Humans

by A. G. Claymore

  Ilgi growled in anger, broken from his fear-trance by the sight of someone coming up with a good idea and stopping in mid-implementation. He’d show the intruders what happened when they messed with the wrong ship! He reached for his sidearm…

  Anger decided dreams of glory had been wise to leave and quickly followed suit, replaced again by fear. His hand should have been grasping the hilt of his ceremonial firearm, by now, but it hadn’t moved. He tried again, alarm growing as he realized that none of his muscles were answering to commands.

  The bridge lighting levels dropped by half and began to flash slowly in an erratic pattern. Ilgi felt the lights nudging at his fear and he could feel the rest of the bridge crew, their fright ebbing and flowing with the light.

  They were all frozen in place, most of them looking, like Ilgi, at the opening in the hull and their imaginations were running wild. Whatever came through that opening couldn’t be good.

  Footsteps sounded on deck plates, proving that the atmosphere hadn’t been vented during the breach.

  Ilgi twitched in time to the footsteps, his rapid breathing beginning to fog the lower edges of his visor. A bipedal creature encased in standard, armored EVA gear strode slowly onto the bridge. The armor was adjusted for a species with a relatively flat face and the intruder stopped for a moment while more of its kind flowed around him to disarm the crew.

  It had a light gray skull painted on the face plates.

  Humans? Ilgi thought with an involuntary shudder. He’d heard the stories. Mishak’s pirates. They’d supposedly savaged Memnon’s fleet at Sippar and nobody had seen the attack coming, nor could they find where the Human ships had been concealed. They’d smashed five ships as a friendly warning.

  And now they were taking an interest in Ilgi.

  The Human with the skull on his helmet began moving again, slowly, head turning from side to side as he passed between Ilgi’s crewmen. He passed out of sight to his left.

  Ilgi’s breathing slowed a little and his suit’s ventilator started to catch up with the moisture on his internal-display visor. He didn’t know how they were doing this or what they wanted but…

  He took a sharp intake of breath on reflex as he suddenly felt the Human’s mind on his right. The shallow, rapid fear-breathing returned in full force as he felt the alien’s attention focused on him.

  It was as if the creature had just materialized next to him, staring at him. Ilgi had felt absolutely nothing from him and then there was sudden awareness of a cold mind, stark and disciplined, malevolently powerful.

  He let out a strangled sound, not quite a yelp, as strong hands grasped his arms and began dragging him toward the hole. His skin darkened in shame as his suit’s moisture reclamation system began filtering a fresh flow of liquid.

  He wanted to scream as he passed through the makeshift portal but he had no voluntary muscle control. They pushed him up against a bulkhead and restraints snaked out from the nanite panel to hold him.

  The Humans flowed back into their craft and the hole closed behind the last one, the one with the skull. The hum of pitch-drives told him they were underway and he felt a stab of hope.

  Surely, they’d be detected as soon as they move away from the hull! Ilgi thought.

  “That’s far enough.” Ilgi heard the voice over his helmet’s speakers. They moderated their individual volumes to replicate the direction from which the sound came. It was the skull-suited one, though that was hardly a surprise. Ilgi had formed the very definite opinion that he was the one in charge.

  But why let Ilgi listen in on their channel? He felt a prickle of fear that they might not be planning on letting him survive whatever they had planned.

  And why were they staying so close? Did they not care if they were detected? Were they using him as a hostage to prevent the fleet firing?

  The skull melted away as the Human helmet opened.

  And Ilgi wished it hadn’t.

  He’d realized, staring into that flat face, that he was no longer feeling anything from him. He could sense the other Human crew but there was nothing from this one. It was like staring at a corpse or a Zeartekka.

  It was probably just the unsettling silence from his captor’s mind but Ilgi couldn’t shake the feeling that the Human was somehow sensing his thoughts. That was nonsense, of course, because no other species in the empire or even beyond its fringes had ever been known to have that ability.

