by Jim C. Hines
“William Shakespeare’s works are full of violence and vulgarity. These could be useful in priming humans for the realities of battle.”
“Have begun reviewing works tagged ‘erotica.’ What is this obsession humans had with procreation, and why did they have so many bizarre synonyms for their genitalia? They’re almost as bad as Nusurans. I hate my life. . . .”
WASTE RECLAMATION CONTROL WAS a long, cramped room dominated by a series of pipes and tanks, all clearly labeled for human technicians with large warnings against things like cutting the gas lines.
Kumar crouched beneath one such sign, cutting into the three-centimeter methane pipe with his utility blade.
“Not too deep,” said Wolf. “All we need is a pinhole-sized leak.”
“This isn’t my first time splicing a gas line,” Kumar snapped. He adjusted his angle and jammed the tip of the blade deeper. “I’m in.”
He returned the knife to his harness and clamped a T-joint over the pipe, then secured a small, flexible hose to the joint. Mops hoisted Grom close enough for Kumar to poke the other end of the hose into the Glacidae’s beak. Slowly, Grom’s mouth tendrils clamped around the hose.
Mops’ monocle flashed a warning about a leak in the methane pipeline. She cleared the message and watched Grom’s breathing. “Can you hear me, Technician?”
They didn’t respond, but their body was expanding and contracting more deeply than before.
“Why methane?” asked Wolf. “I know Grom likes the stuff, but I thought it was just a treat. They breathe normal air like the rest of us.”
“They prefer a higher methane content,” said Kumar. “It speeds up their metabolism. There’s an Earth drug called coffee that used to do the same thing to pre-plague humans.”
A ripple passed over Grom’s body, like a prolonged shiver. Their legs clicked against the floor as they moved closer to the wall. Mops cautiously released her hold. When it was clear Grom could support their own weight, she stepped away and rotated her arm until a loud pop eased the pressure in her shoulder. “How are you feeling, Grom?”
“Frosted, but alive.” The Glacidae’s language sounded like a growling tiger with a bad stutter, repeated in Human by the small translator built into their harness. Grom took one more deep breath, then pulled away from the methane line. “Thank you, Lieutenant. Good work. What’s the situation with the rest of the ship?”
Kumar slipped smoothly past Mops, sealing tape in hand, to fix the pipe.
Mops brought Grom up to speed. It was always a little odd talking to an alien whose height meant they appeared to be chatting with your crotch, but she’d had stranger conversations. “Why weren’t you in a quarantine suit?”
“No time. Fortunately, whatever did this to you humans doesn’t appear to affect Glacidae. Aside from feeling like my lubricating glands are about to burst, I’m fine.”
Mops took a subtle step back.
“Who else from the crew escaped both infection and your fellow humans?” Grom continued. “Other Glacidae, or anyone from the Krakau command crew?”
“You’re the only survivor we’ve found so far,” Mops said gently. “I’m sorry.”
Grom sagged, automatically coiling the back half of their body into a recliner for the front. “I . . . I see.” They fell silent for several seconds. “I’ll see what I can do about contacting Command to request help. I want you to figure out the best way to disable life support. That should take care of the remaining threat, after which—”
Mops’ sympathy vanished. “We’re not killing the rest of the crew.”
“I know you humans have an instinctive pack loyalty, but we have to face facts. It’s us against them, and our best chance of survival is to strike now. Life support is the easiest way. Game over, we win.”
Monroe winced and took a step back. Kumar stopped working to stare, his mouth hanging partly open. Wolf folded her arms and asked, “Now can I threaten to eat them?”
Grom rattled their spines. “Lieutenant, would you please muzzle your subordinate, or does she have to be returned to the brig?”
Wolf started forward. “You ungrateful—”
“That’s enough,” snapped Mops.
“Thank you,” said Grom. “Now, I’ll need an escort to the bridge while the rest of you take care of these feral humans.”
