Khaela, Cruiser UNSC Apollo.
And as if there were a reason to be so angry. Everything was performed exactly according to the technical specifications.
I asked Black Box for the request history; he showed me. And appreciated the essence of the maneuver, by the way. All interested parties who got the recording are trying to understand what that was and why the avatar has such a surname. And whether Margaret Parangosky made her daughter a cyborg-killer in the service of ONI.
Given that my boss's reputation fully allows for such an approach, I found out in advance. Children, if they exist, are outside the databases and under a different surname, and an attempt at blackmail with the avatar... let them try. I am slower than a Spartan within this platform, but noticeably faster than a human. And much tougher, even without an active shield.
Another factor: xenophobia. The senior part of ONI reacted unexpectedly aggressively to the idea that the Vice Admiral has such a daughter. "Such" meaning one who performed bioplasty in favor of a non-human appearance. The old xenophobes were in such indignation that Black Box managed to track and show a couple of conversations before paranoia took over again.
They don't know about my nature; that point was classified and, not being the Vice Admiral or her confidant, it cannot be obtained even theoretically. The crew of the UNSC Apollo doesn't ask unnecessary questions, and Khaela in their understanding is an eccentric young girl connected to the brass, since she runs around the ONI cruiser. Currently, there are fewer than twenty people informed in all of humanity, fourteen of them scientists.
And such "disrespect for humanity's struggle" causes a bunch of problems in the long run. If I were a human at all, of course. As it is, they can demand punishments and re-education all they want. It's not my problem. Although allowing it to become a problem for the Vice Admiral is unacceptable.
Another reason why I am categorically not allowed in this form at any mass events. Biomodification with animal features has been available for two centuries, but the war with the Covenant has pushed them outside the boundaries of moral norms. There is no legislative ban, of course. It's just that reliability will be called into question. Which is also not my problem.
In any case, it worked. A break in the template and leading the search for who I am in a completely wrong direction. Boundless Will is safe.
"Task successfully completed, Vice Admiral."
Margaret Parangosky looked at the hologram, clearly considering whether to use the pistol lying in the desk.
"Idiot! The leadership must be warned about such things! I know it worked; Black Box is mocking the 'stupid limited organics,' the plan isn't bad. But such things aren't done spontaneously, not onl—"
to the enemy, but we also had to rework many plans. And it would have been easier if we had known about this in advance! Ajax, you helped her, you're also to blame! I understand your colleague is having a teenage crisis caused by a personality shift. But you've been working with ONI for four years; you should know exactly how we do things! Why is there a crowd of artificial clowns living on my ship??? You're fighting against everyone—has an Artificial Intelligence union formed here?
The hologram sighed.
"Vice Admiral, the plan was to…"
"To create a fake daughter, I know, Khaela. Behind a mass of rumors and extremely idiotic conjectures, it will be practically impossible to determine anything for certain. I have enough intellect to understand and approve your plan. But not the fact that you didn't bother to report it! At least with the quantum link, I'll be able to control the process even during the operation…" the Vice Admiral grumbled, clearly calming down. "Khaela, you need a more human avatar. One suited to your psychological age. You'll be at the academy on the surface of Reach, giving lectures on Forerunner history and building the social base you need. Ajax, see to it."
"Yes, Vice Admiral."
Harsh. The Vice Admiral knows my attitude toward the Forerunners. Obviously, the appearance must differ from the avatar and other templates so she isn't linked to it. Just an ancient history teacher giving lectures. No need to worry about creating a combat platform, but more energy cells so the belt works longer. Shields are necessary. The social module might not charge fully, but it will be much better than it is now, with all this conspiracy.
In a certain sense, the Vice Admiral did the same thing I did. She made a decision that was personally unpleasant to me, but logical and functional. But all that is for later.
According to camera data (thank you, Ajax), the group is re-forming to transition into Slipspace. I previously took a hundred new crew members on board. Such rotations are nothing new; crews have a habit of dying after battles or changing their place of service. ONI ships are no exception. One of the reasons why few people know about me as an AI.
