They Called Me Angel

Nobody can hear a scream in the vacuum of space, or so they say. Whoever said that obviously wasn’t a telepath, and certainly wasn’t an Ansible-Neurologically-Linked Commanding Officer in the Terran Marines. Whether in space or in atmosphere, it doesn’t matter. The boys scream when they die, and I hear them.

I hate that my boys call me Angel. Yes, most of them are still boys. I don’t care if they’re all over eighteen or how tough they think their Crucibles were. I’ve been inside their minds, and I know. But I never let them know how much it bothers me, that they call me Angel when it’s my job to send them to die. The boys have enough to worry about without adding my feelings to the pile.

Besides, Angel is the word that caught on for all of us, not just me, so I shouldn’t take it personally. I was recruited right out of high school. Until then, I had never considered a military career except to dismiss it out of hand, but my mandatory ansible neurological link compatibility test results came back above the ninety-eighth percentile. After that, the Terran Marines went into hard sale mode, and I finally accepted a commission.

Now my job is to live inside the minds, hearts, and souls of my boys during their deployment. I see through their eyes, hear through their ears, feel what they feel, smell and taste what they smell and taste—and I hear their thoughts, and they can hear mine when I want them to.

GHOST ONE: HERSCHEL

Herschel’s stomach floated in free fall. He hated that he never got used to it. Best not to let the men see his discomfort. Let them think the sour look on his face was displeasure with how long it had taken them to move out and launch. A few of the men had their helmet’s off, the small metal circles of the neurological ansible links on the sides of their heads glinting in the soft light of Ghost Shuttle.

How’s the flight, Ghost One? said the voice in his head.

Hell of a ride, Angel, Herschel thought back.

Everyone’s vitals look okay? asked Angel.

Herschel ran his eyes over his helmet’s display, which currently showed the bio-signals of each of his men. Heart rates, adrenaline, and cortisol levels were all slightly elevated, but not extremely so. It was the normal pre-op jitters while they were stuck in a tin can, completely powerless until Ghost Pilot delivered them to the surface. There was no need for Herschel to report what he saw. Angel saw through his eyes as soon as he did. She’d have even seen the readout showing that Herschel’s own nausea registered in the top three.

Not a thought to any of the others about the stomach, thought Herschel.

Wouldn’t dream of it, answered Angel.

GHOST ANGEL: ME

“Vitals are all in the green, sir,” I said.

Colonel Morgan’s eyes were focused on Command and Control’s dream board. My implants transmitted what I saw through Herschel’s eyes onto the board, but it always came through mostly in impressionistic blurs. The readouts of each boy’s bio-signals came into sharp focus as Herschel’s eyes and attention ran over his helmet’s display, and then, as Herschel returned his concentration to keeping his breakfast down, the blur returned like a fogging window.

“How long till they hit atmo?” asked Morgan.

The telemetry data plotted on Command and Control’s nav chart was getting old.

“They’re getting close,” I said, fighting back my own vicarious nausea, transfer of sensation being an occupational hazard of living inside other people’s minds. “I’ll check.”

GHOST PILOT: DUNCAN

Duncan sat, relaxed as he watched the stars slide slowly by above the canopy, the blue line of the atmosphere below rising higher. His hands were off the throttle and stick, the laws of physics carrying the ship on course. Until they hit atmo, as an old astronaut once said, Isaac Newton was doing the driving.

You always do get the best views, said Angel.

Yes, ma’am, Duncan thought back. Best seat in the house.

Nav wants a telemetry update.

“Right on course, Angel,” Duncan said aloud. “Atmo in thirty seconds.”

Duncan slid his eyes over his instruments. He knew the nav officers liked to see the figures for themselves over the dream board.

“We’ll probably encounter some turbulence on the way down,” Duncan continued, “and there’s cloud cover over the distress beacon’s location, but nothing to worry about.”

A few more seconds and atmospheric entry began. Ghost Shuttle juddered and Duncan took hold of the throttle and stick, his eyes on the instruments. Altitude fell as hull temperature rose. Ghost Shuttle began responding to rudders and flaps.

Here’s where the fun begins, thought Duncan. Grinning, he engaged the jets for atmospheric flight.

GHOST ANGEL: ME

I mirrored Duncan’s grin as I brought my attention back to Command and Control. Lieutenant Fulton and the rest of the nav-team had plotted the updated telemetry data as it came in over the dream board. Ahead of the Ghost Shuttle’s last reported location, an S-shaped landing track led through the atmosphere to the downed freighter’s beacon. The nav-team reset the clock, and it began ticking up again from 0:00 as the new information grew old.

