Humans

by A. G. Claymore

  “Probable targets?” Rimush demanded, deadpan. His calm demeanor washed back against the excitement with the ease of long experience.

  “Target is definitely the defending fleet,” the tactical officer answered, calmer now and slightly embarrassed.

  Mishak noticed an incoming comms icon from his scout and dragged it into a secure algorithm. The two ships compared encryption keys, a technology the family was known for, and Eth appeared.

  “… Your pardon, lord,” Eth said, then shimmered into a haze of fragments before stabilizing again. “I shifted our link to a rolling encryption,” he explained. “It seemed necessary. I’ve got a feeling I can’t shake that tells me standard methods won’t be sufficient.”

  “Very well,” Mishak replied, for lack of anything better to say. He was hardly going to complain about heightened security. “It would seem our arrival has kicked off the festivities.”

  “Indeed, Lord.” The shimmering Human looked up for a moment. “The defenders were all but annihilated in the opening salvos.” He looked back at Mishak. “I believe that whoever is making this point will be showing up very soon so he can drive it home.”

  As if on cue, a series of brilliant flashes heralded the arrival of another fleet. It was roughly the size of Mishak’s force and, from the low intensity of the flashes, they’d also launched from a nearby system. One cruiser and fifteen frigates.

  It seemed that Mishak wasn’t the only one receiving reports from this system.

  “Turning to meet the new fleet,” Rimush announced.

  The battle was already over. The defenders, brave but hopelessly outnumbered, were nothing more than a cloud of tumbling debris and bodies.

  “Lord!” The tactical officer looked up at Mishak, consternation flowing off the officer like a wave hitting rocks. He made an adjustment to his controls and, taking liberties above his station, pre-empted Mishak’s holo settings to display the cruiser leading the new fleet.

  “What do you think you’re…” Mishak trailed off into silence, forgiving the officer for his trespass as he stared at the cruiser’s flanks.

  “Your father?” Rimush guessed, his calm shattered, though he was working to master his emotions.

  “No.” Mishak shook his head, though he didn’t notice. “He uses a black background. I use gray. There’s no heraldry-record for crossed encryption keys on a red background. No such sigil exists.” Perhaps Eth was right to use rolling encryption?

  “Incoming call-group,” the comms officer said. “Initiated by the unidentified cruiser.”

  Mishak waited until Tashmitum was at his side. “Put them in the central holo,” he ordered.

  It got crowded. Almost thirty Quailu wavered into hazy existence. They sat in a large circle around the outer edge of the bridge’s holo-space. One figure stepped forward.

  “Hello, Brother,” he sneered.

  So, this is the backup heir? Mishak thought. His uncle had warned him, just before his death. Well, gloated about him might be a better description.

  And here he was, putting on a show for his captains – the new guy, eager to score some quick points on his way up. He was doing this by ship-to-ship holo, most likely to prevent his feelings from being read.

  Fortunately, Mishak had learned much from his Humans, one Human in particular.

  “I’m sorry,” Mishak said. “Have we met?”

  The figure stalked around Tashmitum, leering at her. “Does it matter if we’ve met?” he demanded, coming to face Mishak. “We’ve met now. My name is Memnon.”

  “What an infernal piece of luck on your part,” Mishak commiserated, determined to keep this interloper on the back foot. He was gratified to see Memnon’s hands balling into fists. This brother was clearly eager to get an angry display out of him so he must try to beat him at his own game.

  “I bring a message from our father,” Memnon ground out. “May he outlive us all!”

  Mishak watched as the assembled holograms repeated the phrase, with the exception of Eth, of course, who owed no allegiance to Sandrak.

  They looked at him expectantly and Mishak let the moment draw out, savoring how uncomfortable it was getting. They seemed to expect, perhaps out of habit, that he would repeat the phrase but he was no longer just Sandrak’s son. He was an elector now, his father’s equal in title, if not in military muscle.

  Finally, he relented. “I also hope he outlives each one of you,” Mishak said cheerfully. “And I wish you luck in finding the recipient of this message that you bear from my father.”

