“Let’s break Moktep’s story down,” Ambassador Woods said, leaning over the conference table in the Dreeden embassy. They were in one of the few meeting rooms there large enough to accommodate a full sized Bonthan like Nuryaw, who, standing opposite Woods. towered over its other occupants. A Dreeden medic had set up a ladder in front of her and dabbed at Nuryaw’s carapace where her medals had been torn out. To Wood’s right sat Ambassador Nesh, who was typing furiously on a holo-pad in front of him. At the room’s door, two Dreeden guards stood watch.
“To pull this off, Moktep has built a very complex lie, which works in our favor,” Woods continued. “It give us more threads to pick at, more angles we can disprove. If we can poke holes in any part of this story, his whole narrative falls apart, and we can clear Nuryaw and bring him down.
“Holes won’t be enough, Baden,” Nesh shook his head. “We’re going to need something conclusive here. As a human, you’re naturally skeptical of claims made by an authority figure. You expect them to deceive, to tell half-truths. Sometimes I think your entire Republic senate runs on it. The League Council though, for all their faults, tends to meet issues head on, with very little obfuscation. They are not wired for deceit they way humans are, and if Moktep can come up with an explanation for any of the issues we raise, they are likely to believe it.
“No, raising doubts or questioning Moktep’s credibility won’t be sufficient. We need to irrefutably disprove Mokteps story, and for that, we’re going to need evidence.” Nesh pushed his holopad toward Baden, “and this is how we’re going to get it.”
Baden’s brow furrowed as he looked at Nesh’s datapad, which showed a diagram of the inner ring of the Assemblage, centered on the Bonthan embassy and its docking ports, one of which was occupied by a Bonthan courier ship. “You want to board the courier ship? Why?”
“Because the courier ship had a copy of the original battle recording on it,” Nuryaw broke in. “That was the point of sending Moktep ahead of the fleet, so he could give a full accounting of the battle along with the transmission from the Rashan that confirmed they were predators.”
“That’s right,” Nesh agreed. “And it’s aboard the courier ship that Moktep must have fabricated the fake battle-record. While the content was clumsy, to create a holo-projection that is indistinguishable from a real one takes some real computing time. Even if we don’t find the actual recording, there may be traces of the editing left, a digital footprint that we can match to the file.”
“Moktep would also need one of my officers to authenticate the data record. There are security measures in place to help prevent fabrications like Moktep’s. Each ship has a unique encoded signature that is assigned to its logs. For Moktep to pass his version of the battle-recording off as genuine, he would need to place it back into the memory files of the Flashing Hooves, with a bridge officer’s authentication.” Nuryaw fidgeted as the Dreeden medic swabbed at one of the holes in her carapace where her medals had been removed. “We need to find my crew.”
“You’re saying that Moktep would have needed to bring his falsified recording back onto the Flashing Hooves?” Baden nodded thoughtfully. That gives us another avenue to pursue. “At the moment though, I think plan A should be the courier ship. It will be much easier to try and get what we need from it than trying to infiltrate a Bonthan dreadnaught.” Baden steepled his fingers. “I’ll have my people try to find what they can on the location of the Flashing Hooves bridge crew. Plan B will be to try and get aboard the Flashing Hooves itself and try to find evidence that Moktep planted the fabricated battle-recording.”
“So if we don’t turn anything up on the crew, our options are to obtain illegal evidence by somehow breaking into a Bonthan courier ship, or to sneak aboard the flagship of the League Battlefleet?” Nesh sighed, typing into his holopad. “I hate your plans Baden.”
“Are they always this bad?” Nuryaw asked dubiously.
“Always.”
Baden ignored them. “I’ll contact my marine detail, they’ll work up a plan to break into the courier ship.”
Nesh held up a tentacled limb in protest. “Baden, with all due respect, I’ve seen your marines, and they’re about as subtle as a sledgehammer. Let my people handle this. If it goes well, Moktep will never know they were there.”
Baden looked thoughtful, then nodded. “Have your team hurry, we have 11 hours before the council reconvenes.”
