by Jim C. Hines
Nancy winced. “That seems extreme.”
“You wouldn’t say that if you were dealing with the aftermath of a constipated Nusuran.” Wolf grabbed the lock and pulled. After a moment, two librarians helped her unlock and open the door.
Wolf avoided looking at the bodies. The Krakau had died quickly, but it had been painful and undignified.
“I was mistaken,” Cate murmured. “Your plumbing supplies were quite effective. Perhaps the Prodryans should look into plumbing-based artillery of our own.”
“Shut the door behind us. Melvil should be safe here.” Thinking about Melvil helped Wolf to push aside any regrets. “We’re heading back to the cafeteria. The Krakau very kindly left us a sewage-free route to the surface.”
“What’s the plan?” someone asked.
Wolf’s lips pulled back in a predatory smile. “This time, we’re gonna think like the captain.”
Azure tapped the console and jumped to the next chunk of data from the Pufferfish communications log. She heard the bridge doors open behind her, and recognized Grom from the faint smell of methane. “I need your programming assistance.”
“I’m hardware, not software,” Grom protested.
“You’re the best we have.” Before that could swell Grom’s ego, she added, “From an extremely limited talent pool.”
Grom made a chittering sound, but crawled over to join her at what was normally Wolf’s station. “What are you looking for?”
“Anything to keep me from going mad with boredom,” said Azure. “I was thinking about the way Admiral Pachelbel hid the Pufferfish from the Alliance. Whoever is operating the prison planet where my people are held would have to keep that place secret, along with any communications, supply ships, and so on. I’ve been working with the ship’s copy of Doc to search for evidence of similar programming on a larger scale.”
Doc spoke over the main bridge speakers. “I could tell you everything you wanted to know about human blind spots, but trying to find your own? That’s tricky.”
“Humans have blind spots?” asked Grom.
“Do you mean physiologically or psychologically? And the answer is yes.”
Grom pored over the screen. “Any code like that would be buried, off-limits to the likes of us. Like the subroutine that forced Doc and the other monocles to automatically report to Command when they saw a Rokkau.”
“But that code has been removed, and I’m integrated more deeply into the Pufferfish systems than any normal AI.”
“I’ve been sifting through communications that were automatically processed by the ship’s systems,” said Azure, jabbing a tentacle at the screen. “Navigational information, software updates, everything that would need to be quietly rewritten or hidden to conceal a secret planetoid.”
Grom bowed their body and brushed a multijointed limb over the screen. “It might be faster to try plotting courses. See where our navigation system won’t let us go, or where it creates an unexplained detour.”
“You want to plot a course to . . . everywhere?” asked Doc.
“We can refine the potential destinations,” said Azure, coiling her limbs beneath her. “The Krakau would have a hard time pushing their code into non-Alliance ship systems. So the prison has to be located where non-Alliance ships would be unlikely to stumble across it.”
“Somewhere uninhabited,” added Grom. “You don’t want some colonist noticing a decel flare. An amateur astronomer with a primitive optical telescope could unravel the whole conspiracy.”
“Off-limits to non-Alliance ships. Off-limits to colonization.” Azure’s skin tightened. “You’d need an Alliance presence to dissuade smugglers, miners, and so on, which means the Alliance would have to have a plausible excuse to be there.”
Azure rose up and touched the console, her hearts pounding. “Doc, how long would it take to plot a course ‘everywhere’ in a single system?”
“That depends. Which system?”
She touched a tentacle to the console, pulling up an image of Earth’s sun and her sister planets. “This one.”
* * *
FERAL QUETZALUS, NUSURANS, Glacidae, and Prodryans. Mops had never felt anger like this. Not when Sage’s fighters had destroyed the old library. Not when she’d learned the truth about the Krakau plague. Whatever crimes the Krakau had committed against humanity, the initial outbreak was unintentional. An accident.
What Sage and her scientists had done here was deliberate.
