarge at Tornahdo. "Why don't you shut up."

  The bartender hit the floor.

  Tornahdo lunged.

  The ghost fired.

  Shoulder first, Tornahdo slammed into Ravenstongue, throwing off his shot.

  A huge whump preceded an explosive fire.

  Screeching, Short Ghost and Whiny Ghost flailed, their bodies pillars of fire.

  ***

  Standing at attention in the general's office at oh-three-hundred, Tornahdo maintained his silence. The smell of burning flesh clung to his clothing. Wails of the dying rang in his ears. He kept his gaze fixed on the starmap opposite while the general paced.

  "Master Sergeant." A civilian coat covered her. Her pink pajama bottoms and fuzzy slippers didn't paint as intimidating an image as her medal-covered uniform, but her voice still held command. "Can you not stay out of trouble for one full day?"

  He knew better than to answer.

  "You intervened for a human." She stopped pacing and turned to him. "Again."

  "Yes, ma'am."

  "And it wasn't your single death you caused this time. It was the death of two ghosts."

  Not technically. Morally, maybe, but he'd tried to spare them. "Yes, ma'am."

  "Irreversible death. Ultras don't come back from fire. Ghosts with Ultra blood don't either. They died because of you."

  "Ma'am, they died because Ravenstongue is a certifiable crackpot who never deserved the uniform, let alone a weapon." The words hadn't left his mouth before he knew he'd overstepped. Why couldn't he keep his mouth shut like he'd been told his entire life?

  The look of disdain on the general's face said far more than words. She resumed pacing, but then stopped again, not facing him. "That may be true, Master Sergeant." Her voice had gone quiet, all but gentle. "But that's not your call. Ravenstongue is being dealt with."

  "Thank you, ma'am."

  "Don't thank me." Her gaze snapped to his. "You are not innocent. The bartender told us his side. According to him, you were trying to save him."

  Same stuff. Different day. He took a deep breath. "Yes, ma'am."

  "Do I hear annoyance in your tone, Master Sergeant?"

  "Not my intention, ma'am."

  "Didn't we have this discussion about humans?"

  "Yes, ma'am."

  "Are you not tired of having it?"

  Oh, for so many reasons. "Yes, ma'am."

  She paced again. "The fire damage to the bar will be compensated out of Ravenstongue's salary." The general paused, slapped her hands behind her back and smiled. "And yours." She stared at him as if daring him to argue.

  What would he spend it on? Why did they pay him? He could go nowhere and do nothing.

  "Master Sergeant, if there were more than fifty ghosts, you'd be history."

  Fifty? That was all they had? Against an army of nearly a million?

  "Yes, ma'am."

  "And I'm tired of hearing agreement, when you don't mean it. You need extra training." Military code for punishment.

  "Yes, ma'am." Whatever she had in mind, he would deal with it. He didn't need an Ultra's ESP to sense a change of duty station coming.

  In the silence that followed, Tornahdo resisted the urge to question her. Surely, this was rock bottom. Anything would be better.

  Chapter Three

  Three months later

  From the ship's bridge, the space station Enderium Six filled every viewscreen. It occupied busy space-lanes outside the Terran Crescent. A steady stream of ships debarked, heading in different directions. Tornahdo's experience with peace talks was limited but something was...off.

  Not a good sign for ending a war.

  He reined in that thought. Nothing negative. Nothing sarcastic.

  He must not allow emotion to claim victory after learning to suppress it. Didn't matter if his anti-emo chip was malfunctioning or not. When the chip worked, it controlled every aspect of his emotions. When it didn't, he controlled them. He'd done that all his life.

  Besides, who but a rank newbie counted on military tech to save his butt?

  The general would not be pleased with his current struggle after he'd fought to win her approval. He'd asked himself why he desired her admiration but pondering that question always gave him a headache. He just needed it.

  Maybe because his new training permitted a single emotion in his heart. Hatred.

  Hardest thing he did. Hating. Wasn't his nature. But ghosts followed orders.

  He should not give credence to the niggling doubt that something, somewhere was missing. But grasping the meaning behind the worry? Futile.

  He must not worry. He must permit no emotion other than hate.

  Ultras controlled the emotions of others. The anti-emo chip blocked them. The chip kept him safe in battle, faithful as a good soldier.

  He must not think of self. Only duty. And with duty came danger.

  Only days before, the Ultra's High Council had elected Pietas ap Lorectic as Chancellor. Why choose a bloodthirsty, narcissistic megalomaniac with delusions of godhood and a fabled hatred of humans, and then send him to chair peace talks?

  Maybe that was why the corps shipped Tornahdo and his fellow ghosts to Enderium Six. To make sure the Ultras kept their word.

  "You look puzzled, Master Sergeant." A worker tapped colored indicator lights.

