Date Point 10y4m1w3d AV
HMS Violent, Perfection System, The Core Worlds.
Commodore William Caruthers
“The ETs want to parlay, sir.”
Caruthers nodded, satisfied. His nonhuman counterpart had demonstrated respectable intelligence in withdrawing the bulk of his fleet in the face of an insurmountable tactical disadvantage. What was left behind was still entirely capable of obliterating Caledonia if so ordered, however. Ordinarily, he would have let the alien sweat for a few seconds, but this was too important.
“Accept the hail.” He agreed. Calculating, he removed his own flash hood. This was not a situation for facelessness, and he could put it back on quickly enough.
He was greeted with the face of an Rrrrtktktkp’ch. One that was verging on being elderly, if he was any judge. It had a certain… sagging quality to the skin around its eyes. “I am Fleetmaster Xkk’rtnnk A’vkrnkt’k.”
The translator rendered the fleetmaster with a male voice. Caruthers nodded respect. “I am-” he paused, tasting the unfamiliar title, “-fleetmaster William Caruthers. I must ask you to please withdraw the remainder of your fleet from threatening our ship.”
“That ship is in violation of the Dominion Charter.” The alien replied. ”I am bound by law to treat it as a pirate: I must either seize it and arrest its crew or else destroy it.”
“Allow me to be clear.” Caruthers warned. “Any hostile act towards HMS Caledonia will be met with force.”
There was a pause of some three seconds or so, brought on by light-lag. The alien’s reply surprised him.
”Are you saying that this ship is not a pirate vessel, fleetmaster? Is it perhaps present on a mission authorised by your species’ government?”
His counterpart was a shrewd bugger, at least – he was offering Caruthers a way out. If Caruthers confirmed that Caledonia was present on an authorised mission then that would negate the Charter violation. Yes, it would be a diplomatic incident instead, but that really changed nothing. This already was a diplomatic incident.
Besides, diplomatic incidents could be smoothed over, relationships repaired and bridges mended. Caledonia and her crew, meanwhile, were irreplaceable. Not to mention the security risks – With her power systems so badly damaged, there was no guarantee that the ship’s computers could be properly sanitized, which could become a potentially catastrophic security leak if the ship was captured or if an intact hard drive was recovered from its wreck.
“Her mission was sanctioned by my government.” He agreed. “Conditional on the recognition that there is no such thing as a unified human species government. We represent a faction.”
“Then your faction is in violation of Article Three of the Charter.” The ET declared. “Nevertheless, the rules of engagement permit me to grant you the right to effect repairs and quit the field.”
“My thanks.” Caruthers replied.
“We shall… patrol this volume to ensure that the situation does not escalate.” His opposite number informed him. “The element remaining in this frame of reference will withdraw to a distance equivalent to your own. No element of either fleet shall approach the damaged ship without first informing the other fleet and securing acknowledgement. Acceptable?”
“Acceptable.” Caruthers agreed.
”A’vkrnkt’k out.”
Caruthers sighed relief as the conversation ended. “I call that a win.” He declared.
Date Point 10y4m1w3d AV
Heavy System Picket Utopian Aspiration, Perfection System, The Core Worlds.
Fleetmaster Xkk’rtnnk A’vkrnkt’k
Xkk’ relaxed and nodded slowly.
“We may consider ourselves victorious.” He observed. “Withdraw the on-field fleet element to a distance of one light-ri’”
He watched, satisfied, as the ships obeyed.
“May I ask how, fleetmaster?”
The questioner was Mefr, the shipmaster, whose job was to tend to the business of running the Utopian Aspiration so that Xkk’s attention was freed to focus on the larger scale. She was Corti, which was a rarity – they usually disdained military pursuits as unworthy of a rational and inquiring mind. On the other hand, mastering a heavy system picket – and possibly the fleet one day – probably appealed to the Corti ego.
“Their fleetmaster just confessed to illegal military activity in a Dominion system, authorised by a legitimate species faction.” Xkk’ pressed the fingertips of his primary arms together confidently. “A few Ri’ ago, we were facing the possibility of a battle that would undoubtedly have angered them, and I assume you saw how well they fared against the Swarm-of-Swarms above Garden.”
“Quite. Not a fight in our favor.” Mefr agreed.
“I know I would prefer to live to old age.” Xkk’ agreed. “Even if our superior gross mass might have carried the day, what little I know of human doctrine suggests that they will target the command first if they are able.”
“That would be sensible.” Mefr agreed. “It’s what I would do.”