Teelm pushed himself off from the outer-airlock handhold into empty space. Below him, he watched as the airlock entrance on the surface of the Assemblage shrunk as he floated away from the station, untethered. With a flick of a tentacle on each arm, he triggered tiny bursts of compressed air from nozzles on his energy absorbent skinsuit, turning him in space to face the grey-green planet that the Assemblage orbited. The planet filled his view, with tendrils of banded clouds stretching from horizon to horizon. Here and there he could see tiny pinpricks of light through gaps in the clouds, signs of the enormous cities that speckled the planet’s surface.
Silhouetted against the backdrop of the planet, Teelm caught sight of his unit, five tiny figures motionless in space. He activated his nozzles again, and propelled himself towards them. Few Dreeden enjoyed EVA. Besides the ever-present fear of going Dutchman, – being left tumbling through empty space – for a Dreeden, there was also the ominous feeling of being terribly exposed. Dreeden psychologists said that this instinctual fear had to do with their ancestral predators on their home planet, huge winged reptilian creatures that would swoop down upon unwary Dreeden. Teelm didn’t know if he believed that what was why going EVA made him uneasy, but at least he had an excuse for the jitters he felt right now.
He slowed, then came to a stop with the rest of his squad. In his helmet, icons with their names and vital signs blinked on over their bodies as his suit linked with the squad’s low-power IR com net. All wore skin suits like him, with cylinders of compressed gas strapped to their backs. Using a personal EM drive or chemical rockets would have been easier, but both gave off energy signatures the the Assemblage’s security scanners could detect.
“Target is 15 kilometers away, you should have it marked on your HUD,” the voice of Lieutenant Reald, his squad commander, sounded inside his helmet. Turning his head toward the center of the Assemblage, an icon appeared on Teelm’s HUD, highlighting a point above the station’s inner ring. “Let your suits do the geometry, I don’t want anyone eyeballing this one. Equipment check.”
As the rest of Teelm’s team checked their gear, he reached down to his chest to check his own. Satisfied that the shallow box strapped to his chest was intact, with his vacuum hardened custom supercomputer nestled inside, he flashed a tentacles up sign to his squad leader, and she nodded back at him.
“Align to target,” his squad leader transmitted, angling herself toward the target icon in her HUD. Teelm did the same, letting his suit computer make fine adjustments as it aimed his body toward the center of the station. “25 second burn on my mark. Three, two, one…Mark.”
Teelm felt himself accelerate with his squad. The computer controlled release of compressed gas pro pellent only accelerated him at 1g, but by the time the 25 second burn was over, his squad was traveling 15 kilometers a minute. His suit chimed as the nozzle cut off, and the acceleration stopped. For a few seconds Teelm was left with just the sound of his own heartbeat as he watched one station ring after another appear and disappear beneath him. Then his suit beeped once and flipped him end-over-end so Teelm was facing the opposite direction, then started the 25 second burn that would bring him to a halt.
Looking around, Teelm mentally counted his squadmates. The suit’s computers had kept them in neat formation, and now they floated just a few hundred meters away from a docking port attached to the Bonthan embassy. Sitting motionless in the docking bay was an ovoid shaped ship, with markings identifying that it belonged to the Bonthan Navy.
“That’s our target. No docking collar – it might have shields up. Faen, you’re up.”
One of Teelm’s squadmates removed a small device from a belt on his skinsuit that resembled a flare-gun, and pointed it at the courier ship. With a noiseless flash, a small canister exited the barrel, then broke apart, scattering small metal spheres in a cone. Before the metal shot could hit the surface of the ship, however, they disappeared in tiny flashes. “Shield is up, commander. Deploying insertion collar.”
Teelm held his breath as Faen jetted slowly toward the ship. If Faen touched the shield, the results would be messy, and the resulting explosion of superheated Dreeden would vaporize Faen and kill the rest of the team. From a pack on his chest, Faen removed two small hoops that were attached by a gauzy fabric that glinted in the reflected light from the planet. Faen pressed a small stud on one of the hoops, and both expanded to a diameter of a little less than a meter. As the hoops expanded, the fabric between them expanded like an accordion, creating a 2 meter long cylinder of fabric with a hoop at each end. With great care, Faen lowered the hoop toward the courier ship, through it’s shields.
