by B. V. Larson
“We also need certain things.”
“Sure. Whatever you want.”
“First, a sample of your flesh. It is painless.” A worker scurried forward with a device and reached through his open faceplate to touch his jawline, and then withdraw.
“Second, you must promise never to encroach upon the territories of the Hive. In return, you will have ample supplies of the nectar. We will instruct our nest upon Tanglefoot to provide it. You only need retrieve it.”
Still in a daze, he said, “Sure, sure. That sounds good.”
“Third, you will provide us with a complete download of the intelligence databases aboard your ship. This will reassure us of the truthfulness of your words, and will allow us to plan for any perfidy by your Mutuality enemies.”
“Yeah, sure.” Straker’s head still whirled with a pleasant fog, and all he wanted to do was bring nectar back to Carla and make love to her for weeks, sharing this wonderful feeling.
“You may now return to your ship. Have a pleasant journey.”
Chapter 26
Vespida System, Battlecruiser Wolverine, Edge of Flatspace
“Commodore Straker, are you all right?” Captain Engels comlinked when his shuttle emerged from the Opter mothership.
“I’m fine, Carla,” he said.
His tone seemed calm, relaxed, so she relaxed too. If something had been wrong, no doubt she’d have heard it in his voice.
“Anything to report?” she asked.
“I’ve made an agreement that’ll keep the Opters out of our hair while we overthrow the Mutuality.”
“Good to hear.”
“Prepare Liberator to make a high-speed run in to Tanglefoot. There’s something there I need to pick up.”
Engels’ brows furrowed. “Really? What?”
A bit of irritation crept into Straker’s voice. “Something I need. Just do it.”
Engels bit her tongue. “Yes, Commodore.” She wondered, as she occasionally did, if she’d made a mistake in ceding command to Straker. Then she told herself that she’d never been able to accomplish the big things her lover had. Times like these, though, he grated on her.
Instead of docking with Wolverine, Straker piloted his shuttle straight to Liberator. The corvette was the smallest warship in the task force, brought along mainly for its underspace abilities, but it also happened to be the fastest.
As soon as he boarded, Liberator blasted at full speed for Tanglefoot. Tixban reported a narrowbeam transmission from Liberator to the Opter ship, a stream of data. Because Wolverine wasn’t the target, Tixban couldn’t get more than that.
Engels sat in her chair, chewing her nails and wondering what was so urgent, and why he’d been unwilling to tell her. Security? The comlink was encrypted to military standard. Discretion? He could have spoken directly to her earpiece on a private link. It was obviously something new, something he’d found out while aboard the Opter ship, and he was being secretive again.
“Captain, the Opter hive ship is bringing the drones aboard,” said Tixban.
“Prepping for travel, I guess,” replied Engels. “Keep a close eye. Everyone be on your toes. We’re well out of effective range, but…let’s reposition anyway. There’s always the possibility of a stealth mine attack. Move the whole task force half a light-second laterally, impellers only.”
“Aye aye, ma’am. Passing orders now,” said the helmsman.
Engels said, “Tixban, are our underspace detectors on?”
Tixban gestured toward a station nearby, another Ruxin at the board. “Yes, ma’am. No readings.”
Engels relaxed slightly, still mystified by Straker’s actions.
By the time Task Force Wolverine repositioned, the Opter ship collected all its drones. They lined up and entered hundreds of launch ports at speeds human pilots would seldom attempt, one after another. Recovering ten thousand of the little craft took less than five minutes.
And then the ship disappeared.
“Sidespace transit out,” said Tixban. “I detect nothing left behind.”
“No, I’m sure any Opter spy drones are already well dispersed. In fact, prep one of ours. Set it for maximum stealth, passive drift protocol, with a unique activation code. Launch it so it settles into a polar stellar orbit.”
“Aye aye, ma’am.”
Engels stood and stretched. “Stand down from all alerts. Revert to normal watch schedule. Pick a random course that keeps us in flatspace and cruise. I’ll be in my quarters.” Wondering what the hell is going on.
