Date Point 10y4m1w5d AV
Starship ’Negotiable Curiosity’, Deep Space
Bedu
Bedu was not a scientist. He preferred to think of himself as an engineer, a solver of practical problems. That the problems in question had nothing to do with engines and everything to do with missing people and hidden knowledge was largely irrelevant – he was presented with a problem in need of a solution, then devised and deployed that solution.
The scientific method was second nature to any self-respecting Corti, however. Observe, correlate, hypothesize, eliminate. And his human abductors made for interesting subjects even in the absence of any sophisticated scientific apparatus or prepared testing regimes.
If only he’d had access to the Corti implant-net’s databases on deathworlders, but they’d shut down every transmitter the ship had – he couldn’t interface with it at all. Without being able to reference a baseline ‘normal’ human, his conclusions about these four were tentative.
They were undoubtedly using some kind of Cruezzir-based medicine, which presumably meant there was a discreet but formal trade between whichever human faction they represented and the Directorate. Sadly, Bedu judged that his own value to the Directorate was probably far less than the value of such a program. No bargaining chip or negotiating tool was to be had there.
What was intriguing, however, was their social behaviour.
They were a study in opposites. Their every interaction seemed to be either precisely businesslike and structured, or else laden with informality, affection and aggression. Any of their more relaxed encounters always involved at least one of them being insulted, and yet grievous and unforgivable personal attacks seemed to amuse them, and be met in kind with ever-broader smiles. Infuriatingly, whenever Bedu had tried to slip a veiled abuse past them, they had detected it and, worse, had found it funny. Delightful, even.
The very worst part, however, was that Bedu was beginning to find that he liked them. For the first time since he had purchased the Negotiable Curiosity, he found himself in the company of his intellectual peers.
They controlled their conversations carefully in his presence, never giving away the details of how some of their equipment worked or what it could achieve, but were happy to discuss the function of others.
The one called ‘Starfall’ even partially disassembled his weapon for Bedu’s entertainment, performing what he called a ‘field strip’, in which he carefully laid down the weapon’s working parts. He explained each one’s function as he meticulously inspected, cleaned and reassembled each component. Then, under the watchful eye of the senior one, ‘Rebar’, he repeated the process blindfolded and in a third of the time. Not a movement wasted, not a spare instant of hesitation.
Over the course of the diurnal cycles following their capture, Bedu spoke with all of the humans in time. With Rebar he shared an intriguing conversation about the ship’s structural features, how the design had saved weight without sacrificing on strength, and the precise composition of its titanium alloy.
Titan enthused at length about Dominion user-interface technology and the implications in the near future for human consumer electronics and especially what it would mean in conjunction with what he called ‘Predictive Dynamic UX’, whatever that was.
It was ‘Snapfire’, however, who produced the most surprisingly enjoyable conversation – it wasn’t a technical one at all. Apparently the technical details of his role and equipment were among the ‘off limits’ conversations, so instead, after some long awkward silences, he eventually did something that Bedu hadn’t expected.
“Hey… what’s your home planet like?” He asked.
Bedu blinked at him, assimilating the question. “What is Origin like?” He repeated. “Origin is… Origin. The seat and home of the Corti Directorate and four billion Corti. What is Earth like?”
“Beautiful.” Snapfire replied, promptly.
“Define ‘beautiful’.” Bedu retorted. “Beauty is subjective.”
“‘Kay, well…is Origin beautiful?”
Bedu considered the question. He’d never actually considered aesthetics in relation to the Corti homeworld before.
“…Yes, I suppose it is.” He decided. “Beauty isn’t a subject I think about often. It’s not… encouraged.”
Snapfire inclined his head. “So y’all don’t have art?”
“Of course we do.” Bedu replied. He stood and retreated into his cabin, returning with his banner. His was a short one – he had no illustrious achievements, no scientific findings, he had brokered no profitable deals nor founded any successful corporate venture. The greatest achievement it recorded was that he was the master of a small private ship. This was admittedly quite the achievement, and put him a step above the rabble… but every Corti aspired to a banner that was as long as they were tall, if not longer.
Without neural-implant translators to provide an exact context for his gestures, Bedu found it difficult to read Snapfire’s body language, but he guessed from the way he shifted his weight forward and inclined his head slightly that the human was intrigued.
