by Scott Warren
“As you say, Commander. In that case, with your permission, I would like to rotate men on and off the station so as many as possible might learn what hides in uncivilized space. Also, I shall accompany you, Measured Calm can watch the ship as well as I. My duties aboard the Coalescence included many instances of contact with the savage regions of the void and its inhabitants, I will go so that you have someone with firsthand experience.”
And so that he would have someone to watch his back, he suspected. “And what does your experience tell you of this place?”
Modest Bearing gestured to the screen as the unknown ship began to break apart, trailing smoke and plasma down through the planet’s atmosphere where it ignited pockets of hydrogen.
“Ask them, Commander.”
“You should be just fine, Skipper. Aside from the swelling, burst capillaries, and aftereffects of decompression sickness, a minor case of the bends is the worst I’m seeing. But I wouldn’t go doing that again without a suit. And that right retinal implant is going to need to come out next shore leave.”
“Thanks Doc, I agree. It was a shitty plan,” said Victoria. She had refused to leave the captain’s chair in the conn of the Condor despite the relative safety of the horizon jump so Red had ordered the ship’s medic up to check her out. Everyone on board had triage training, but only Doc Whipple had a medical license and battlefield surgery experience. He had been a colonel in the Air Force, a field surgeon before signing on to patch up the privateers. The Vultures kept him busy.
“Worked though,” said Red.
“Doesn’t make it any less shitty. You’re sure my eyes aren’t about to fall out, Doc?”
“Quite sure, Vick.”
“Feels like it. Christ,” she said, pulling her overshirt back on.
“Oh and no alcohol for two weeks”
“What’ll happen if I drink alcohol, Doc?”
“Probably nothing, but you drink too much.”
“Get the fuck off my conn.”
“Suit yourself, Vick,” said the Doc. He repacked his kit and made his way from the conn, nodding to the First Prince on his way through the door. Tavram nodded back before striding forward in the limited space offered him. The conn had become his typical haunt, given that he spent significant time on starship bridges. The other members of the Malagath Empire had taken to exploring the ship and some were even assisting in the early stages of repair.
“He is not incorrect, Captain Marin. Many a great military mind has been reduced by overconsumption of intoxicants,” he said. “During the great expansion we warred with a militant empire, the Vvanay. They were ruthless and efficient, conquerors and scorchers of worlds. Not a terrible threat to us, you understand, but with skill and territory enough to stymie our march toward the core for the time being.”
He relaxed onto the first officer’s chair, though almost comically large for it, if anything about the severe alien could be said to be comical. XO Carillo rarely frequented the conn, preferring to carry out his administrative duties in the fire control station where he directed the tactical weapons team.
“So what happened to them?” asked Victoria.
“We began to notice a decrease in their ability to wage war in space. Their fleet maneuvers became sluggish, their targeting solutions sloppy. Navigators miscalculated space tears and vessels were lost in the space between stars. Even their logistics network began failing to make appropriate deliveries, which we discovered when several of our ambushes failed to produce a single cargo ship. We believed it to be war fatigue, but our intelligence discovered an intoxicant spreading through their military ranks. While pleasurable, the drug bore long-term negative effects on cognition. They acquired it from one of the lesser empire planets they conquered, the name of which was likely never recorded. The addiction spread through their population like a disease and decimated their ability to calculate interstellar jumps. It crippled their entire empire.”
“And then you moved in for an easy kill.”
Tavram made a strange gesture that Victoria’s remaining retinal implant told her meant an aggressive affirmative. “We cut into them from the outside, and encountered the Kossovoldt coming from the galactic core. Then the true war began. The day we clashed with the Kossovoldt in the center of the Vvanay territory, we learned what a real enemy looked like.”
Victoria shivered, to be caught between the Malagath and the Kossovoldt … damn. She tried to imagine the two species blasting each other over the red-scorched skies of Earth while humanity watched helplessly from below.
