Humans Page 5

  “Aye, lord.”

  “Memnon,” he turned back to his distracted half-brother. “You have had your demonstration. I am required by custom to give you this chance to leave with your honor intact. You have taken fire bravely. Now will you leave this system without claim to revenge?”

  Memnon shuddered with rage. Mishak could see it, even if he couldn’t feel it. The hologram inclined its head, just barely enough for civil discourse. “We part on amicable terms,” he rasped, looking anything but amicable. He looked to the left. “Bring the path drive online,” he ordered as he shimmered out of view.

  Mishak realized there was no way the two fleets of hostiles would clear the system in… eighteen minutes. The last of the holo-projected captains had disappeared, leaving only the Human. “Well done!” Mishak said judiciously.

  Eth had pushed some boundaries – interjecting in the conversation with Memnon – but it had worked out well enough. If he were Quailu, wouldn’t I be rewarding him?

  “Your new ship has proven very effective. I’m giving you a free hand with the scouting division and your ship designs,” he said, leaning in. “Path out when you’re ready and… get to work… Commander!”

  Eth raised an eyebrow and Mishak was pleased to notice it before hearing the guarded word of inquiry. “It’s traditional to send back dispatches with the hero of the day and it’s also traditional to promote the celebrated messenger.”

  Mishak waved a hand airily. “And I grow tired of having to add the extra syllables every time I say lieutenant. Your rank is effective immediately. Get back to the rendezvous and start building your new vessels.”

  The holo grinned. “Aye, lord!”

  “Full normalization,” Hendy announced.

  “Area is secure,” tactical added. “Our ships are the only ones here.”

  “Secure the path-drive,” Eth ordered, “and extend the radiator arrays before we burn out the emission management system.”

  Noa approached Eth, stopping beside him to gaze at the holo of the current Human vessel complement. Their little fleet centered on the Mouse, a heavy cruiser they’d seized from Mishak’s renegade uncle. There were also nine frigates, eight of the small scout-ships and the Scorpion.

  The scout-ships were essentially unarmed but they were even harder to spot than the newer cousin he’d brought to the Sippar system. Their lack of a path-drive and missile-bank gave them a smaller profile, blocking fewer stars as the carbon nanotubule coated ships snuck up on their targets.

  But, aside from observation, mine-laying or inserting boarding parties, they weren’t good at fighting on their own. They still had their place but they’d also highlighted the need for something between a scout-ship and a main combat vessel.

  “One might reasonably assume that an escort of four frigates is unremarkable for a cruiser,” Eth observed, acknowledging Noa with a nod.

  Noa, having just certified the Scorpion, his own design, for active duty a few days ago, grinned broadly. “One might be forgiven for thinking they’re looking at a risibly small force,” he said. “But, then, the dead are often viewed with more charity than the living…”

  The engineer chuckled. “Gleb told me about you waving a hand for that Quailu guard to look at and then slapping him into the next month with the other…”

  “Huh!” Eth reached up to stroke his chin. “That’s kind of the same thing, isn’t it? Am I becoming predictable?”

  “Hells no!” Noa scorned. “Ain’t nobody gonna see this coming. I just like when the Universe repeats itself, that’s all. Proof that nobody’s perfect…”

  In the holo, five of the frigates were dissolving into blocks of nanites, ready for re-use. Two of them were already using those nanites to manhandle pitch-drives into place.

  They’d had to sacrifice shuttles, but Eth would rather have Scorpion-class vessels than shuttles.

  He was going to need some more sword names.

  Reality Intrudes

  Blockade

  Mirsit Transit Point, Imperial Sovereign Territory

  Fidrelt slid out of bed, yawning hugely. He went to the sink and threw a quick splash of water on his face before stepping into his armored EVA suit. He worked his way through a series of stretches to sort out the suit’s fit before stepping out his door.

  The guard stiffened to a position of respect as he passed, turning right to enter the bridge. “Report,” he demanded curtly as his number two gave a stiff bow.

