Wasp Hand

by Jonathan Moeller

  “I was flying a passenger back to Calaskar from Rustbelt Station,” said March.

  “And which passenger was this?” said Stormreel.

  “Dr. Taren,” said March.

  Stormreel's dark gaze turned to Adelaide, who looked back without blinking. “You do seem somewhat familiar...”

  Donaghy snapped his fingers as Jordan returned to his place behind the Lord Admiral. “I remember!”

  “You know her?” said Stormreel.

  “She’s Dr. Adelaide Taren of the Royal University, sir,” said Donaghy. “Does those documentaries about alien ruins. My son had to watch some of them in school.”

  “Well,” said Adelaide. “I hope he didn’t suffer too much.”

  “No, he really liked them,” said Donaghy. “He almost failed math, but he did pass history, and...” Stormreel cleared his throat, and Donaghy abandoned his monologue.

  “So the girl is Dr. Adelaide Taren of the Royal University?” said Stormreel, looking at March.

  “She’s sitting right in front of you,” said Adelaide, “and yes, she is.”

  “I see,” said Stormreel. “You initially identified her as your co-pilot and girlfriend, and she is also your passenger? A curious story.”

  “It’s not,” said March. “I was at Rustbelt Station on unrelated business. Dr. Taren’s ship was attacked by pirates seeking some relics from an archaeological dig. Her ship was disabled, and she sent her crew and graduate students back to Calaskar via starliner, and hired me to take her and the relics.”

  “To draw the attention of any malefactors away from the crew and graduate students?” said Stormreel, tapping the tips of his fingers together.

  “That was my hope, yes,” said Adelaide. “I wasn’t expecting to fly into a Wasp fleet on the way home, though.”

  “Mmm.” Stormreel closed his eyes for a few seconds, opened them again. “When the girl hired you, did she agree to become your girlfriend as part of the contract?”

  Adelaide frowned, and March felt his temper start to slip. He was beginning to see why Theodoric Stormreel was not a popular man.

  “These questions are a waste of time,” said March. “One, there are dozens of Eumenidae ships in the Vesper system. I suggest you decide what you want to do next rather than wasting time with irrelevant questions. Two, we just saved your lives. If we had jumped to hyperspace rather than come to your help, no one would have blamed us, and you would be dead.”

  “Do not use that tone with the Lord Admiral!” said Jordan, his face darkening.

  “That’s all right, Ensign,” said Stormreel. “Honesty is preferable to deception, and Captain March strikes me as a very blunt man. Captain Donaghy, Ensign Jordan, please wait outside. I need some words alone with Captain March and the girl.”

  “Sir,” said Donaghy, giving March’s gloved hand a wary look. “Is that wise?”

  “Is it safe, you mean?” said Stormreel. “Everyone on this ship and in the Vesper system is in a considerable amount of danger, but unless I miss my guess, I am in no physical danger from Captain March. I expect our conversation shall take about twenty minutes. Please return then if I do not summon you first.”

  “Sir,” said Donaghy, getting to his feet. He gestured to Jordan, and they both exited the galley, leaving March and Adelaide alone with the Lord Admiral.

  “Now,” said Stormreel once the door had slid shut. “To return to business, Captain March, you and the girl...”

  “Stop,” said March.

  Stormreel blinked, and Adelaide gave him an alarmed look.

  “Jack,” she said. “It’s...”

  “You’re going to call her Dr. Taren or Professor Taren,” said March.

  “Or?” said Stormreel.

  March just stared at him.

  Stormreel raised his eyebrows. “You are aware that threatening a Lord Admiral of the Royal Calaskaran Navy carries serious criminal penalties?”

  “I never make threats,” said March. “Just promises.”

  He stared at the Lord Admiral. The Lord Admiral stared back, and the corner of his mouth curled into a smile.

  “I see,” he said. “Excellent.”

  “Oh, for God’s sake,” said Adelaide. “That was a test, wasn’t it?”

  “A test?” said March.

  “Dr. Taren is correct,” said Stormreel. “I fear my reputation has spread to even the civilians of the Kingdom of Calaskar.”

  March frowned. “There are Eumenidae swarming through the Vesper system, you don’t know why we’re here, I don’t know why you’re here, and you’re wasting time with games?”

  “It is not a waste of time, Captain March,” said Stormreel. He leaned forward. “Do you know how to win a battle?”

