by Jim C. Hines
Mops imagined what Kumar would think of such an unsanitary arrangement. The thought made her smile as she tested her limbs, trying to assess the extent of the damage. Her arms and legs still worked. She probed the wounds in her torso next. A pair of ribs moved more than they should, but she didn’t feel the hard pressure of a burst organ. The Krakau had patched her up well enough to keep her alive for a while.
She looked over at Rubin. “What’s your status?”
“Seven gunshot wounds. Three second-degree burns. One third-degree. They popped my left shoulder back into place. My left eye doesn’t want to focus.” Rubin paused to run her tongue along her teeth. “Two loose teeth.”
Mops grimaced, remembering the sight of Rubin spasming and falling to the ground. “They almost killed you. What the hell were you doing, jumping in front of me like that?”
“My job. Of the two of us, I’m more expendable.”
“That’s the same logic the Krakau use when they send humans out to fight and die.”
“Not exactly. In your example, the Krakau decide humans are less valuable. In my case, I decided for myself.” Rubin dipped a hand beneath the water. “We had cells like this on Coacalos Station. You can feel the electrodes protruding from the base of the wall. If the prisoners act out, they send a jolt through the water. Salinity is kept pretty high to improve the conduction.”
“Good to know.” Mops didn’t fight the change of subject. “Did anyone ever successfully break out of one of those cells?”
“Define successful.”
“Did they escape and survive?”
“Not really.”
Not really? Mops turned that over in her mind and decided not to press for details.
“How well do you know Admiral Sage, sir?” asked Rubin.
“Not as well as she knows me, judging by the way she anticipated my tactics.” The air vents kicked on with a loud rattle of metal, blowing cold air and raising bumps on her bare skin. “Sage’s family line is all military council, going back at least four generations. Her first command was overseeing the defense of a Krakau colony world. She fought off four Prodryan incursions before she was promoted and transferred to Dobranok. She spent a few years in Homeworld Military Command, but I guess she got tired of always playing defense. She jumped over to the Alliance Military Council, helping to coordinate the war against the Prodryans, and she’s been collecting commendations and rank stripes ever since.”
“That’s her dossier,” said Rubin. “What do you know about her?”
“She’s good.” The water pumps went silent, then started up again with a belch of bubbles. Cold water flowed past Mops’ legs. “Determined. Stubborn. Never forgets a slight. Rumor has it she’s got an AI that does nothing but track and prioritize her grudge list, but that’s probably just a story. In combat, she doesn’t go for glory and flashy victories. She’s good at planning for both the short- and long-term.”
“She doesn’t sound like a bad person.”
“You mean, aside from wanting to turn our species into indentured soldiers and keeping the surviving Rokkau in a secret prison?”
Rubin tilted her head in acknowledgment. “Would she really kill off the librarians?”
“Absolutely, if she thought it was necessary for long-term victory.” Mops stood and paced. The cold was getting worse, and every time she shivered, her ribs ground together. She pressed a hand over her side, trying to keep them in place.
“Do you believe there’s any way to beat the Prodryans, short of exterminating their race?”
“I don’t know.” Their species was guided by two instincts: to spread, and to kill non-Prodryans. The former was the stronger of the two, sending Prodryans throughout the galaxy. Those who ran up against the Alliance would fight. The rest simply colonized new worlds and continued to spread. The galaxy should have been big enough for all.
But if the Prodryans now perceived a danger to their species’ survival . . . “There were other Alliance ships at Dobranok, but that’s not how the story spread. All people talk about is how fourteen Prodryan warships, twenty-three cruisers, and eleven fighter carriers were all destroyed or sent running by a single EMC cruiser.”
“We only engaged them because they attempted to destroy Dobranok,” Rubin pointed out. “The Pufferfish isn’t actively waging war against anyone.”
“The Prodryans don’t distinguish between an active threat and a potential one.”