  “No traffic in the last shift, Lord, with the exception of a few drop-washes out beyond the asteroid fields.”

  Hardly surprising, Fidrelt thought. His fleet’s depredations here had led to a sharp reduction in traffic on the route and many of those who did pass this way took care to drop out as far from the regular area as possible.

  The Mirsit Transit Point was hardly friendly to path travel in the first place but it at least allowed a decent pitch field to exist and that was more than you could say for the area surrounding it.

  The Great Barrier was a collection of pulsar-wind nebulae that interfered with just about any useful energy field known to sentience. Path-fields collapsed and pitch drives fared no better. Few ships, aside from those who bothered to equip themselves with old-fashioned reaction-thrust engines, ever escaped from the barrier.

  Widely believed to be constructed by an ancient civilization of immense power, the Great Barrier had one opening that allowed pitch-fields to form. Ships passing into the resource-rich frontier zones had to stop here and proceed through on pitch alone.

  And Fidrelt, though he was here at the behest of more powerful interests, was nonetheless enriching himself very nicely.

  He’d already seized more ships than his own fief’s entire economic fleet and he still had plenty of prize-crews left.

  He settled into his command chair and began going over the reports from the previous shift. One of his frigate captains had complained of a glitch in the sensor suite. They were claiming that the system was dropping some of the stars from the background, essentially making a hole in the data-stream.

  He flagged it for his sensor officer to look into and waved over one of his wardu servants. “Coffee,” he ordered, giving the tall thin native a cuff on the ear-aperture for good measure.

  Damned useless creatures. It’s their fault I’m out here, he thought. And, for the price I’m forced to pay…

  “Path alert!” the sensor officer called out. “Estimate fifteen signatures, lord!” His eagerness washed over the bridge. Fifteen ships would result in a lot of prize-money.

  “All call-signs, hands to battle-stations,” Fidrelt ordered. “Rig for combat!”

  There was a series of flashes as the latest victims dropped out in the middle of the primary wash-dump. Fidrelt’s helmet snapped itself together just as the tactical officer shouted his warning.

  “They’re warships, lord!” His voice transitioned from open air to the slightly tinny reproduction of Fidrelt’s helmet speakers in mid-sentence. His blood began coursing with adrenaline and his mood mingled with the rest of the bridge crew, amplifying the reaction to dizzying heights.

  He felt like his head would explode and he nearly jumped out of his own skin when the communications officer’s voice sounded in his helmet, advising him of an incoming call.

  He stepped over to the central holo to find the prince-presumptive himself shimmering in front of him. “Lord Mishak,” he said, fearing his voice sounded unnaturally high.

  Mishak was clearly not on a ship rigged for combat. His helmet was down, which seemed a little dismissive, if Fidrelt was to be completely honest about it.

  “Fidrelt,” Mishak bowed politely. “What are you doing out here, interdicting traffic in HQE sovereign territory?” He turned away slightly before looking back. “And I see you’ve decided to spend money on new designs; how interesting!”

  “My business is none of your… business,” Fidrelt replied, deeply regretting his adrenaline-addled wits.

  “Oh, but it is my b
usiness, Fidrelt. I’ve received complaints about ships seized out here.” Mishak shook his head, a gesture that even the Quailu recognized.

  “A bad business, Fidrelt. Investor confidence is taking a beating. Nobody wants to risk capital on a venture that stands a better-than-evens chance of being pirated.”

  “I’m no pirate,” Fidrelt said indignantly. “I have a legitimate grievance against…”

  “Not in HQE space, you don’t,” Mishak cut him off calmly.

  Fidrelt’s eyes darted from side to side. The carefully worded justification provided to him had proven to be flimsier than the clothing his slaves wore. He forced himself to accept the only remaining option.

  That, after all, was why Memnon had given him the new ships.

  “Trade, Fidrelt,” Mishak insisted.

  “Trade?”

  “That’s right. Trade. It’s what the empire was built on. It’s what all of our laws are designed to protect. It’s why we have a military. Without it, we have nothing but decay and chaos.” The hologram took an aggressive stride forward and Fidrelt actually yelped in alarm as he backpedaled two steps.