The fabric began to glow as it the energies of the shield flowed around it, but the hollow cylinder held in place over the ship. “Insertion collar deployed,” Faen reported. Teelm let himself breathe again.
Wordlessly, the Dreeden special forces team maneuvered themselves through the collar, taking great care not to touch the walls of the cylinder. Once through, Teelm gently unfolded the screen and keyboard of his computer from his chest. “I’ve got no passive networks, no stray packets, no open ports. It’s locked down tight. I’ll need need a hardwired connection,“ Teelm said as he manipulated the keyboard though custom waldoes at the end of his suits arms which mimicked his tentacles, allowing him to interact with the computer without the bulky pressurized tentacle-mittens the rest of his squad wore.
“All right, Nach, Delv, find us an access point. Teelm, be ready to connect once they find a port, we’ve got a time limit on how long that insertion collar can hold that hole in the shields,” Reald motioned two more of her team forward.
One of Teelm’s squadmates jetted toward the ship, making contact with his feet, than activating his mag boots. He paced the hull of the 100 meter courier ship, inspecting its lightly armored shell until he seemed to find what he was looking for, and removed a plasma cutter from his belt. Carefully, he disengaged his mag boots and engaged two electromagnetic pads on his knees, securing Nach to the ship in a kneeling position.
The plasma torch flared as the Dreeden brought it to the hull of the ship, cutting deep into its hull. Soundlessly, a piece of hull tumbled free as he finished the cut, exposing a mass of wires and tubes. De-magnetizing his kneepads, he jetted away from the hole he had made, making room for Delv.
Taking a similar position to Nach, the tech specialist unstrapped a magnetic case, which attached firmly to the hull at her side. From the case, she removed cabling and small datapad connected to what looked to be a short grey wand with an exposed metal tip. Delv moved the wand over each wire in turn, as readings appeared on the datapad. Once she had found what she was looking for, she replaced the datapad in the case and skilfully spliced the cabling to one of the exposed conduits beneath the ship’s hull, nodding to Teelm. It was his turn.
Plugging the cable into the datajack on his computer, Teelm began the systematic process of disabling the ship’s computer’s security systems and gaining access to its files. He grinned under his helmet. Time to have some fun.
Naryaw had tried to tell the Dreeden medics patching the holes in her carapace that it wasn’t necessary, but they had just clucked disapprovingly at her, and continued their work. Once they were done, Nuryaw could finally concentrate on the situation she found herself in. Ambassador Nesh had left the conference room to monitor the progress of his tactical team from a secure room further inside the Dreeden embassy, leaving her standing across the table from the Terran, who scribbled furiously with a pen onto a rectangular sheaf of paper. “Why not use a datapad?” Nuryaw asked, and immediately regretted it as the Terran ambassador made eye-contact with her. Even after spending an hour in the room with him, his gaze tickled a primordial instinct in her brain, and with an effort, she retracted her hackle-spines.
“I’m sorry Admiral,” Ambassador Baden Woods said, quickly looking away. “I know how uncomfortable this makes you. If you’d like, I can put my helmet back on?”
“No,” Nuryaw frowned. “I suppose I should get used at looking at a predator. Besides, your revolting features don’t bother me.”
“You’re a bad liar Nuryaw,” the ambassador chuckled, exposing his white teeth, two of them showing sharp, canine points. Thankfully, he studiously avoided looking directly at her. “It took us years for the Dreeden to accept us, and years more for them to trust us. This won’t be an easy process.” He shook his head. “Your reaction to our appearance is a natural one, and not unexpected.”
Nuryaw mulled that over for a moment before speaking again. None of the human’s behavior made sense. What possible reason could a predator species have for wanting to help her? No, she didn’t trust him, and she would not be used by this predator as their pawn in the council. Is that all this had been? An elaborate ruse to gain her trust so they could re-install her as their puppet? She needed to find out more. “You knew that this was the reaction that you would receive, why help? Why expose yourself like this?”