“Estimate nineteen minutes, twenty seconds to surface, sir,” said Lieutenant Fulton.

“Acknowledged,” said Colonel Morgan in his all-business voice. He turned to me and said more softly: “How are they, Angel?”

“I’ll do the rounds, sir,” I said.

GHOST NINE: WALTERS

Walters clutched the med-kit to his side as the shuttle jolted up and down. With his other hand, he nervously rubbed the small metal circle of the ansible neurological link at his temple. The g-forces pushed him to one side as the shuttle began the first decelerating S-turn. Angel had hardly touched Walters’ mind yet today. Maybe she’d be too busy, he hoped.

Hi, Walters! said Angel.

Damn, thought Walters.

What? Are you okay?

What? Oh, hi, Angel. I mean yes, ma’am, I’m fine. How are you?

A few heartbeats passed. Had she moved on?

Do you want to talk about it? asked Angel.

She was still there.

Talk about what? he thought.

Whatever it is that’s bothering you, Walters.

The image of Angel naked flitted through Walters’ mind.

Nothing’s bothering me.

The thought of her pressing her lips on his.

It’s okay, Walters, said Angel.

What is, ma’am?

Most linked troops fantasize about their Angel sooner or later. It’s perfectly normal and nothing to be ashamed of.

But that’s not everything, ma’am…I mean, you don’t want to see this. Walters tried to keep the thought out of his head, but the more he tried, the more it popped in there. Angel naked except for a cowboy hat.

Walters, said Angel, I’ve spent my career inside young men’s heads, and believe me, you of all people, are among the least shocking.

Really?

Really.

So, we’re still friends?

Of course, Walters.

Whoo! Thanks, Angel.

GHOST ANGEL: ME

Walters was trying to stop blushing as I left his thoughts. In my experience, it’s the boys who have the least to be ashamed of who are the most embarrassed by having me in their heads. Because they’re the most embarrassed, they try the hardest to control their thoughts, and ironically they end up having the least control. If you try not to think of pink elephants, you’ll think of pink elephants.

Colonel Morgan looked at me with a raised eyebrow, but said nothing, and I realized I was blushing too—sensation transference at work again. I shook it off.

GHOST TWO: FARADAY

At least sickbay had a window. Faraday watched the planet slide by from the safety of orbit, from the safety of what had become his temporary quarters. Sealed plastic medical curtains surrounded a sickbay bed, one chair, a hatch to a pressure suit in case of emergency, and a head that he had all to himself. The interior cloth privacy curtains were pulled open to the brightly lit sickbay beyond. The rest of sickbay was empty. The whole rest of the Ghost Mother was empty except for Navigator Simpson on the bridge. Everyone else was on the drop.

They’d be landing soon, landing without him. Faraday clenched his jaw in frustration. If he was going to get it, he’d have already gotten it! What was the difference between thirteen and fourteen days of quarantine?

At least you know you won’t be shot at today, said Angel. That’s a relief.

That doesn’t make it any better, thought Faraday.

But Faraday was relieved. His team might be going into harm’s way, but he wasn’t. Anger may have raised Faraday’s blood pressure, but his stomach was settled. Every time he dropped, his stomach floated a bit, and not just from Duncan’s flying. Hard on the heels of Faraday’s relief came shame, not shame that he had been left behind, but shame that any part of him was glad that he had been left behind.

You wouldn’t be human, said Angel, or even a mammal, if you didn’t have a sense of self-preservation, Faraday.

“Don’t you have anything better to do?” snapped Faraday, aloud. “They’re the ones you should be focused on!”

GHOST ANGEL: ME

When Faraday was right, he was right. That had come off as patronizing, and I was wasting time with him. On to the next. Sunny and Tebow were joking with each other. I didn’t interrupt. It was Watanabe’s last drop before he rotated home, and he felt more nervous than he had in a while. Anxieties tended to focus on the mission. It was search and rescue, but pirates were active in remote FTL layover systems, and the recent sporadic appearances of THEM had everyone nervous. With some of the boys, I chatted briefly. With others, I decided it was best to leave them alone with their thoughts.

“Finished my rounds, sir,” I said.

“And?” said Colonel Morgan.

“Par for the course, sir.”

“Keep an eye on them, Angel,” said Morgan.

“Always do, sir,” I smiled.

Morgan smiled back, but a shadow was in the back of his eyes.

