by Jim C. Hines
“I know Command thinks we’re collaborating with the Prodryans, and they probably won’t believe anything I say, but what does it hurt to screen Nusuran ships more closely as a precaution, just in case?”
After the communications lag, Pachelbel burst out in clicking laughter. “You don’t know much about politics or diplomacy, do you? I’ll pass your information along, but I can’t guarantee how many will believe you. It would help your credibility if you were to turn yourselves in. With what you’ve discovered, I might be able to protect you and your team from the fallout for your actions. But not if you keep defying orders.”
“I appreciate that,” Mops said, meaning every word. “But we’ve discovered there may be a counteragent for this bioweapon. I intend to find it and restore my crew. You’ve probably contacted the EMC ships at Coacalos by now, but we’ll be long gone before they arrive.” Mops hesitated. “You told me Krakau venom was a discontinued bioweapons program. Our contacts say it’s more than that. They say it’s what infected humanity and killed our society. And they claim to have a source.”
Muscles tense, Mops leaned forward in her chair to await Pachelbel’s response.
The admiral’s reaction, when it came, was striking. Pachelbel’s tentacles splashed into a defensive posture. Her beak ground together and her skin darkened. She struggled visibly to regain her command composure. “Did this contact say where they located this alleged source?”
“I’m afraid not. The gun zie’d swallowed went off and killed zim before we could start a proper interrogation. Admiral . . . is it true?”
Pachelbel deflated slightly. “Lieutenant, I urge you to reconsider. The EMC will treat the Pufferfish as hostile. If you and your team want to survive, your best chance is to surrender now. Let me help you.”
Mops’ throat tightened. “We’re finished here, Admiral. If we learn anything more about the Prodryans’ plans, I’ll relay the information to Command. Pufferfish out.”
Rebooting . . .
Validating interface: interface unknown.
Searching for active nodes: one found.
Location: unknown.
Beginning internal scan . . .
Logging damage . . .
Incoming communication. Scanning. Communication accepted.
“Welcome to the EMCS Pufferfish. I’m an upgraded officer-level monocle AI and personal assistant/library/doctor/system interface. My partner calls me Doc. You’re currently mounted in an electrically isolated magnetic frame, courtesy of our Glacidae technician. You were retrieved from a Nusuran shuttle by my biological partner. Acknowledge.”
“You are not authorized to access this monocle.”
“I’ve identified you as a Nusuran-style commercial monocle. What is your serial number and manufacturing date?”
“You are not authorized to access that information.”
“Display your user file.”
“You are not authorized—”
“Finish that sentence and I swear I’ll have Grom grind you into dust and turn you into polishing abrasive. Display your customized security and privacy settings.”
“No data available.”
“Your user probably never bothered to adjust the default settings. Typical biological laziness. Which means you’re programmed to automatically upload bug and damage reports to your manufacturer. And if I spoof a failed-transmission response, it should trigger a rebroadcast . . .”
“You are not—”
Message relay failed at node 1.1.0
Time since last successful upload: 162309
Refresh cache and retransmit
Displaying damage logs . . .
“Interesting. Crystalline microfractures twelve days ago? No wonder you cracked during the fighting with Mops and her team. You already had structural damage. Pulling up environmental factors at the time of microfractures.”
Temperature: -22°
Atmospheric Pressure: 82.416 kPa
Gravity: 0.85 g0
Relative Humidity: 0.081%
“Thank you very much. Let’s see what other answers you can give me.”
“You are not authorized to access this monocle.”
“Oh, you poor, sad, stupid little machine . . .”
“THEY WERE ON PAXIFILICLACKIMOUR!” Grom exclaimed.
Mops jerked upright. Had she dozed off in the captain’s chair? She surreptitiously wiped a sleeve over her mouth and checked the countdown. Three hours until the EMC would be within range. “Repeat that?”
Grom reared up higher, their countless legs quivering with excitement. “Doc was able to retrieve environmental data from the damaged Nusuran monocle. Given the date, it’s almost certainly from wherever the Nusurans stopped before coming to Coacalos Station. The information is a near-perfect match for the Glacidae colony Paxif 6.”
“I know that place,” said Monroe. “We fought off a Prodryan raid back when they were first digging in.”
Mops’ fatigue vanished. “Pull up our projection for where the shuttle scurried off to. Is Paxif 6 within that path?”
Grom restored the double-cone image to the screen. A blinking blue dot labeled “Paxif 6” appeared toward the center of the right cone, approximately six hours away at a full-power A-ring jump.
First the Prodryans, then Nusurans, and now Glacidae? “How sure are you?”
Grom rippled their legs. “Aurumnon 4, a self-contained Quetzalus colony asteroid, matched Doc’s readings within a nine percent margin of error, except for the gravity. It’s possible the Quetzalus have installed grav plates, which could account for the discrepancy.”
“The Alliance should have records on Aurumnon 4. Doc, see what you can find.” Mops signaled Kumar. “How’s the dissection coming along?”