“Nuryaw, you’re the closest thing Nesh and I have as an ally on the council. If you’re found guilty, and the Dreeden and Terrans are implicated, it would turn the entire council against us, who I have no doubt go to war against our people.”
“No, that’s not what I was getting at ambassador. Obviously it’s in your best interest at the moment to clear your people’s name along with mine. The the real question is,” she leaned down over the terran ambassador, “Why try to help the League at all? Why try to warn us of the Rashan? Why sacrifice your ships and crews to help my fleet escape?
“The warning at the council of war, your fleet’s intervention, the sacrifice of the Rochambeau, that was all part of your trick, wasn’t it, human.” Nuryaw saw Wood’s face darken, and his teeth clench. Now she was getting somewhere.
“I had friends on the Rochambaeau, Nuryaw,” Woods started to say, a tone of warning in his voice. “Captain Guepard was…”
“What do you care, predator? How can you claim to care for the lives of others when your very existence is based on killing? No one in the League, save the Dreeden, had any idea about your true nature. As far as I can tell, Terran territory is so far removed from League space that you could have gone another hundred years without having significant contact with League species, yet here you sit, in the center of League space. You could have let the League battle-fleet be destroyed by the Rashan, and then swept through defenseless League systems, butchering as you went. But instead, you tried to gain my trust so you can rip us apart from the inside.” Nuryaw stood on her back-hooves, rearing over the table, hackle spines fully extended.
“Is that all you see, when you look at us, Nuryaw?” The ambassador stood up and fixed her with his gaze. “A predator? A carnivore ready to tear the throats out of any race but our own?” He leaped on the table, advancing on Nuryaw, who still reared above him. The two Dreeden security guards posted at the door looked nervously at each other.
Nuryaw would not let herself be intimidated this time. “Isn’t that what you are? You evolved to kill. How do I know that that’s not all you are? How do I know that I’m not casting my lot with a species that will turn on me the first chance it gets? How do I know that you’re not just like the Rashan, Ambassador Woods?” Nuryaw thundered. “Just another race of monsters.” Naryaw could tell she was close to the truth now, as Baden’s face contorted in anger.
“You’re right Nuryaw,” Baden growled, slowly walking down the length of the table toward the towering hexapod. “We are monsters. We are bloodthirsty, and savage, and we have a capacity for evil that is so dark that we can’t even bear to look at it,” flecks of saliva flew from his mouth as he bit every word off. “We’re not only predators, but we’re the worse kind of predators. Look at my hands, my mouth, my limbs. We are weak! No claws, no fangs, no horns. No natural weapons of any kind, except for this,” he pointed to his his head.
Nuryaw found herself edging backwards as the terran ambassador advanced on her, but her back soon ran into the wall, trapping her there as this nightmare creature stalked toward her. She thought that the Rashan were the most terrifying creatures imaginable, but she now knew she was wrong. An angry human was much worse.
“Our brains are what make us the most dangerous predator we’ve ever encountered Nuryaw,” Baden continued. “Where other species were born into that role, we weren’t. We lacked teeth, so we sharpened rocks into knives. We lacked claws, so we fashioned spears. We lacked strength, so we used cunning. And when all of that failed,” his voice grew soft, but no less menacing “We simply chased our prey for hours, running it down until it could run no more.”
“Humans weren’t always a predator, Nuryaw. We chose to become one.” Baden was now within a few centimeters from her. She could feel his breath on her carapace, and his forward-facing eyes seemed to fix her in place like an insect on a pin.
“The interesting thing is,” he continued, his voice growing even softer. “That while these things are a part of us, part of our nature, when you ask us what makes us human, it’s not the answer you’ll receive.” The malice began to leave Baden’s voice. “Instead, what they’ll tell you is that despite our capacity for savagery, that we at our best when we are kind. That despite our bloodthirstiness, that we admire mercy more. That while we are very, very good at war, that we desire peace.” Baden’s shoulder’s slumped, and for the first time since he leapt on table, his eyes left Nuryaw’s. “We are a conflicted people, Nuryaw, and you are right to be wary of us.