“Sir?” asked Monroe, his voice soft.
The Krakau didn’t move. They appeared to sense how close Mops was to shooting them in the tentacles and throwing them all outside to fend for themselves against their creations.
“Who were they?” Mops whispered.
The Krakau shifted uncomfortably. Mops pointed her gun at Red and repeated the question.
“Who were who?” Red squeaked.
“Your test subjects. Who were they, before you turned them feral?”
“Military prisoners. Murderers and traitors. These people were criminals.”
“They were still people.” Outside, the Quetzalus cried out again. “Can you reverse what you did to them?”
“Not successfully,” said Red.
Mops holstered her weapon. It was the only way she could stop herself from using it. “We have to assume all the ferals have escaped. The Nusuran will be hardest to bring down.”
“I’m more worried about the Quetzalus,” said Monroe. “Those beaks are vicious. They’ll impale you before you have time to piss yourself.”
“How long do humans typically require for this activity?” asked Greensleeves.
Mops studied the cowering Krakau. “How many of you have combat training?”
Two scooted forward.
“That’s it?” asked Bev.
“They sent the bulk of their warriors to LockLand,” said Mops. “Rubin and I probably shot most of the rest.”
“If I may?” Rubin asked. At Mops’ nod, she stepped closer to address the Krakau. “What was the daily routine for your subjects?”
“Routine?” asked Red.
“When did they eat and rest? What did you feed them? Melvil demonstrated that ferals are capable of learning. We might be able to calm and guide them.”
“We provide nutritional pellets, balanced for each species’ need,” said Red. “We considered following the same protocols used for EMC troops, but nobody could get close enough to connect a feeding tube.”
Bev jerked a thumb at the Krakau. “What about live bait?”
Several Krakau whistled in fear. Red shrank back, then caught herself. Visibly gathering her courage, she crept forward and interposed herself between Mops and the other Krakau. “You can’t send us out there to die.”
Mops’ hand shot out to seize the end of Red’s tentacle. She wound the tentacle twice around her wrist, dragging the Krakau closer. “You’ve spent months trying to recreate the thing that destroyed my civilization. What you’ve created out there, if it spreads, could destroy four more.”
Red struggled uselessly. “The Alliance needs new weapons if we’re to hold against the Prodryans.”
“If this is what the Alliance is about, maybe they deserve to fall.” She released Red, sending the Krakau splashing backward. “I’m in command here. If I decide to send you out as bait, that’s where you’re going. If I order my people to execute you on the spot, you’ll be dead before you can object.”
Rubin raised her gun. A dark stain of fear-ink spread from one of the other Krakau.
“If you do exactly what I say and don’t piss me off,” Mops continued, “some of you might see tomorrow. But let me be clear. You are guilty of murder and worse, and there will be consequences. Is that understood?”
Greensleeves raised a tentacle. “Captain, sir? I just want to remind you they didn’t tell me a
nything. I didn’t know what they were up to. I just cleaned up after them.”
The room fell silent. Mops let it stretch as she considered her options. Communications were down. Stepping Stone would eventually notice if they hadn’t already, but by the time they did anything, everyone here would be dead. “Greensleeves, any chance you can get the power up and running again?”
“That depends on what all failed,” said Greensleeves. “Even if I have the parts, we’re probably looking at several days’ worth of work.”
“The exterior fence is off, too,” Bev pointed out. “With all the excitement, we’ll have ferals from the outside climbing in to see what’s going on.”
The roar from outside was louder this time. The Quetzalus was coming this way.
“You have an evac shuttle on pad two,” said Mops. “Is it fueled up, and will it hold everyone?”
“Yes . . . yes!” Red swelled with excitement.
“Emergency protocols will probably fly it straight to Stepping Stone on autopilot,” Monroe warned. “I can try to override the programming, but no promises.”
“At least it will have a working communications pod.” Mops straightened. “Do your subjects have the same predatory drive as feral humans?”