“So: We save face by securing a confession, they reclaim their damaged ship, there may be further sanctions against these deathworlders in the aftermath or at least they may have expended whatever goodwill they earned at Capitol Station.” Xkk’ gave a satisfied snort. “As I said. A victory.”
“I would suggest, fleetmaster, that they capitulated rather easily.” Mefr pointed out.
“Meaning?”
“If the political damage they will suffer is as severe as you believe, then their fleetmaster’s rapid and uncoerced confession suggests that whatever that ship was here to do is more valuable to them than the political fallout.”
“You think it may have something valuable on board?”
“Something worth risking the ire of the whole Interspecies Dominion.” Mefr agreed. “Even the Gaoians would be obligated to impose sanctions if the Security Council demands it.”
Xkk’ snorted and stood. “Those troublemakers would find a way to wriggle out of it.” He declared.
“Be careful, fleetmaster.” Mefr advised. “It wouldn’t do for a being in your position to be thought of as prejudiced.”
Xkk’ glanced around the bridge, and agreed. “Shall we continue this conversation in private, shipmaster?”
“Of course. Undershipmaster, the bridge is yours.”
They stepped into the wardroom.
“So. The question is, what were they up to on Perfection?” Xkk’ mused.
“That much is not clear. Two planetary security officers attempted to detain one of the human agents, only to be incapacitated.”
“Incapacitated?” Xkk’ repeated, alarmed. He’d heard the horror stories about what a human’s advanced biology could do to ordinary people.
“Subdued and carefully bound. They were completely unharmed, apparently.” Mefr quirked a corner of her eye orbit, a subtle Corti gesture denoting a blend of mild amusement and grudging respect. “Apparently the human that did this then jumped off a rooftop.”
“…Even in by their standards low gravity, terminal velocity must surely be fatal?” Xkk’ pointed out.
“No body was found. The human appeared to be wearing some kind of advanced armor system, possibly one with limited flight ability.”
Xkk’ considered his options. If the humans really were up to something that they valued more than good relations with the Dominion, then he was duty-bound to investigate. If, on the other hand, this was simply a case of interspecies psychological difference then he could not afford to make accusations which he would later regret.
A circumspect approach was necessary.
“I understand that information brokering is a healthy grey market on Perfection.” He observed.
Mefr was a local. She noded sagely. “Indeed, fleetmaster.”
“These brokers. Reliable?”
“Their reputations are their livelihoods, fleetmaster.” Mefr said. “The very best are utterly dependable.”
“But expensive, I imagine.”
“Many are, yes. The most notorious – and arguably the best – is known as ’The Contact,’ though I understand that caution is called for when dealing with them.”
“Why?”
“They are known for being completely fair and reasonable. A favor for a favor, a boon for a boon.”
Xkk’ swayed his head. “And that is grounds for caution because…?”
“Once in the Contact’s orbit, it’s a rare client that can find the acceleration to break free.” Mefr explained. “The Contact has a knack for spending their owed favors very wisely. And being owed a boon by the fleetmaster of the system defence force would be…”
“I see.” Xkk’ accepted the caution with a nod. “Who would you recommend?”
Mefr inclined her head slightly, a gesture that Xkk’ knew meant she was most likely tapping into the shared network of data available to all Corti who hadn’t actually been expelled by the Directorate. “…The current best pick is a relative newcomer. Believed to be a Chehnasho, goes by the alias ’Dread.’ Supposedly very effective… What exactly is it that you wish to know?”
“Those humans went to Perfection for a reason. I want to know what that reason was, or at least where to start looking. Where they landed, what they did there, how they left.”
“If they left.”
“If they left, yes. Thank you.” Xkk’ sketched a gesture of thanks. “I will leave it in your capable hands.”
“Of course, fleetmaster.”
Date Point 10y4m1w3d AV
Planet Perfection, The Core Worlds.
Eleven
++0053++: The situation has, unfortunately, unfolded peacefully.
Eleven frowned and sipped at her stolen body’s favorite beverage. It paid to remain in-character even when the risk of discovery was infinitesimal. As far as anybody in the galaxy who knew her might deduce, Mwrmwrwk was sitting in a marketplace cafe and enjoying a nice Kwrw and the sunshine.
++0011++: A crippled starship, on an illegal operation, and the situation unfolded peacefully?
++0053++: The humans readily admitted to the violation. The fleetmaster offered them time to repair and withdraw under-
++0011++: I’m familiar with the article. Did you engineer an alternate solution?