“Why warn you about the Rashan? Why save your fleet? Part of it is pragmatic. We don’t think the Rashan will stop with the League, and it’s only a matter of time until they turn their eyes to us as well. We believe that if we’re going to stand against them, that we need each other. But there is more to it than that,” Baden looked down at his hands. “Throughout our history, we humans have done terrible, unspeakable things to each other. It has taken us a long time for us to recognize the thing that is most precious to us is not a successful hunt, or victory in battle, or territory, but life itself. And our morality doesn’t distinguish if that life is human, or Dreeden, Bonthan or otherwise. I think you knew that though, when the crew of the Rochambeau gave their lives for yours. So when you ask us why we want to fight with you against the Rashan, why we have stepped into the light now, it’s because in a way we’re fighting to save the best version of ourselves.
“You could say it’s in our nature.” Baden reached out his hand to Nuryaw. “Will you help us?”
Nuryaw looked down at the human, the tiny, horrifying, vulnerable human, who gazed back up at her with his brown, predatory eyes. This time she did not recoil from his gaze, however. She didn’t understand human facial expressions very well, but there was something universal in how he looked up at her, and behind the eyes of a predator, she saw something more, steel and softness, weariness, regret, hope and defiance.
She reached down a grasping hoof to take his hand. “It would be an honor, human.”
Nesh raced through the corridors of the Dreeden embassy, his security detail sprinting to keep up. Breathless, he burst through the doors to the conference room where he had left Baden and Nuryaw, barely noticing his security guards at the door, who nearly tackled him before recognizing who he was.
“My team got through to the courier ship,” he gasped, throwing his holopad on the conference room table and kicking a chair out of the way so he could stand in front of the holopad. “They sent an encoded data packet to my holo-pad, and what they found isn’t good. Moktep physically destroyed all of the courier’s memory cores, so we can’t recover any of the original battle-recording or any record of it being manipulated.“
“And without the battle-recording, we’ve got nothing,” Baden said, as he stood on the conference room table.
“However,” Nesh inputted commands on his holopad, and a projection appeared above the table, “The ship’s internal security cameras operate on a different system, and my team found this.”
Above the table, the projection showed Moktep on board the courier ship, speaking with another Bonthan. “…The bridge officer’s lies confirm them as traitors like their admiral. Execute them.”
“Yes Admiral,” the projection of the other Bonthan replied, turning smartly on his hooves to exit the room.
Naryaw slumped against the wall behind her. “That bastard, he’s killed them.”
“Not yet he hasn’t!” Nesh turned to Nuryaw. “This video was taken from the courier ship security system in real time, five minutes ago. To leave the ship, they’ll have to lower their shields and extend their docking collar to the station. My team has taken the initiative to hack their docking controls, and block communication from the courier ship. The docking collar can be extended manually, but it will take them time.”
“Meanwhile, we think we’ve found where the crew is being held.” Nesh tapped at his holo pad again, and the security footage was replaced by a diagram of the Bonthan embassy. “This storage area here,” Nesh pointed. “One of our contacts in the Bonthan embassy works as service staff in the kitchens. She’s delivered two meals to Bonthan guards posted outside of this room. It’s never had guards posted before yesterday, and on her second trip, she saw Moktep exiting the room. There is no reason that a Bonthan admiral should be on a storage sublevel of the embassy. That has got to be where they are.”
“It’s thin, but I agree.” Baden said, “How much time do we have?”
“Not enough for subtlety, Moktep and his lackey will be able to finish manually extending that docking collar and cycling their airlock in 20 minutes, maybe less. We’ll need your marines Baden. Nuryaw, we’ll need you to come with, we need someone your crew will trust.”
Nuryaw nodded. “Let’s go get my people.”
“For the record, you want us to storm the Bonthan embassy? This is way worse than any of my plans Nesh.”
“Shut up Baden,” Nesh snapped, then finally seemed to realize where the Terran was standing. “And get off of the table, you look ridiculous.”