Marcus stared at the ceiling until 0300. Sleep wouldn't come.
Every time he closed his eyes, he saw Dr. Vasquez's face, heard her voice dissecting his lies with surgical precision.
He rolled off his bunk and pulled on his utilities. Garcia stirred but didn't wake.
The duty office was empty except for Corporal Williams manning the watch. Williams looked up from his magazine.
"Can't sleep, Thorne?"
"No. Thought I'd volunteer for some extra training. Work off the energy."
Williams consulted the duty roster. "Thompson's got a night navigation exercise scheduled for 0500. Needs someone to lead the junior Marines."
"I'll take it."
Williams made the notation. "You sure? These boots are fresh out of basic. Might not know their ass from their elbow in the dark."
"I'm sure."
---
At 0500, Marcus stood in the assembly area with eight nervous Marines. Fresh faces, uncertain stances, gear that looked like it had been issued yesterday.
"Listen up. Tonight you're learning land navigation in low-light conditions. Real combat doesn't wait for sunrise."
He gestured toward the wooded training area beyond the base perimeter.
"Six checkpoints, GPS coordinates only. No marked trails, no obvious landmarks. You find them all and get back here in four hours."
A recruit raised his hand. "Sergeant, what about night-vision equipment?"
"What about it?"
"Do we get any?"
Marcus had wondered the same thing. The equipment roster showed NVGs available, but something told him to refuse them.
"Negative. Your eyes will adjust. Learn to use what you've got."
The Marines exchanged worried glances. One muttered something about impossible expectations.
"Problem, Marine?"
The speaker straightened. "No, Sergeant. Just wondering how we're supposed to navigate in the dark without equipment."
"Same way Marines have been doing it for centuries. You watch, you listen, you adapt."
Marcus checked his watch. "First checkpoint is at grid 347521. Move out."
---
The group stumbled into the tree line like blind children. Marcus followed, letting them lead while he observed their techniques.
Within minutes, half of them had lost the trail.
But Marcus could see everything.
The forest was bright as daylight to his enhanced vision. Every tree trunk, every root, every depression in the trail stood out in perfect detail.
He watched the Marines fumble with their compasses and maps while he instinctively knew the correct bearing to every checkpoint.
"Hold up." Marcus called the group to a halt. "Johnson, what's your heading?"
The Marine consulted his compass. "Um, 147 degrees, Sergeant."
"Wrong. Try again."
"148?"
"Still wrong. Garcia?"
Not his Garcia—another Marine with the same name. "152 degrees?"
Marcus pointed through the trees. "Checkpoint's that way. Due north from here puts you in a ravine. Trust your compass, but verify with terrain features."
He led them to higher ground where they could see the landscape.
In the darkness, the Marines squinted and stumbled. Marcus saw every detail—the ridge line in the distance, the stream cutting through the valley, the radio tower marking checkpoint two.
"See that clearing about 800 meters northeast? That's where we're headed."
"I don't see anything, Sergeant."
Marcus realized his mistake. They couldn't see what he was pointing at. In full darkness, normal human eyes wouldn't pick out details at that distance.
"Look harder. Let your eyes adjust."
---
He guided them more carefully after that, feeding them information they could verify with their own senses.
Point out the sound of water indicating the stream. The change in vegetation showing elevation differences. Wind direction suggesting nearby clearings.
By checkpoint three, the Marines were moving with more confidence. Marcus had taught them to read the forest without revealing his supernatural perception.
"Sergeant?"
Marcus turned to find Private Collins, one of the more observant recruits.
"How'd you know about that deadfall back there? The one we had to go around?"
"Which deadfall?"
"You steered us away from it before we could see it. Like you knew it was there."
Marcus had detected the fallen tree blocking their path 50 meters before they would have encountered it. To Collins, it must have looked like precognition.
"Experience. You learn to read the signs."
"What signs?"
"Sound carries differently when there's an obstruction. Air moves different when the canopy changes."
The lies came easier now. "You'll learn."
Collins nodded but his expression remained thoughtful.
---
They reached checkpoint four ahead of schedule. Marcus called a rest break while the Marines checked their maps and equipment.
He used the pause to scan their surroundings, ensuring they were alone.
They weren't.
Two figures observed from a hilltop 400 meters south. Too distant for normal vision to identify, but Marcus's enhanced sight picked out details clearly.
Master Chief Thompson. Dr. Vasquez.
Both watching the exercise. Both taking notes.
Marcus turned his attention back to the Marines. "Ready to move?"
"Sergeant, can I ask you something?" Collins again.
"Shoot."
"The other Marines talk about you. Say you're different since you came back from leave. Better at everything."
The group went quiet. Marcus felt eight pairs of eyes on him.
"Different how?"
"More focused. Like you can see things other people miss."
Collins hesitated. "They call you 'Ghost' because of that night shoot at Luna Station. Say you hit targets in zero-G that should've been impossible."
Marcus glanced toward the hilltop. Thompson and Vasquez were still watching.
"People exaggerate. Makes for better stories."
"Maybe. But tonight you've been navigating like you can see in the dark. Pointing out obstacles before we reach them. Knowing exactly where to go without checking your compass."
The other Marines nodded agreement.
Marcus realized he'd been too confident, too capable. Even while trying to hide his abilities, he'd demonstrated impossible competence.
"You learn to trust your instincts. Read the environment."
"That's what you keep saying. But instincts don't tell you there's a fallen tree 50 meters ahead. Or that the next checkpoint is in a specific clearing you can't actually see."