  “Trade,” the hologram insisted, “and you’re buggering up a very important segment of the empire’s trade. I’m giving you one chance to step back from this and return what goods you’ve stolen.”

  Fidrelt knew what would happen to his own economy if he shifted over to Mishak’s side. “I regret, my lord, that we will not be able to reach an agreement.” He drew himself up to his full height and even forced himself to take a step toward the prince. “If you persist, we will have to fight and you will not find me an easy opponent!”

  He was even starting to believe himself! He could just imagine the tales folks would tell of how Fidrelt the Ferocious fought Prince Mishak to a standstill at the Battle of Mirsit.

  Mishak sighed and raised a holographic hand. “Do you see this hand?”

  Fidrelt frowned. “Yes, but what the hells does…”

  “Multiple inbound traces detect… gods!” the sensor coordinator screamed, startling several years off the sensor officer’s lifespan. Fidrelt himself had lost at least a few months. “We’re down to three frigates and our cruiser!”

  How? He wondered numbly. Most of the fleet gone in the blink of an eye? He looked at the boiling mass of wreckage.

  “It came from nowhere,” the sensor officer said, outraged at an enemy that showed such proficiency, “and the weapons are so fast our sensors were barely even aware of them.”

  His remaining ships were blessedly clear of the deadly debris, thanks to their position at the rear of his formation. He’d have to run for it and hope Memnon would understand. “Engineering, bring our path drive online and…”

  An alarm sounded, followed closely by an opening appearing in the hull directly in front of him. Figures in armored EVA suits poured through, shoving the crew away from their stations. One figure, an alien skull painted on his faceplate in white, grabbed him and dragged him over to the small knot of captured Quailu.

  That was when it finally gelled for Fidrelt. How had the enemy gotten so close that their missiles only showed up when it was too late to do anything? How did they approach so close that they could just stroll onto his bridge and take over?

  That was no sensor glitch in the reports. That other ship was noticing starlight blocked by stealthy ships!

  The alarm cut off and one of the aliens secured the ship from battle stations. The openings in the hull sealed themselves and the atmospheric cyclers quickly re-pressurized the cruiser.

  No wonder Mishak had suddenly vaulted to prominence, Fidrelt realized as his helmet snapped open. He had managed to get his hands on some kind of stealth tech!

  The alien’s helmet retracted revealing what must have been one of Mishak’s Humans. He had an ugly, flatish face and Fidrelt didn’t care for the cut of his teeth. Too much of the meat-eater in these creatures, if he wasn’t mistaken. He was also unreadable and Fidrelt shuddered in disgust.

  If I can get my hands on their tech, he thought, then the empire would be talking about the rise of Fidrelt, not this upstart Mishak!

  The Human ordered a course, full pitch, and Fidrelt, who’d been thinking of his future greatness, suddenly felt a pang of renewed alarm. The Humans had killed rather a large proportion of the crew, if his suit’s data feed was correct, but they’d left the bridge-crew unharmed and he’d taken that as a good sign.

  He’d hoped to get a chance to steal one of their stealthy ships and pull a skedaddle, but there seemed to be more than a little symbolism in the Human’s current choice of destination.

  He started as he realized the Human was standing beside him.

  “You’ll never guess,” the Human said in a voice that was much higher than a Quailu’s, “what we found on our way in to your position.” He blew out a heavy breath, startling Fidrelt, both from the sudden noise and from the realisation that the alien was working to control emotions that Fidrelt couldn’t sense.

  He reached over to pull the power cell from the back of Fidrelt’s suit. “Then again, I imagine you could come up with a pretty shrewd guess, couldn’t you? I’d bet you’ve got a lot of these stored somewhere.” He hefted the power cell.

  And suddenly, his fate became clear.

  “No!” the disgraced lord held up his hands toward the Human, disgusted at how quickly he’d resorted to begging this native mushkenu for mercy.