However, the fact that I don't know the objective of our new task is less pleasant. I need to ask the superiors.
"What is the current objective, Vice Admiral?"
I haven't been informed yet; it would be good to start gathering information. Parangosky simply motioned toward the space without looking up from her tablet.
"Ajax!"
He forwarded the data. Right, let's see. Two more colonies have lost contact with their Relay beacons. And both are located no further than ten light-years from a Relay. And if one beacon went dark after an attack, the second one simply wasn't installed. And we are heading to the system where the beacon wasn't installed.
Interesting. The beacon arrived on site on time; they had a month for installation, but it wasn't carried out. Slacking or sabotage? The colony responds; no attack signal was received. Strange. It seems the leadership decided to send a small but powerful strike group named after themselves.
"Is there information on why the beacon isn't in place?"
Ajax shrugged.
"Officially, there are no available ships. Quote: 'the secret status established for the operation makes its execution by an ordinary ship impossible. We expect the arrival of a high-clearance courier within the coming months. It will be immediately dispatched to complete the task.' Do I need to clarify that ONI can easily check the ship manifest, even if they don't have official registration?"
No need. There is a ship; leaders of this level always keep transport for evacuation, especially after the start of the war with the Covies. So what we are observing is a blatant lie. Even more interesting.
"I ordered a stealth frigate to pass to the Relay from that side. It is active," the Vice Admiral added.
So that's it. A conspiracy is suspected. If the Relay were inactive, the situation could be written off as mere stupidity. But activity guarantees use. A communication corridor with the enemy has formed in our rear, through which they can freely pass into our space. The Vice Admiral keeps a straight face, but she must be furious. And the local leadership, if the information is confirmed, will likely be executed in its entirety.
Such things aren't done without the defense leadership, possibly the spaceport, or a certain number of trusted people. I could be wrong; we all could. Perhaps it's a matter of incompetence—the enemy didn't buy our people, but is simply taking advantage of their stupidity. Perhaps. But we need to know for sure.
It's no wonder that this time only three cruisers are being sent, but nearly forty frigates, a third of them with shields and laser point defense rather than artillery. On the other hand, these are fully modified cruisers, with shields, laser point defense, and a MAC reinforced with Eezo (E-Zero). And then there's the UNSC Apollo, whose main battery is a turret from the Boundless Will. The group is small, but with proper coordination, we could at least seriously damage even a supercarrier. I don't promise destruction, but we can definitely damage it.
Moreover, the scout ship that arrived in the system from the Relay side found no enemy armadas. It doesn't look like an ambush. To the question posed to my Batarian subordinates, "who could it be," they all said as one: mercenaries or Salarians. Turians are too straightforward and focused on honor; Batarians would take what they want by force and the colony would have raised the alarm. Based on the fact of an attack or its repulsion. The Covenant would have wiped out the colony. An agri-world—they had no chance.
An Asari diplomatic group or the semi-mythical Salarian STG. So semi-mythical that nothing specific is known about them, and the myths would be enough for Spartans in their ranks. Though, the same could be said for all intelligence services and even some races of this galaxy. All this mythology doesn't make the document sent to the Vice Admiral any better. I hope the reconnaissance groups can find more.
"I have prepared a report on the Salarian STG and other services of Citadel Space based on reports from Batarian subordinates, Vice Admiral. Including the Spectres."
The woman nodded, not looking up from her reading.
"How accurate is it?"
The hologram merely spread its hands.
"At the level of rumors, Vice Admiral. We are talking about the secret service of another race, working by its own logic. The Salarian STG is in some sense legendary for its ability to break in where no one expects them. And for its versatile specialists. The Asari are strong with their wizard-commandos and diplomats. They must have an extremely powerful secret service."
"Which is also more effective, since people talk about it less than the Salarian one," Ajax noted.
I smirked.
