Humans

by A. G. Claymore

  She said it as if the last few minutes of weirdness hadn’t even occurred.

  “It’s not really time, then?”

  She looked at his face for a moment, lost in thought, then shook her head. “Not really but that perception is a comfort to us. It helps us to explain our existence.”

  She sat, the conventional way, and Eth sat in the chair next to her.

  “So,” he began slowly, “when you’re spending time with me in this room, what you’re doing is committing more of your fourth-dimensional self to me?”

  She allowed a grudging nod. “Our biology puts its own spin on it, though, and it ends up as time.”

  “How long have you known you can… transpose yourself like that?”

  “I don’t know,” she frowned. “I suppose I’ve been aware of it, at some level, since coming back from the Varangian visit but the Chironians were waiting for me. As soon as I set foot back on the station, one of them hit me with a control phrase and I was back under their programming. This was the first time I tried it.”

  “Oh!” Eth’s eyes grew wide. “It felt like you’d been practicing.”

  “No, I just… remembered that I understand.”

  “How far can you move?”

  She squinted, her focus wandering. “I don’t think there’s a limit. I think I could put myself on a planet on the other side of the galaxy, if I wanted, but I’d rather not try, just yet. I don’t want to get stuck in the middle of a moon or find myself in empty space because I got distracted at the last second.”

  “Well… wow!” Eth offered quietly, leaning back in his chair. “I have to warn you, most of our people aren’t aware that some of us have any strange abilities. Too many know, actually, but the longer we can keep this quiet, the lower the chances the empire will decide we’re a threat and try to wipe us out.”

  “You think they might?”

  “If they decide we’re too powerful?” Eth nodded. “They’re already nervous that natives are killing Quailu. If they think we’re moving entirely beyond their control…”

  “So I should keep my mouth shut about all this?”

  “You should.” He grinned. “Except when you’re trying to teach me!”

  “Oooh! Can I watch when she’s ‘educating’ you?”

  Going Deep

  The Deathstalker, Heiropolis System

  “Cryo-banks fully charged for both the Scorpion and the Last Thing You’ll Ever See,” the engineering officer announced.

  “Very well,” Oliv acknowledged. “Close the interchange valves and disconnect the link to the scout-ship as well.”

  “Aye, ma’am. Valves are closed and the link is severed.”

  Oliv took a deep breath. “You’re ready for this?”

  Gleb shrugged. “Sure. It sounds like fun.”

  She shook her head. “Bring the emission management system online and start dropping us toward Heiropolis Prime, three-quarters pitch.”

  Gleb could have had his own Scorpion-class ship by now. In fact, he did have one. Eth was holding onto it, in the meantime, but he’d hand it over to Gleb the moment he got back. He’d already been commissioned and named for the command slot.

  As long as he found a way to come back…

  They’d found Human DNA in the debris from Memnon’s five destroyed ships at Sippar. That was curious enough on its own, but it also meant there was a chance to slip someone into the enemy’s forces unnoticed.

  Gleb was a good candidate. As one of Eth’s earliest and best students in what they were quietly referring to as understanding, he’d have an advantage over his adversaries.

  It also made him almost too valuable to risk, but risk was a part of conflict.

  “Still planning on the flagship?” she asked.

  “If I’m going to find information,” he said, “then I need to get close to the biggest source of information, and that’ll be Melvin the Bastard.”

  “Better hope they have Humans on the flagship,” she warned.

  Gleb grunted. “I’ll just claim I got stuck on an inter-ship shuttle transfer by mistake or… you know.”

  He chuckled at her rolled eyes. “Let’s face it: there’s bound to be a string of unexplained Quailu deaths on that ship over the next few days or weeks.”

  If Sandrak or Memnon had any idea the kind of danger represented by Humans, they certainly wouldn’t be using them on their ships. They clearly had no idea, so Gleb should be able to move around on the enemy’s vessels without attracting any notice.