Fifty-three’s reply had a tinge of wounded dignity, common among Agents who felt their competence was being questioned.
++0053++: I did. The fleetmaster has been persuaded to investigate the human operation more thoroughly, via an infobroker named ‘Dread’.
Eleven finished and paid for the drink, then stood up.
++0011++: Well done. It should be simple enough for me to allow this infobroker to catch up with me.
++0053++: To what end?
++0011++: It can be no coincidence that my host returned from an expedition which discovered the lost Mwrwrki station, found it under occupation, and then within hours of claiming the bounty a strike force of human special forces attempted to seize her.
++0053++: I understand. That station was equipped with an industrial nanofactory.
++0011++: Indeed. Yet another infraction on their part – Article Twelve of the charter. If we can expose their contempt for interspecies law and force the Dominion to act, it will drive a wedge between the humans and their only ally.
++0053++: The Gaoians? Fleetmaster A’vkrnkt’k is of the opinion that they will find some way to, in his words, ‘wriggle out of it’.
++0011++: Not even the Gaoians can ‘wriggle out of’ a Security Council directive. Not without violating the Charter themselves.
++0053++: And unlike the humans, they are charter signatories and full members of the Security Council, rather than mere associate members.
Eleven’s satisfaction was translated onto Mwrmwrwk’s face as a smug expression and a swagger in her step.
++0053++: How much detail should I give to this ‘Dread’?
Eleven accessed their file on that particular broker. Frustratingly, unlike most of the other major infobrokers in Perfection’s grey market, Dread was not apparently a user of cybernetics. The Hierarchy’s information on them was all but nonexistent.
That implied either a buffoon or fearsome competence, and Dread’s reputation suggested the latter.
++0011++: Very little, I think. Detail… yes, detail that a ship called ’Negotiable Curiosity’ departed from a landing platform near the incident site shortly afterwards and that you suspect a correlation. Let Dread do the rest. If their reputation is accurate, that should be all they need.
++0053++: And what will you be doing?
++0011++: The opposite of usual good practice: I will be laying a trail.
Date Point 10y4m1w3d AV
HMS Caledonia, Perfection System, The Core Worlds.
Chief Michael Andow
There was a snap, a flash and an alarmed squeak from under the third rack. Andow grabbed Patel’s heel and hauled her out from under there sharpish as the cap bank flashed and raged some more before the surge protectors finally got their act together and shut off the circuit.
“You okay?”
She lay on her dolly cart for a second, clutching her multimeter to her chest wide-eyed and hyperventilating, but managed to find a nod from somewhere. “Y-yes chief. Er… Rack three, box J-seven isn’t safe.”
The shocked mood among the team evaporated with a minor laugh, which Andow led. “Thank you, hooky.” he said, drily, then turned to Evans. “Get our girl a cuppa, Abie.”
Patel sat up and shook herself off. Being petite and slender meant she always got the jobs which involved somebody wriggling into a tight space, a role she normally seemed perfectly happy with. Still, nobody could fail to be unsettled by having a megafarad capacitor spark angrily a few inches in front of their nose.
Caledonia wouldn’t have been a British warship without a ready supply of tea on hand. With his arm in a sling and wrapped in burn dressings and bandages, Evans wasn’t much use for anything save fetching, messages, and keeping everybody hydrated, but he’d got out of the infirmary as quickly as the doctor would let him to lend his good hand to the repair effort. He made a surprisingly good cup of tea considering he was having to work off-handed, and pretty soon Saci Patel was nursing a warm cup of dark brown fragrant liquid.
For any Brit, this was a panacea. Fire scoured the ship? Cuppa. One of your colleagues burned alive? Cuppa. Malfunctioning ultracapacitor threatening to spit electrical death in your face? Sit down for a bit and have a nice brew.
Andow for his part marked off the damaged cell on the control software, permanently killing power to that particular capacitor.
“At this rate we’ll be lucky to get above the red line.” He grumbled, referring to the minimum threshold required for the ship to activate its jump engine and return to Cimbrean. The only lower threshold was the black line: Minimum life support.
Patel sipped her tea. “We’ll get there. Racks two and one are hardly scorched, if either of them are okay then we’ll hit yellow.”
“Dammit hooky, let me be pessimistic for once.” Andow chuckled. She was right of course, but it was his job to obsess over everything that could go wrong.