“My record banner.” Bedu explained, unfurling the green cloth for Snapfire to examine, though he didn’t hand it over. “At the top is my name, the date of my creation, the names of my genetic donors… below that is a summary of their respective accomplishments and any important contributions made by their ancestral donors…”
“Genetic donors. Cold way to talk about your parents.” Snapfire opined.
“That is all they ever were to me. I have never met them.” Bedu explained. “I was born from a gestation engine, raised in a creche and educated in a dormitory school. The only role they have ever played in my life was to donate the DNA that made me.”
He indicated the dense codes that detailed his academic and educational scores – good, but not exceptional. “I displayed an aptitude for and early interest in data correlation theory. Here is the second-rank accolade I received for participating in regional trials in that subject. I received a first-rank accolade in the local trials. Here is my second-grade accolade for dormitory school graduation. Here is my third-grade accolade for graduating higher education, though the silver circle next to it means that I was favored with special mention from my direct educator.”
Snapfire seemed genuinely interested, so Bedu continued. “Below that are my professional achievements – this ship, and a few of the more notable bounties I have claimed and commendations by my employers – and finally below that is the space where the accomplishments of my descendents would be summarized, if I had any.”
Snapfire scratched at the short hairs on his face. “Is it art though?” He asked.
“Define ‘art’.” Bedu replied, feeling that he was repeating himself.
“Uh, a lot of smarter people’n me have wrassled with that one.” Snapfire demurred, but he made an attempt. “For me though… I guess art doesn’t have a purpose except to be art. I like your banner, it’s interesting, it’s pretty, but it has a job, right? It’s not just there to just be art.”
“Art is nothing more than decoration to you?” Bedu asked.
Snapfire frowned, sat back and scratched at his head. “Nah, nah, it’s more’n that…”
“If it doesn’t serve a purpose and just is then it is purely decorative, is it not?” Bedu replied.
“Nah, uh…” Snapfire looked up at the ceiling and made a number of noises to himself that the translator decided were gibberish. It was a peculiar thoughtful quirk.
“Think he’s got you there, Snap.” Rebar declared, having apparently been woken by the conversation.
“I ain’t exactly the right man to talk to about this!” Snapshot protested.
Rebar nodded. “You got that right.”
“Hey!”
“Brother, I’ve heard the kinda music you listen to. You wouldn’t know artistic talent if it rammed a paintbrush up your ass.”
“You were doing perfectly well.” Bedu hastened to interject, before the usual boorish back-and-forth could resume. “But consider – Artistic creations are not the meaningless emergent artefacts of an unintelligent universe, they are made by a person. A star has no purpose except to be a star, but this banner? A painting? Music? Everything a sapient being creates is created for a purpose, even if that purpose is nothing more than amusement or decoration.”
Snapshot made a thoughtful sound. “So you’re saying art can’t just be art for art’s sake, it’s gotta do something.”
“He’s right.” Rebar said, after Bedu had imitated a nod for them. “Hell, look at the Mona Lisa. That’s a portrait of some dude’s wife that he had done as a gift for her. And modern art’s all about making a statement of some kind.”
“Since when are you into modern art?” Snapfire asked.
Rebar frowned at him. “Dude, you’ve seen my sculptures.”
“You bend and weld scrap metal together.” Snapfire replied.
“They’re sculptures! A lotta them mean something, too.”
Snapfire blinked at him. “…They do?”
“Fuck, bro. You’re lucky I like ya, ‘cause now I’m actually offended.”
Despite being a quarter again as tall as Bedu and only physics knew how many times heavier, Snapfire suddenly looked… small.
“…Sorry.”
There was a pause, then Rebar exhaled through his nose, shook his head, and gave Snapfire a hug.
Bedu tried to incorporate their behaviour into his tentative model of human – or at least these humans’ – psychology.
It went something like this: There was a clear order of seniority among these four, that was never challenged. Rebar would occasionally speak in a subtly different tone of voice, and the other three would respond with immediate and unhesitating obedience. This was, however, rare. When Rebar used that “leader” tone, he did so in order to confirm and initiate a plan that the group had devised between them. Otherwise the four behaved more like…
Bedu had struggled for some time to come up with a simile that fit well into a Corti brain, and had given up. Coming as he did from a species of fiercely competitive mycovores, the xenopsychology involved in the social dynamics of a pack of predators was tantalisingly tricky to fathom, especially when they didn’t behave like a classic pack of predators. While Rebar was undeniably the top of the social hierarchy, his behaviour wasn’t the equivalent of a snarl or a snap from a dominant animal to one lower in the pecking order… and yet Snapfire had instantly made himself as non-threatening and submissive as possible, just like one would expect if Rebar had snapped at him.