Tavram continued, “Of course we learned much later that the Kossovoldt had engineered the intoxicant which led to the total downfall of the Vvanay and seeded it on worlds that fit the colonization criterion. Had they not, your people might have called us the Big Four, instead of the Big Three. Now the Vvanay are a broken people, clinging to a dozen worlds, all too insignificant for us to bother stamping out. They continue to survive because the Malagath and Kossovoldt are waiting for the other to expend the resources to finish the genocide we started 5000 years ago. This is why Malagath Imperials are forbidden from intoxicants while serving my father’s armada, and in the militaries of our vassal empires.”
“I suppose it’s a good thing I’m not military, then.”
“No? And yet you engineered the destruction of a hostile ship before they had even left the station without even heating up your primary weapons. Even more impressive if you are civilians. I sympathize with the lesser empire that must someday face your military.”
“They don’t need your sympathy, Prince Tavram. The privateers have the best ships humanity can field, and it’s the bare minimum we need to survive. The few times our military clashed with someone else we found ourselves on the wrong end of an interstellar ass-whipping. That’s how the privateers came about,” said Victoria. She rubbed her eyes, still sore from the brief exposure to the vacuum. She wasn’t looking forward to the surgery required to fix the broken implant, it required the subject to remain conscious.
“Perhaps they do not, but it is not your technology that impresses, Captain. What was the term your friend Red used previously, ‘Meanest sons of bitches in space?’”
Victoria grinned, “I take it you were watching us give those bug-faced bastards hell?”
“Indeed, your administrative officer allowed me access to the cameras on the weapons of several of your … marines? Is the nomenclature? Curious that you name your planet dirt and your warriors water. But your men—”
“And women,” Victoria interjected pointedly.
“…And women, Captain, handle those weapons as if born to them. To the Malagath, infantry tactics are an antiquity, a relic left behind.”
“Believe me, First Prince. Humanity has been trying to leave it behind for millennia. We just can’t seem to shake the habit.”
“If you are any indication, I would postulate that humans are a quarrelsome and unlikable people.”
Victoria coughed, startled. “Unlikable?”
“Perhaps. I am grown fond of your crew, but I must admit that from the outside I initially saw you as brash, abrasive, uncivilized, possessed of a superiority complex, and prone to attracting conflict on account of your egos. Capable? Obviously. Competent? Without question. But insolent, and hard to tolerate. Tell me, why do the Grah’lhin so despise humans?”
“Because they damn well first saw us as prey. Weak, hiding in the shadows like cowards unwilling to stand up and fight. Then we bit back, showed that this cat has claws. Then instead of moving in for the kill we retreated, inviting them to try again at their peril. They can’t reconcile that dichotomy of being dangerous but not a danger. Of being weaker but not stamped out.”
The first prince stroked his neck glands in thought, “And how many of the other lesser empires have so reconciled? How many would prey on you if they knew where your empire lay?”
Victoria counted in her head, “Including the Graylings, a half dozen? Maybe as many as nine? The only p
lanets we let the rest of the galaxy see are cohabitates though, they would have to declare war on the Jenursa or Thorivult to attack those. All of the full-human colonies are kept very hidden.”
“Let us say seven empires. How long ago was your first contact?”
“Almost 200 years ago, Kosso Standard, but we had known we weren’t alone for almost 40 years prior.”
“Two hundred years, with no military presence so to speak, and already seven empires have desire to war with you. Most of which likely can’t live on your oxygen-rich planets. By the time you have been in space as long as the Malagath Empire you will be at war with everyone in the galaxy. To use nautical terminology of which you are so fond, you are a small boat in a large ocean, making noticeable waves.”
“Hell, the Orion Spur is barely even aware we exist. We’re not even in the damn databases of most xenos.”
“And how do you know this?”