“Nuh-uh, chief.” She swigged back the drink in its entirety, lay back on her dolly and hoisted herself back under the capacitors. “You don’t get to bask in your doom-and-gloom on my watch.”
“Your watch?” Andow snorted. She wheeled herself back out from under the rack long enough to give him a big jocular grin, then vanished again.
Tea. It could fix everything.
Date Point 10y4m1w3d AV
Planet Perfection, The Core Worlds.
Jrm of the Exiled
Easily the most dull part of Jrm’s work day was the parade of sapient beings who, apparently lacking basic literacy skills, ignored the signs in fifteen different languages which directed them to the terminal kiosks, and thus kept darkening the front of his desk.
Such was the life of a bounty broker, freelance contract agent and general bringer-together of people. All Jrm really provided was a room full of bulletin boards and kiosks, and the financial middle-being services between contractor and contractee.
Not deigning to acknowledge shadows on the far side of his desk was a habit by now. He just kept watching his fiction series – a truly awful Rauwhyr dramatization of the opening stages of the Robalin War – and politely informed the good being that had sought his attention that while he, Jrm, was at present indisposed, their needs, whatever said needs might be, would most conveniently and expediently be processed via the digital proxies available in their immediate vicinity.
“The boards are to your left.”
A tablet was set down on the desk in a cybernetic hand. When he glanced at it, irritated, it had a simple message on it: ‘Not boards: Must speak with you.’
“Don’t you speak?” He asked the creature that owned that hand. This thing – a chehnasho, judging by its height, long legs and digitigrade bipedal stance – clearly valued its anonymity, as it was wearing a full-length cloak and robes with built-in privacy field generators that hazed it in darkness. There was an alarming but almost invisible hint of dull red eyes glowing somewhere inside that hood.
The tablet was picked up, tapped at, and set down: ’No.’ it read.
“Don’t, or can’t?”
This was not dignified with a reply. Instead, when the tablet was set down this time, it read: ‘Kwmbwrw claimed a bounty here recently.’
Jrm rasped an exasperated wing-buzz and turned to face the cloaked figure fully. Its height and garments were genuinely unnerving, but he wasn’t about to let that show. He knew immediately which specific Kwmbwrw this alien was discussing, but he wasn’t about to be bullied.
“Lots of Kwmbwrw claim bounties in here.” He shot back. “So do Locayl, Rrrtktktkp’ch, Allebenellin… Chehnasho…” He buzzed again to drive home the point. “Even the occasional Gaoian.”
His desk hummed and alerted him to an incoming transaction of some four hundred Dominion credits.
“…One particular Kwmbwrw does stand out, however.” Jrm continued smoothly.
The tablet was lifted, tapped on, and replaced. ’Name’
“Mwrmwrwk.”
’That is the one. Why does she stand out?’
“She found Mwrwrki Station.”
This revelation did not seem to impress. Jrm clacked his mandible irritably. “You have heard of it?”
The tall figure did not react in any way, so Jrm fluttered his vestigial wing casings irritably and did this… creature… the minor service of copying across the files on Mwrwrki, along with every scrap of data he had on Mwrmwrwk.
The robed alien gathered its tablet and left without any thanks. Jrm was glad to watch it go.
Date Point 10y4m1w4d AV
Heavy System Picket Utopian Aspiration, Perfection System, The Core Worlds.
Fleetmaster Xkk’rtnnk A’vkrnkt’k
“We are at a distinct tactical disadvantage.”
Assorted variations on the theme of dismay rippled around the room as the nearly two hundred shipmasters under Xkk’s command absorbed his words.
Fortunately, If there was one thing Dominion fleets had become very good at over the long, long years of interspecies relations, it was controlling who got to speak and when. Rather than being inundated with opinions, Xkk’ was pinged with requests, sorted and prioritized by an algorithm that sorted for seniority, position within the fleet structure, political relevance to the subject at hand and a thousand other variables.
The first speaker was the Vgork shipmaster of the heavy system picket Copper King.
”Fleetmaster, we outnumber them six to one, and outmass them by a factor of ten.” He objected. ”Their ships have no defensive shields: our railguns would shatter them! Under what circumstances is that a tactical disadvantage?”
“Numbers, mass and firepower count for nothing if we have an effectively zero chance of hitting them.” Xkk’ pointed out. “They control the engagement range, they control the angles of fire, and our sensors struggled to secure an adequate lock on the damaged one at extreme close range.”
A fellow Rrrrtk shipmaster chimed in. ”Fleetmaster, do we not intend to honour the conditions of the Third Article?”