“Don’t get cocky, kid,” he said. Morgan glanced up at a call from the nav-team.

“Report,” he ordered.

“They should be nearing visual contact with the landing zone,” said Lieutenant Fulton.

“Angel, check in with Ghost Pilot.”

GHOST PILOT: DUNCAN

Ghost Shuttle dropped through the clouds at subsonic speed now. Visibility was low. Duncan kept a close eye on the altimeter. The light of the local dwarf star was muted this far down. Lowered flaps decelerated Ghost Shuttle further.

Can we see anything? asked Angel.

“Not yet,” said Duncan, “but we should break through the clouds any time now.”

As if on command, the last wisps of white flitted past the canopy. Craggy gray rocks spread out below. Light rain, a drizzle really, fell below the clouds. Dim light gleamed on the wet rocks.

“The beacon’s signal is eleven o’clock at forty clicks,” said Duncan.

Any radar contacts? said Angel.

“Negative from onboard passive systems. The active drone I dropped a few minutes back didn’t see anything either. The beacon’s signal is all there is. If anybody else is here, they’re staying low and dark, Angel. Could be this was an innocent accident.”

Approach and commence search and rescue, said Angel, but Morgan says to keep your eyes open.

“Yes, ma’am.”

GHOST ANGEL: ME

Colonel Morgan watched the dream board as Duncan circled the beacon’s location.

“I’ve got eyes on the freighter,” Duncan said aloud, his voice coming over the dream board along with the visual of the freighter skidded to a stop at the bottom of a small ravine.

“The main hull has a nasty bend to it,” said Duncan. “It might be salvageable, but I doubt it. They could’ve lost pressure, and you wouldn’t want to breathe the air outside. There’s no clear sign of battle damage, though. Still nothing on the radio except the emergency beacon. If anyone’s there, they’re still not responding to Ghost Mother’s hails.”

“Pirates could be lying low,” said Morgan, “still waiting to remove the cargo.”

“Could be their radio equipment was damaged in the crash or the crew can’t get to it,” I said.

“I can’t land right next to the freighter,” Duncan continued. “I can go vertical flight and get in low and close, but I can’t land closer than near the end of the ravine.”

GHOST ONE: HERSCHEL

Are you getting this, Ghost One? asked Angel.

“Affirmative,” said Herschel. The exterior view from Ghost Shuttle showed inside his helmet’s display. “Ghost Pilot should be able to get us in close enough for rappel insertion, and we’ll go the rest of the way on foot. Do we have a green light, Angel?”

A few heartbeats passed.

You have a green light, said Angel. Stay sharp, Ghost One.

“Affirmative.”

Herschel minimized his helmet’s display and turned to the men.

“Okay, people. Seal helmets and pressurize. Ready rappelling gear!”

GHOST ANGEL: ME

Of all the things my boys do, jumping out of aircraft is the one that perplexes me the most. I don’t like heights. I don’t even lean against balconies if I can help it. When the shuttle’s doors open and I see through the boys’ eyes as they look down from a height of several stories, my own feet freeze where they are, even if where they are is planted in front of my office chair in a room on the ground floor at sea level. If I were in their shoes, I’m certain that if I could move at all it would be away from the edge. But my boys jump like they’re glad just to get out of the shuttle. I usually pull away from their minds a little when they do.

GHOST ONE: HERSCHEL

“We’re all down,” said Herschel as Colson released his zip line. “Get clear, Ghost Pilot.”

“Affirmative, Ghost One,” Duncan’s voice came over Herschel’s helmet.

Ghost Shuttle lifted away and flew off low below the close craggy horizon.

“Ghost Three, take point,” said Herschel. “Aft access hatch. Let’s move.”

GHOST THREE: COLSON

The airlock behind the aft access hatch was empty. The corridor beyond the airlock window was dark. Colson took position to the left of the inner airlock door. He nodded to Krowe and Sunny, and they opened the inner airlock. Most of Ghost Unit waited outside the airlock. They couldn’t all fit in the airlock at the same time, and it wouldn’t do to kill whoever might be alive inside by depressurizing the compartment, so the aft access hatch was closed behind them. Colson swung to look inside, his rifle raised as he scanned the corridor. Krowe launched a recon drone. Colson kept his rifle raised as the drone whirred down the corridor and around the first bend.

GHOST ANGEL: ME

Colonel Morgan watched the dream board as I switched to Krowe’s mind.

“We have confirmation that they lost pressure,” said Krowe. “Atmosphere matches local exterior.”