Victoria was silent. She couldn’t tell him that humanity had broken into the woefully pitiful computer systems of almost every race still using some sort of programming language to code their ship networks. Computers were the one area where humanity was ahead of the competition. Couldn’t tell him that Earth was sifting through billions of pages of historical data from across their local neighborhood, including history on the Malagath Empire. Knowledge was one of the few powers humans had in this new, unfriendly sea of stars.
“Alas, Captain Marin, I am given to understand that it will be some time before we reach the next station. I shall retire to see to the needs of my crew. Captain Marin, Human Huian.”
The First Prince stood, bowing out of the conn through the hatch. Victoria crossed her legs over the arms of the captain’s couch, relaxing as much as she could.
“Huian, he hangs around here so much I might as well make him the captain. What’s your read of him?”
“I don’t think I’m qualified to say, ma’am.”
Victoria scowled, “Leave the fucking blue-water politicking back on Earth where it belongs, Huian. I hate that shit, and just having you here reminds me how much. Don’t gripe about putting a foot wrong and mucking up your next review. That’s not how it works up here. Answer the question.”
Victoria’s helmsman shrank under the withering barrage. She knew it was unfairly cruel, and Huian was proving herself a capable pilot, against all odds. But she would always be the UE’s eyes and ears aboard the Condor. Her family had jumped her to the head of the line over other, more qualified pilots, and Victoria was worried she had brought bad habits from the Chinese blue-water Navy with her. At least her watch station was somewhere Victoria could keep an eye on.
“I think,” said Huian, choosing her words with care, “He is very severe. He is polite, but not friendly. And … less haughty than I would have expected for someone known across 40,000 worlds. He would make a good ally.”
“Make no mistake, Huian. He is not our ally in any sense of the word. If his ship had been operational when we came across it and we weren’t running the gravitic stealth until we knew his weapons were offline, he’d have atomized us like we would swat a fucking fly. I’m not convinced he still won’t as soon as we turn him over. We’re lesser empire, didn’t you know? I need some sort of assurance.”
“What do you have in mind, Ma’am?”
Victoria sighed, “I don’t know yet,” she said. She sat for a time in silence pondering it over.
“Captain,” Huian began, “Were you able to send a crypto to my mother? We could see the marine rifle cameras, but yours and Red’s implant cams are locked out and the XO didn’t want the First Prince to know about them.”
“Hmm? Oh, yes Huian. I sent the message. A response will be waiting for us at the listening post near Pilum Forel. I hope. You should familiarize yourself with that local cluster, there’s a lot there.”
“I already have, Ma’am.”
Victoria paused, “Yeah, I suppose you would have,” she said. Victoria stood, “I’ll be in my stateroom, growl me if anything interesting happens.”
“Goodnight, ma’am.”
“Esteemed Commander, welcome to Taru Station.”
Best Wishes climbed down from the launch, feeling the rough rocky surface of the Taru hangar bay beneath his bare feet. His four eyes scanned in different directions, except for the one focused on the station administrator. The Salvesei was a slim and bony biped, with a wide crested skull and an array of shiny black eyes beneath. It wore a uniform bereft of any rank or insignia. A civilian then? He clicked his back teeth together in annoyance. Useless bureaucrats, they wore rules and regulations like a coat and concerned themselves more with their own position than the task at hand. They squabbled and clucked over their pieces of the lesser empires, not knowing how little they mattered in the universe.
“My thanks, Salvesei…?”
“Gaelif, Commander. We are eager to assist the Dirregaunt however we may.”
“Gaelif, yes. We hunt a ship; it would have arrived within the past Kosso standard day. Once we find it we will depart this system.”
“Gracious Commander, as you no doubt saw yourself, this station services hundreds of ships daily, from dozens of empires. Almost 75,000 are aboard Taru Station at any particular time.”