“We do.” Xkk’ replied. “However we are investigating possible violations of other Articles, some of which will supersede the Third and compel us to seize or destroy that ship. If we must do so, then the fleet must be ready to enact the plan of attack that I have devised.”
He called up the simulations he had run. “The humans depend on their warp-capable weapons and their sensor-scattering hulls. Both advantages will be negated by closing the fleet to point blank range. At that distance, any one of our heavy system pickets will have the durability and firepower to smash them all. The difficult part will be landing the ambush on them before they have time to respond and evade.”
The scale pulled back, showing the command element, the fleet element currently hiding behind the moon, and the element in orbit around the humans at warp.
“If I give the order, Second Group-” the element behind the moon lit up “-will warp through Third Group as it crosses their line of approach. The spacetime distortions caused by the element already at warp should disguise Second Group’s bow-wave as they accelerate. From that distance, the humans will have less than a thousandth of a Ri’ to react. Even they don’t have reflexes that quick.”
The simulation zoomed back in on the human fleet. The icons representing Second Group shot into the battlespace and instantly deployed gravity spikes. “Second Group will immobilize the humans immediately upon landing. From there, the superior firepower and shielding of our ships will do the rest. Any questions?”
As anticipated, the top of the list was their lone Gaoian shipmaster, whose ship – the Racing Thunder – was part of Second Group. “I must object to-”
Xkk’ interrupted the furry male with a curt swipe of all four hands. “I do not care what your clan of females will have to say about this, nor do I care what it will do for your crew’s mating prospects. I do not care for your politics, your personal misgivings, nor for your species’ relationship with these deathworlders.” He snapped. “You will follow orders or else be arrested and tried on a charge of dereliction of duty, and Gao will be sanctioned for supplying a mutinous vessel to serve in a system defence fleet.”
“…Under protest then, Fleetmaster.” The Gaoian bared his teeth angrily and dropped out of the briefing. Xkk’ would discipline the insubordinate creature later.
One of his fellow Rrrrtk spoke up. “Would it not be more expedient, Fleetmaster,” she suggested “to simply record whatever infraction the humans have committed and apply sanctions against them? I do not see why engaging them in battle will be necessary.”
“Every Rik they are present in this system is a Rik in which the Hunters might learn of their presence and swarm down on us.” Xkk’ pointed out. “Their occasional probing attacks and raids are bad enough – we all remember the loss of the Gurvagah the last time they attacked. If the Swarm-of-Swarms were to come…”
Nods and other gestures of agreement and understanding passed around the Shipmasters.
“They will be given a fair and reasonable interval to repair their ship and depart.” Xkk’ asserted. “But I will not subject the billions of sapients who call this system home to the threat of being Hunted. Are there any further questions?”
There were not.
“Make all the necessary preparations, and await my command.” Xkk’ ordered. “We will await the result of the investigation.”
Date Point 10y4m1w4d AV
HMS Violent, Perfection System, The Core Worlds.
Commodore William Caruthers
“A briefing session, then.”
“Looks that way sir. Every ship in the fleet, all talking to the flagship at once.”
Caruthers was taking a working lunch ’al desko’ – a ploughman’s sandwich, an apple and a coffee. “How long until I get to listen?” He asked, sipping his coffee.
There was a chuckle from the intel chief aboard HMS Myrmidon. “We’ve got the Watsons working on it right now.” he said. “Dominion encryption isn’t anything special.”
“How long?”
“The computers think an hour or so. In my experience, that usually means an hour and a half.”
“Good. Keep me posted.”
”Will do, sir.”
The link to Myrmidon closed.
Caruthers sat back and mused on the two salvaged Hierarchy ships. Both were, frankly, almost a liability. The unhappy marriage of human technology with integrated systems that had been designed by a civilization literally millions of years older than humanity was, after all, the reason they were here. Were it not for their engines, neither ship would have been worth the hassle.
The Hierarchy kinetic thrusters made all the difference: they were simply more advanced than the best human effort so far, converting the electrical energy that was pumped into them into kinetic energy for the ship with greater efficiency, and by no small margin. While all of the ships in his fleet could pull a delta-V that would have seriously inconvenienced the crew if not for the inertia-softening effects of their warp engines, the V-types only managed to keep up with Caledonia and Myrmidon because they had a third less mass.
That extra efficiency allowed for bigger ships. Bigger ships meant more room for Stuff, and the stuff they carried was absolutely invaluable.