Mutual conflict avoidance followed by an immediate display of reconciliation. There was no social advantage to it either, at least not in any classic xenopsychological model – the only witness to the exchange was Bedu, who was obviously not inclined to care. There were no females to impress with displays of restraint and emotional maturity, nor would the interaction have any clear benefit in their standing with other males… which meant that the only possible conclusion was that Rebar and Snapfire genuinely liked one another.
Corti xenopsychological orthodoxy held that sapient beings typically only liked one another when there was a benefit to them or their genetic fitness in doing so, one which offset the presence of a competitor. It was natural therefore for prospective mates to like each other, and for parents and children to be mutually friendly. Interspecies friendships were easily explained by the fact that neither member of the friendship was a competitor with the other.
This raised the interesting question of whether humans were an exception to that doctrine or how, if they were not, they were abiding by it.
“May I ask a question?” Bedu asked.
Snapfire and Rebar glanced at each other. If any kind of communication took place, Bedu couldn’t see how, but Rebar shrugged and nodded. “Sure.”
“Why do you like him?”
The question seemed to completely trip up both of the humans, if he was reading their body language correctly. Neither of them replied at first – instead they stared at him, looked at each other, stared at him again. Rebar opened his mouth to venture something, then frowned and scratched at his head.
“…We’re a team.” He said at last, as if that was sufficient explanation. It clearly sufficed for Snapfire, who nodded.
“A team, yes, but what is it about this man in particular that you find likable?” Bedu insisted.
Rebar scowled at him, and Bedu sensed that he’d managed to wound the human somehow. “We’ve been through shit together that’d leave you as a greasy fuckin’ smear on the deck.” He said. “I trust Snap with my life, and he’s worth that trust. What more reason do I need?”
The explanation satisfied Bedu, and in retrospect should have been obvious. Reciprocal affection generated team cohesion, thereby mutually improving the odds of both their survival in a dangerous situation. An instinct that made perfect sense given that these were deathworlders after all – their entire home planet was a dangerous situation.
“I meant no offense.” Bedu soothed. “It’s in my nature to be seek explanations for the unexplained.”
“Satisfied?” Snapfire asked.
“I am, thank you.” Bedu told him. “Though, another question does present itself.”
“Shoot.” Rebar offered. Bedu needed a moment to parse what was presumably a colloquialism.
“Correct me if I am in error…” he began “But your behaviour towards me personally has been entirely friendly. I daresay I’ve never had such warm company before in my life. I am curious as to why that should be seeing as I am, after all, your prisoner.”
“We’re not in the business of makin’ enemies.” Rebar said.
“Heck, we got enough of ‘em already…” Snapfire added sotto voce.
“…What’s happened here is you’ve been regrettably caught up in events.” Rebar finished. “If things go as we hope, you should be back in command of your ship and on your way again before long.”
“That doesn’t explain the personable reception.” Bedu pointed out. “What does it benefit you to… ‘charm’ me?”.
“What’d it benefit us to antagonize you?” Rebar replied. “Like Snap said, our kind have a lotta enemies right now, lotta bad press. It can’t hurt us to leave you with a good impression, and might even help.”
“Ah.” Bedu nodded, admiring the human’s candour. The logic was perfectly flawless. “Thank you.”
He put his banner away. “For what it may be worth…” he said, “I’m genuinely fascinated to meet humans at long last. You’re very different to all of the speculation and rumor.”
“Gotta be honest, I ain’t paid much attention to the speculation and rumor.” Rebar said.
“For a typical perspective, look no further than my reclusive colleague.” Bedu told him. He knocked on the wall. “Hkzzvk! Are you still alive in there?”
”You can’t open this door!” Hkzzvk called back. “I overrode the door lock! They can’t get in!”
Bedu aimed an expression of barely-patient tolerance at the humans, who for their part seemed genuinely concerned.
“Seriously, is he gonna be like that the whole way?” Snapfire asked.
“‘Cause if he has a heart attack from the panic or whatever, we won’t be able to do shit for him.” Rebar agreed.
“Especially seeing as he’s overridden the lock.” Bedu observed. “Or would that not be an obstacle?”