“I don’t understand,” said Red.
Mops spoke slowly, enunciating each word. “If someone runs away, will they chase them?”
“Oh, yes.” Red dropped all three primary tentacles to touch the water, a gesture of mourning. “That’s how we lost our previous janitor.”
“What?” Greensleeves whirled. “Nobody told me—”
“How much charge do you have left in that hovercar?” Mops asked, cutting her off.
Greensleeves glared death at Red before answering. “Maybe an hour or so. Depends how hard I push it. Why?” She turned her full attention to Mops, and her body slumped. “Oh.”
* * *
Mops tossed another coil of fiber-mesh hoses from the back of Greensleeves’ hovercar. Greensleeves had retracted the top of the cargo compartment, allowing Mops to straighten and stretch her back as she worked. Her ribs and skin patches protested the movement, but she couldn’t afford to stiffen up.
The Krakau huddled at the back of the garage. Anyone too wounded to move on their own had been placed into grav stretchers, which looked like oversized rubber hammocks supported by black metal frames.
“Captain—Mops . . .” Monroe didn’t have to finish. She knew what he wanted to say, just as he knew how she’d respond.
“You have your orders,” she said, addressing both Monroe and Rubin. “Monroe has the most shuttle experience, so he’s needed to try to pilot that thing.”
“I know nothing about piloting,” Rubin pointed out.
“And you got shot up worse than I did, thanks to these jackasses.” Mops jerked her chin toward the Krakau. “Greensleeves and I will distract the ferals. Your job is to get everyone else safely to the shuttle.”
Bev started to speak, but Mops cut her off. “That goes for you, too. I am not going to explain to Gleason how I let one of her librarians get eaten.” She tossed the last of the excess equipment over the side. “Doc, how’s our interface with Greensleeves?”
“I’m linked to the cockpit. You two can gossip as much as you’d like.”
“This is not part of my job description,” Greensleeves grumbled.
“Are you sure? Most standard Alliance JDs include ‘and other duties as assigned’ at the end.” Mops clipped a safety line from her harness to the side of the hovercar. A second line secured her to the opposite side. Together, they should keep her from bouncing out no matter how rough the driving got.
“Other duties as assigned by my supervisor,” Greensleeves argued. “Who you shot.”
“That’s a fair point,” Mops conceded. “You definitely ought to put in for extra pay for working out of class.” She glanced down at Monroe. “How long will you need to reach launch pad two and the shuttle?”
He popped a new cube of gum into his mouth and chewed silently for several seconds. “It’s about half a kilometer. Krakau are slower on land, and we’re dragging stretchers. Add in time to get everyone on board, and assuming I don’t take a spill . . . Call it ten minutes.”
“Get to the far side of the building.” Mops checked her ammo count. Thirty-six in this magazine, and a full forty-five in the spare. “Wait for my signal, then run like hell.”
“Good luck, sir.” Monroe turned toward the Krakau. When he spoke again, his voice filled the garage. “From here on out, you do as I say. If you do anything but obey every word out of my mouth, I will shoot you in the face. Is that clear?”
He didn’t wait for a response. One by one, he began assigning individual Krakau to carry stretchers.
Bev offered Mops a half-hearted salute. “Watch your ass out there.”
Red turned. “Wouldn’t that interfere with her combat effectiveness?”
“Move out,” Monroe barked.
Red jumped and fell in with the other Krakau. Moments later, Mops and Greensleeves were alone in the garage.
“As soon as that door opens, we drive in the opposite direction of pad two,” said Mops. “We have to keep the ferals’ attention on us, so our job is to be as loud and obnoxious as possible.”
“I’m told humans excel at that.”
“I like this Krakau.”
“Doc and I will track as many of the ferals as we can,” she continued. “If he tells you to turn, do it. Don’t wait for me to confirm.”
“Got it.”