In Caledonia’s case, the ‘stuff’ in question was a small field hospital in what had been her port landing bay, and the SOR staging area in her former starboard landing bay.
Myrmidon meanwhile was a flying power plant, armed with more fusion generators, more ultracapacitor banks and more forcefield emitters than anything else in the fleet. Once Caledonia’s power systems were sufficiently intact to receive the aid, Myrmidon could provide enough for the both of them.
Both of those ships, however, carried what Caruthers considered to be the fleet’s most potent tactical assets – the Watsons.
IBM’s “Watson” systems were nothing new – they’d been around and gathering steam even before the Vancouver Incident. Ten years of innovation and development past that point meant that both ships were carrying banks of number-crunching supercomputers of staggering power, underpinned by a software framework that could calculate, correlate, extrapolate, simulate, educate and even innovate with discomforting speed and precision.
Each of the V-types were carrying a smaller version, which linchpinned the fleet’s electronic warfare capabilities, but the ones on Caledonia coupled with the dedicated expertise of the men and women of the Fleet Intelligence Center aboard Myrmidon, they were the real nerve centers for the flotilla. Decrypting the Dominion fleet’s communications was a fraction of what they could achieve, and had Caledonia’s power systems been online to lend her own Watsons to the effort, Caruthers might almost have been able to eavesdrop in real time.
When it was all up and running, everyone in every CIC in the fleet flirted with swearing that the ships were almost alive and capable of anticipation. They weren’t so much in charge of a ship’s sensors any more as they were having a conversation with a robust, distributed network of pattern-matching engines that effortlessly and dynamically switched between independent and synchronous operations thousands of times a second, sharing their datasets and dividing their workloads to comb the information they got from every ship, every Bulldog drone, every Firebird and – when they were present – drones, satellites and even the SOR’s EV-MASS sensors.
Really, the only thing stopping him from being able to run several simulations of the possible battles that might unfold was the paucity of data regarding the capabilities of Dominion warships, and that would change if they got the chance to see them in action today. Every datum they recorded went into those computers, expanding and improving their store of knowledge. The more they had, the more they correlated, the more they correlated, the more useful they became.
Eventually, maybe, he’d be able to turn to them for everything. For now, however, Caruthers had only his wits and experience to go on.
His wits and experience were telling him that eavesdropping on that alien conversation couldn’t possibly come soon enough.
Date Point 10y4m1w4d AV
Starship ’Negotiable Curiosity’, Deep space.
Scott Blaczynski
The outer wall vanishes in a hail of metal and glass shards, dragging them all with it. Scott wheels sickeningly in the black, all alone as he begins the plunge towards a world below.
No control this time, no shields to protect him, no EV-MASS. Just the fiery sky, licking the flesh off him, burning him away until there’s nothing left but the fire, the rushing ground and death.
From the outside he watches his buddy burning down from heaven, feels the stab of loss all over again. ‘Horse’s voice on the comms, slow and thick with grief, letting them all know their brother is dead.
He stops running and leans on a tree. The pain is physical, sickening. As he fights back on it, the world fades until all he can hear is the rush of his own breath, sounding less like breathing and more and more like words…
“Bro!”
Scott’s head snapped up as a startled shout aborted itself on the edges of his teeth. His brain needed a few seconds to catch up, during which time he hyperventilated, wondering where the hell he was, or why somebody had a hand on his shoulder, saying “Hey, man. Just a bad dream. Bad dream, that’s all…”
His memory finally got its shit together.
Titan was the only other guy on the team who knew the basics of piloting, so the two of them were working a two-hour rotation in the chair, which really wasn’t configured for a human’s dimensions. They were coming up on forty hours in the suit, and all four of them were feeling it, but the time in that chair was just making things worse. Scott was sore all over, sleeping restlessly if at all, hungry, worried for Caledonia and all her crew – there were people on that tub he cared about, after all – and not only was there no respite, but they’d be stuck in this situation for another five days.
“…Thanks,” he grunted, standing up.
Titan took his place, looking just as stressed as he was. “You okay?”
“…I was dreamin’ about Thor.”
Titan clapped him on the shoulder, nodding understanding. “Do yourself a favor, pop some Crude. Helped me sleep okay a couple hours.” He suggested.
Scott shook his head. “I’ve only got ten shots left. Wanna save ‘em for when this shit really starts to get bad.”
He was handed one of the distinctive bright blue-green Crue-D single-use injectors. “Here.”