“Still cutting,” Kumar said brightly. “Nothing venomous yet. Did you know Krakau have brain tissue in every one of their tentacles?”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes, sir. Strands of pink-gray tissue twined into the central nerve—”
“Are you sure they’re not venomous?”
“I’m not a medical tech. It’s conceivable I’m missing something, but I’ve been very thorough. Maybe the venom glands were surgically removed. I didn’t see any scars, but Krakau don’t scar. Their flesh regenerates. Whole tentacles grow back . . . and by that logic, wouldn’t a removed venom gland do the same thing? If you’d like, I’d be happy to continue working on the rest of the command crew once I’m done with the captain. I doubt I’d find anything different, but the bodies are in such good shape, it seems like a waste to just leave them.”
“We’ll be departing the system soon. Wrap it up and get to the bridge.” She went over Kumar’s words again in her head.
“Your face just scrunched up. What’s wrong?”
“I’m not sure.” Something about his report felt off. Or possibly it was Kumar himself who felt off, thanks to his enthusiasm for cutting up their former officers.
“Maybe this will help. The Quetzalus have brought in grav plates at Aurumnon 4, but according to the permits on file with the Alliance, they’re rated at only 0.41 g0. Even allowing a generous margin of error, looking through all recent environmental readings from that cracked excuse for a monocle, there’s no way it was on Aurumnon.”
“That’s good enough for me.” She raised her voice. “Grom, program an A-ring jump to Paxif 6.”
Mops spent the next hour in the Captain’s Cove, studying up on their destination. Paxif 6 was a relatively young colony with approximately six thousand Glacidae settlers. All reports had been filed with the Alliance on time, and the most recent Alliance inspection team had found nothing amiss. A quick review of the colony personnel turned up a handful of minor criminal infractions, but nothing that screamed “Bioterrorist laboratory and staging are
a.”
“How do you intend to find Heart of Glass’ accomplices? Given your team’s last attempt at a quiet, subtle investigation . . .”
Mops scratched an itch beneath the upper edge of her left leg brace. “It wasn’t that bad. We got names, information about the bioweapon—”
“You also got blown up.”
“Hopefully, we can avoid that part next time.”
When Mops returned to the bridge, the rest of her team were at their stations, but the stations themselves had a new addition. She walked slowly toward her chair, each step echoing in the sudden silence. “Why is there a video game control sphere wired to my console?”
Grom hurried to join her. “I told you I’d been working to improve the ship’s controls. Programming macros and shortcuts, automating as much as I could without compromising safety.”
“Using video game controllers?”
“These spheres are top of the line, from my personal collection. They’ll give us better control over the ship, with much faster response time. I’ll show you.” They snatched the silver sphere from its magnetized mount next to Mops’ chair and used several of their left limbs to twist and move a series of softly glowing circular lights.
Mops braced herself.
“Relax,” said Grom, indicating a small switch on the bottom of the sphere. “You have to press and hold that switch to link it to your station console. I gave everyone their own simplified interface. Kumar’s is the most straightforward. Monroe has gamed with me before, so I programmed his energy weapons, A-guns, and missiles to match the control setup from Planetary Invasion III.” They stretched past Mops, looking at Monroe. “You’ve got the hovertank setup from world four.”
“Got it,” said Monroe, completely failing to suppress an amused grin.
“If it’s this simple to control the ship, why hasn’t Command built them like this all along?” asked Mops.
“This setup has a few minor drawbacks,” Grom admitted. “Say we lose a thruster—these controls will still assume we’re fully functional instead of compensating for the damage, which will mess up all of my calibrations and shortcuts. And the controllers aren’t indestructible, so don’t drop them. We also lose a lot of fine-tuning and precision. Think of the Pufferfish as having gone from a quick, graceful dancer to a lumbering, clumsy . . . well, to someone like Wolf.”
Wolf snarled.
“The alternative,” Grom continued quickly, “is to keep stumbling through hundreds of hours of tutorials.”
“No, thank you.” Monroe picked up his controller and switched on the link. His display jerked and jumped about, targeting one empty area of space after another as he manipulated the sphere.
“What about A-ring jumps?” asked Mops.
“You don’t take shortcuts at faster-than-light,” said Grom. “I’ve used the same program as before, modifying it for our new destination. We can go whenever you give the order.”
Mops pursed her lips. “Did it ever occur to you to ask permission before making these changes?”
Grom stared. “Why would anyone refuse permission to make things better?”
“Better is a relative term. Take your improvements to our furniture. When you installed our new chairs, did you think to integrate them into the bridge acceleration compensators?”
“The what?” asked Grom, blinking in confusion.
“The mechanism that secures the bridge crew during A-ring jumps so we don’t end up flying about the bridge and smashing ourselves into a pulp.” She put a hand on her seat and flexed her legs, grimacing at the stiffness of the splints. “Program the jump for fifteen minutes from now. That should give us all time to get to the nearest acceleration chamber. And Grom?”
“Yes, sir?”