“Dude. If I wanted to I could kick that door so hard that Hicks-vick there would be in danger from the shrapnel.” Rebar said, in the calm tones of somebody who wasn’t boasting. He kept his voice low enough that Hkzzvk probably couldn’t hear.
“Titan could get it open the gentler way in a couple of [Ri’].” Snapfire added.
“Vzk’tk psychology being what it is, I suspect that either approach might well kill him.” Bedu said. “This is what you are up against, unfortunately. Hkzzvk may be annoyingly stupid, but in this case it has nothing to do with intelligence and everything to do with instinct. He is a herd grazer, and he has been cornered by predators with nowhere to run.”
“Wild horse in the stable, huh?” Snapfire scratched his chin and stared intently at the door, calculating.
Bedu wondered what he was thinking. There were enough similarities between Corti and human facial expressions as to make assessing Snapfire’s thoughts tantalizingly impossible. “He is not unique,” he said. “Reactions like this are exactly why you have ‘a lot of enemies’. You don’t, in fact, have a lot of enemies. Your only enemies are the Hunters – everything else is panicking.”
Rebar chuckled. “Nah, see, when my boy here starts talkin’ about wild horses, he’s thinkin’ of trying to break it in,” he explained. “Ain’t that right, Snap?”
“Break him?” Bedu asked, hoping that the colloquialism was not as horrifying as it sounded.
“Break him in.” Snapfire stressed the word, as if that explained it. “It’s a ranching term. We’ve got these animals on Earth – horses – our ancestors domesticated them thousands of years ago, but they’re still panicky herd animals. Breaking them in means forcing them to trust humans.”
“How can you force trust?”
“Easy. You give them no other option but to trust, then reward that trust.”
“Hkzzvk is not an animal except in the same technical sense that we are.” Bedu pointed out.
“You said it yourself, he’s running on instinct right now…” Snapfire retorted.
Bedu thought, then acquiesced. “It is probably for his own good if some attempt is made to calm him.” He agreed. “Prolonged stress really could cause him serious harm.”
Rebar’s hand slammed down onto Snapfire’s shoulder so hard that Bedu flinched – the friendly blow would have gravely wounded a Corti, if not killed him outright. “In that case,” he said “I guess we’ve found something for you to do.”
Date Point 10y4m1w5d AV
HMS Caledonia, Perfection System, The Core Worlds.
Lieutenant-Commander Ellen McDaniel
“A good prognosis, then?”
Lieutenant Bailey shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “Ma’am… he’s healed. I swear, LR Davison came into this hospital permanently blinded and with his face burned down to the bone in places and severe respiratory injury from inhaling superheated air. I gave him an optimistic fifty percent chance of survival…And now he’s sitting up in bed laughing and happy and the only way you would know what happened to him is the missing hair.”
McDaniel’s expression gave nothing away, but she couldn’t resist a moment of sarcasm. “I take it you’ve ruled out divine intervention.”
“When this ship has a supply of imported alien regenerative medicine on board, I think we can safely consider the hand of God a secondary possibility at best.” Bailey commented, matching her for dry humour. He looked down at his desk and sighed. “I hate having to report it, because that young man really was looking at permanent disability, assuming he survived. This is unquestionably a good deed… But…”
“There’s no way you could conceal this.” McDaniel suggested.
“Your words, ma’am. Not mine.” Bailey said, but nodded.
McDaniel nodded. “Thank you, Lieutenant. Any other miracles to report?”
“No ma’am. Nobody else needed one. A few dozen minor burns, one or two more serious ones… we’ll be low on painkillers and wet bandages by the time we make port, and all our burn victims are on antibiotics, but we’ll get by.”
“What about sergeant Kovač?”
“Kovač? She suffered one of the worst burns after Davison, but you know what SOR techs are like. The only way to stop her from limping out of here would have been to sedate her.”
“Limping?”
“That’s right.”
“…Thank you, Bailey.”
McDaniel let herself out of the hospital in thoughtful mood. Kovač was her only suspect in the case of mis-used Crue-D. Indeed, she was the only possibility. If she was still limping despite having unquestioned and fully authorized access to the alien drug herself…
A team of marines stood aside as she crossed the ship’s beam to enter the starboard flight deck. Starboard Flight had hardly suffered from the fire at all, with only the hospital faring better – that, after all, had been designed to isolate itself immediately. Still, when dealing with the ship’s largest pressure door and its most powerful internal forcefield emitters it paid to be cautious.