Rubin had given Mops her infantry helmet. It didn’t fit quite right, but the visor had a wider field of view, and would do a better job keeping track of threats. She watched the icons that were Monroe and Rubin move toward the back of the building. “Don’t worry, Greensleeves. I’m up here in the open, so they’ll come after me first.”
“Being eaten second is small comfort,” Greensleeves retorted.
“Then keep us out of their reach. Let’s go.”
The door slid upward. Greensleeves didn’t wait for it to open all the way. She gunned the engine, and the hovercar surged forward.
“Dammit, Greensleeves!” Mops ducked to avoid having her head taken off by the still-rising door.
They shot out . . . directly toward the feral Quetzalus. He was filthy, and most of his hair had fallen out. Instead of the luminescent, wavy strands Mops was used to, glowing blue-green pimples covered his skin.
Greensleeves muttered something Doc didn’t translate, and the hovercar hauled sharply to the right. Mops’ harness dug into her flesh, but the safety lines held. She twisted around and fired three times. “Did I hit it?”
“Two misses. One hit to the neck. From the angle, you may have chipped a vertebra.”
The Quetzalus’ clawed feet gouged the dirt and rock as he scrambled after them. The skin flaps between front and rear legs were torn. The red crest flopped to one side like an ill-fitting hat. But the black, meter-long beak still looked sharp enough to impale anything in his way.
Mops adjusted her stance and fired again, aiming for the front hips—shoulders—whatever you wanted to call them. It wouldn’t kill a Quetzalus, but enough structural damage should slow it down.
He roared again as he stumbled, and the hovercar pulled away. Mops turned to give Doc a chance to scan their surroundings. Her visor lit up with additional threats. Most of the ferals had stayed close to the hangars. Mops spotted all four Prodryans behind them, along with a group of feral humans who must have gotten over or through the fence. “Drive between those old communications arrays!”
Greensleeves led the Quetzalus farther away, then brought the hovercar in a broad circle. The vehicle shifted form, becoming narrower and longer. This was great for squeezing between broken old towers, but it created significant slack in Mops’ safety lines.
They scraped one of the towers on the way through. A chunk of rounded shell chipped off the front of the car. The impact jolted Mops hard to one side. She grabbed her line and held tight until Greensleeves regained control.
The Quetzalus tried to follow. He didn’t fit, but that didn’t prevent him from trying. A furious, deafening roar chased after them as Greensleeves looped back about.
Four Prodryans up ahead to the left. A clump of humans to the right. One pissed-off Quetzalus wiggling through the communications towers. “Take us back toward the hangars, away from the launch pads.”
She fired first at the Prodryans. One went down and didn’t move. Another staggered away, one wing in tatters. The others lunged at the hovercar, bringing them close enough for Mops to drop another. She twisted to shoot next at the humans.
“Eyes forward,” said Doc. At the same time, Greensleeves shouted, “Glacidae!”
They’d come around the corner of the hangars to find the feral Glacidae lounging in the snow. The Glacidae reared up. Clumps of snow clung to their feathery legs. The sickly yellow spines along their back were fully raised.
And Mops couldn’t get a clear shot without firing through the hovercar’s cockpit.
“Accelerate!” Mops looped the safety line around her arm. “Drive right over them.”
The hovercar knocked the Glacidae onto their back. The impact knocked the car into the corner of the hangar. Metal screeched and tore. The car spun a full three-sixty degrees, stabilized, and shot ahead.
“What now?” Greensleeves’ voice was higher-pitched, with a rapid clicking overtone. Mops had heard this before from Krakau new to the field. It was a biological response, similar to a human’s adrenaline rush. It made the Krakau quicker and—fortunately for Mops—more obedient to authority.
“Back around the hangars, then veer left. We don’t want to get too close to the launch pads.” Speaking of which . . . “Monroe, how goes it?”
“Almost to the shuttle,” said Monroe. “We’ve got a clear path. Looks like you got their attention.”