It was a bold and exciting time for my kind. As part of our great expansion, I was assigned to a scout Carryall to explore this quadrant of the galaxy. My position on-board, as Receiver, was high in standing. I numbered the thirty-fourth out of over six million Quasing on board. Our purpose was to discover new suitable worlds, and to set up beacons to guide settlement Carryalls for colonization.
Ella spent the first few days waiting for Bijan to return, or at least come back for his stuff. When he didn’t, she began to ask around and came up empty. Word came down from Big Fab a few days later that a water rat, one of the many scavengers who lived on the beach and always smelled like fish, had tried to sell him back the same binoculars he had sold to Bijan, among other items. A quick follow-up and a bribe to the water rat revealed that he had acquired the binoculars from a fisherman who had dredged up an unrecognizable body floating at the mouth of Tapi River.
Ella tried to be tough about it and shrug off the news. This was a fact of life in Crate Town. In any slum actually. People died; bodies turned up. Nobody ever cared. You moved on. Besides, she justified, Bijan was a complete stranger. She had only known him for a day. Who was he to her, besides a friendly face?
For the next week, Ella was in a foul mood. When she wasn’t at the gym, she was constantly in a malaise, and moped around the streets when forced to go out for food. She found herself waspish and short-tempered, and quick to draw her shank, at least quicker than usual.
Io wasn’t much help either. The stupid Quasing’s feeble attempts to make her feel better, telling her this was a cost of war, that people came and went, that she had better just get used to it, only made her feel worse. Ella thought this new normal Io was trying to sell her sounded like complete rubbish, even if it was true.
That infuriated Ella even though she knew Io was probably right. She had thought her Quasing would be more sympathetic about it, Bijan being one of them and everything. But then, Io wasn’t even the same species, so why would she? The alien probably looked at her the same way she looked at Burglar Alarm.
Ella spent those nights sitting on the catwalk with the dog, leaning against the railing and staring at the stars and that pretty white band that stretched across the sky. She just didn’t feel like being alone in her container. She even let Burglar Alarm nuzzle up next to her as she scratched behind the mutt’s ears.
That is the Milky Way.
“I didn’t ask you.”
Well, it is.
It had become all of a sudden too quiet in there. Loneliness had never bothered her that much, until now. Ella stared at Burglar Alarm and pretended the dog had died, and very nearly burst into tears. She looked away and berated herself. What was wrong with her? It was only a dog. Not even really hers. Just some stupid mutt that adopted the small space next to her home.
No, Burglar Alarm was her only friend, and the only living being in her life who had never abandoned her. Not like her mother, Old Nagu, Bijan, or her stupid good-for-nothing worthless asshole father.
I will always be with you too, Ella.
“Oh gods, that’s even worse!” she wailed.
The only thing that helped keep her mind off Bijan was her training at Murugan’s Mitts. Manish’s retooling of her training had made all the difference, and Ella experienced a complete turnaround from the horror that her first few weeks there had been. Now, she was actually enjoying learning how to become an agent.
For one thing, lifting weights and punching bags was only a small part of her regimen. There were days where she didn’t even have to lay eyes on a kettlebell. Instead, the coach had her throw things: baseballs, cricket balls, American footballs, chopsticks, knives and basically anything else she could get her hands on.
Ella loved it, and was fascinated by the degree of skill and diverse techniques required to throw things properly. From a full windup baseball throw to flicks of the wrists, there were so many different ways she could hit people.
Manish had called her a natural from the get-go, and she improved every day. By the end of the second month, she could pull a 250-gram throwing knife and hit a target ten meters away pretty reliably eight out of ten tries. By the end of the third, she could pull it from a sheath strapped to her wrist and hit a target within half a second.
“Release at the top of the arc,” Manish scolded, as he ran her through a series of exercises where she had to hit several targets in succession. She stood in the middle of the boxing ring while Melon and several other students tossed things up into the air for her to hit. Every once in a while, Manish would throw a tennis ball at her that she would have to dodge. For every time he pegged her, she’d have to wipe down one of the wrestling poles before the evening class.
Since these lessons began, Ella had had to wipe down every pole every day save one. That was fine with her, though. She was learning more now, and having more fun every single day than the first few weeks combined. More importantly, she was growing more confident of her own abilities to defend herself.
“Remember, it’s easier to loop your momentum than to stop,” Manish called out. “Spin, girl, spin!”