Rubin seemed to consider this. “Then what’s happening now was inevitable. If the Prodryans won the war, they’d wipe us out. If they began to lose, then as soon as their losses reached a certain threshold, the rest would perceive it as a threat and respond.”
“But we’re the reason it’s happening now,” said Mops. “Cate is proof some Prodryans can work with other species, at least in the short-term. But he’s been open about wanting us all dead eventually. I don’t know how to overcome a war based on a species’ inherent biological imperative.”
The lights in the cell flickered and died. Air vents rattled to a stop. The water pumps shut off a moment later. Outside, emergency light strips on the base of the walls came to life, painting the hallway in dim blue light.
Mops rubbed her arms, waiting.
In the distance, a Krakau let out a shrill whistle of fear. The crack of a primitive chemical projectile weapon followed.
“Those old Earth guns are loud,” Mops commented.
“But effective. They remind me of antique Nusuran mouth guns.”
It wasn’t long before Mops spotted a Krakau coming down the hallway, followed by a familiar limping human figure. They stopped just before the cell, and Mops heard the clank of the manual door release being engaged. Slowly, the transparent wall slid upward. Water from the cell and the hallway swirled together.
Mops ducked out and nodded a greeting. “Monroe.”
He popped his gum. “Captain.”
“I see you’ve met Greensleeves.”
The beleaguered Krakau janitor raised a tentacle in greeting.
“Bev has everyone else under guard in medical.” Monroe handed her a large bundle containing their uniforms and equipment.
Mops gave Rubin her things, then clicked her monocle into place. “Doc?”
“—fungal flatworm-brained lickspittle . . . Mops, is that you? Are you all right?”
“I’ve been better.” She tossed the wrap aside and began pulling on her uniform. “What about you?”
“I logged seventeen attempts to hack my memory. I don’t believe they acquired anything useful, but I can’t be certain.” Doc paused as Mops finished dressing. “I’m detecting multiple injuries from both you and Rubin. I’m tightening your uniform to provide support to your broken ribs. You require a full medical scan, and possibly surgical repairs.”
“Probably, but that will have to wait.” Mops took her pistol and made sure it was still synched to her monocle. To Monroe, she said, “Cutting power to the base wasn’t part of the plan.”
Monroe and Greensleeves exchanged weary looks. “Greensleeves brought me to the environmental controls. I meant to lower the temperature, like we talked about. Turning this place arctic should slow the Krakau down. But the cooling systems overloaded and blew the generator.”
“The equipment was hastily installed,” Greensleeves complained. “They used second-rate parts to connect Krakau air regulators to Earth machinery, didn’t bother to clean the ducts or filters, and as far as I can tell, never once conducted a proper inspection or tune-up. It’s one of the many backlogged tasks I meant to get to.”
Monroe shrugged. “It worked out. They sent two Krakau down to see what was going on. We took care of them, then gathered up the rest.”
“By took care of them, you mean . . . ?”
Greensleeves whistled in unmistakable satisfaction. “He sealed them in garbage bags.” She starte
d to say more, then shrank low, limbs contracting with alarm.
Mops sniffed. There was a sulfurous scent that hadn’t been present before. She knelt to bring her face to the water. The smell grew stronger. A quick taste confirmed it.
“Smells like someone set off the Krakau equivalent of an alert siren,” said Monroe.
Mops didn’t answer. She just started running.
* * *
Mops braced herself for whatever might be waiting in the medical center. Bev seemed tough enough, but she was no soldier. Nor did she have the physical resilience of a cured feral. The Krakau outnumbered her. They could have overpowered her.
But when Monroe yanked open the door to medical, Bev stood unharmed. The Krakau who weren’t in medtanks huddled in a corner.
“Glad you’re back,” said Bev. “They freaked out a few minutes ago, right when the place started to stink like rotten eggs.”
Mops stepped toward the Krakau. “Who triggered the alarm?”
“None of us,” said a small Krakau with red skin and dark splotches along her tentacles. “It went off automatically when the generator died.”