  “You shoot your enemy until he stops moving,” said March.

  “That’s one way,” said Stormreel. “That’s one tactic. There are a thousand such tactics. But tactics are only a means to an end. A method of reaching a goal, as it were. To win a battle, a leader must be absolutely sure of two things. First, he must be utterly certain of his goal. Second, he must understand the nature of the men under his command. I believe I now understand your nature, Captain March.”

  “Sun Tzu,” said Adelaide.

  “What?” said March.

  “He was a philosopher on primeval Earth,” said Adelaide. “He said that a general who understands himself and his enemy will win every battle, a general who understands himself but fails to understand the enemy might lose or might win, and a general who understands neither himself nor his enemy will lose every fight.”

  “Precisely so, Dr. Taren,” said Stormreel.

  March frowned. “You were insulting to Dr. Taren, and based on our reactions, you know all about us? That seems unlikely.”

  “To paraphrase another writer of primeval Earth, a properly trained mind ought to be able to infer the existence of a waterfall from a single drop of water,” said Stormreel. “But in this case, it was simply the final piece of the mosaic. I already know a great deal about you, Jack March, Alpha Operative of the Silent Order.”

  March said nothing.

  “Don’t bother denying it,” said Stormreel. “Former Machinist Iron Hands who become privateers are something of a rarity.”

  “And how did you find that out?” said March.

  “I am the Lord Admiral of the Seventh Fleet of the Royal Calaskaran Navy,” said Stormreel. “Censor told me when I asked him.”

  “I see,” said March. Some of the Navy’s flag officers were on better terms with the Silent Order than others. Was Stormreel one of them?

  “And you, Dr. Taren,” said Stormreel, “are a Beta Operative of the Silent Order, in a long-term position at the Royal University of Calaskar. Most recently you came to my attention when you exposed and discredited Lloyd Hoffman.”

  “Ah.” Adelaide grimaced. “If you know I was involved in that, then I didn’t do as good a job as I thought.”

  “You did a superb job,” said Stormreel. “I only know about it because I asked Censor.”

  “Who’s Lloyd Hoffman?” said March.

  “He was an executive of an arms manufacturer on Calaskar,” said Adelaide. “Made a lot of donations to the University, but he was also a Machinist agent. Funded pro-Machinist groups, and kept sabotaging weapons plants. The last time eleven people died, so Censor told me to take care of him.” She smiled. “He gave a talk at the University, so I arranged for his slideshow to ‘accidentally’ display some of his encrypted messages with Machinist cells. The Ministry of Security took care of the rest.”

  “It was neatly done,” said Stormreel. “I spoke with Censor before the Seventh Fleet left Calaskar, and he said there was a chance I might encounter the two of you.” He reached into a pocket of his uniform jacket and drew out a thumb drive. “In fact, he prepared orders for you for just such a contingency. May I?”

  March frowned. “There’s a data port under the display on the wall.”

  Stormreel rose and plugged
the thumb drive into the port. The display flashed, and a series of authentication codes scrolled across the screen. March recognized them as valid Silent Order identification codes. The speakers below the display crackled, and the familiar voice of Censor, head of the Silent Order, filled March’s ears.

  “Hello, Captain March,” said the dry voice. “I am recording this message approximately six hours before you leave for Rustaril.” That had been several months ago. “There are several contingent operations underway in systems beyond the reach of the tachyon-entanglement communication relays, and it is possible that critical situations may arise before you can receive orders from me. Consequently, I have seen fit to record this message and provide you with authenticated orders. Should you receive this message, you and any Silent Order operatives traveling with you are to follow the orders of Lord Admiral Theodoric Stormreel of the Seventh Fleet. There is a remote possibility of a substantial alien attack in the Vesper system, and an even more remote possibility that you will be present in the Vesper system for that attack. Therefore, if Lord Admiral Stormreel plays you this message, you and any other operatives with you are to follow his instructions for the duration of the crisis. I am not in the habit of assigning Silent Order operatives to the command of Navy officers, but Lord Admiral Stormreel understands the mission of the Silent Order in the way that many other flag officers do not. Good luck, Captain March.”