  “You’d better get down to the scout-ship,” she said, putting a hand on his shoulder. “Make sure you come back, you jackass.”

  “Count on it,” he told her on his way to the aft hatch. “As long as they don’t offer me a better command, that is.”

  “Better than a Scorpion-class?” she called after him before continuing, talking now to herself. “He’ll be back.”

  “Three light-seconds out,” the helmsman advised. He brought them to a halt.

  “Scorpion actual, this is the Last Thing You’ll Ever See,” Eve called. “I see we’ve stopped but I still don’t have my cargo.”

  “He should almost be there,” Oliv replied.

  “Affirmative, I see him strolling across the hangar bay now. Seems a little casual, considering where we’re taking him.”

  “I suppose he needs to stay in character,” Oliv countered. “It’s not like we’re gonna play some kind of theme music or anything. Just get him inserted and then we’ll pull out.”

  “Umm, Scorpion actual… you might want to reconsider your phrasing on that.”

  The bridge crew broke out in laughter. Oliv even treated herself to a chuckle. “Now that’s the kind of send-off our Gleb would prefer!”

  Gleb’s suit closed up as the scout-ship pumped its atmosphere into storage. A green light pulsed in his HUD as the hull melted away to show a corresponding hole in the hull of Memnon’s flagship.

  “Stay sharp,” Eve told him. She gave him a light punch on the shoulder. “Don’t be a hero; get the skinny on what they’re up to and get the hells out of there.”

  He rolled his eyes. She’d been like this during the entire approach. He appreciated her concern but it seemed like she was more concerned about this than he was. He was actually feeling the need to distract her from the dangers he would be facing.

  “I thought there was supposed to be some inserting going on that involved me?” he hinted hopefully.

  She snorted, nodding toward the hole in the hull. “That’s all the inserting you’ll be doing today, hotshot. Come back in one piece and we’ll talk.”

  With a disappointed sigh that was only half-feigned, he turned and stepped into an unpressurized engineering space inside the hull of Memnon’s ship. He activated a small programmable-logic-control unit on his chest and a block of spare nanites followed him in from the scout-ship.

  He waved to Eve before the hulls closed up and then moved over to a pressure bulkhead and activated the next control in the PLC menu. The nanites flowed up to create an airtight chamber around him, the ship’s pressure bulkhead forming the inner wall.

  “Point of no return,” he said calmly, though, with Eve now gone, he had no way of leaving this ship. He opened the charging valve on his oxygen storage and pressurised the small chamber.

  He opened his helmet and leaned his head against the pressure-bulkhead. He could feel a consciousness but it was quickly fading. Finally, certain nobody was in the corridor on the other side of the bulkhead, he activated the final command on the controller, opened a hole in the panel and stepped through.

  The hole closed up as he started walking. He didn’t bother picking a direction for any particular reason, he just started moving in the direction he’d been facing. One of the surest ways to get caught was to stand around looking lost.

  He kept moving along the outermost corridor until he reached the cross aisle just forward of the engine room. He turned in and started across to the far side of the ship, planning t
o work his way to the centerline and then move to the next deck.

  He was hoping to see Humans before running into any Quailu. He wanted to get an idea of how they fared aboard Memnon’s ships so he could adjust his own attitude accordingly. He had nearly reached the forward cross aisle, just aft of the officer’s galley, when a Quailu petty officer rounded the corner.

  “You there,” he called out peremptorily. “With me!” The petty officer turned and headed back for the galley.

  Gleb could feel his anger at how long the Human was taking to catch up. He reminded himself to let normal, expected feelings emanate from his mind.

  “Get this coffee-service up to the ready room,” he commanded, giving Gleb a slap on the side of the head for emphasis, “and be quick about it or you’ll miss a sleep shift!”

  “Yes, petty officer,” he replied meekly. He treated himself to a feeling of servile fear and the Quailu, convinced that the matter was well in hand, left without another word.

  Gleb stepped over to the trolley and checked to see that the large carafe was actually full. He got the thing moving with a rattle of steel mugs, careful to keep his mind numb.