Krowe turned his head and looked all around the three hundred and sixty degree view the drone fed to his helmet’s display. Krowe saw through the drone’s camera, I saw through Krowe’s eyes, and what I saw through Krowe’s eyes appeared on the dream board.

“Still no sign of the crew,” said Krowe. “If they’re here, they’re in sealed compartments off the main corridor. We’re not going to get more from the drone.”

“Acknowledged,” said Herschel. “The rest of us are coming in. Krowe and Sunny, hold position here at the hatch. Everyone else, form up on Colson. S&R protocol. We’re looking for civilians. Colson, move in. The rest of us are coming through the airlock.”

My boys knew what they were doing, so I watched through their eyes but stayed out of their thoughts. The last thing they needed when they were doing a sweep was a voice in their heads backseat driving. I let them do their job and Colonel Morgan followed the first-person views appearing on the dream board.

I followed Colson most of the time because he walked point, but I kept ready to switch to Herschel at a moment’s notice. If Colson saw something, I could key Herschel into what was happening faster and surer than any spoken word from Colson. During the sweep, they found the inner bulkhead breach, tarped it, and reestablished life support from the bridge. But compartment after compartment, there was no sign of the crew or anyone else until they reached the cargo hold.

GHOST ONE: HERSCHEL

The cargo hold door slid open. At least the lights were on now. Herschel and the others formed up on Colson’s point and they moved in. Shipping containers of various colors stood stacked alongside and atop one another with aisles in between. The aisles crisscrossed one another at right angles. Herschel couldn’t help but think of city blocks and streets, and anything could be waiting around any corner or on any rooftop. Ghost Unit took positions behind containers on either side of the aisle nearest the door.

“Maslow, Tebow, Suarez,” said Herschel, “recon drones. Maslow and Tebow, scan the aisles. Suarez, take the ceiling.”

The recon drones powered up and hummed away.

“Nothing, Ghost One,” said Maslow.

“Same here,” said Suarez. “The ceiling is clear.”

“Wait,” said Tebow, holding a hand up to the side of his helmet. “I’ve got something on the audio feed. Sounds like voices, very faint.”

“Zero in on it, Tebow,” Herschel said quietly. “Everyone, get ready to move.”

“Straight forward three blocks, and then a right,” said Tebow. “That’s where the voices are, but they’re still muffled. I can’t make out what they’re saying.”

GHOST ANGEL: ME

“Sir, should they move in?” I asked Colonel Morgan.

“This is S&R,” said Morgan. “We’re looking for civilians. Shipping containers can remain pressurized when hull integrity is compromised. Crews have been known to use them as lifeboats. Check it out, Angel.”

“Yes, sir.”

Angel, I have a really bad feeling about this. It was Walters.

“Hang on, sir,” I told Morgan.

What is it, Walters, I asked.

I don’t know, ma’am. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said anything…I mean thought anything. Sorry. Those people in there probably need help. I’m being stupid. It’s just a feeling.

“Angel?” said Morgan. “Is there something I need to know?”

“No, sir,” I decided. “It’s nothing. Let’s go in.”

“Then go in, Angel.”

GHOST ONE: HERSCHEL

Herschel, said Angel, investigate the voices. Stay sharp.

“Okay, people,” Herschel said, “we’re investigating the voices. Suarez, keep your recon drone airborne and stay back to monitor from above. Everyone else, move in and keep it tight.”

Colson kept walking point. Herschel and the rest followed, for three blocks forward, and then one block to the right. Then they could all hear the voices. The voice came from inside a shipping container on the floor of the hold, dozens of other containers lay stacked on top, to the sides, and across the aisle. Again, Colson took position to the left of the container door as Maslow slid it open.

GHOST THREE: COLSON

Colson swung inside, rifle at the ready, and scanned the inside of the container. Seven people sat on the floor, bound, but not gagged.

“Get out!” one of the people shouted. “it’s THEM!”

“Ryan! Watanabe!” said Herschel. “Untie the crew! Everyone else, point defense! THEY’re coming! We’ll have to fight our way back to the nearest access hatch.”

GHOST ANGEL: ME

“Colonel,” I said, “it may be THEM.”

“Grab the civilians and get out!” said Morgan. “Stat!”

GHOST ONE: HERSCHEL

Herschel! said Angel, get out! Take the civilians, but then just get out!

“Already on it, Angel,” said Herschel. “Get Duncan in the air!”