  The message ended. March had no doubt it was legitimate. The software for faking a voice recording had been available for tens of thousands of years but combined with the authentication codes, it was beyond all doubt a message from Censor. The head of the Silent Order did believe in being prepared for any contingencies. March had set out on his mission to Rustaril months ago, and Adelaide would have just been departing for Xenostas then. Censor must have realized that the Machinists would come for Adelaide on her journey back to Calaskar, that March might be the Alpha Operative sent to escort her. A remote possibility, true, but Censor did believe in being prepared.

  He wondered how Censor would react once he realized that March and Adelaide had slept together.

  “Satisfactory?” said Stormreel, retrieving his thumb drive and seating himself once more.

  “It’s legitimate,” said Adelaide. Stormreel took a sip of his coffee.

  “Yes,” said March. “A question.”

  “As you wish,” said Stormreel.

  “Why the game, then?” said March. “Why try to irritate us? You kept calling Dr. Taren ‘girl’ just to see how we would react.”

  “In point of fact, I wanted to see how you would react,” said Stormreel. “Based on the downfall of Lloyd Hoffman, I already understand Dr. Taren.”

  “You had those orders the entire time,” said March. “You didn’t need to bother with the game.”

  Stormreel leaned forward, his dark eyes unblinking. “I already told you. To achieve victory, a warrior must understand his goal...and he must understand those under his command. Do you not yet understand, Captain March? Some commanders think that proper tactics win battles, or that better training is the path to victory. Others will say that superior weapons technology is the key, or perhaps better strategic doctrine. No. All these things are tools. Useful tools, yes. Vital ones, even. But what use is a pistol if a man is unwilling to pull the trigger?”

  March supposed it was a rhetorical question, but Adelaide answered anyway. One of the perils of working in a university, he supposed.

  “Useless,” said Adelaide.

  “Yes,” said Stormreel. “The tools are important, but they are less important than the men who use them. That, Captain March, is what wins victory. Not the weapons, but the men that use them. And to follow the path to victory, a commander must understand the nature of the men he leads.” He leaned back. “And now I understand you sufficiently.”

  “From a single conversation,” said March.

  “I did read the file Censor sent me,” said Stormreel. His smile was cold. “But, as you can imagine, I am not a popular man, Captain March. My methods are frequently questioned. But the purpose of my methods is to obtain victory. And we can yet claim victory in the Vesper system.”

  “All right,” said March. “That’s the point, isn’t it? Not this game, whatever the hell it is. There are fifteen million people on Vesper’s World, and there’s a Wasp nestship heading straight for them. But you think you have a way to save them.”

  “I do not think I have a way to save them,” said Stormreel. “I know that I have a way to save them. Unfortunately, the Eumenidae moved faster than even our most pessimistic estimates. I intended to enter the Vesper system in secrecy to prepare for their arrival...only to find that they were already here. Had you not arrived when you did, the fighters would have destroyed my shuttle, and Vesper’s World and its colonists would be doomed.”

  “Then what’s this plan?” said March. “How can you stop the Eumenidae?”

  “Will you help me?” said Stormreel.

  “You don’t need to ask our help,” said Adelaide. “You’re the Lord Admiral of the Seventh Fleet. You can order it. You can even deputize the Tiger into the Seventh Fleet. You don’t need our permission for anything.”

  “Nevertheless,” said Stormreel, “I would rather have your willing cooperation than your coerced compliance.”

  March and Adelaide looked at each other. He thought of Martel’s World, of the billions of people who had died there beneath the Machinist bombardment. He remembered the ten million people who had almost died in Rykov City on Rustaril when Simon Lorre’s fission bomb had almost destroyed the city.

  “You’re the Alpha Operative, Jack,” said Adelaide. “I’ll do whatever you decide.”

  March inclined his head. “Then we’ll help you. Willingly. If you have a way to save Vesper’s World.”

  “I do,” said Stormreel.

  “What is it?” said March.

  “I’ll have to keep it to myself for reasons of operational security,” said Stormreel. “In our current circumstances, our need for operational security is rather more urgent than usual for a military operation. Based on the historical accounts, the Eumenidae have biotechnology capable of dissecting a human brain and uploading its contents into the gestalt of their consciousness. That, as you can imagine, would be disastrous. Dr. Taren, if you could kindly request that Captain Donaghy and Ensign Jordan rejoin us, I believe we are ready to begin.”

  “Be right back,” said Adelaide. She looked at March, squeezed his metal hand under the table, and then got to her feet and disappeared through the galley door.