They trailed off as Mops dropped to one knee, facing Grom at eye level. Glacidae preferred to keep others a body length away. Mops deliberately leaned in, until she could feel their methane-tinged breath on her face. “Do I have your attention, Technician?”
Grom made a sound like they were trying to clear a blockage deep in their chest.
“That means yes,” Doc whispered. “I think. With Grom’s accent, it could also be a request for eyeball lotion.”
Mops smiled, wondering briefly if Grom knew enough about humans to distinguish between a smile of pleasure and general good will and a smile that, much like a Glacidae’s raised spines, warned of stabbings and general violence. “Unless you received a promotion while you were fouling the ship’s pool, I still outrank you. If you have suggestions, I’m willing to listen. When I tell you your suggestion stinks worse than week-old slime crusts, your job is to shut the hell up and come up with a better one. Don’t you twitch those spines at me, child!”
Grom jerked back so hard they nearly toppled over. Their legs flapped outward as they struggled to regain their balance.
“That’s better,” Mops continued. “We’re going to do everything we can to keep the rest of the crew alive and safe until we can get them the help they need. If you have a problem with that, tell me now, because if you pull this Glacidae status-challenge bullshit on me again, I’ll have Wolf lock you in the brig. Or an air lock. Is that understood?”
The Glacidae scooted back. “With respect, humans aren’t meant to command. Regulations are clear.”
Kumar cleared his throat. “That’s not exactly true. EMC regulation 300-12, Promotions and Reductions, caps human rank advancement at Lieutenant, with allowance for temporary promotion lasting no longer than four hours to Battle Captain. It’s true that humans can’t be promoted to command crew. EMCR 220-40, Command Policy and Chain of Command, specifies that humans must cede command to any available Krakau. But there’s nothing about a human Lieutenant having to take orders from a low-ranking Glacidae.”
Doc pulled up the relevant sections of the manuals as Kumar continued talking. “Kumar’s reciting the regs word for word. Does he have any hobbies other than sitting around memorizing rule books?”
“Watching surgeries,” Mops whispered. “He also cleans a lot.”
“The Alliance Military Council prohibits humans from commanding ships,” Grom insisted.
“This isn’t an Alliance ship,” Kumar countered. “The Earth Mercenary Corps is contracted to the Military Branch of the Krakau central government. Specifically, we report to Krakau Interstellar Military Command. That makes us employees of the Krakau home planet of Dobranok, not the Krakau Alliance.”
Grom fixed one eye on Kumar, while the other watched Mops. “Lieutenant, your human limitations are no fault of your own. I just think that, for the good of your team and the crew, you should surrender command to—”
“Wolf, where’s the closest air lock?”
Grom sagged into a pile, the Glacidae equivalent of throwing up their arms in disgust.
Mops stood and wiped her palms on the front of her suit. “How much access do we have to the Pufferfish’s primary controls from here in Waste Reclamation?”
“Not much,” muttered Grom. “Most command functions are restricted to the bridge and battle hubs. I’m sure there are overrides, but they’re probably keyed to Krakau only.”
“Can you bypass them?”
“I’m a tech. I clean up software and swap out broken hardware. I don’t hack high-security systems.
”
Mops had expected as much, but it never hurt to ask. “Doc, we’ll need a path to the closest battle hub. Once we get there, our priority will be communications and external scanners. We need to get word to Command and make sure there are no other Prodryan ships nearby.” She studied her team. “I don’t suppose anyone knows how to do any of that?”
Silence.
“We’ll also need a plan for sanitizing the ship,” she continued. “Kumar, Monroe, start brainstorming. We can’t stay in these suits forever.”
“What do we do if there are more Prodryans?” Grom asked quietly. When nobody answered, they said, “I assume nobody on your SHS team is certified on the ship’s weapons and defenses?”
“Every system has tutorials and refreshers,” offered Kumar.
“Sir, I’ve found something you should see,” Doc cut in. Mops raised a hand for silence. “Security footage of Captain Brandenburg and Commander Danube from shortly before they . . . expired.”
Mops sat down next to a water filtration access tank, rested her head against the warm metal, and closed her right eye. “Show me.”