  But self-loathing was a good deal more enjoyable than what he now knew awaited him.

  “You don’t understand,” he began.

  “Oh, I understand,” the Human said, his voice chillingly quiet. “And there will be no last-second escape and rise to power for you! A monster like you given the power of our technology would be an abomination!”

  Fidrelt was shocked. So much so that he momentarily forgot about his looming fate. Had the unreadable creature read him?

  “We’re in position,” one of the Humans announced from the helm.

  Fidrelt realized that, though he couldn’t read the Human who’d taken his power cell, he could read most of the others, though he wished he couldn’t. It was one thing to learn to live with your sins. It was quite another to see those sins reflected in the hearts of others.

  “If it were up to me,” his captor mused, “I’d shove you out there to die with all the ships’ crews you murdered.”

  Fidrelt felt a flare of hope. He’d been certain he was about to die by the same method he’d been using to dispose of the captured ships’ crewmen. Admittedly, it had been cruel of him, but they were mostly natives…

  “You’re making excuses for your behavior, aren’t you?” the Human asked, startling him, reminding him that he might be able to read feelings.

  A Human approached, sparing a glance for Fidrelt, and the Quailu shuddered at what he felt from him. Then the mind went blank again. What manner of creatures are these that they can open and close their minds to a Quailu so completely?

  “Commander, there are hundreds of the poor bastards drifting around out there, not a single life-sign among them.”

  “Like I said,” the Human, apparently a commander, turned to face Fidrelt, “if it were up to me, I’d have you all out there with your victims.”

  The other Human darted a look at the commander. “Sir? I’m no admiralty lawyer but I’m pretty sure it is up to you.”

  Fidrelt’s blood ran cold. He was toying with me?

  “Hey,” the commander replied with a strange curl of his lips, “you’re right!” He moved over to the forward hull.

  “Noa, I want an airlock right here!”

  “One minute,” one of the Humans responded, leaning over a console.

  After a few minutes, a flow of nanites came snaking along the bottom of an overhead cable-tray. Several plates of high-impact glazing dangled from the flow.

  “Windows?” The commander chuckled. “Where did you find those, dare I ask?”

  “Sneeze guards from the mess-hall,” came a laconi
c reply. “They’re stronger than most folks realize.”

  “Really?”

  “We only need them to hold against a one-atmo difference.”

  Fidrelt realized he didn’t want to die listening to a discussion about sneeze guards, not when he could be begging instead. “Please!” He sank to his knees, hands raised. “It wasn’t my fault. We were only following orders!”

  “Memnon’s orders?”

  “You don’t know what he’d do if I ever defied him.”

  “What would he do?”

  Fidrelt opened his mouth to answer but remembered, just in time, that telling this Human would have the same effect as pissing off Memnon. Either way his fief would be ruined and his daughter would inherit a stone-age world.

  “So it’s like that, is it?” The commander leaned close. “I have orders as well. Would you like to hear them?”

  The Quailu was afraid to answer, positive or negative. He felt the results would be unpleasant.

  “From the harmonized admiralty orders for house militaries, chapter five, para sixty-two, sub-section nine, suffer not a pirate to live.” He straightened, raising his voice. “For they crush the lifeblood of the very empire herself and all warriors’ hands must be set against them.”

  “But we’re not pirates!” he protested desperately. “We only seized legitimate prizes of conflict…”

  “In unaffiliated imperial territory?” the commander shouted over his protest. “And is that your idea of acceptable prisoner detention?” He waved in the direction of the small constellation of dead bodies.

  “But they were just…” Fidrelt trailed off, just before ending the sentence with the word ‘natives’.

  The commander let a flare of rage escape. “Bring him.”

  Strong hands seized Fidrelt’s arms. He was dragged over to the growing airlock, which had sneeze-guard windows on one side.

  “Bridge crew first,” the Human leader ordered.

  Fidrelt watched in fascinated horror as they were herded into the chamber. Their terror bounced from mind to mind, amplifying as it went. They were going to die and they knew it.