"Exactly. They are extremely dangerous. Wizards in good armor with hundreds of years of combat experience; according to the personnel, their lifespan reaches a millennium by our standards."
The Vice Admiral fixed her gaze on me.
"I've read the general assessment of the races in this bloc. Anything to add?"
"Besides the strange specialization of the races in this bloc? No, Vice Admiral."
Parangosky looked at me from behind the tablet with irritation.
"Specializations."
Ajax and I exchanged looks.
"A strange practice, but according to available data, the races turn out to be excessively one-sided. We focus on this as a generally accepted but unlikely fact. To think so is to agree with the legend."
The woman looked toward us with a completely grim expression.
"Are you doubting my analytical ability?"
"In no way, Vice Admiral. But we are pointing out the severe limitation of data and the ease of underestimating the enemy. For example, the Asari."
The Vice Admiral took a slow, very slow breath.
"Are we talking about experience, their wizards, or the fact that they look like us, judging by descriptions and images on their network? And even in the images, they are more attractive than one would expect from a xeno."
I flicked my ears in agreement.
"In this case, I am talking about experience. Their term of service in the army is measured in centuries. In terms of threat assessment, this places them very high. And it is extremely difficult to comprehend for a human who won't live that long even in theory. I can, but from their point of view, I am a child, active for just over a century without accounting for stasis. I almost guarantee their underestimation."
Ajax nodded in agreement. He generally stands as a hologram and hardly moves.
"My colleague's arguments are extremely logical. Experience from the war with the Forerunners, likely."
I shrank my avatar slightly, wrapping myself in fur.
"Unfortunately."
The Vice Admiral made a few more notes.
"I've made a note in the report under my code; you've convinced me. What else?"
If these geniuses ignore the note from the head of ONI Reach, they are in for huge problems, which is good.
"Spectres… I only have rumors, but according to them, they are rather crude. More like enforcers, an instrument of coercion, even if they are capable of investigation. They look like a symbol of power."
"Like Spartans," Ajax added.
I nodded in agreement, grinning.
"Like Spartans. As for effectiveness," I silently spread my hands, "and finally, the Shadow Broker."
Parangosky made a note in the tablet and asked:
"Why is there nothing about him in the general report?" Ajax answered:
"It's only rumors, which even the interviewees themselves say. They are in the report as possible structures. There is even less concrete information than on the others."
Parangosky looked at me and I agreed.
"According to my subordinates, the Broker exists, but I agree, there is practically no information. A private information trader with his own information network. Secretive, therefore alive. His capabilities are the subject of rumors, not his existence. Everyone agrees that he exists. But who he is, what capabilities he possesses, whether it's a corporation or a government structure, no one knows, ma'am."
Parangosky laughed at this.
"It's unlikely he's a privateer. It's one of two things: either the states are too weak to bring him under control, and then he's part of the corporations. Or the 'privateer' image is needed so people go to him more readily. We've done that; heck, we're doing it even now. On Reach, there are information brokers who work for us. Private ones, of course."
The hologram of Black Box appeared on the table:
"A corporate state is characteristic of the Asari Republics. Their army is funded by privateers and is more like private corporations under the control of the Matriarchs than state structures. All structures are one way or another private and have an owner selling services. Some worlds, such as Illium, mentioned seventeen times, are under the complete power of corporations and have more flexible legislation, including legalized contract slavery. The Inner Worlds enjoy a more respectable reputation, but even here, absolute power lies with the Council of Matriarchs, likely the heads of corporations."
Parangosky looked at me.
"You see. I wouldn't be surprised if this Broker turns out to be part of their intelligence network or a competitor to the 'official' intelligence. Allegedly."
With that, the conversation was over. Parangosky continued her work, Ajax monitored the systems, and I waited for results. I walked my avatar to a window in one of the corridors and set it to standby mode, looking into Slipspace.
To a human, there would be solid blackness there, but my sensor complex can see something. Chaotic fluctuations, colors on the edge of background noise. As if the blackness is non-uniform. Like afterimages. Not images, rather fluctuations at the limit of perception.