“Then why are you so frightened?”
The Krakau looked at one another, their tentacles intercurling like tangled corkscrews. The one who’d spoken—Red—scooted forward. “The backup generator never took over. The facility is now operating on emergency batteries, at minimal power. It’s enough to provide lighting and water circulation, but the batteries can’t handle containment.”
“Containment?” Mops repeated. “For your test subjects?”
“The hangars aren’t strong enough to hold the ferals,” said Red. “We had to electrify their stalls to keep them from escaping. They’ve learned not to try to get out, but with the power down, as soon as they get anxious or upset—”
“They’ll start pounding the walls to get away,” finished Rubin.
Greensleeves waved an accusatory tentacle. “Who was the incompetent quarter-wit who set up the electrical connections for the backup generator? Was it the same clod who installed the water line? Wiring corrodes differently in this planet’s environment, not to mention the rodents and other infestations. If you’d let me inspect the hangars and documented your power needs, I could have—”
“Our research is classified,” said Red. “You’re not authorized to know what we’ve accomplished.”
A loud, barking cry from outside silenced the room.
“That did not match the vocalizations from any feral we’ve encountered,” said Doc.
“Sounds like we all get to find out what you’ve done,” Mops said quietly. “Authorized or not.”
“We should try to reach the evacuation shuttle.” Red spoke in a whisper, like she was afraid the ferals might overhear.
“Why?” asked Greensleeves. “We got four humans right here, and they’re armed.”
“Humans won’t be enough,” said Red.
Mops’ hand dropped to her gun. “What do you mean?”
Red didn’t answer. She didn’t have to. Mops thought back to her conversation with Admiral Sage. You want more soldiers. That’s what this place is. You’re trying to speed up the process of “curing” humans. Sage had neither confirmed nor denied Mops’ guess.
“I was wrong.” She realized she’d drawn her pistol and was pointing it at Red. “You needed more soldiers, but you’re not trying to improve the processing of humans.”
“What are you saying?” asked Bev.
Another call from outside confirmed it. It sounded like the laughter of rusted metal. “That was a Quetzalus.”
“Not just Quetzalus,” Red said quietly. “We also have two Nusurans, a Glacidae, and four Prodryans. All feral.”
Monroe swore. Bev muttered in an unfamiliar language, but from her tone, she and Monroe were in agreement. Even Rubin appeared shocked, her mouth half-open, her hands balled in fists.
“You did what?” Greensleeves snapped. “Give me that gun, Adamopoulos. I’ll shoot them myself.”
Mops felt like the icy water had replaced the blood in her veins. “How?” she whispered. “It was a fluke of biology that the Rokkau venom affected humans. The odds of the same thing happening with another alien species, let alone four—”
“The venom had no effect on Nusurans or Prodryans,” said Red. “In Glacidae it causes minor digestive difficulties. Quetzalus suffered dry mouth, hair loss, and a rash. But our work wasn’t about modifying your specific plague to affect other species. It was to reverse engineer how the plague modified humans, and to find a way of duplicating the effects . . .”
The other Krakau scooted away as Mops surged forward, pressing the barrel of her gun into the soft flesh between Red’s two primary eyes. “You succeeded?”
“Through a combination of biochemical and mechanical procedures, we were able to approximate the results.” Red drew herself up slightly. “We succeeded, yes. And now they’re going to kill us all.”
Basic First Aid for Humans Prepared by EMC Sergeant A. Lovelace
CUTS AND WOUNDS typically clot within one minute. Use your bioglue to seal the skin. Warning: Be careful not to glue your fingers to the wound or to each other.
BROKEN BONES should be shoved back into place. Splint and secure the limb, if possible.
AMPUTATIONS are more inconvenient, and may take up to five minutes to clot. Cover and tie off the stump to speed up the clotting. If you have quick access to an Alliance medical facility, retrieve the limb for possible reattachment.