***
Over the next day, all Engels heard from Straker were placating phrases such as “Don’t worry,” and “Everything will be fine.”
On his outbound leg, his words were calm. On his way back, he seemed much more irritable, but still refused to explain. “It will all become clear when I get there,” he said.
After he’d finished his mysterious trip, she met Straker on the flight deck. When he stepped out of the shuttle, still in his battlesuit, he popped the back door to its small cargo space and waved over a couple of handlers before he even greeted her. “Take that to my stateroom,” he said, pointing at a barrel that looked to hold perhaps 200 liters.
“That’s what you went to pick up? What is it?” Engels asked.
“You’ll see soon enough. Let’s go to our quarters.” He seemed worried, conflicted. Also driven, which wasn’t unusual for Straker, but it only served to make her more curious.
“You going to dump the battlesuit?”
“Oh, yeah. I’ll swing by the armory.”
She stared at his retreating back as he clomped off, and then followed the handlers as they loaded the barrel onto a cargo floater and maneuvered it toward the quarters she shared with Straker. What could the stuff be?
“Hold up,” she said. When they did, she examined the barrel, a standard alloy-and-plastic type suitable for shipping nontoxics. She rapped on its top and sides, determining it was full of something, probably a liquid. She was tempted to open it here and now, but Straker must have his reasons. “Carry on.”
After they’d set it in a corner of the small suite’s outer room, she sat and waited, thinking. Whatever happened with the Opters, Derek was acting quite strangely.
When he arrived in his under-armor coveralls, he carried a small kit bag. He nodded to her as if in apology and headed into the sleep-cabin to undress. She followed him into the doorway, but he ignored her as he stepped into the tiny shower.
The bag lay on the bed, unattended. It had to have some significance. Inside might be answers, but she clamped down on her curiosity. If Derek didn’t tell her soon, she’d ask. Maybe, demand.
Dammit, I’m the fleet commander, she reminded herself. Second-in-command, and could have been first. She deserved to know everything—just like that Hundred Worlds malware Murdock had been working on back on Freiheit. She chuckled to herself. That now seemed so long ago, and so petty—except that it showed there were things he might be keeping from her.
When Derek stepped out, he pulled on underwear before embracing her gently and kissing her.
“I take it by what you’re wearing that you aren’t intending to jump my bones right away,” Carla said. She pressed herself against him suggestively. “You wanna fill me in?” Maybe distracting him would open him up a bit.
“I will soon, believe me, but first we have to talk.” Ignoring her bait, Derek moved into the living cabin, opened a cabinet and took out a liter of Sachsen whisky, something called “Uralt.” At least, that’s what was printed on the bottle along with other words in the local tongue. He drank a long pull straight from the neck, capped it and set the bottle down. “Oh, sorry, you want some?”
Resting the urge to stamp her foot like a child, Carla said, “You’re acting weird, so no, I don’t want some. I want to know just what the hell is going on!”
Derek licked his lips. “What’s going on is this.” He retrieved and unzipped the bag, drawing out a half-liter travel flask and setting i
t on the table. He wiped his hands on his flanks and stared at it as if it would bite him.
“What is it?” When she got no answer, she grabbed the flask and spun its top open.
“Give me that!” Derek lunged at her. With his genetic speed and greater reach, he effortlessly snatched it out of her hand—though she was so surprised she didn’t actually try to prevent him.
She was left holding the cap, which she sniffed. “Smells sweet. Is it edible?”
When he didn’t answer, she looked more closely at him as he held the flask in front of him. His tongue and nostrils worked and his eyes burned with intensity, fixated on the mouth of the bottle as if it were something he craved.
Slowly, as if struggling against great strength, he forced his hand to place the flask upon the table again. “Don’t drink it. Don’t even touch it. It’s…”
“Poison?” She carefully capped the flask, and then sniffed her fingers to see if she’d gotten any on her skin.