“Dude, this is your dose…”
Akiyama nodded. “It’ll be fine. I’ve got twelve after this, and you need to rest. Take that fuckin’ thing before I stick it in you myself.”
“…thanks, bro.”
Titan punched him affectionately in the arm and sat down. “Wanna know the upside to this bitch?”
“What?”
“This is good training.”
Scott chuckled grimly, and applied the injector to the port in his EV-MASS. There were no concerns about using the same injection site over and over again with Crue-D. After all, the drug’s entire purpose was healing.
“Always the fuckin’ optimist,” he observed.
“Somebody’s gotta be.” Akiyama wriggled to try and get comfortable in the improperly sized seat. “Ain’t optimism if it’s true, though. ‘Horse is gonna have to re-write our training schedules when we’re back.”
“Bro, that ain’t a good thing!” Scott objected. “‘Horse is a fuckin’ sadist on training!”
“Yup. ‘Cause he’s good at his job.” Akiyama grinned.
“Fuckin’ masochist…”
The Crue-D was working already – he could feel the soreness draining out of his muscles. Titan used a slightly larger dose than Scott usually did, and the difference was palpable.
“Go to sleep, dumbass.” Titan ordered him. “You’re back here in two hours.”
“Right.”
One nice thing about alien spaceships was that they built their doors and walkways wide enough to accommodate even species as big as the Locayl, Vgork and Guvnurag. The SOR were used to turning slightly to comfortably traverse doorways, especially in the cramped and narrow layout of HMS Sharman. Meanwhile, even the Negotiable Curiosity, a small research ship, was spacious enough for SOR operators in full gear to comfortably navigate unimpeded.
Backstage, Rebar was asleep against the wall. Clearly it was Sikes’ turn to watch the ETs.
Calvin Sikes was reckoned as the ‘pretty one’ among the Operators, with there being some debate as to what order the runner-ups were between Akiyama, Arés and Major Powell. He’d grown up ranching horses and flinging hay bales in Georgia, and still had those straight-jawed, stubbled, right-out-of-a-country-music-video good looks on top of the Herculean SOR physique. He was also their combat camera and drone operator, and for lack of anything better to do he was tinkering with their Flycatcher UAV when Blaczynski entered.
“That thing ain’t busted is it?” Scott asked him.
“Nuh. Try’na set it up as an alarm so it’ll warn us if the ETs leave their rooms.” Sikes replied. He looked up and shrugged. “…Somethin’ to do. Shouldn’t you be sleepin’?”
“Dude, you’re worse than old lady Akiyama in there.” Scott grumbled. He lay down perpendicular to Rebar and used the sleeping man’s chest for a pillow. “Least he gave me a fuckin’ chance before he started nagging…”
“Heard that!” Titan called from up front.
“Love you, bro!” Scott called back, settling down. Rebar grumbled something, rolled over slightly and put an arm round him. This was nothing remotely unusual for SOR – in fact, it was exactly what Scott needed.
He relaxed as best he could considering he was wearing a full-body juice press, put his head down, and tried not to dream.
Date Point 10y4m1w4d AV
HMS Caledonia, Perfection System, The Core Worlds.
Technical Sergeant Martina Kovač
“Owww… Ow.”
“You’re lucky to be alive, tech sergeant. You can stop squirming now.”
Martina gritted her teeth, sucked air through her teeth, held her breath and let the nurse work. It was difficult. Painkillers and dressings be damned, when her burns were exposed to the air for the dressing change, it hurt. Not as bad as the first few minutes had been, but still more than enough.
“There we go.” The nurse started layering new dressings onto the worst areas, her back and thighs. “It’s already showing progress. You’ll have a scar, but it’ll be a tale to tell the kids.”
Kovač just nodded, though she relaxed as soon as the worst of the burn was covered. Those bandages worked very well. The IV was annoying, but doctor’s orders were doctor’s orders.
“Unless you’re planning to use that miracle drug of yours,” the nurse added.
“I could…” Martina agreed, though she was wrestling with her conscience versus her responsibilities. She had the authority to prescribe Crue-D, but only to SOR, including herself and the suit techs.
Knowing there was a man somewhere nearby with God-knew how much of his face burned off made her reluctant, though. A strong dose of Crue-D would repair his injury with no scarring at all, if only she could get the authority to administer it – authority that could only come from a few sources.
Authority that couldn’t possibly arrive quickly enough. Crue-D needed to be administered early in the healing process, preferably before it was even properly begun. For serious injuries, the window was about three days, half of which time was already gone.