If I were human, I'd develop paranoia. To me, it's just curiosity about what's there. The recordings show no more than the sensors. Blackness. But I am absolutely certain that something is there. And it's captivating. But that's only one stream of consciousness; others are busy with tasks.
People pass by, look, but don't approach. There are cameras located on the tails; even standing facing the window, I see everything. I see a female supply officer flinch, likely remembering the circumstances of our meeting. And I apologized for that incident, even though it was the Vice Admiral's idea. Others look and whisper, but don't come close. This is the ONI flagship; there are no extra people here.
For the most part, the reaction is neutrally curious, though there are dissatisfied ones too. But as long as they don't interfere, it's not my problem. Many know about Parangosky Junior, but without specifics, it's no wonder rumors are flying. But that's counterintelligence's concern. And a task awaits us.
What's the situation with the colony, the final point of our flight? A small agri-world with four million inhabitants. Quite promising, but with the start of the war, people are leaving rather than moving there. Defense? One could say it exists. A few outdated frigates that no one particularly needs; more serious forces were moved to more important targets. Essentially, the group will notify of an invasion and die or retreat. Though raiders might not attack if the group is small. Then they'll win a little time.
The situation with the beacon is also interesting. A quantum beacon is a quantum pair. Likely the locals decided that the beacon doesn't transmit a signal until you press the button. An intelligence idea, actually—it transmits very much indeed. Right now, the beacon is lying in a warehouse on the surface and has been lying there for a month. Which causes noticeable irritation for the tracking team and leadership, as the beacon was brought by a high-speed ONI frigate and orders were given to conduct installation while the frigate went to deliver the next beacon.
Even an ancient frigate can manage that. They explained to the locals that it's a warning system, of course. In case of anything, they would be the point of impact. That's why they handed it over to the locals instead of installing it themselves. Well, and it's a reaction test, not without that. And here is the reaction: the only ones who didn't install the device. Incompetence or malicious intent?
In any case, the leadership decided to set out with a reinforced group. With the quantum beacon, the Vice Admiral can deal with this without looking up from her documents. I assume in case we run into a Covenant strike group. Well, and a person of her stature shouldn't travel without protection. Even if the journey is incognito—none of the locals know that Parangosky is on the UNSC Apollo.
The public generally knows little about the ownership of this specific ship, and it will remain so. The ships entered the planet's orbit with a slight deviation.
"This is the cruiser UNSC Apollo, provide us with an orbit."
Judging by the transmissions Ajax is catching, we weren't expected, which is good. The defense group is in a slight panic from the forces that dropped on their heads; they are running around like stung hornets and requesting instructions from the surface. Our comms officer repeated the request twice more before they finally deigned to answer.
"This is the frigate UNSC Kasparov, forwarding transport routes. Take whatever you like. I apologize for the delay; we weren't ready for guests. What brings you to our plantation? Don't think anything of it, it's just unexpected."
He's not lying. And yet, he first requested instructions from the surface and only then contacted us. Except their Dumb AIs are no match for a team of Smart AIs. And right now, four of them are living in their system at once—all the shipboard ones and me.
"Transmitting codes."
And we're not talking about the Vice Admiral's personal code; how would a backwater frigate know them? Only general codes indicating a place in the command vertical. Now they should realize on the frigate that the higher-ups have come for their souls and start scurrying. Just the higher-ups, not ONI. Seems they're impressed.
"UNSC Apollo? This is UNSC Kasparov, receive coordinates for stabilization. The situation report will be ready within the established timeframe. The senior officer will arrive on the flagship in three hours."
Ajax laughed in our "conference room" in my workshop.
"There they go, scurrying. I wonder what they hope to accomplish in three hours? Considering we see everything and are tracking the processes?"
I snorted.
"You're asking me? I've never been on ships like that. But when we lost propulsion, the decay was quite rapid. A closed space, people of both sexes, the command vertical right there, breeding behind the wall. There were no abuses, but I was there with full access and suppressed the loudest things. What can they arrange on an old frigate where the AI is a Dumb AI at best? I have no idea."