“No. Maybe. It’s ecstasy. It’s a bottle of everything you ever wish for, every joy and pleasure you wanted to share with…”
“With you?”
Derek swallowed. “Yeah. Between us. The Opters made it, gave it to me. I drank it. I thought it was some kind of ritual, and they seemed friendly, so…”
“So it’s a recreational drug?”
“The best. Not that I’ve tried many, just the ones they allowed on Shangri-La—which, come to think of it, weren’t real anyway, so actually I have no idea what real recreational drugs are other than alcohol and smokesticks. And battle-stims. But this is… you have no idea, Carla, how much I wanted the nectar. I still do. All the way to Tanglefoot it called out to me, and once I loaded it aboard…”
“Did you drink it?”
Derek’s eyes were bleak, haunted. “No. It was the hardest thing I’ve ever done, to look at it, hold it in my hand and not guzzle it down. Like now.” He lifted his eyes to her. “In fact, you were the only thing that kept me from it.”
“Me?”
“Yes. I knew that if I lost myself in the drug, I’d lose you.”
Carla shook her head. “No, Derek. You’d never lose me for having a weakness, because nobody’s strong all the time. Not even the vaunted Liberator, Derek Straker.”
“I am. I have to be. That’s what it means to command.”
Carla made a sour face. She didn’t agree with Derek, but now wasn’t the time to quibble over principles of officership. “Why’d they give it to you? To get you addicted? That’s… despicable!”
“Maybe.” He turned away, as if to avoid looking at the flask. “Or maybe they consider it a reasonable way to negotiate. I bet they keep their different classes dependent on substances like this. Nothing else explains how such a variety of bugs work together so well—like bees and ants and other hive insects use pheromones to influence behavior.”
“Now you’re sounding like a brainiac.”
“I had a lot of time to read from Zaxby’s database. Needed something to occupy myself on the trip.”
“Tell me everything that happened, from the beginning.”
So he did, from the trip over, through his observations about the Opter nest ship, to the nectar—and the journey to Tanglefoot and back at flank speed.
Carla made a face of disbelief. “So you’re not pissed off at the Opters?”
“Some, yeah. But really, the more time I had to think about it—when I could think—I thought it was heavy-handed. I mean, wouldn’t it have made more sense to be subtle? Make me like them without noticing? Just give me warm fuzzy feelings in their presence, maybe?”
“So if they weren’t trying to get you addicted, why would they do it?”
“Oh, I didn’t say they weren’t trying to get me addicted. If I was, I think they’d be fine with that. But if I resisted, that would tell them something too.”
“A test?”
Derek shrugged. “Maybe. That’s why we’ll pick up a shipment of the stuff every month, on schedule, using Ruxin crews. It’ll keep them believing I’m weak and under their spell. That’s why I sent them that database dump, after I removed anything sensitive. To keep them thinking I’m their bend-over buddy.”
“So what do we do with this?” She pointed at the flask. “Destroy it?”
“No. It might be useful later. But let’s put it somewhere else. I can still feel it whispering in my ear, like…” He stopped, his eyes unfocused.
“Yeah… I have just the place.”
“Where?”
“Aboard Revenge. Ruxin-only crew. It must be tailored for humans—maybe even for you personally—so it should be safe there. They’re zealous about following orders anyway—at least, the neuters are. Kraxor seems like a different story.”
Derek nodded. “The three Ruxin genders are biologically adapted—maybe programmed—for their roles. Not so different from the Opters. Way different from humans.”
“Are we, really?”
“Huh?”
“Are we really so different?” Carla took Derek’s hand and led him into the bedroom, where they’d had two bunks bolted side-by-side to make a double. “We’ve got our own programming and biological imperatives, and mine are kicking up right now.” She ran a hand down his naked abs to work a finger under the elastic of his trunks. “I don’t need some drug to want you, Derek.”
Derek smiled and seized her about the waist with one arm, setting her lightly on the bed and unzipping her uniform coverall to her navel... and below. “Me neither.”