  Memnon stared at him for a moment. “The message is for you,” he said evenly.

  Mishak waited again but not quite as long as the first time. He just wanted to accentuate the pitfalls Memnon kept walking into. Clearly, he’d not spent much time around their father. Sandrak had derived endless entertainment from making Mishak look foolish.

  It was a humiliating way to teach your child but it had worked, after a fashion. “Look, Melvin…”

  “Memnon!” His brother, unsettled by the awkward pause, blurted the correction before he could steady himself.

  “Sure, if you prefer Memnon,” Mishak conceded. “I don’t want to be an interfering bastard, telling you how to deliver messages, but this is twice now that you’ve announced your task and, still, you haven’t delivered your message, have you?

  “What is it that my father wants me to know?”

  Memnon seemed to get some of his bumptious swagger back but Mishak couldn’t quite put his finger on why he thought that.

  “You have been disinherited,” Memnon said triumphantly. “His holdings will not come to you after his demise. May he outlive us all!”

  Again, the assembled holographic figures mumbled their way through the phrase.

  “Be careful what you wish for,” Mishak advised the group of holograms. We knew this day would have to come, he thought. “As for your message, I assumed I would just get a notification from the King-of-Arms’ office when my father got around to disinheriting me.

  “Frankly, I’m surprised to see how long it took for him to take care of this for me,” Mishak added. “Damned hard, trying to round up votes when you still stand to inherit a massive chunk of the empire in your own right.”

  He showed no reaction as his holographic brother took a half step backwards, head tilting down and to the side closest to Mishak in order to protect the primary arteries. Memnon had been expecting some kind of angry outburst at his news.

  Had Sandrak given him reason for his expectation? Water will find any crack, he remembered from one of Marduk’s endless lessons, and, freezing, expose the weakness within.

  “My father,” he continued, “knows that the other electors will be nervous of a candidate who has too many systems. An emperor should be first among equals, not an overbearing tyrant. They won’t set us on the throne when Tir Uttur dies, may he outlive us all…” he paused while everyone repeated the phrase, “… if we’re powerful enough to take away their freedoms and prerogatives.

  “I’m sure my father told you all of this,” Mishak said. “He wouldn’t send you off to deliver this message without preparing you properly.” Of course he would, the old bastard!

  “Our father,” Memnon said, snapping at Mishak’s repeated bait, “is no longer any concern of yours, now, is he? You won’t inherit from him.”

  “Be sure to convey my thanks,” Mishak replied warmly, “but tell him he could have done it a little sooner. As for your parentage, I don’t recall hearing that my father had taken a new wife,” he said with a questioning tone and upward head-tilt, “several decades ago…”

  “A lord of your father’s stature, my love,” Tashmitum added, “would never have been able to keep a marriage secret.”

  “Aye, lord,” Eth’s holograph chimed in. “He’d have had a bastard of a time trying to keep that under wraps.”

  Mishak would have slapped his Human officer down for that but he could see the un-solicited comment had hit home and he bit back h
is own anger. It was even more piquant, after all, coming from a former slave.

  The Human obviously knew his lord wasn’t just tweaking Memnon out of petty rivalry. Mishak wanted to push this new half-brother. He wanted to see where the cracks were and test his breaking-strain.

  Memnon had probably arranged this entire incident, as he claimed, to deliver a message. If it were any different, he’d have attacked while he still had surprise on his side.

  But could he be goaded into ignoring Sandrak’s wishes?

  “Do you know who your real mother was?” Mishak asked him, deliberately insinuating some hidden knowledge of the matter – knowledge Sandrak may have imparted to his elder, acknowledged son.

  “My mother is Silpana,” Memnon growled, “of Keeva.”

  “So you’re Mot’s brother?” Mishak blurted out in shock. No wonder he’s so annoying!

  “Mot?” Tashmitum asked. “Who is Mot?”