  It was an incredibly uncomfortable feeling and, as the silence stretched out, he could take it no longer.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” he demanded, trying to sound fierce but fairly certain that fierce Quailu didn’t speak in hoarse squeaks.

  No response.

  “We’re still sitting in the middle of my fleet,” he warned, pleased to hear his voice sounding a little steadier now. “They’ll come for me and, when they do, you’ll be begging me for death!”

  The alien’s mouth curled up at the corners, making Ilgi think the Human was about to bite him, but then he felt amusement from his captor. So his control has limits, Ilgi thought, but then he shuddered again. Or is he deliberately showing me his amusement?

  Either way, the threat of capture clearly held no fear for the Human. Were Ilgi’s officers on the take? Had the captains accepted bribes to let this creature seize him from his own vessel?

  “By now,” the Human said calmly but startling Ilgi out of a year’s lifespan, “you’ve gotten around to wondering whether I’ve suborned your senior officers to let me nab you like this.”

  Ilgi wished they could go back to the silent treatment. How the devils did the vile creature know?

  “Please understand…” The Human raised a warning hand. “I’m not mentioning this because I want to put your suspicions to rest. I mention it because I’m fairly certain that I’m right and it’s vitally important for you to understand that I can think rings around you.”

  The flat-faced creature tapped the side of his head. “I have the incongruous good fortune to have been grown as a combat slave, a leader of combat slaves, to be more precise. It gives my brain a good turn of hoof, as you Quailu are fond of saying.”

  “How wonderful for you,” Ilgi retorted, angry that he couldn’t think of anything better.

  “It can be useful,” the Human acknowledged. “For example, you’re almost certainly not happy with your rejoinder. Not a very elegant riposte, as I’m sure you know. It could apply to my statement, I suppose, but it works equally well for news of a betrothal or the announcement of a naming day celebration…

  “You might have tried any combination of the words hoof and head. I did leave that lying in your path, you know.”

  Ilgi had to fight the absurd desire to come up with something witty, especially now that the dratted creature had neutralized a particularly good line of possibilities by mentioning the same two words he’d been feverishly working on combining. His mind was spinning.

  He bumped his head against the bulkhead when the Human suddenly moved in close, eyes only a hand’s-breadth from his.

  “Why are you here?” his captor demanded.

  “Why am I here?”

  “Hey!” An admonitory finger appeared between their faces. “No jumping the queue; I asked you first!”

  “We’re taking this system!” Ilgi was completely bewildered. “I’d have thought your nimble brain would have discerned such an obvious fact!” It felt better, getting a decent insult in. When I’m an elector, I’ll track this creature down and…

  “Perhaps I give you too much credit,” the Human suggested. “Let me be explicit so your next answer isn’t something along the lines of ‘because you dragged me here and stuck me to a wall’.

  “Why are you suddenly intent on taking systems? Why draw the ire of the powerful houses friendly to your victims? You can’t hope to fight them off when they come.”

  “I can if I’m stronger than them by the time they mobilize,” Ilgi blurted, wanting to show this Human that he wasn’t a com
plete fool.

  “Still…” The Human paused for a moment, gazing down at the sigil on Ilgi’s chest. “… There aren’t many systems you can take on in this sector…” He looked back to Ilgi’s face. “You think you can turn yourself into an elector and claim imperial privilege?”

  Ilgi’s mouth gaped open, though he was unaware of it. How had the Human ferreted that out so quickly? Not that it mattered, of course, because…

  “How much time have you spent researching the electoral system? I ask because it seems as though you’ve heard someone mention imperial privilege once but never bothered with the finer details.

  “For example,” he continued, “a claim to elector rank must show evidence that your holdings are in good economic and civil order. You would need the military and civil authorities on each world to swear allegiance, much like they did at Dur, when my own lord seized his traitorous uncle’s holdings.”

  The Human moved his head from side to side for some reason. “I doubt you’ll find things so easy. The locals will hold out, go into hiding. They have to know they can count on the very interference you hope to forestall by becoming an elector.”