A ball bounced off the side of her head. She twisted to the side and let loose a throwing knife no longer than her hand. It just missed a Frisbee Manish had lobbed into the air. Ella looked to her left and flung another knife at an old boxing glove hanging on a rope from the ceiling. This time, her aim was dead on, and the knife sank into the glove. Another tennis ball plunked her in the shoulder.
“Getting careless,” Manish called out.
Growling, Ella made a big show of aiming a knife at Manish. She saw his eyes dare her to follow through with it, as she winded up her throwing motion, and then spun in a circular arc and hit a target behind her.
She looked back at the coach and grinned. “How’d you like that spin, old m–”
He bounced a tennis ball right between her eyes. Her eyes watered and she fell onto her ass ungracefully. She pinched the sting in her nose and felt blood trickle down to her mouth.
“I thought you executed it well,” he said matter-of-factly. “Now, get cleaning. The evening class is coming soon.”
At the end of the day, after wiping down poles and spacing them throughout the gym, Ella and Melonhead shared a meager dinner of lentils, mong and toor, and watched the advanced mallakhamba class from the back. Melonhead leaned in and nudged her. “You know, maybe you should give it a try.”
“Why should I?” She punched him in the shoulder. “So you can laugh at me?”
If her punch registered with him, he didn’t show it. Melonhead shrugged. “It’s good for coordination, hand strength, and balance. And face it, it’s a lot more fun than swinging kettlebells.”
That was probably true. As much as she vocally disdained the monkeying around, she was honest enough with herself to know that it was mainly because she was too self-conscious to even try. She was also shocked to see how amazing Manish was at it as well.
According to his files, he was a champion mallakhamba competitor before he became a Prophus agent. That was how he was discovered. In fact, many of our agents operating in India over the past two hundred years were former mallakhamba competitors, since the Genjix had control of the military.
Melonhead nudged her and pointed toward the entrance. “Is that your friend over there?”
Ella followed his finger and saw Manish and Hamilton huddled together near the front of the gym. Then she saw the old boxing coach pass a brown paper bag to him. Or it was more like Manish subtly and smoothly passed something to Hamilton and the tall lanky Brit muffed the hand-off.
“What do you think Manish gave him? Secret agent documents? Cash? A frozen liver?”
Why are you so suspicious and think the worst of everything? It could be a packed lunch for all you know, or diarrhea medicine. Hamilton has a sensitive stomach, you know that. Definitely a higher likelihood of either of those than secret documents or a black market liver. Besides, this is not the 1960s. Nobody passes around paper documents anymore.
“Then why is he being so secretive?”
Would you like the world to know if you had bowel problems?
Ella didn’t buy it. She decided to put some of her stealth skills to the test and sneak up on them – more for fun and curiosity than anything else. She slipped past the men and women trying to stay up on the poles and skulked behind the rickety boxing ring on the opposite side of the room until she was almost within earshot.
Unfortunately, Melonhead decided to see what she was up to and followed. Creeping was not one of his talents, and he attracted the attention of Manish when he slinked directly into Ella and knocked her off balance out of her hiding spot. She landed on all fours with a squawk.
“Oh hello, Ella,” Hamilton said. The brown paper bag disappeared from sight. “I was just talking to Manish. He says you’ve made leaps and bounds in your training.”
“Enough that I think I deserve a raise,” Manish said.
Hamilton laughed. Ella couldn’t tell if he was laughing sarcastically or if he was just a bad actor. In any case, the Brit pretended he didn’t hear the coach and walked up to her. “Come on, I’ll give you a ride home.”
The man was acting funny; Ella didn’t like it. He was either lying to her or trying to trick her, or something else untrustworthy. He was definitely hiding something.
“We’re not done here yet,” she said.
“Go home, girl,” Manish said. “Class was over three hours ago. You’ve been staying later and later because you want to eat my food. Stop loitering.”
The truth was Ella actually enjoyed watching the mallakhamba class. The girls and two boys in the class were all so graceful. They seemed to be defying gravity. The more she studied their movements, the more she admired and appreciated the skill, strength and technique they needed to accomplish some of these feats.
Maybe Aarav is right. You should join that class.
“Oh, I could never.”
You will not know until you try.
“I’ll think about it.”
“You hungry?” Hamilton asked. “My treat.”
Ella had eaten less than an hour ago, but a Crate Town kid never said no. “Sure. Anything but American food.”
“All right,” Hamilton replied. “I managed to locate an expat restaurant serving English food. I’ve been yearning for some fish and chips.”