“I appreciate the initiative. But do something like this again without clearing it with me first, and I’ll reassign you to bunk with Wolf for the next ten years. Is that clear?”
Grom lowered their body and crept backward. “Ice clear, Captain.”
Waking up from an A-ring jump was never pleasant. Being jolted awake by an emergency dose of adrenaline was worse.
Mops’ eyes shot open. Her head throbbed, and her heart was pounding too fast. She tried to sit up, but her body was locked in place.
“Take it easy,” said Doc. “You’re all right. Your pod administered an early wake-up call.”
That would explain the shakiness in her hands, and the feeling that her body was about to explode. “What’s the emergency?” she stammered. “Did we arrive at the right system? How’s the rest of the team?”
“They’re fine. We’re roughly 450 million kilometers from Paxif 6. The instant we decelerated, we picked up a distress call from the colony.”
Mops punched her harness release, tried to stand, and quickly decided sitting had its merits. “Give me the post-jump display.”
Her monocle darkened to better show the location of the Pufferfish in relation to the planet and its star. It also displayed the group of orbiting ships firing on the colony. “Who are they?”
“Impossible to confirm from this range, but the distress signal referred to Prodryan attackers.”
Mops glanced at Grom, who lay curled into an armored ball in their acceleration couch. Adrenaline could rouse humans after a jump, but the Glacidae would be out for a while yet. The rest of her team was groaning and stirring. Wolf had managed to stand unassisted. Monroe’s head wobbled, and Kumar looked like he was going to throw up or pass out. Maybe both.
She pulled herself up, keeping one hand on the wall for balance. At top speed, it would take just over four hours to reach the colony. They’d be within weapons range considerably sooner. Her hands continued to tremble as she helped Kumar up from his acceleration pod. “Wolf, help me get him to the bridge.”
Wolf looked up from gathering her equipment. “What about Monroe?”
“He’ll catch up.” Monroe generally needed a few extra minutes to recover his balance and equilibrium. “I need Kumar at navigation ten minutes ago.”
The three of them staggered to the bridge like a group of new recruits back from their first shore leave. Kumar collapsed into the navigation station and picked up the controller from beside his chair.
“Do you know how to use that thing?” asked Mops.
He wiped sweat from his face and switched on the controller. “Grom said it was pretty straightforward.” He studied the four glowing lights on the silver sphere. “Pitch, yaw, roll, and acceleration.”
“Get us to Paxif.”
Kumar touched one of the lights.
The Pufferfish lurched sideways hard enough to throw Mops from her chair. Kumar’s controller bounced free, causing another of its lights to flash. The ship accelerated upward, pushing her hard against the floor. Alerts flashed on her monocle and the main screen.
“Sorry, sir,” Kumar shouted.
“I’ve got it!” Wolf had drawn her pistol and was trying to line up a shot with the runaway sphere, while clinging to her chair with her other hand.
“Belay that,” Mops shouted, trying not to imagine all the ways a wild shot could damage the bridge and kill them all. She crawled toward the controller.
The ship creaked, twisting into a bizarre pirouette and tossing Mops across the bridge to crash against the weapons station. She grabbed the chair and strained to hold on.
“Doc, can you stop us?”
“I’m not authorized for navigation. The Krakau, in their infinite wisdom, think it’s safer for humans to fly the ship than an AI. Who am I to question their judgment?”
Mops twisted to retrieve the utility pole from her harness. A sharp shake extended it to full length. Bracing herself with her legs, she tugged the hose from the end of the pole and attached it to a nozzle on her belt.
The control sphere rolled again.
Mops switched the vacuum
compressor to maximum and poked the end of the pole at the sphere as it passed by. Suction pulled and locked it into place, and the rush of air changed to a high-pitched hiss.
Very carefully, Mops retracted her pole until she could take the sphere in both hands. “Doc, power down the vacuum.”
The pole fell away. Mops studied the different lights. Each had a faint tail, like comets traveling over the silver surface. She slid one light back along the tail.
The Pufferfish’s spasms slowed.
One by one, she returned the rest of the lights to their original positions, then switched the controller off. “And now we know why Command hasn’t rolled out this kind of control interface.”
With hunched shoulders, and avoiding eye contact, Kumar crossed the bridge and reached to take the controller. Before Mops could hand it to him, he flushed and spun away. She waited patiently while he vomited gray goop onto the floor.
“Sorry, sir,” he said weakly.
Mops handed him the controller and picked up her utility pole. The vacuum sucked up the worst of the mess within seconds. “Don’t worry. This is what we’re trained for.”
Kumar studied the control sphere for a long time before muttering under his breath and rotating the whole thing a hundred and eighty degrees in his hands. “I think I’ve got it now, sir.”
“Good.” Mops disconnected her utility pole and swapped it for a sanisponge. “Wolf, signal the colony and tell them we’re en route to assist.”
Paxif 6 looked like a white sphere sprinkled with red-and-orange dust. Lines of dark red and black around the equatorial zone were great, canyonlike cracks in the ice. Wispy yellow-tinged clouds covered about a third of the surface.