  That strange head movement again. “Your plan… It defeats itself! Someone’s been whispering sweet nonsense in your ear.” He leaned back to give Ilgi some breathing space.

  “I’ll ask you something more specific. Why did that someone send you out here and how did he induce your father to ignore the backlash that would almost certainly cost him one of his more disposable sons?”

  Ilgi was appalled. If it seemed so clear to him now, why had he not come to the same conclusions without having to be abducted and subjected to the scorn of a former wardu?

  “What leverage does he have over your father?” his captor demanded.

  Ilgi wanted nothing more than to turn his fleet around and ask his father the same question.

  The Human sighed. “Take us back in,” he called over his shoulder. “This one knows nothing of use.” He turned away from Ilgi. “Open a portal back to the home universe.”

  The Human facing him was also unreadable. “A… portal… Yes. Very well, sir.” He turned and stalked away with a purposeful stride. “All hands!” he shouted, “Secure all gear and stand by for trans-dimensional maneuvering! Bring the singularity back online!”

  Trans-dimensional maneuvering? Ilgi shivered in horror. What kind of technology does Mishak have at his disposal?

  “All hands, activate phase-shift shielding,” the leader commanded as his skull-faced helmet flowed back into place. “Harlan, that means you as well. If I find you frozen in place, I’ll have you dragged aboard this one’s ship and leave you with him!”

  The fool has no concept of security, Ilgi marveled. He’s given too many hints. So the paralysis was some kind of by-product of the trans-dimensional shift?

  He didn’t know if he’d be able to do much with that information, but it would at least save him from soiling his armor if it happened again. The best news, of course, was that they were returning Ilgi to the Mulge.

  He could feel the paralysis come over him again, but this time he knew it was just a by-product of trans-dimensional travel and not some malevolent whim of the gods.

  “We’re home again.” The other Human stuck his head around the corner. “Hard against the Mulge’s bow.”

  A hole was opening in the outer hull, just where Ilgi had been dragged into this ship.

  “Give me a hand.” Skull-face grabbed Ilgi’s wrists as the restraints retracted. The other one grabbed his feet.

  Together, they hauled him through the portal and back onto his own bridge. The crew were still there, though he didn’t know if they’d been frozen the whole time or if they’d been able to move while he was gone.

  They dumped him in a heap in the middle of the central space where the holo-screens were projected. He was face down, knees pulled up and his posterior pointed at the ceiling.

  Not at all consistent with the dignity of an awilu but, then, they’d probably spared his life.

  The two Humans left and the portal closed again. In a few heartbeats, the paralysis wore off and he scrambled to his feet, trying to pretend he hadn’t been presenting his rump as if to entice any interested parties.

  “What keeps freezing us?” a plaintive voice asked from behind him.

  “Tactical, report!” Ilgi demanded.

  “No trace, sire. No indication whatsoever of any ships but our own.”

  “And you won’t find any,” Ilgi insisted grimly, pleased at least to know more than his crew. “They’re no longer in the same universe as us.”

  “No longer in the same…” The tactical officer trailed off.

  “Their drive involves a singularity,” he told them. “Beyond that, I can’t tell you much, but one of the side effects is the paralysis. They employ phase-shift shielding to avoid it.”

  The officers all turned to the chief engineer, who was mulling it over. “It might explain how they managed such a devastating strike against Memnon’s fleet at Sippar,” he allowed grudgingly, “but there’s a hells of a lot of science needed to back up those vague concepts.”

  “What more do you need?” Ilgi demanded. “There was nothing near us and then, out of nowhere, there’s a ship burrowing through our hull and we can’t move a muscle. What alternate theories do you have that explain this?”

  “I have none, sire.”

  “Nor do I,” Ilgi admitted generously. “So let’s set a course for home and bring the path-drives online.”