Best Wishes padded forward. From a distance, he examined the armed guards Administrator Gaelif had brought with him. He could hear their heartbeats, see their flitting eyes, almost feel the heat as their hands gripped primitive particle lancers. Nervousness was universal, and it was evident upon all of them. Clearly the Salvesei had evolved from a species of prey rather than predator. He wondered if the next rung of their food chain still stalked the primal jungles of their home world.
“Yes I saw. And once we have what we seek they will be free to leave the station once more. Tell me, do you feel this armed detail necessary?”
The Taru administrator chittered under his breath, something in his native language to which Best Wishes was not privy. A curse, perhaps?
“There are likely those aboard the station who feel their business is being harmed by the delay. Who would not be as hospitable as I am,” said Gaelif.
Who have lost family and friends to the Dirregaunt.
“They would attack, even with the threat of my vessel hanging over them?”
“In so many words, no. An outright attack is unlikely. But were any of your crew to wander away from the security detail I could not guarantee their safety.”
“Then for the sake of their business and your station it would be prudent to waste little time. Our scan detected a major population center. Take me there, open access to your global communication circuit, and we will begin.”
Best Wishes, his First Officer, and his Sensor Officer followed Gaelif out of the hangar and onto a small vehicle which hummed a few inches above the uneven floor of the tunnel. It shifted slightly as the three Dirregaunt and the Taru administrator climbed aboard. Imperfect gravitic technology. The ride would be bumpy.
“We have made several such skiffs available, Commander. I am given to understand that many of the Springdawn’s crew have been given leave to explore the station. For your privacy we have assigned you a hangar quite distant to the primary hub.”
Best Wishes ignored him as he examined the walls of the tunnel. Hardly a few meters passed in between sections scorched by small arms fire. Through his top eye he even spotted some plasma residue that still carried radiated heat. A dangerous place indeed.
Modest Bearing had engaged the administrator on the topic of the station’s history and formation as the Taru had colonized it. The administrator was happy to distract himself with details of the station’s construction. The hive of tunnels and caverns was completely sealed to space by hundreds of airlocks, and the microgravity controlled by countless gravitic manipulators toward the purpose of easing traversal and freight operations. The station itself, he learned, had been in operation for nearly 800 standard years through several geopolitical changes on Salvesei itself. Interstella
r trade tariffs and docking fees in the station were a major source of income for the Salvesei, whose total population across all colonies and their home world amounted to a number in the low dozens of billions. Barely a blip, compared to the Dirregaunt.
Best Wishes leaned back and hung his hands on his bone protuberances as the skiff sped from the tunnels into the brilliant light of the central hub. Towering columnar buildings twisted into a cavern so high it was obscured by a dark cloud cover. Lights could be seen refracted by the fog. All of the huge buildings were natural stone formations, likely excavated to form chambers and rooms, rented out to local empires by the Salvesei.
The ground level was littered with fabricated metal buildings and packed with as many races as Best Wishes had ever seen in one place. Many of them openly stared at the skiff, curious about the Dirregaunt commander holding the station hostage. Modest Bearing renewed his barrage of questions on the administrator and Best Wishes found a moment of privacy with his sensor officer, Dutiful Heiress. Such moments had been difficult for him to arrange over the duration of the mission. He took in the sight of her studying the architecture of Taru Station.
“I would hear your thoughts, Dutiful,” he whispered, so as not to attract the attention of the rest of their party.
The officer pulled her attention away from the city and focused her keen eyes on Best Wishes. It took effort to keep his heart from accelerating to a degree she might notice.
“Are there many places such as this outside the core worlds? I did not think the lesser empires capable of such construction. I can put name to perhaps one in ten of these creatures. Forty thousand worlds in the Dirregaunt Praetory and we are the outsiders here.”
“We are not in the Praetory, my friend. It is easy to forget that any of the lesser empires, while scattered and primitive, might one day stand as equals. But today the affairs of the Malagath Empire and the Dirregaunt, normally so far above them, have directly interceded in their lives. Remember them well. Though you will likely never see them again they will never forget this day.”