“Technical Sergeant Kovač, front and center!” She snapped as she entered. Everybody who wasn’t Martina Kovač immediately found important responsibilities as far from the XO as possible.
Kovač herself was working at a desk, standing up – sitting was probably not an option for her right now. She had a resigned set to her body language as she turned and tried her best to hasten to the officer’s call, which was a decent effort considering her back was plainly stiff, painful and swathed in dressings.
McDaniel wasn’t heartless. The moment Kovač arrived as ordered, McDaniel indicated for her to stand easy. “You can relax, sergeant. No sense in abusing that wound.”
“Yes ma’am.”
So. It was going to be that kind of talking-to. Kovač knew she’d been rumbled, and was probably both unapologetic and entirely willing to accept whatever happened next. Her whole attitude said that she would accept whatever judgement was laid on her as her fair due. McDaniel respected her for that.
“I have an interesting situation in the hospital deck that I suspect you can shed light on, sergeant.” She said. “A man with a grievous injury and a pessimistic prognosis has, quite suddenly, been healed of that injury.”
“Yes ma’am?”
“Do you think perhaps you could have been any more conspicuous?” McDaniel asked. “Because I know what I’m going to find when I check that medicine locker’s log. I’m going to find everything properly signed for, with your name right next to the date and time, aren’t I?”
“That would be proper procedure, ma’am.”
McDaniel sighed and relaxed. “I thought so,” she said, conspicuously placing her tablet aside and thereby metaphorically disarming herself. “How’s your back?”
“It hurts like hell.” Kovač admitted.
“Given that you’re completely authorized to medicate yourself with Crue-D, I can only assume that you haven’t done so because there’s none left.” McDaniel guessed.
Kovač hesitated, but nodded. “That’s right, ma’am.”
“Only had enough for Davison, did you?”
Kovač hesitated, choosing her words with care. “The… amount required to treat a man of Leading Rate Davison’s size with an injury that severe would definitely deplete our stockpile…” She hazarded.
“And would you say that’s an appropriate use of resources earmarked for the exclusive use of the SOR?”
“The SOR’s mandate is to protect humanity and human interests, ma’am. That includes providing life-saving medical intervention.”
“Hmmph.” McDaniel grunted, accepting the reply without comment. “Right. Here’s what’s going to happen – I’m ordering you to check yourself back into that infirmary and you will stay there this time until the doctor says otherwise. Do not give me a reason to come back down here and talk with you again. Am I clear?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
McDaniel picked up her tablet. “Right. Oh, and- Sergeant?”
“Yes ma’am?”
“If I were you, seeing as you’re going to be off your feet, I’d take this opportunity to get a head start on any paperwork that might need doing in your near future…” she hinted.
“…Thank you for the advice, ma’am.”
McDaniel ‘hmmph’ed again for effect and departed, satisfied that Kovač’s had been a calculated and productive act of minor insubordination. The fact that she was suffering for it was an item in her favour as well, so really there was no reason to make anything serious of it.
Still… a letter to the younger woman’s CO couldn’t hurt. Major Powell, after all, would be compelled to prioritize the mission-readiness of his own unit. A few polite observations from one officer to another were probably in order.
She added it to the long, long list of demands on her time and attention. Half-burned-out starships didn’t repair themselves.
Date Point 10y4m1w5d AV
Planet Perfection, The Core Worlds.
Eleven
Biodroning was not a process that necessarily required sapient life forms – anything with a central nervous system would do, and Eleven specialized in using local fauna for reconnaissance and observation.
The perfect creature for her to use right now was a species of avian urban vermin called a Kreewit. Kreewits were basically a flying appetite, and their constant search for the next meal, coupled with a generous conception of what constituted a meal, would have contributed greatly to keeping the streets and concourses of Perfection free of litter and clean, if not for the inevitable digestive byproducts.
They were hand-sized, feathery, had a mouth full of flat grinding teeth that could patiently reduce any organic matter to food, and utterly ubiquitous. Catching one and taking it to a confused but disinterested and discreet Vzk’tk veterinarian for implanting with a custom-built cybernetic control package had been trivial.