  “Though fate may have worked to our advantage,” said Stormreel in a quiet voice. “A former Iron Hand turned an Alpha Operative of the Silent Order...yes, Captain March, you may be exactly what I need. Though one thing puzzles me.”

  “What?” said March. He was already tired of this strange man and his odd games, but Stormreel was the Lord Admiral of the Seventh Fleet. And if his reputation had any foundation in truth, and he really did have a plan to save Vesper’s World from the Eumenidae…

  “Your relationship with Dr. Taren,” said Stormreel. “Is that not a liability for an Alpha Operative?”

  March was spared the need to answer by the door sliding open. Adelaide returned and sat next to him. Donaghy took his previous place at the table, and Ensign Jordan resumed his nervous hovering behind the admiral.

  “I am pleased that Captain March and Dr. Taren have promised their full cooperation,” said Stormreel. “We can now turn our attention to the defeat of the enemy.”

  “Sir,” said Donaghy. “A question.”

  “Yes?” said Stormreel.

  “Just what the hell were those things, sir?” said Donaghy.

  March blinked. Donaghy didn’t know? Perhaps that wasn’t surprising. March hadn’t realized what the Eumenidae ships were until Adelaide had recognized them. Yet Stormreel had come here for the express purpose of dealing with the Eumenidae. Clearly, he had not bothered to share that fac
t with Donaghy.

  “You don’t know?” said Adelaide.

  “The tactical computer identified them as Eumenidae,” said Donaghy, “but it took the computer a while to dig the information out of archival storage. I’ve never seen ships like that before.”

  “They’re the ones who destroyed the Fourth Terran Empire thousands of years ago,” said Adelaide.

  “The Fourth Terran Empire?” said Donaghy, but a flicker of recognition went over his face.

  “Like in the song, sir?” said Jordan. “From primary school?”

  “The song?” said Donaghy.

  To March’s astonishment, Adelaide began to sing.

  “Five Terran Empires and they all fell, learn their fates and verses well,” sang Adelaide. “The First Empire fought the sons of Kezred, and the Empire fell at Mandored.” Jordan joined in. “The Second Empire fought the pantherax horde, and the Empire lost its power stored.” Donaghy’s blinked, and he joined the song. “The Third Empire created AI, and the AI wanted to see billions die. The Fourth Empire fought the Wasp phalanx, and the new Emperor rose from the ranks. The Fifth Empire fought itself in war, and Calaskar was founded forevermore.”

  The song ended. Adelaide and Donaghy looked amused. Jordan seemed only bashful.

  March blinked. “What the hell was that?”

  “You wouldn’t have learned it,” said Stormreel. “It’s a song taught to Calaskaran schoolchildren about the ancient history of mankind and the founding of the Kingdom of Calaskar. There have been five Terran Empires since mankind left primeval Earth a hundred thousand years ago, and every one of them was destroyed, either from external enemies like the pantherax or by enemies of their own creation, such as transcendent AI or the Kezredite fanatics. The Eumenidae, or the Wasps as they are colloquially known, were one such external threat.”

  “They’re an alien race, sir?” said Donaghy.

  “Yes,” said Stormreel. “Very little definitive was ever learned about them. They are sapient and possess incredibly advanced biotechnology. Their weapons and ships are a match for our own and were a match for the forces of the Fourth Empire, and every piece of Wasp technology is grown organically. They have an incredible ability to rewrite their DNA for custom applications, and frequently assimilate the DNA of conquered ecosystems into their own, allowing them to grow new kinds of vehicles and weapons. We do not think they have a hive mind in the same way as the Final Consciousness,” dark memories flicked through March’s mind, “but they appear to share a single telepathic gestalt that allows them to communicate instantly through hyperspace. Most importantly, unlike nearly every other alien race that mankind has encountered in the last one hundred thousand years, the Wasps have absolutely no interest in negotiation. Indeed, they may not even have the ability to negotiate. They act like a horde of locusts, moving from planet to planet and consuming all the native life. Based on the fragmentary records from the Fourth Empire, the Wasps have destroyed and devoured hundreds of alien races and caused unimaginable devastation before they were defeated.” He tapped his fingers on the table. “And now, it seems, a Wasp nestship has chosen Vesper’s World as its latest target.”