DECAPITATIONS are fatal, even for humans. The decapitated head can take several minutes to die. Friends and crewmates can use this time to say their good-byes. (The head will be unable to speak, but will appreciate the sentiment.)
* * *
THE BLOOD WAS TOO bright. To Wolf’s eyes, it looked fake. Red blood flowed too freely, closer to water than the syrupy blood of ferals. A distant part of her brain—the part that wasn’t swearing—found the color almost beautiful.
Melvil slumped against a pillar. The drone had shot him through the right shoulder.
Nancy and another librarian hunched over him. Nancy had both hands on the wound. The other was tying a rope around Melvil’s shoulder. Wolf grabbed her tube of bioglue.
“It’s too high,” said the other librarian. “I can’t get the tourniquet above the hole.”
“What is that?” Nancy snapped at Wolf.
“Bioglue.”
Nancy snatched it from Wolf’s hands and tore off the cover. She jammed the tube into the wound and squeezed.
“What’s wrong?” Wolf stared from Nancy to Melvil, who wasn’t responding. “It’s only a limb shot.”
Nancy spoke through clenched teeth. “We’re not like you, Wolf.” She threw away the empty tube and wrapped both hands around Melvil’s shoulder.
“He’s still bleeding,” said the other librarian.
“I know that, dammit! The blood was washing the glue away before it could seal the artery.” Nancy raised her voice. “Someone get me a bandage!”
Wolf yanked cleaning rags from her harness and passed them over. Nancy pressed them into place.
The other librarian pressed his fingers to Melvil’s neck. “Nancy . . .”
She glared at him. “Don’t.”
“If I’d gotten to him a little faster . . .”
Nancy squeezed her eyes shut and sat back. “A wound like that, it probably wouldn’t have mattered. The only question was if he bled to death now or over the next twenty minutes. This isn’t your fault.”
Nobody said whose fault it was. They didn’t have to.
Melvil’s glasses had fallen off his face. It made him look younger. Wolf swallowed. “Is anyone else hurt?”
“I’ve got a couple of cuts from broken concrete,” said Nancy. “Kathleen was grazed on the hand. Mel
vil is the only . . .” She turned away. “None of the other injuries are life-threatening.”
Cate came up behind Wolf and looked down at them. “I don’t understand this reaction. You’ve won another victory against your enemies. Is this how humans celebrate?”
Wolf glanced up. “You should probably stop talking.”
Another explosion dropped more of the ceiling. They’d be coming through soon. Destroying the drone had bought them only minutes.
“What now?” asked Nancy.
It took a moment for Wolf to realize the question was aimed at her. She looked at the other librarians and their primitive weapons, then back at Melvil. With their fatigues and weapons, they looked as tough as any EMC soldier, but appearances lied. Wolf had known natural humans were more fragile, but she hadn’t understood. “We retreat to the Pomegranate Fallout Shelter. Send someone to pull the two guards off the stairwell.”
“You’re running away?” Cate’s antennae dipped forward to show his disdain.
“Cate and I will cover you,” Wolf continued.
“What about . . .” Nancy gestured to Melvil.
“You help the living. I’ll bring him along.” When Nancy looked reluctant, Wolf added, “I swear I won’t let the Krakau get their tentacles on him. We don’t have much time.”
Wolf stood and stepped around the pillar, holding her rifle one-handed to keep the crosshairs on the hole in the ceiling. Her ammo count was down to fourteen rounds, plus the forty-five in her spare magazine. She mentally reviewed the inventory in her harness. She’d used her sealant foam on the minnows. Insulation would expand into the cracks, but wasn’t hard enough to stop the Krakau.
The librarians began pulling back. Wolf waited for them to get out of sight, then tossed her rifle to Cate. The Prodryan was so surprised he almost dropped it.
Wolf unfastened her harness. With her right arm out of commission, it was easier to grab what she needed this way.
“What are you doing?” asked Cate.