  He took the ramp up to the command deck and passed the guards at the main bridge hatch as though he didn’t even exist. The ready room was hard on his right and Memnon was in there with several of his captains.

  “Heiropolitans,” Memnon sneered as Gleb pushed his trolley up against the starboard wall. “One of the wretched creatures tried to corner me and start a conversation but I shot him in the liver.”

  A scattering of sycophantic chuckling broke out. Everyone in the room was holding a tight rein on their feelings.

  “Too bad they’re not transplants as well,” one of the captains said.

  “Wouldn’t do any good,” Memnon asserted. “Most of ‘em are already mushkenu, so they’d only lose a handful of slaves.”

  Gleb felt that was important and he worked it over as he served the coffee. Transplants were a violation of the Meleke Corporation’s charter. They owned the rights to native wardu genomes but there had been infamous cases in the empire’s deep dark past where Meleke had been selling genomes that weren’t native to the buyer’s planet. Those contraband genomes were based on non-extinct species from outside the empire.

  Selling extinct genomes was fine. Indeed, Meleke spent enormous sums to fund expeditions searching for worlds with extinct species. Gleb’s own species had come from just such a world. Humans may have spent thousands of years as a slave species but at least they existed again.

  He finished setting out the mugs of coffee and moved back to stand by the trolley but Memnon waved him out.

  So did they have knowledge of lords using transplant wardu? Such information would give them massive leverage, not only over the lords but over the Meleke Corporation as well.

  Gleb shook his head as he left the room. Using that information just once would collapse the entire scheme. There was more to this. Memnon and his staff clearly didn’t care if he’d heard them talking, or were they just careless around Humans?

  Did they just look right through them like most lords would do with their wardu?

  One thing seemed fairly certain: Memnon was no Sandrak. He was careless enough to let his captains know a secret that had the potential to wreck a major part of the HQE’s economy. He frowned. Was he reading too much into one comment? Perhaps they had just been referring to some isolated incident…

  He had reached the lowest deck and, sure enough, the more crowded accommodations here were reserved for the Human crewmen. The scent of stale sweat and poorly washed suits gave him a feeling of home. Not a particularly well-kept home, but at least he was among his own kind.

  A Quailu warrant officer was in the common area shouting at the Humans. One Human was standing next to him, eyes cast down to his feet, shoulders slumped.

  “Sickness,” the warrant shouted, “is not a valid excuse for being late to your shift! The enemy won’t wait on us while we drag our sorry asses to our duty stations!” He pulled out his sidearm, putting it to the head of the Human beside him and squeezed the trigger.

  There was almost no reaction, physically or emotionally, as the man fell to the deck.

  So, Gleb thought, watching the warrant officer leave through the aft portal, the Humans on these ships must be mushkenu. That warrant would catch seven kinds of hell if he’d killed Memnon’s property.

  How is that even remotley legal? He shouldn’t be able to purchase wardu Humans, much less arrange for mushkenu…

  He could see many different types of suit on the sad group of Humans. There were engineering techs, ordnance techs, aircraft handlers, fitters… All the kinds of jobs you couldn’t get away with assigning wardu to.

  They’d be laughed out of the empire if they let slaves serve on house warships.

  Gleb’s suit bore the dark blue bands of a comms-system tech, which he hoped would get him access to a quiet corner of the ship where he could tap into the database and clone a copy.

  But he was starting to think he was on the wrong ship. He should try to find a way of getting aboard Sandrak’s flagship. He had a wide range of options, thanks mostly to Noa’s ingenuity, but the simplest would likely be best. He could probably find a way to walk onto a shuttle or courier vessel. He just needed to find one headed in the right direction.

  He was here to learn more about Memnon and what his goals were but he had a feeling that the real key to the enterprise wasn’t here. Sandrak would never trust his second son with anything that might compromise his plans.

  Gleb had actually suggested kidnapping Memnon and conducting a thorough interrogation but Eth had shot it down before Mishak had time to even consider it.