“Or…” she flinched as the nurse applied pressure to wrap on the dry bandage. “…I can think of somebody who needs it more…”
The nurse’s hands paused. She met Martina’s eye, then glanced around guiltily. “He’s in a bad way.” She confided. “Lieutenant Bailey’s not sure he’ll make it.”
That settled it. “I’ll need help getting to the medical locker in starboard hangar.” Martina whispered.
“Won’t you get in trouble?”
“I’ll live.”
Date Point 10y4m1w5d AV
Planet Perfection, The Core Worlds
Vakno, “The Contact”
“A verified trace on Mwrwrki Station. Now that is interesting.”
’Yes’
“You can unwind here, Dread. There are no secrets between us.”
Dread hesitated, then put away his translation pad and spoke his curious native language. Vakno had needed some refinement and research to get her translators to handle it properly, though her best efforts had given it a flat and neutral interpretation of his speech patterns.
“You have plenty of secrets. Meanwhile I have no secrets from you, is that not so?” He observed.
“Astute as always.” Vakno agreed. “Were you able to secure the sensor data?”
“The broker had already completed his transaction. I am tracing the pilot.”
“And what,” Vakno asked him, “do you make of the news that the pilot’s ship was stolen by four humans, one of whom chased her through a marketplace?”
Dread did not reply verbally – the most he communicated on the subject was an expressive gesture of disinterest.
“No comment at all?”
“I avoid humans.”
“For most of us, that’s a good idea.” Vakno commented. “Though the worst setback I ever suffered myself was the work of one of my own kind…”
Again, Dread said nothing. He had a frustrating distaste for small talk, which made him a difficult being to get much leverage over – he gave away far less in conversation than Vakno would have liked.
If he wasn’t so deeply in her debt from their first meeting, she would have held nothing over him at all, which was an awkward position to be in with fellow infobrokers. Vakno remained at the top of the heap simply because every single one of her “competitors” existed in an ecosystem that she controlled, all of them caged behind glass walls of debt and lured with the tantalizing promise of being free of that debt.
A promise that she did make good on, now and then. Without the authentic prospect of freedom to incentivize them, her debtors might realize sooner rather than later just how brittle those glass walls really were.
Dread, she suspected, knew exactly how brittle they were , and abided them purely because it suited him. She had prepared contingencies to release him from her debt at a moment’s notice, and made a point of treating him with punctilious fairness – a wise policy with any of her debtors of course, but taken just that little bit further with Dread so that it bordered on outright generosity. Vakno had a keen nose for which beings it was best not to antagonize.
“You seem to have this well in hand,” she mused. “Why consult with me?”
Dread’s preferred mode of locomotion was to stalk. This he now did, patrolling back and forth in front of Vakno’s desk for a moment before speaking. “Something about this seems unusual.” He declared.
“Besides the involvement of formal, authorised human military assets?”
He gestured acknowledgement. “The pilot’s trail is too easy to follow. Easier than if she was behaving normally. I think that she is luring me.”
“She knows you’re hunting her?”
“Yes. I do not know how.”
“And inviting you in… interesting.” Vakno ran an immediate cross-check between Mwrmwrwk and the fleet Shipmaster who had commissioned Dread’s services. The only correlations were meaningless – similar species-adjusted age, both female, both using Amnag-Dwuz implant suites… Nothing of substance. The only significant correlation was time spent in the same star system, but given that Perfection had a total system-wide population in excess of ten billion life forms, with both Corti and Kwmbwrw being respectively the second and third largest demographics, that was no connection at all. Vakno herself matched all of those data points.
“The target and the client don’t appear to be connected,” she decided.
Dread didn’t comment. Instead, Vakno caught a glimpse of his cybernetic limb – the only part of his body that he allowed any being to see – as he shook the sleeve of his robe irritably and thoughtfully, then flexed its fingers in front of his face.
He was an odd one, but the intimidating persona was commendably effective. Everything he interacted with seemed to be either disturbed enough to tell him what he wanted, or irritated enough to ensure his rapid departure.
“You can handle any trap she might be setting.” She reassured him.
“Yes. It is good to know when you are walking into one, however.”
“Do you think you are?”
Dread simply gestured what was either disinterest or resignation.
“If you need my further assistance, please do call.” Vakno told him.
“Yes.”
He stalked out. Vakno thought for a minute and made a few observational notes in her file on him, then set him aside for now and called for her next customer.
There was always a next customer.