  Had Tornahdo let his emotions slip or had the chip malfunctioned again? He brushed at lint on his uniform, stalling while he thought of a good excuse. "Odd so many ships are leaving. I thought
I'd see arrivals."

  "If anyone was arriving you would."

  "We're the sole inbound ship?"

  "That's right. We're touching down to land your party, load as many civilians as possible, and then we're gone too."

  His throat tightened. "They're evacuating the station."

  "Yes."

  Some peace talks.

  When the Ultras found out they'd been lied to these so-called talks would renew the war. So far, his luck at duty stations was holding steady at zero.

  Finish the mission. That was his duty. Nothing else. He must allow fear no ground. Ultras controlled fear. They couldn't control hate.

  "Must say, Master Sergeant, you're brave. I wouldn't be security anyplace he was going to be."

  Brave? Humans had no idea what ghosts went through. How limited their choices were. Master Sergeant Peon. That was a ghost. I need a volunteer. You. That constituted bravery.

  "You can say his name, you know. Pietas isn't a demon you summon by speaking his name too many times." Tornahdo said the Ultra's name the way Ultras did. Pee-ah-toss. Humans mispronounced it pie-ah-toss to aggravate him.

  The worker chuckled. "I wouldn't be too sure."

  "Pietas." Tornahdo braced his hands on a railing. "Pietas. Pietas. What you fear has power over you." He feared nothing. "See? I said it three times. Nothing."

  "So, you wouldn't want a shot at him? You wouldn't want to kill the Ultra responsible for billions of deaths?"

  Tornahdo held his tongue. Perhaps this was one of the general's tests. He must not fail. "I follow orders."

  "Of course you do. You're a ghost." The worker motioned to a seat. "We're touching down. Strap in for the final." He buckled himself in.

  Tornahdo fastened up. "Won't our gravity match the station's once we dock? I'm usually asleep for arrivals. Thought it'd be smooth, though."

  "Normally, but due to the volume of departures, sections of the station are in zero-gee. It's a precaution."

  Once they'd docked, Tornahdo and his fellow ghosts traveled by standard portal-tubes to an inner section. There, they were greeted, their weapons stowed, and they were shown to individual staterooms to relax until dinner.

  The cabin had light gravity and no outside view but boasted a private head complete with shower. Decent-sized bed with sheets, two blankets and two pillows. Extra towels. During construction, Enderium Six had been touted as first class all the way.

  If the general allowed him quarters this good, she must be pleased.

  He stripped, showered, dressed in clean clothes and combed his hair. The Ultra blood meant his beard might not grow anymore, but his hair grew twice as fast. It needed cutting already and he'd trimmed it after his last rebirth.

  Right after the death that proved he trusted the general.

  She'd be pleased at his dedication to corps regulations.

  Back at his bed, he pressed the mattress. "I could get used to this." That pretty ghost he'd met jogging last week would look good right here.

  He'd flirted with her and she'd flirted right back. Sex was supposed to be off the table. A small price to pay for control, but not only had he felt desire, he'd also recognized it in her. He realized his chip was malfunctioning at the same time she'd seen it in hers. They'd gone their separate ways. Why had she come to mind?

  "Stupid chip needs another adjustment." He put aside that thought. Time to check out the station.

  The door activator didn't respond, so he tried manual override. That failed, so he tried the door again. No response.

  The station must still be on lockdown.

  He studied the room for access and egress. Nothing except this single point. No telecom, no user interface. Like a prison cell.

  He dry swallowed.

  His old self would have beaten down the door or pried it open with his fingernails. His newer, calmer self trusted the corps. The general would not have sent him anywhere she didn't think he couldn't handle.

  He repeated his training mantra.

  "I am loyal. I am successful. I am safe. Until it's time to fight, I am calm. Ghosts are happy. Ghosts don't worry. Ghosts trust the corps."

  ***

  Hours later, a knock at the door interrupted Tornahdo's workout. Toweling his face, he sped over to it and the door activated as if never locked.

  A crewwoman in a gray uniform held a tray. "Your dinner, sir."

  "Don't call--" He stopped himself. No sarcastic comments. He accepted it. "Thank you. Three bottles of Ghost Formula Six. Is this it? Sometimes the general gives us cookies."

  "Drink Ghost Formula Six and you aren't hungry. The general wants you to drink it. It's good for you."

  Tornahdo stepped back. "If the general ordered it, then I'm happy."

  She smiled. "I thought you would be."

  "Why was the door locked?" He set down the tray.

  "During evacuation, safety droids don't bother with doors locked from the outside."

  "Makes sense. Thanks." Tornahdo opened a bottle and sipped. "Wish this had flavor. It's thick water."