Her monocle turned opaque, shutting out the rest of the room, before bringing up an image of the Captain’s Cove. . . .
Captain Brandenburg and Commander Danube floated in murky, gently swirling water a meter deep. The Captain’s Cove was directly adjacent to the bridge, and resembled a poorly lit cave. The exposed walls and ceiling were rough-textured, like brown sandstone. Captain Brandenburg’s tentacles adjusted the controls on the horseshoe-shaped console at the center of the room.
Her rightmost tentacle was thinner and paler than the other two. She’d lost that one three months back, and hadn’t yet finished regrowing it. Her beaklike mouth had a superficial resemblance to that of a Glacidae, but Krakau beaks were smaller and flatter against the face. A series of dark indentations around the upper part of her body were the equivalent of human eyes, though they perceived a narrower portion of the electromagnetic spectrum. Water beaded and rolled from her blue-black skin.
Directly in front of the two Krakau, a large screen displayed the image of a Nusuran. A caption at the bottom of the screen identified him as Captain Taka-lokitok-vi, presumably from the Nusuran freighter. According to the time stamp, this conversation had taken place about two hours earlier.
“On behalf of the EMC and the Krakau Alliance, we’re happy to be of service, and relieved none of your crew were lost during the fighting,” Brandenburg was saying. “We neither ask for nor expect payment for protecting your people.”
“Our accountants on Solikor-zi might disagree, especially when it comes time to send our hard-earned taxes into your Alliance coffers.” The Nusuran jiggled with silent laughter. “Regardless, Captain, victory should be celebrated!”
Like most Nusurans, Taka-lokitok-vi looked like an oversized Earth walrus encased in a baggy brown sleeping bag. Three triangular plates of bone surrounded his head like ivory flower petals. Long, thin tendrils sprouted like weeds from behind those plates. Smaller pink tendrils wiggled suggestively beneath the round mouth, like a beard of boneless fingers.
“What my crew needs is rest,” Brandenburg said firmly. “Not a celebratory interspecies orgy.”
“We all rest in our own ways,” laughed Taka-lokitok-vi. “Unless your soldiers were injured when they cleared those ring-dicked pirates from my ship?”
“They were fine,” Brandenburg assured him. “Humans are pretty much unkillable.”
“So we’ve seen.” The Nusuran’s skull plates scraped together in thought, sounding like a scraper peeling old paint from a wall. “Perhaps it’s for the best that you and your fellow Krakau decline our invitation. Recreational relations are tricky with a species that severs their own tentacles as part of the mating process. Is it true Krakau never developed the concept of a safe word?”
Mops shifted her back. “Doc, what does this have to do with anything?”
The image froze. “I’m establishing context.”
“And laughing at the clash of sexual mores?”
“Personally, I think Captain Taka-lokitok-vi showed both diplomacy and restraint, by Nusuran standards. Notice how he doesn’t masturbate once during the entire exchange?”
“Just show me what happened next.”
Commander Danube moved toward the screen. “Captain, what was it the Prodryans wanted?”
“Memory crystals.” Taka-lokitok-vi rattled his skull plates in annoyance. “They removed three containers. Six more were lost when you fired on our ship.”
“Our apologies,” said Brandenburg. “That was a calculated strike—”
“We’d have lost far more if you hadn’t,” Taka-lokitok-vi assured her. “The EMC may not be the most civilized force in the galaxy, but no one can question their efficiency. Speaking of which, if you or your crew change your minds about that invitation—”
“Safe waters to you and yours, Captain. Pufferfish out.” As soon as the screen cleared, Brandenburg tapped her console. “Lieutenant Khan, report for debriefing.”
“Memory crystals?” said Commander Danube. “They’re valuable, but not valuable enough to explain why that second fighter stayed with the freighter rather than join the fight. None of this makes sense.”
“You think there may have been more to the Prodryan mission?” asked Brandenburg. “We could send a salvage team to gather the remnants of their fighters, but given the punishment we poured on them, finding a scrap of useful, readable data would be like finding a particular grain of sand on the ocean floor.”