  “What’s the sense in finding out what Memnon is up to if we’re taking him out of circulation?” he’d asked, and Mishak had grunted in surprised agreement.

  “We’d be back to square one,” their lord admitted.

  “Knowing what your enemy is up to,” Eth added, “is far more useful than knowing what he might have done if you hadn’t slit his throat and dumped him in the ship’s composter.”

  Gleb approached the dejected Humans, nodding a greeting to another crewman in dark blue. The fellow’s face was a mass of bruises. “Just transferred over from the Bilbao,” he told the man. “Any unclaimed bunks?”

  “Yeah,” the man answered dryly. “A bunk just opened up, or didn’t you notice?” He peered more closely at Gleb. “Transfer?”

  “Yeah, for… um… reasons…” He laced his voice with vague reluctance and the other man let it go, though Gleb could clearly sense his curiosity.

  “Fair enough,” the crewman conceded. “Might as well take that bunk,” he pointed to one of the sleeping platforms recessed into the bulkhead. “And you can join us on the middle watch. We’re understaffed during the dark hours.”

  Gleb couldn’t help but notice two crewmen getting into their bunks as the comms-tech talked. One man and one woman, each simply stepped out of their armor and climbed into their beds, nude. Neither seemed to notice the other.

  There was no reason for the lack of privacy. Or was there? He felt a surge of anger. Even the lowest Quailu crewman had his own cubicle. This must have been just one more way of putting the Humans in their place. That was probably why they had no under-armor suits. They were cheap enough, and that would underscore how insignificant the Humans were.

  “Name’s Gleb,” he offered. He was surprised at the anger he’d just triggered in the other man.

  “Did I ask for your name?” the man snarled. He hit Gleb on the side of the head hard enough to make him think he could see the stars outside the ship. “Just be on time tonight!” He walked away.

  Gleb staggered over to the bunk and grabbed the rail. He closed his eyes and tried to settle his reeling senses. The urge to vomit creeped up his throat but he forced it away.

  It frightened him. He’d taken a few blows to the head before but that asshole had a punch like a d
rop-hammer.

  He stepped out of his armor and pulled himself into the bunk before anyone could notice his under-armor suit. He wormed his way out of the clean garment, stuffing it under the lumpy mattress that smelled strongly of its previous owner’s sweat.

  Gleb lay there, staring up at the ceiling, only a few hand’s breadths from his face. He’d be safe enough here until the middle watch and he’d be able to concentrate on what he’d seen so far without fear of stumbling into a Quailu and having his head blown off.

  Sandrak clearly had leverage over the lords who’d been taking his side against Mishak and it had to be more than just the fear of his displeasure. Sure, Mishak’s father was powerful, but there were always limits to the application of raw power.

  His allies had to know that, if they stood up to him, they could count on support from the HQE. The vast majority of noble houses were nervous of Sandrak’s pre-eminence and many of them had lost systems of their own to the powerful elector.

  Perhaps it had something to do with the Meleke Corporation, though he couldn’t see how such a thing would work. A threat had to be executable or it was no threat at all. If Sandrak had dirt on illegal genome use against his compatriots, a threat against one was simultaneously a threat against all.

  It lacked the ability to apply targeted pressure. It had worked for Mishak against the Chironians because they represented an isolated incident. Wasn’t it?

  That the Meleke Corporation also faced peril was neither here nor there, as Mishak had since made clear his intention to liberate the entire mushkenu population of Kish.

  Get into the database tonight, he told himself, and then keep an eye out for a chance to get close to Sandrak.

  He set an alarm on the panel above his face, though he doubted he’d actually sleep, having just snuck aboard an enemy cruiser and served coffee to his master’s latest arch-enemy. He woke to the loud warbling of the alarm and nearly hit his head on the ceiling.

  “Suit up,” Gleb’s newest co-worker said, standing just outside his bunk. “You really don’t want to be late.”