***
Straker let Engels supervise transferring the barrel of nectar to Revenge, while he took the flask and found Kraxor. After briefing the War Male as he lounged in his hydro-tank, he handed the Ruxin the bottle.
Kraxor opened it and waved it under his olfactory orifice. “Sugars, complex chemicals, human pheromones and endorphins… clearly something meant for your species. It would do little to me except taste sweet, in quantities this small.” He capped the flask and passed it back.
“Good. Get dressed and come with me.”
“As you wish.” Kraxor flowed out of his tank, donned his water suit and retrieved his spear. “What is our destination?”
“The brig.”
When they opened the Lazarus’s cell, he didn’t bother to get out of bed, but merely wiggled into a sitting position, his back against the bulkhead. “Forgive me for my appearance. I am not well,” he said.
In fact, it was true. The Lazarus had lost weight off an already slim frame, making him seem skeletal. His face was sallow and dark bags hung under his eyes. Where before he’d seemed a vigorous forty years old, now he looked like a tired sixty.
Straker scowled. “Poor Mutuality torturer, so delicate in the face of captivity. You’re getting a small dose of your own medicine. So what?”
“I won’t debate morality, Commodore. I only observe that my physical condition is deteriorating through no fault of my own.”
“What’s wrong? Haven’t they been feeding you properly? I’ll have the ship’s doctor come take a look.”
The Lazarus smiled wanly. “That might be a good idea. I’ve been in solitary confinement for months now, with only a few books for comfort. A man like me needs stimulation or he will waste away. You seldom visit, Commodore, and have forbidden everyone else to see me—though your second-in-command did violate that edict a few times.”
Surprised, Straker said, “Captain Engels came to see you?”
“No, not her. Commander Paloco. He claimed to be second-in-command. He lied, then? Or perhaps I misheard,” he said hastily at Straker’s clenching hands. “In any case, we had some interesting conversations.”
“What did Loco tell you?” Straker waved off the answer. “Never mind. I’ll review the records. Right now, I need you to tell me what you think of this.” He poured a few drops into the flask’s cap and handed it to the man.
The Lazarus’ hand shook faintly as he brought the cap near his nose and inhaled. “Ah, nectar.” He tipped
the tiny dollop onto his tongue, and then licked the inside of the cap clean. He sighed in contentment and his body relaxed, his face seeming to lose ten years in age.
“Tell me about nectar,” said Straker.
“You must already know.”
“Assume I don’t. Lecture me.”
“May I have some more?”
“Once you’ve told me what you know.”
“Some caff and broth, then?”
Straker nodded to Kraxor, who left the cell to send for it. “Start talking.”
“Nectar is produced by the insectoid Opters, who have an empire on the spinward side of this spiral arm, probably comprising about twenty systems. They supply it to the Mutuality as a pharmaceutical. We’ve never been able to synthesize anything as good as the natural substance.”
“It’s hardly natural. They tailor it for us, to get us addicted.”
The Lazarus nodded. “That’s their obvious goal, but like all euphorics, it is strictly controlled. Only the higher strata of Mutualist society have access to it…in its pure form.”
“That doesn’t seem very equal or mutual.”
“Our society has its hypocrisies, like you do.”
Straker snapped his fingers. “What do you mean ‘in its pure form’? What other form is there?”
“There are derivatives and synthetics that placate the addiction without either diminishing it, or providing the incapacitating euphoria I suppose you experienced… yes?”
“Yes, I tried it. It has no hold over me.”
The Lazarus raised one eyebrow. “I might question that assertion if it would not bring a beating.”
“A beating? I struck you once to get your attention, nothing more.”
“I wasn’t speaking of you, Commodore, but what is done in your name.”
Straker stood, angry. “Someone’s been beating you against my orders?”
“Did you actually order me not to be beaten? You know how enthusiastic subordinates can get when they make up their own interpretations try to please the boss… and find an opportunity to revenge themselves upon their former masters.”