GHOST PILOT: DUNCAN

Duncan! said Angel. Lift off! It’s THEM! Get ready for evac!

“I’ve been on coms,” said Duncan. “I’m already in the air. Get me coordinates for pickup as soon as you have them.”

GHOST SEVEN: MASLOW

Maslow’s eyes swept the aisle between the blocks of shipping containers, alert for any sign of movement. The floor shook beneath his feet as a sound so loud it seemed hardly to be a sound at all burst his ears. Explosions. Close. Very Close. Maslow realized he had reflexively cringed and shut his eyes, and he forced them back open. Sparks rained down and the sides of shipping containers lay strewn about. More explosions sounded, and Maslow caught only a glimpse of the side of the container opposite fly towards him with the speed of a bullet train…

GHOST ANGEL: ME

I winced and almost curled into a ball. At least it had been quick.

“Maslow’s gone, sir,” I said.

Colonel Morgan didn’t have to ask why. He’d seen the dream board.

GHOST ONE: HERSCHEL

Rodents the size of large dogs swarmed out of the containers. Herschel and his men opened fire. The big rats fell left and right, but three of them still broke through and tackled Colson to the ground. Light glinted off the metal circles on the sides of the rats’ heads as they gnawed at the gaps in Colson’s armor. Herschel raised his rifle to fire.

GHOST ANGEL: ME

I struggled to keep my focus on Suarez’s thoughts. He still watched through the recon drone, and so he had the best vantage point to see what sort of creatures THEY were using this time. We’d seen THEM use Keplerian Rats before, among others. Something other than rats were in the containers farther down the aisle, between the boys and the only way out.

GHOST THREE: COLSON

Colson screamed as the rat’s teeth pierced the flexible mesh between his helmet and breastplate and made first contact with his neck.

GHOST ANGEL: ME

We needed to know what was in the containers at the end of the aisle. I tore myself away from Colson’s terror and pain and tried to focus on Suarez.

Suarez, I thought to him. Identify targets at the end of the aisle!

Just did! Suarez thought back. They’re augmented bullcrests! I’m moving to flank them!

GHOST NINE: WALTERS

Herschel shot the last rat off Colson. Walters rushed in and knelt down, already opening his med-kit. Colson’s throat was torn and bleeding fast, but he was still breathing. Walters applied pressure and reached for the instant bandage.

“You’re going to be okay, Colson,” Walters said, hoping it wasn’t a lie. He knew it probably was.

Get Down! Angel shouted in Walters’ head, the kind of shout Walters knew all the men could hear. Bullcrests!

Walters looked up just long enough to see two bullcrests at the end of the aisle, blocking the way they had come in. Just like in the vids from the training sessions, as big as rhinoceroses, the bullcrests had ansible neurological links on the sides of their heads and the equivalent of .50 caliber machine guns on their backs. Walters put his head down just as the guns swiveled around and opened fire.

GHOST FOUR: SUAREZ

Suarez sprinted two of the three blocks towards the kill zone. The bullcrests were at the intersection just ahead of him, spraying the aisle to the right with machine gun fire. Suarez pulled a grenade and lobbed it forward.

GHOST ONE: HERSCHEL

Suarez is taking out the bullcrests, said Angel, in three, two, one…Now!

Herschel heard the grenade explode and saw the bullcrests go down.

“Heads up! Open fire!”

But it was too late. The men had all hit the deck when the bullcrests had appeared, and while the machine gun fire went over the rats’ heads, they had closed the distance. Herschel blew one rat’s head off, but a second leapt and struck him in the chest, knocking him to the ground. He tried to throw it off, but a second rat seized his arm in its jaws. Herschel heard his men going down all around him, their screams mixing with those of the civilians.

GHOST FOUR: SUAREZ

Suarez! said Angel. Abort! Full retreat! Abort!

Suarez started to run back towards the cargo hold door as the first rats turned the corner half a block behind him.

GHOST ANGEL: ME

“They’re gone, sir,” I croaked out. Walters’ last screams filled my head. “The forward team and the civilians. I’m pulling the others out.”

“Agreed,” said Morgan. “Stay with them, Angel.”

GHOST PILOT: DUNCAN

“Shit!” said Duncan.

The missile lock warning flashed red. THEY had missiles this time. Two plumes rose over the crags at two o’clock. Duncan banked to evade and prepared to launch flares.

GHOST ANGEL: ME

On the dream board, Krowe exchanged a look with Sunny inside the aft access hatch airlock. I sensed their urge to rush inside, to rush outside, to do anything at all.