  "It maintains the chip. Drink Ghost Formula Six and you aren't hungry. That's dinner tonight, then breakfast and lunch."

  "Please tell the general I'll drink Ghost Formula Six. I won't be hungry."

  "I will. Do you need anything else?"

  "Are we free to explore the station? I liked exploring the ship."

  "No, Chancellor Pietas demands a ritual cleansing of the station. The Ultra Council wants no one out of their cabins until the talks."

  "So I sit here and wait?"

  "Isn't that what soldiers do?"

  She had a point. His life consisted of endless hours of boredom punctuated by moments of abject terror.

  "Will the general let me access the ship's library?"

  "Here." She offered a card. "Insert this into the slot beside the bed."

  "Thanks." The Ghost Corps symbol lay on both sides. A funerary urn in black on white. "Huh." He held it at eye level.

  "What?"

  "Never noticed before." He outlined the white part. "Rounded head and arm and then a slope. Half a ghost."

  "All I see is a black urn."

  He set it down. "Thanks for dinner."

  "You're welcome. Need anything else?"

  Hadn't there been something? The general would have given him anything he needed. "No. Please tell the general I'm happy."

  "I will." She pointed to the keycard. "Do you need that?"

  He picked it up, puzzled by its presence. "Here. I have no idea what it does."

  She took it, closed the door behind her and a tone announced the door had locked.

  Tornahdo reached for the activator and hesitated, fingertips hovering.

  The corps would keep him safe. As a newborn, he'd been unwanted, unneeded. Abandoned. No, that wasn't true. His abuela had needed and loved him. She--

  Pain careened through his head.

  Grimacing, he braced himself against the wall.

  "Ghosts have no family." He must order his mind. Not allow vain imaginings to rule his thoughts. "I am a ghost. I do not fight the chip The chip is faithful as a good soldier." He chewed his lip, panting through the pain. "Please! The chip orders my thoughts. The chip gives me control. I am a ghost. Please, please! I am a ghost!"

  The torment scaled back.

  Sucking in a ragged breath, Tornahdo slid down the wall to the floor.

  "The death and rebirth of a ghost means the salvation of mankind." Even trapped on a station humans had abandoned. "A good ghost trusts the corps."

  Chapter Four

  Tornahdo had once been so bored he'd counted all the holes in a ceiling tile, then the number of tiles to calculate total holes. Resting on his back now, he aimed a gun finger at the seamless ceiling and pulled the trigger.

  When a knock sounded, he was off the bunk and across the room so fast the echo of the first rap hadn't faded.

  The woman from yesterday stood there. "Eager?"

  "Yes, ma'am."

&
nbsp; "Good. We've got a situation."

  ***

  In the armory, Tornahdo and eleven others donned black Ghost Corps body armor and helmets and followed the woman into the next chamber. There, she left them with instructions to await a briefing.

  The teamwork in the regular army had no place here. Isolation was the point of being a ghost. After his run-in with Ravenstongue, Tornahdo had less reason to interact.

  The unlit room where they waited closed in as if the walls pulled together and the ceiling sank. The longer they waited, the thicker the air. Warm, heavy with sweat and the tart bite of fear, every breath choked the senses.

  More than one ghost pulled at his collar. Tension arced through the room, lightning skating over a metal fence.

  Was the chip even working?

  After half an hour of waiting, no one had spoken.

  Probably another test.

  Tornahdo, for one, wasn't failing it.

  The door opened, bringing a shock of icy air.

  They all knew they were being sent to die. They were ghosts. That's what ghosts did. They hammered at Ultras until they perma-killed them or they kept Ultras busy until others escaped. But at least they were getting to breathe first.

  In walked a person close to seven Terran feet. Silhouette looked male. Tall enough to be an Ultra. He strode into the center of the room and beckoned everyone closer.

  No clue who hid behind the full-body fake-face. It cycled through various images, too fast to keep up. Like trying to count air bubbles rising in a pool.

  Remaining at the back, Tornahdo stood at ease.

  "This is the best day in human recollection." Speaking through a voice changer, the voice took on genderless robotic tones. "Today, we make history."

  If it was such a good day, why hide behind a fake-face and a voice changer?

  The chip in Tornahdo's head pinged a stinging reminder to avoid such thoughts. He reined in his doubt and focused.

  "This mission is called Lights Out. Your duty is simple. Chancellor Pietas is unconscious. You'll put him in a lifepod. That's it." The guy paused. "Questions?"

  A tall ghost removed his helmet. "How can Ultras be unconscious?"

  "The peace talks were a trap. When he and the Council arrived, we told them we'd jettison their module unless they entered their lifepods, which they did. Except Pietas, of course, so we siphoned the air out of the room. Before you go in, you'll hyperventilate, store up oxygen. This room is being pumped full at a high rate. Your chip will aid you."