An hour later, while being served black pudding, Ella revised her opinion on the worst thing she had ever eaten.
“They caught him just before dawn,” said Wyatt through the laptop’s computer screen. “He had just moved from the eastern position and was heading north to take some shots of the river. He was streaming video to our relay the whole time. It caught the entire encounter. At least he got one before the feed went dead.”
Io and Hamilton were huddled in Ella’s living room as Wyatt debriefed them on Bijan’s tragic death. The Brit, true to his word, had taken Ella to a local restaurant run by an expat who decided twenty years ago to retire in India and open a restaurant that served English food and played football on the television around the clock. The food was a little worse than average, by Hamilton’s standards, but it was completely worth it for him to watch Ella gag for a change. After weeks of Hamilton struggling with the local cuisine, it was nice for him to have the tables turned.
As was their routine now, he escorted her home and waited outside until she was asleep, and then Io opened the door and let him in. They got to work trying to uncover what the Genjix were building in this region.
“He wasn’t armed, Wyatt. We sent him out with hardly any protection.” Hamilton shook his head. “Did Bijan die quick at least?”
“We don’t know. The feed cut off during the struggle,” Wyatt replied. “It wouldn’t have made a difference. A field scout’s defense is not weapons and armor. The real question is, how was he found out? Was it bad luck? Was Bijan being sloppy?”
“Did he find anything?” Io asked quietly.
“Not a lot, but something.” Wyatt looked off-screen. “It’s a good thing Emily discovered this site. We would not have known of its existence otherwise. The Genjix are warping all satellite surveillance within a fifteen kilometer radius of the site with some sort of cloaking technology. Bijan had just started mapping out the blueprint of the site when he was caught.”
“What happens next?” Hamilton asked.
“We need better intel,” said Wyatt. “Can you two finish the work?”
Hamilton shook his head. Io nodded.
Wyatt looked confused. “Which is it?”
“I think the girl is ready,” Io said. “She knows the area. Let her scout the site.”
“The girl is absolutely not ready,” Hamilton insisted. “Send someone else. A full recon team this time. Ella can be their local contact. She knows the area well and can find the supplies they need.”
“I’ll see what I can do,” said Wyatt. “This region is becoming a hot issue in Command, and is escalating. For now, be careful, lay low.
“One more thing.” The analyst stopped speaking as if he were trying to formulate the right words. Io could see the skin around his eyes tighten as he drummed his fingers on the desk. “I don’t want to alarm you, but diplomatic channels indicate that India is going to fall to the Genjix soon.”
Hamilton frowned. “How soon?”
“Probably a few months. Within the year. We do not have any operatives in their government, and the ruling party is leaning staunchly Genjix. We may need to pull you out at a moment’s notice. Be ready.”
After the screen went blank, Hamilton turned to her. “We’re in a bad spot. We should get out of here as soon as possible.”
“You are free to cut and run,” Io snapped. “I am staying. You heard Wyatt. Command is escalating our findings here. For once, I am leading the charge on something big. I intend to stay and see it through.”
Her auxiliary stiffened, and then finally sighed. He dug into his pack and brought out the brown paper bag that Manish had given him. “Here. At least take this.”
Io took the crumpled bag and looked inside: a rusty handgun and four magazines. She took out the handgun, checked the sights, and then loaded one of the magazines. It was smaller than the military issues the agents used and looked to be about fifty years old. She frowned. “Russian made. Where did you get this?”
“From Manish. His basement is full of ancient weaponry from the many wars India fought with Pakistan. It’s all about that old. This one here is one of the smaller ones.”
“Ella does not know how to shoot.”
Hamilton shrugged. “After what happened to Bijan, I didn’t want the girl to not have any protection, and she can’t knife her way through everything. I figure you can walk her through the basics. I’ll talk to the coach about giving her formal training so she doesn’t shoot her foot off. That is, unless you’re concerned enough about her safety to pull her out of here for some real training.”
“No.”
Hamilton stood up, resigned. “So be it. I had better be off. I’ll let you know what Command decides to do with the recon team. In the meanwhile, I’m going to start planning an extraction in case things go south. If what Wyatt says is true, and this is about to become Genjix country, we should have an exit strategy in place.”
Io nodded and watched her auxiliary leave Ella’s home. He was saying and doing all the right things, being loyal. However, Io had no doubt whatsoever that if she had entered the Brit instead of Ella, Hamilton would have fled India weeks ago. Io would be halfway around the world by now, most likely back in the United Kingdom.
That was one thing Io could not allow.