Now, it was doing what Kreewit did – scavenge. Given that Kreewit looked around constantly, seeming to pay attention to the whole world by glaring suspiciously at it out of the corner of their eyes, nobody was paying any attention to it. In response to its programming, it followed Eleven, flitting from light fixture to advertising hoarding, from shop sign to architectural embellishment, sometimes flying ahead to claim morsels of what only a Kreewit could possibly decide was food, such as fast-food packaging, or the burnt leftover ends of smoked cqcq.
Under its watchful gaze, Eleven left a trail.
The rules of Hierarchy fieldcraft when it came to leaving a trail were simple: Don’t. As a double-digit, Eleven had the luxury of creatively interpreting the rules. As a sub-20, she could ignore them outright if the situation warranted.
In a galaxy where the entire economic system hinged on data footprint, a digital sapient life-form could be as stealthy or as obvious as they desired. Had Eleven wanted, she could have moved undetected by juggling as many as fifteen different identities – to the security systems, she could have been an office worker called Kwrwrtrwm, while the financial transactions would all have been under the name of one Wrmwlwlr, the smart advert boards would have seen a Grand House dilettante, and so on.
Being as loudly and as visibly Mwrmwrwk as possible was an interesting experience, especially when the advertising systems built into her host’s cybernetics package shook hands with a billboard as she passed it.
The boards used augmented reality to replace whatever they actually physically displaying with an ad overlay targeted specifically at Mwrmwrwk, usually with full audio thrown in. Every time she passed another board, Eleven received a new message in the vein of ’Congratulations Pilot Mwrmwrwk! Your recent success has multiplied your personal funds by [INTEGER OUT OF BOUNDS]! Perfection Banking Group is delighted to offer you this opportunity to take advantage of our exclusive Person of Importance Savings Account!’ or offering her an assortment of immensely expensive luxury goods, up to and including her own ship.
The whole system was deliberately kept insecure by Hierarchy action. Indeed, keeping galactic data security riddled with holes was the full-time assignment of aspiring Igraens long before they were assigned the rank of Zero and given the opportunity to prove themselves in the field.
The network, in short, was a rigged game in the Hierarchy’s favor, which meant that the easy way in which Dread seemed to move through it without leaving any permanent evidence, like a breeze over tall grass, was infuriating. Nothing that wasn’t an Igraen should have had such a negligible data shadow. The only other way to achieve such stealth was to not interact with the network at all, which was impossible. The constant barrage of advertising that Eleven found so amusing was testament to that.
Eleven had commandeered the attention of a datamining group of pre-Zero hopefuls to trawl for whatever information they could find on Dread, and they had hardly expanded her information at all, beyond identifying some of the digital aliases he used for financial transactions. All the commentary on him agreed that he was most likely a male Chehnasho, that his left arm was at least partially prosthetic, and that he affected an intimidating costume of black cloth.
His preferred mode of operation was unusual – most infobrokers had their clients come to them, controlling the meetings with bodyguards, drones, forcefields and other such fortifications so as to minimize the risk to their persons.
Dread, it seemed, preferred to go to his clients, and it was on this foible that Eleven was depending.
Paradoxically, it took him quite a long time to find her. Eleven knew that she had been pinging her presence and location as aggressively as possible, and so the only way to account for his relative tardiness was caution. Perhaps she had been too aggressively visible, and made him suspicious.
Whatever the reason, Eleven was beginning to doubt his reputation when the Kreewit finally caught sight of him, tailing her through the crowd.
He wasn’t bothering with stealth, and couldn’t have accomplished it anyway. The aura of sheer menace he gave off sent everything in his way scrambling to get out of it.
Through the biodrone’s eyes, she got her first good look at him. He was definitely Chehnasho – they were the only quadriform bipeds who stood so tall, with such long legs and a digitigrade gait. The body language was strange, though – Chehnasho usually stood tall, with their chests thrown out – this one stalked with his weight forward, arising uncomfortable instincts in Eleven’s host body of being hunted.
The last time something had been following her with its weight forward like that, it had been that armored human, and that one’s footsteps had shaken the concourse as he ran. Had he not been so reluctant to harm civilians, Eleven couldn’t possibly have escaped.
She turned down an alleyway. They were on a ‘roof deck’ level of the city, with no ceiling overhead, but several storeys beneath their feet, and several buildings rising around them.
The kreewit lost sight of Dread. Eleven stopped in the alleyway and focused her full attention on her drone, to no avail. She was still wondering how he could possibly have evaded it when he stepped out from between the dumpsters ahead of her.