  “A distant branch of the family,” Mishak explained, trying to think of a way to turn his own shock back against Memnon. “My father wanted us to marry.”

  “Ah,” Tashmitum sighed, giving off an aura of mischeif. “She’s the one! That summer on Keeva, when you both discovered the pleasures of the flesh together?”

  “Enough!” Memnon snarled.

  “Hey, lighten up,” Eth soothed. “It’s nothing to be embarrassed about. It was just two young Quailu exploring each other’s bodies, touching, tasting, inserting…”

  This is it, thought Mishak, I’m going to burst out laughing and spoil the whole thing. I’ve let Eth have too much leash here…

  “Shut up!” Memnon roared. “Or I swear by all the gods that I’ll…”

  “You’ll what?” Mishak demanded. “You’ll do us harm will you? Big talk for a messenger.”

  “I’ll destroy the Dibbarra,” he raged, “and take the rest of your ships for my own!”

  That should be sufficient provocation, Mishak thought, just barely. “You might find it hard to turn your words into deeds.”

  “Look around you,” Memnon said, bringing his anger under control. “I have brought many more ships than you, brother.”

  “Have you?” Mishak asked. “Perhaps I had a force here before, watching your waiting fleet.”

  “Then you would have saved your friends from destruction.”

  “Not true,” Mishak countered. “It all happened so quickly. We could tell that you wanted me to come here but we had no idea you’d start the fight the moment my main force arrived.”

  “You’re lying,” Memnon stalked toward his brother. “You’re lying because you know I’m about to kill you!”

  “Perhaps a demonstration?” Mishak offered. He still didn’t believe Memnon was angry enough to open fire but he’d said more than enough to justify Mishak’s ‘measured’ defensive response.

  He only hoped Memnon was stupid enough to think his brother was lying.

  “I would be most grateful if you could arrange a demonstration,” Memnon said, clearly not intending any gratitude.

  “Excellent!” Mishak enthused. “Select five ships and I’ll have them destroyed by the force that preceded me here.”

  “Five ships…”

  “Yours, not mine,” Mishak clarified.

  Memnon was neatly cornered now. He’d made threats and a Quailu did not make idle threats. Mishak had every right to launch a limited defensive strike and still not be considered the aggressor. It was usually done as a warning and, though it could lead to an escalation of hostilities, Mishak didn’t believe Memnon would push the matter.

  He already seemed reluctant. Indeed, he hadn’t even begun to choose the ships for Mishak to target. After a moment of hesitation, Memnon reached out and began selecting icons that only he could see. He cloned it and tossed it at his brother.

  “All Belnut’s ships?” Mishak commented when the display appeared in the central area, now visible to the other captains. He turned toward one of the holograms which was now quite agitated.

  “Lord Belnut, I presume?” Mishak offered a half-bow. “You might want to find new friends. This one’s kind of an ass.”

  “You have no right,” Belnut yelled, but whether it was at Memnon or Mishak, no one could tell.

  “Do you serve under Melvin?”

  “I don’t!”

  “Just a coincidence, I suppose, that you’re here. Still, your independence in this matter means that he can’t designate your ships.” Mishak turned back to Memnon. “As I said, pick any five of your ships.”

  Those fists clenched again. Memnon sent a new grouping, five of his frigates.

  “That will do nicely,” Mishak said, starting to feel the nerves now. If he fired on the ships, they might all end up in a fight and it would probably go badly for him because this was an elaborate bluff. He was pretending to have far more power than his current forces represented.

  Those damned missiles might also fail in any of a number of ways and leave them looking like idiots. He brought his feelings under control. There was nothing else he could do.

  If the missiles failed, he’d look foolish and a fight would probably follow. Neither side could afford to walk away from an incomplete demonstration.

  “Stand by, the process is rather complex, I’m afraid.” He turned to Eth’s holo. “Lieutenant Commander?”

  “Sir?”

  “You have the trace showing the five ships?”

  “Aye, lord.”

  “Very well. Kill the bastards.”