Ajax also summoned the colony governor to our ship. While our entire delegation has broken into their network and is gutting it, gathering dirt. Even Ajax could have handled it solo, simply because their network is outdated. Not to mention that ONI leaves backdoors for itself. What we found…
"Well, that is definitely a synonym for the word 'decay.'"
Ajax nodded.
"Essentially the kingdom of the governor and the combat group. Which is almost never replaced; they staff the ships with locals."
And the command is too busy with the war to take an interest in the matter. Even without the beacon problem, there's plenty to do here. Compared to the local frigates, of which there are only three and a fourth acting as a stationary post (the Slipspace Drive is dead according to the invoices), our strike group, consisting of the newest ships, must be imposing. Especially the UNSC Apollo with its gun. There are only two such ships in space; the second was given to Lord Terrence Hood.
"Deploy reconnaissance," the Vice Admiral ordered, "track everything and everyone. Khaela, Ajax, read all transmissions; report everything interesting."
Ajax had something to report.
"We definitely weren't expected. Но so far it looks more like corruption than our interest, Vice Admiral. I see an order to clean up traces of crimes, tidying up. Drugs, alcohol, women. Illegal spending. Trade in prohibited goods, contraband. Construction of a palace."
Parangosky waved it off boredly.
"Not our concern, look for more," the woman ordered.
We continued to monitor the data.
"Now this is interesting," we stumbled upon the file almost simultaneously, "invoices for the purchase of weapons. But not ammunition."
A short query and Black Box confirmed.
"No data on a deal or shipment of this type."
Better, but not enough. Right, spaceport traffic.
"Look: merchant ship 00020735. BB, check the documents. It arrives and departs too often. Less than two days for a full cycle. Given that even an accelerated ship needs four days. And at a speed of 2 light-years/day, it's over a month one way. Cargo transport Drunken Knight, a container ship."
BB countered:
"Received traffic data. The Knight left the system three weeks ago; it will be in transit for another nine and will exit at New Gettysburg. It can't be the same transport."
It doesn't add up. Aha, we found a lead. Looking further.
"What kind of weapons did they buy?" the boss asked, making notes.
Nothing on that, unfortunately. According to specifications, rather old SMGs, or just "crates of weapons." Nothing that a remote colony couldn't order.
"Good," the boss nodded when we finished gutting the network, "at least we got the coordinates. Khaela, you are placed under the command of Lieutenant Natalia Fisher as an avatar. I have things to do and I have subordinates. So get to it."
Meanwhile, a stealth transport will head down to the planet to look for the cargo. Obviously, the locals aren't such idiots as to leak such things into the general network. The boss was satisfied and passed the task down to competent specialists. It's beneath the Vice Admiral's rank to do the work of an investigator; for that, there are ONI investigators and AIs, through whose eyes she will monitor the result while attending to more important matters. Besides, the subordinates will relax a bit while the Vice Admiral isn't on Reach, and it will be easier to find those who decided to sell out to the neighbors. And "Agent Parangosky" was removed from the scene.
Furthermore, a strike group of upgraded ships isn't hanging as dead weight in Reach's orbit, but is exploring and searching for the enemy. Everyone is busy.
I hadn't met Lieutenant Natalia before. A girl of twenty-eight, takes care of her appearance. A blonde. Like all ONI officers, she's married to her work. Recently transferred to the ship as a promotion. For her, this is also a test of competence.
She was an ordinary employee, but the command liked how she solved a problem with rebels. To prevent the rebels from dropping a truck of chemicals on a city by blowing the atmospheric engines, she arranged a depressurization with internal incineration during landing. Two-thirds of the crew and the rebels went to the other world; the ship landed on autopilot. That was her solution to the trolley problem.
The higher-ups liked it; she was transferred to more responsible work, and the Vice Admiral moved her to the UNSC Apollo as part of a rotation. And put me under her command.