They stared at one another for a second, and then he made a beckoning gesture – one cybernetic finger stabbed first at Eleven, then at the ground in front of him.
Eleven glanced over her shoulder to make sure they were unobserved, made sure the Kreewit drone was in position, and then did as she was bidden.
“Can I help you?” She asked, feigning nerves.
He tapped rapidly on a datapad, which spoke on his behalf: ’Stop pretending. You laid a trail for me. Tell me why.’
“Not for you.” Eleven lied. “I don’t know who you are.”
’Who’
“What?”
’For whom did you lay the trail’
Mwrmwrwk’s vestigial personality traits provided the perfect response: indignation. “What business is it of yours?” Eleven asked. “Who are you?”
’Dread’
“Is that supposed to intimidate me?”
He considered her for a second, and then drew a pulse pistol. The unspoken sentiment was obvious – ‘if that doesn’t, this will.’
It didn’t scare Eleven – she, after all, would just migrate to a new host. But Mwrmwrwk on other hand would have stared dry-mouthed at the gun and immediately capitulated, and so Eleven followed suit. “…Consider me intimidated.”
He put it away again. ’For whom did you lay the trail’
“I have friends. My spaceship was stolen and I–”
’Why’
“Why… what, why did I lay the trail, or why was the ship stolen?”
’Yes.’
“…What?”
Dread stared at her for a moment, and then stood aside and indicated the rear access door of the boutique they were behind. When Eleven checked it, the door was slightly ajar. It swung open silently and when she stepped through they found themselves surrounded by shelves full of boxes of electronic luxuries – terminals, communicators, translators, entertainment devices and cooking appliances.
’Both questions. Start with the ship.’ Dread ordered through his pad.
“We had just returned from a deep space investigation.” Eleven told him, using Mwrmwrwk’s memory and the ghost of her personality. “The shipmaster – Bedu – he didn’t tell me who the client was, but it was probably one of the infobrokers here on Perfection.”
Dread said nothing, only stared at her. There must have been some kind of custom privacy field emitter inside his hood, because it gave only the impression of infinite depth and what might have been baleful unblinking eyes. Mwrmwrwk would have faltered and stammered, and so Eleven did exactly that.
“The-the, the client wanted to know the, ah, the whereabouts of, of a spaceship. We found, um… we found Mwrwrki station instead.”
‘Explain. Why is this station important.’
“It was a research station. They were looking for signs of extragalactic life, and a means of extragalactic communication. You see, um, intergalactic travel is theoretically possible, you just need an efficient enough drive and plenty of power an… and…”
She wasn’t sure what it was exactly about Dread’s body language that communicated impatience, but she rallied and got back to the point. “…It vanished. One day it just… stopped reporting back, and when ships were sent to the Lleyvian Frontier to look for it, they didn’t find anything. No wreckage, no signs of a Hunter raid… the station was just gone. The scout ship apparently detected some interesting spacetime distortions in the volume and… well, it all got inflated. There were wild theories like maybe they had somehow jumped to another galaxy, or maybe achieved extradimensional communication and some sort of fourth-dimensional being came along and scooped them up, or…”
Again, Dread said nothing, but he did shift his weight from one foot to the other.
“…The Grand Houses put a bounty on it, a reward for its discovery.” Eleven explained. “When we found it, however, it had been taken over. The master of the ship we were looking for had erected a system defence forcefield around the station and taken up residence.
’Why would humans be interested in that’
“That shipmaster is a species traitor, working for the deathworlders. A former politician. His ship was destroyed [years] ago near the Aru system.”
To her immense surprise, he spoke. His actual voice was nothing but coarse bass. “Sanctuary.”
“…Yes. How do you know?”
Dread paused, then he reached up and tugged back his hood. The privacy field flicked off.
Eleven knew all about human ethnic groups, about how their skin tone varied in adaptation to the scorching surface temperatures their home planet could reach. She couldn’t imagine living on a planet where the star’s UV radiation was enough to burn the natives’ skin off, and she certainly hadn’t envisioned that humans were ever a kind of cool deep umber.
It was the eyes, however, that finally succeeded in scaring not just the ghost of Mwrmwrwk, but Eleven herself. The embers in his hood were far less terrifying than the the real thing: Dread’s eyes hated everything.
“I know that ship.” He growled. “I got thrown out its airlock.”