  “Home, sire?” the tactical officer asked. “This system is ripe for conquest…”

  “But Mishak’s forces have technology that we can’t hope to match and they’re firmly opposed to this venture!” Ilgi thought it wiser not to explain that he’d seen the end of this course of action and it almost certainly led to his own death.

  He wasn’t about to tell his crew that he’d probably been sent out here to get himself killed and them along with him.

  What he wanted to do was go home, shove his pistol into his father’s face and demand to know what leverage Memnon had applied. He wanted to know why he’d been chosen to die fighting for some insignificant back-galaxy dust-hole, aside, of course, from the fact that he’d been stupid enough to fall for it in the first place.

  Human Intel

  Hab-Ring, Kurnugia 2

  Jay stepped off the orbital shuttle, his outrage not entirely feigned. The price quoted at the orbital station had been thirty-eight thousand credits – an already extortionate sum – but the ‘customs clearance’ fee had been an extra fifteen thousand.

  They don’t announce that, of course, until they reach the hab-ring. From there, it’s either pay the fee or pay twenty thousand to return to orbit. The third option was to make a sudden descent to the lava-fields, five kilometers below the massive hab-ring circling the planet’s equator.

  He shook off the anger and took in his surroundings. He had to admit…

  This made sense.

  He’d accumulated a long list of minor infractions while aboard the Mouse. He’d set up a gambling-ring, a small black-market in ‘lost’ gear and he’d set up an external network to sell reactant within the empire’s much larger black-market.

  Okay, he thought with an unconscious shrug, that last one was pretty major. But he’d been grown for a certain type of life and serving aboard a cruiser was just too dull.

  There were others who had trouble adjusting to fleet life but he knew he was feeling it more than most. The urge to go ‘on the hunt’ was just too strong in him.

  When they’d hauled him in front of Eth, he’d been certain the commander would hand down a harsh sentence. He didn’t expect the meeting to turn into a recruiting session.

  He took a deep breath and joined the flow of pedestrian traffic, letting it show him the pulse of the place.

  “Kurnugia is a nexus of criminal activity,” Eth had said, startling Jay who’d been expecting the worst. “Few places generate useful
intel like a criminal hotspot. I need someone to settle in there, to be our eyes and ears on the hab.” He’d stabbed a finger at Jay’s chest.

  “You seem like someone who can pull that off. You were setting up a minor criminal enterprise right under my own nose. If I turn you loose on Kurnugia, you’d be able to… ‘fit in’.”

  There’d been no need to elaborate. ‘Fit in’, meant looking like he belonged. He knew it meant more than just showing up with funds and renting an apartment.

  He needed a local back-story. He needed the criminals of Kurnugia to remember his arrival, remember how he started his hard-scrabble climb from the bottom of the heap. That was what it would take to be effective here.

  He slipped sideways through the flow of pedestrians and made his way through the progressively slower sides of the slidewalk until he’d reached the stationary zone. He gazed at the plaz-shielded front of a weapons-vendor.

  The reflection showed the Enibulan who’d been tailing him since he’d left the shuttle docks and he forced himself not to show the grin that he felt.

  He’d noticed an arched tunnel, twenty meters up the street. A perfect spot for the Enibulan to educate Jay on the perils of ignoring the sub-syndicate that ruled this small region of the city.

  Jay turned and strolled toward the tunnel, gawking around like a typical new-arrival. Should I let him beat me up or start out a little stronger? He mused.

  Either way, the process had begun.

  Covering

  The Deathstalker, Henx System

  Gleb stood in the common area, eating his main meal for the day. The Humans were allowed to get their food from the mess hall but were forbidden to sit and eat there.

  A heavy hand fell on his shoulder, spinning him around, nearly spilling his food from the tray.

  “Where are my food credits?” Davu demanded, his tone jumping sharply upwards at the end.

  Gleb had been keeping a steady flow of small calcified fragments flowing from the man’s kidneys. His diet, fuelled by extorted meal credits, was the satisfyingly-ironic cause of his current distress.