  “Three missiles for each target,” Eth said loudly, glad to be free of the holo-comms. “I want to make sure we get this done properly the first time. Tactical, make sure they’re set to self-detonate if they run out of authorized targets. We don’t want them falling into hostile hands.”

  “We’re loaded,” Oliv said, “and guidance is confirmed on all fifteen weapons. Ready to fire on your order.”

  “I want you to eject them but wait for a few seconds before engaging the motors,” Eth decided. “We’ll let ‘em disperse first so they show as coming in from multiple angles. We want the enemy to think there are more than one of us out here, after all.”

  “I’ll give them five seconds of drift. Should be enough to simulate a loose formation.” Oliv made the adjustments. “Ready.”

  “All fifteen weapons – launch.”

  The deck shuddered and they could hear the hum of the mag-rails ejecting the weapons. Eth counted slowly to five.

  “MA fields confirmed on all fifteen weapons we…”

  There was no time left for further comment. The fifteen weapons weighed only a miniscule fraction of their usual mass, thanks to the MA field, and the field ended at the rocket nozzles. The propellant returned to full mass as it began its expansion, concentrating normal thrust on a nearly negligible mass.

  “Gilgamesh wept!” Gleb whispered.

  The five ships had each taken three strikes and the results were terrifying. The missiles had all penetrated before detonation and, frankly, it was anyone’s guess as to whether the explosive warheads had detonated.

  Given the speed of impact, the entirety of each weapon, including the dense osmium insert, was converted to impact plasma and it was trapped inside the frigates.

  But only for a heartbeat.

  Each of the five ships shattered outward in a brilliant white flash, tumbling parts spinning crazily on their way toward sister ships who began jockeying to get out of the way. Some of those ships were taking damage from impacts but most were able to avoid the debris.

  “That was horrifyingly effective,” Oliv whispered, a shudder in her voice.

  “Hendy, move us to starboard.” Eth ordered. “Take us halfway toward the larger moon. I don’t want us sitting in the middle of all those inbound vectors, just in case someone is paying attention over there.”

  “They’re blanketing the area around their fleet with short-range scanning energy,” Oliv said. “Given the short time between our lord’s orders and our strike hitting home,
they must be thinking we’re right up their backsides!”

  “Good,” Eth replied, “but I still don’t want us sitting anywhere near the paths those missiles took.” He stared at the enemy formation for a few moments. “The missiles really don’t need those warheads, do they?”

  Oliv looked up at the central holo, a mild frown on her face. “You never know when you might be in too close for the MA field to have much use.” She overlaid her energy spectrum map. “Look at their scanning profile. They think we’re close, really close. If we were, then those warheads would come in handy and those osmium inserts would be a hindrance during conventional acceleration.”

  Eth nodded. “Better make sure we keep a good supply of conventionals on hand.” He looked down at his timer. Twenty minutes…

  Mishak stood perfectly still. He’d started out that way from the shock of Eth’s devastating strike, but now he was trying not to look surprised. Can’t just stand here like an idiot, he realized.

  Memnon was still projecting onto the Dibbarra’s bridge but he was looking to the side, gesticulating and shouting at his crew. Mishak turned to Eth’s holo.

  “Good shooting, Lieutenant Commander! Please convey my compliments to your captains.” He’d noticed how the missiles had come in from several angles and he had no doubt the hostiles would eventually notice as well. It wouldn’t hurt to reinforce the deception.

  He also knew they’d have to dump their excess heat at some point, though he had no idea how long they had. “I imagine things got heated, when you were choosing which of your ships would have the honor?”

  “Indeed, lord.”

  A timer appeared in front of Mishak, set for a very narrow viewing angle. Nineteen minutes. Can I get rid of them in time? I’d better lay the groundwork for an unexplained path alert, one that preserves the illusion of a hidden fleet.

  “Lieutenant Commander, I’m sending you back to the rendezvous with dispatches. Detail your deputy to stay here with the rest of your force. This system will bear watching, for the time being. Prepare your ship for departure.”