How does that work? From the command vertical's point of view, an AI is a secretary rigidly tied to a position. No promotions or demotions; there is an officer, they have an AI secretary, and it will always be there.
It's more complicated with the avatar. According to publicly available documents, this is a person who has their own position. So Khaela Parangosky, even if she reports to the Vice Admiral, can be under the command of other officers. For example, a lieutenant, if such an order is given. Seeing the avatar in person, the girl jumped.
Judging by the extreme degree of indignation on her face, first of all, she doesn't have clearance (checked, she doesn't). Secondly, she extremely dislikes my appearance. Interesting. She leaned her hands on the table and ordered in a commanding tone:
"ONI officer Lieutenant Fisher. Identify yourself."
The avatar smirked with triangular teeth from under the scarf. Today I'm in black. Jacket, pants, t-shirt, heavy army boots. Not according to regulations. Maybe that's the issue? I flicked my ears slightly, showing a bit of fangs, boring into her with the gaze of vertical pupils and making the girl grip her pistol.
"Weren't you informed who you'd have to work with, Lieutenant?" I sang out slowly, accentuating attention on the non-human features with slight movements. "Not very professional, you know?"
"Identify yourself! I demand an answer to a senior officer! Answer according to regulations, operative!" the girl barked, but didn't draw the pistol.
I wonder who she was modeling herself after. This expression doesn't move me, but now I'm certain that my ears annoy her and Parangosky is a vengeful lady. Entrusting an investigation to a xenophobe when all the data is with someone who doesn't look very human. If that isn't revenge, I don't know what is. Given that the Vice Admiral herself will receive all information from Ajax, the investigation won't suffer.
"I am a monument to all your sins, Lieutenant. Agent Parangosky. Khaela Parangosky. Ajax, confirm clearance."
The AI, who was also having a lot of fun, announced in an emotionless voice:
"Status confirmed, Agent. You are placed under the officer's command. Good day."
The girl nodded but didn't relax. She only hissed quietly to herself: "non-human." I flicked my ears dissatisfiedly.
"I don't understand what you mean, Lieutenant."
The girl looked me over once more and grimaced.
"I don't understand how someone like you can be the Vice Admiral's daughter. You spit on regulations, on humanity. You run around the ONI flagship in whatever you want."
Not true; this is off-duty clothing based on the ODST model. No insignia, but this is a special case. Someone just wants to find fault.
"Sucked her way in, likely. It happens," I commented on this mishap loudly enough, in an extremely mocking tone, "I am here for my skills, unlike some."
I love breaking the mold for organics. The girl jumped up, forgetting both the "non-human" and the pistol. And the fact that she's the senior officer here too. She turned red, gasping for air. Then she growled.
"I have a perfect service record! I graduated with honors from the academy on Reach, completed my internship, placed in the 95+ percentile in all subjects, and earned my place here, animal! For my skills. And I didn't make a non-human out of myself for all sorts of perverts to shake my ass at them!"
I shrugged. I have a gorgeous frame made of synth-muscles. The fact that I fitted it to my figure is secondary. Are you jealous or criticizing?
"We are on the Vice Admiral's ship, officer. Perhaps it's too complex information for your brain, but there are no random people here. At all. I am good at what I do. Let's continue the double-edged jokes."
Seems she's also a puritan.
"Well, of course!" the woman snorted, "that's not an achievement for ONI. Different skills are needed here."
"And what kind, hm?" I pointedly looked her over.
The sergeant standing at the entrance, who is actually a counterintelligence officer aware of me, is trying with all his might not to laugh. He's the second one here understanding the whole circus of the situation.
"What someone like you will never have. Duty, will, combat skills. Loyalty to humanity. Artists and prostitutes serve any power, but the Covenant doesn't need them. You are trash who doesn't belong here. And, since I've been granted such an honor, I will train a real officer out of you, 'operative.' Now, front leaning rest position and report in form!"