Marcus met Collins' stare. "What are you suggesting, Private?"
"I'm suggesting you've got the best night vision I've ever seen. Better than equipment. Like you don't need light at all."
The accusation hung in the forest air. Eight Marines waited for his response while two observers watched from the darkness.
"Everyone sees better when they stop relying on technology and start using what they've got."
Marcus shouldered his pack. "Checkpoint five is 2 klicks northeast. We're moving."
---
He led them through the remaining waypoints without further conversation. The Marines followed efficiently, having learned his lessons about forest navigation.
But Collins continued watching him with thoughtful eyes.
They returned to base at 0847, thirteen minutes ahead of schedule. Thompson was waiting in the assembly area.
"How'd they do, Thorne?"
"Good, Master Chief. Learned to navigate by terrain features instead of relying on equipment."
Thompson studied the group of Marines. They looked confident, alert, successful.
"Any problems? Equipment failures? Navigation difficulties?"
"No, Master Chief. Straight shot to all checkpoints."
"Interesting." Thompson made a note on his clipboard. "Most groups get lost at least once on that course. Take wrong turns. End up in the ravine or the marsh."
Marcus shrugged. "Good leadership."
"Must be."
Thompson's stare was unreadable. "Interesting night vision, Thorne. Most Marines need NVGs for that kind of precision in the dark. You seem to manage just fine without them."
The words hit like a physical blow. Thompson had observed everything. Seen Marcus navigate impossible terrain in total darkness.
"Eyes adjust when you give them time, Master Chief."
"They do. But not usually that well."
Thompson turned to address the group. "Outstanding job tonight, Marines. Dismissed."
The recruits dispersed toward the barracks. Collins lingered, glancing between Marcus and Thompson.
"Something else, Private?" Thompson asked.
"No, Master Chief. Just wanted to thank Sergeant Thorne for the training."
Collins walked away, but his parting look told Marcus the conversation wasn't finished.
---
Thompson waited until they were alone. "Walk with me."
They moved away from the assembly area toward the training office. Thompson's pace was unhurried, professional.
"That was the best navigation exercise I've seen in fifteen years of training Marines."
Marcus said nothing.
"No wrong turns. No backtracking. No confusion about terrain or direction."
Thompson stopped walking. "Either you've got the best natural night vision in Marine Corps history, or you've got some kind of assistance I don't know about."
"No assistance, Master Chief. Just training and experience."
"What training? Your record shows standard infantry courses. Nothing about advanced land navigation or night operations."
Another trap. Marcus's fictional history didn't include the specialized training that would explain tonight's performance.
"Self-study. Practice during personal time."
"Uh-huh."
Thompson resumed walking. "You know what bothers me most about tonight?"
"Master Chief?"
"You didn't check your compass once. Not once in four hours of navigation through unfamiliar terrain. That takes either perfect memory of the course layout or some other way of knowing exactly where you are at all times."
Marcus felt sweat building despite the cool night air.
"I've run that course before."
"When?"
The question came too quickly. Marcus realized he'd walked into another lie that could be verified.
"During my previous assignment. We trained here occasionally."
"Your previous assignment was garrison duty on a colony world. No combat training areas. No navigation courses."
Caught again. Marcus's mind raced through options while Thompson waited.
"Must have been during leave. Recreational hiking."
"Recreational hiking doesn't teach you to navigate military courses in total darkness with perfect accuracy."
---
They reached the training office. Thompson unlocked the door and gestured Marcus inside.
"Have a seat."
Marcus sat. Thompson remained standing, a position of authority and implied threat.
"I've been training Marines for fifteen years. Seen every kind of natural talent, unusual skill, and exceptional ability."
Thompson leaned against his desk. "You know what I've never seen?"
Marcus waited.
"Someone who gets better at everything all at once. Marksmanship, leadership, navigation, situational awareness, tactical thinking. Complete across-the-board improvement in every military skill."
The office felt smaller. Thompson's stare was steady, professional, implacable.
"People improve gradually. In specific areas. With identifiable training or experience to explain the improvement."
Thompson crossed his arms. "You've improved in ways that suggest either extensive specialized training you can't account for, or abilities that go beyond normal human capability."
The accusation was out in the open now. Thompson suspected something impossible.
"I've been working hard, Master Chief."
"Working hard doesn't explain perfect night vision. Or instinctive knowledge of terrain you've never seen. Or the ability to navigate complex courses without instruments."
Marcus met his stare. "What are you suggesting?"
"I'm not suggesting anything yet. I'm observing. And what I'm observing doesn't match what I know about human performance and military training."
---
Thompson opened a file cabinet and pulled out a folder thick with documents.
"Your complete service record. Training scores, peer evaluations, psychological profiles, medical records. Everything."
He dropped the folder on his desk. "I've been studying it for a week."
Marcus felt his pulse quicken.
"The Marine described in these documents is competent but unremarkable. Good soldier, decent scores, no exceptional capabilities."
Thompson opened the folder. "The Marine I've been observing is exceptional in every measurable category. Different personality, different skill set, different approach to leadership and problem-solving."
The silence stretched. Thompson waited.
"People change, Master Chief."
"Not like this. Not this completely. Not without explanation."
Thompson closed the folder and fixed Marcus with a stare that felt like interrogation.
"So here's what's going to happen. You're going to tell me what really happened during your leave. And this time, you're going to tell me the truth."