“Are we supposed to just stand here?” said Krowe.

Stay there, I told them. Open both the outer hatch and the inner airlock. Nobody without a pressure suit is left inside. Be ready to run when Suarez makes it out.

GHOST FOUR: SUAREZ

Suarez detonated the mine he’d dropped behind him at the door to the cargo hold. He heard rats squeal as they ran into a hailstorm of fire and shrapnel. He kept running towards the aft access hatch.

GHOST FIVE: KROWE

Krowe heard a loud explosion overhead followed by another in quick succession.

“That came from above,” said Sunny.

“Ghost Pilot,” Krowe said on coms. “Are you okay?”

“I’m inbound,” came Duncan’s voice. “I’ll approach as close I can in the ravine and drop lines, but we can’t sit still for long. THEY’ve got missiles.”

GHOST FOUR: SUAREZ

Suarez turned the last corner. He saw Krowe and Sunny standing at the aft hatch, and he waved at them to start running. A moment later Suarez burst outside and the three of them ran down the ravine. Ghost Shuttle roared into view overhead and dropped down in vertical flight mode. Lines dropped from the shuttle and they each hooked in. A red hole the size of a fist appeared in Sunny’s chest as the roar of machine gun fire reached Suarez’s ears.

GHOST PILOT: DUNCAN

Duncan turned the shuttle and leveled its guns at the bullcrest that had appeared at the freighter’s aft hatch. He squeezed the trigger and riddled the entire area with cannon fire.

“Are we up yet?” said Duncan.

“We’re in,” said Krowe, “but we lost Sunny.”

Angel, thought Duncan, I’m going to go ahead and think it, even if I don’t say it. This has been a bad day.

Duncan felt Angel there, but she didn’t object to the thought.

GHOST ANGEL: ME

It was quiet in Command and Control. The nav chart showed Ghost Shuttle’s projected flight path to rendezvous with Ghost Mother.

GHOST FOUR: SUAREZ

Suarez and Krowe zipped up the body bag on Sunny and secured him to the rack. Then they took their seats just before Duncan began the orbital insertion burn. No one said anything on the way up until the floor gently lowered beneath their feet and their stomachs told them they were weightless. Suarez looked around the shuttle, at all the empty seats, and at the one body bag.

“We couldn’t even bring the others back like Sunny,” Suarez said. “We left them to the rats.”

You did your job, said Angel. You were following orders. I’m sorry.

What could you say to an officer who’d just told you they were sorry?

I know, said Angel. I shouldn’t have. I’m sorry.

Suarez realized Angel was rattled. He’d never felt her so rattled. Maybe he should try to…

An alarm sounded from the cockpit.

GHOST PILOT: DUNCAN

“Not again,” muttered Duncan.

“Angel,” he said more loudly. “We’ve got two more missiles, and they’re already close. They must have been dumb-fired along our orbital insertion trajectory, but they just went active. They’ve acquired us.”

Evade and deploy countermeasures, said Angel.

Yeah, tell me something I don’t know, thought Duncan. Instantly regretting the pettiness of the thought, Duncan focused on the missiles. His thumb toggled chaff to ready.

GHOST FOUR: SUAREZ

The shuttle crashed into the ground and rolled downhill. Suarez only just had time to realize how stupid that thought was before…

GHOST ANGEL: ME

“They’re hit!” I told Colonel Morgan. “It’s bad.”

“Any survivors?”

GHOST PILOT: DUNCAN

Duncan’s flight suit detected the drop in pressure and automatically switched to EVA mode as Duncan and the remains of Ghost Shuttle’s cockpit spun out into space. Bizarrely, his pilot’s seat and most of the left half of the canopy remained intact. His hands still gripped the throttle and stick, but the rudder pedals and deck beneath his feet were gone. The planet, the exploding engines of Ghost Shuttle, and stars whirled before him. Somehow, he even made out the bright speck of light that was Ghost Mother, still awaiting their return, before his view whirled away again.

A red light flashed inside Duncan’s helmet and he heard the hiss. He looked down to see a gash down his right arm and a torrent of white oxygen rushing into space. He put his left hand on the gash, but it was no use. Duncan found he couldn’t breathe. His ears popped more loudly than he would have believed possible. His eyes bulged, and he knew his blood was boiling.

GHOST ANGEL: ME

And I heard him scream.

Acknowledgement to the works of Ursula K. LeGuin and Orson Scott Card for the term ansible.