I sighed; this was going to be difficult. Especially since Ajax sent a message from the dispatch group. Time to wrap this up. We have clientele approaching.
So, a lunge forward, grab her by the throat, and pin her to the wall. The guards didn't even flinch, thanks to Ajax and the fact that the marines mostly know me. They're exhausted after numerous alarms, but they know me.
"Do I have your attention, Lieutenant?" the girl nodded as best she could.
She clearly sees the guards aren't reacting. She tried to grab my hand, pry the fingers, or move the extended claws away from her neck, which had slightly pierced the skin. Unsuccessful; synth-muscles aren't so easily moved. I brought my face close to hers, moving the scarf aside with my tail, and said with extreme seriousness:
"Listen and remember. I don't know what you've fantasized for yourself, but the reality is that results are expected from us, not your tantrums. Results fast and in the best form. The UNSC Apollo is a flagship; there are no mediocrities here. They die or are sent to serve elsewhere. I won't allow your prejudices to fail the Vice Admiral. Am I heard?"
I let her go, waiting for a nod, and the girl slid down the wall, frantically catching her breath and holding her throat. A vacuum grip is painful. And with the claws, she also has marks on her neck with a small amount of blood. Her uniform shirt is ruined.
"Bitch," she wheezed.
The avatar pointedly flicked its tails, showing I wasn't going to attack. Though I could from this position too, which she doesn't know.
"You can feel however you want about me. Given the Covenant, hatred for those who don't look human is understandable. But! Your reaction speaks of incompetence. The Vice Admiral expects something else from us. What results can you show if you aren't ready to work?"
It didn't sink in enough.
"People like you have no place in ONI. You're unreliable! And it's certainly not for you to bear the Vice Admiral's surname. An animal that needs training!"
I laughed, a creaky laugh. Even the guards eavesdropping flinched.
"You can hate me if it makes it easier for you. Your problem is that the Vice Admiral appointed me here personally. You aren't doubting my competence, but her decisions. My clearance is enough to conduct this operation quickly and successfully without your help. You are a burden. If you aren't ready to work for results and only spit venom, you are incompetent. What are you even doing here, girl? What drives you? Hatred?"
She snorted.
"You are a beast and a beast you shall remain. If you made this out of a human, all the worse. To bring yourself closer to those? I can't imagine how good you must be for them to accept you. Or at what price."
I slowly, sarcastically clapped at that.
"You can do it when you want to. Yes, I am good enough that my little hobbies are understood and accepted. Be jealous in silence," I was unprofessionally shown a middle finger, "have you familiarized yourself with our guests' dossiers? Your opinion?"
"Why the hell should I report to you? You're my subordinate, not an examiner."
I slowly ran a claw across the table, causing a sound unpleasant for humans.
"For the future, the word 'analyst' means a position, not a penchant for certain types of sexual practices. We found something out."
The girl sighed, looking at me.
"And?"
Waiting for a dramatic pause, I announced:
"The local officers are corrupt, but that's not our profile. But one container ship, the Drunken Knight, has an interesting flight schedule. While the hack confirmed the presence of this ship at the local spaceport, according to all invoices, it flew toward the Atlas Moons."
The Lieutenant nodded.
"I see. This is a test, right? Without you and your information, I won't be able to complete the task."
Well, why so dramatic.
"You will, it's just that where you'd take several hours, a minute is enough for me. With me, you'll be able to complete it much faster and with a lower chance of the enemy escaping."
"I understand. I am ready to use your knowledge. But you are still a non-human."
I waved it off; it was boring. Already leaving the room, I heard:
"Twenty duty shifts, Agent. Full theory and standards testing until you prove you're the best. For attacking a senior officer, another twenty shifts and a reprimand. Sergeant, see to it."
The sergeant/counterintelligence officer snorted:
"Yes, ma'am."
I flicked my tails and walked out. The governor and the defense commander arrived on the same transport from the planet. Now we'll talk. The jokes are over; time to get to business.
***
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