Danube click-whistled a command, and a map of the galactic quadrant appeared on the screen, showing the Sagittarius, Orion, and Perseus arms of the Milky Way.
There were no borders in space, no walls or boundaries between star systems. Different-colored dots represented inhabited systems. The larger the dot, the greater the number of known inhabitants.
The Krakau home world of Dobranok was one of the largest, with more than eleven billion inhabitants living within the planet’s oceans. Twenty-two other worlds were marked in Krakau blue, including the Earth. Until humanity recovered enough to govern and maintain their own planet, designating it a Krakau colony provided legal safeguards and protection.
Translucent silver lines, like spider silk, connected the worlds of the Krakau alliance, almost a hundred in total, though many were young colonies whose inhabitants numbered in the thousands or tens of thousands.
Known Prodryan worlds were bright green. Suspected colonies and outposts were darker green, including several worlds in the Perseus arm of the galaxy. In sheer numbers, Prodryan territories were almost a match for the combined worlds of the Krakau Alliance. Prodryans were short-lived as individuals, but they did two things incredibly well: fight and breed.
“Here are large-scale Prodryan conflicts from the past year,” said Danube. Green rings circled twenty-two worlds, roughly split between Prodryan and Alliance. “We’ve concentrated on hitting military stations and outposts, while they’ve focused their attacks against established colonies.”
“More people to kill, and more resources to steal,” said Brandenburg.
“Including Kanoram-yi two months ago.” Danube highlighted the Nusuran colony world. “Kanoram was one of their oldest colonies. The Prodryans could have looted all the mem crystals they needed. So why hit Captain Taka-lokitok-vi?”
Captain Brandenburg swam out from her console. “Do we have a copy of the Nusurans’ cargo manifest? Maybe the Prodryans were after more than just mem crystals.”
A list appeared on the screen. “The rest is terraforming equipment for the colonies. Weather-seeding drones, microbes for adjusting water salinity levels. Nothing that would get the Prodryans’ wings buzzing.”
“Signal Command that we’re going to stay and make sure the captain reaches his destination without further trouble,” said Brandenburg. “
We might be dealing with a splinter group among the Prodryans. The bugs are almost as happy to fight each other as they are us.”
The main door slid open, and a bulky woman stepped down the ramp into the waist-deep water. Lieutenant Khan had eight years in the EMC, and bore the scars to show it. Her nose was a crooked mess, and a set of parallel scars gave her a permanently furrowed forehead. Her hair was a black cloud spreading from her scalp.
The holster on her right hip was trimmed in red, designating her as a sharpshooter, the second highest firearms rating. A combat baton hung from the opposite side of her harness. “Reporting as ordered, sir.”
“Your teams did an excellent job clearing the Nusuran freighter,” said Brandenburg. “What can you tell us about the Prodryans you encountered?”
Khan blinked. “I haven’t had a chance to complete my report yet.”
“I understand. I’m asking for your impressions.”
The tautness in Khan’s shoulders eased. “They ambushed us the moment we boarded. I think . . .” She trailed her fingers through the water. “I think the decompression disoriented them. They were suited up, but most of their shots went wild.”
“How many?” asked Danube.
She stared at the rippling water. “Fifteen? Maybe twenty? No, not that many. . . .” Her voice faded.
“Lieutenant?” When Khan didn’t respond, Commander Danube swam closer and extended a sinuous tentacle.
Khan slapped it aside with a snarl. An instant later, her eyes went round, and she stumbled backward. “I’m sorry, Commander! I didn’t . . . I thought you were . . .” Her voice faded again. Her attention appeared fixed on a point at the back of the room.
“She could have received a head injury,” Captain Brandenburg said softly. “Maneuvering in zero gravity is tricky, even for experienced soldiers, and humans don’t always recognize when they’ve been wounded.”
Danube swam cautiously around the Lieutenant. “I see no visible sign of injury or trauma.”