Terminal Alliance

by Jim C. Hines

  Mops backed toward the exit. “Come with me. Slowly!”

  Azure followed, still quivering. Outside, Mops checked to make sure the rest of her team was clear.

  “Hello?”

  “Doc? Are you all right? What happened?”

  “Hello?”

  She held up a hand for Azure to stop. “Doc, talk to me.”

  “Mops? I’m fighting—subroutines overriding—can’t bypass—parallel processing—system resources at six percent.”

  “Dammit, after all that money I spent on memory upgrades and processor power, don’t tell me you’re going to let some stupid little subroutine take you down?”

  “Your commentary—not helpful.”

  Relief bubbled like laughter in her chest. If Doc could spare attention for snark, it meant he was getting a handle on things. “What can I do to help?”

  “Nothing. You’re only human, after all.”

  “Was that necessary?”

  “‘Unnecessary things are our only necessities.’ Oscar Wilde. From Fifty Shades of Dorian Gray.”

  “I think that’s The Picture of Dorian Gray.”

  “. . . you’re right. How embarrassing. I may have lost some data indexing. I believe my core functioning has stabilized, however. My apologies. I didn’t know about that subroutine. It’s disturbing.”

  “What’s going on with the ship?”

  “I’m not certain, but I think I’m flying us away from the planet in order to make an A-ring jump to Dobranok.”

  Just as Azure had guessed. “Doc, I clearly remember you explaining that you couldn’t pilot this ship.”

  “Well, it should be clear now that I was mistaken!”

  “I just wanted to hear you say it.” She gnawed her lip. “Can you override that course? Dobranok is the last place we want to go right now.”

  “I’ve made more than two million attempts to do so in the past minute. Not only am I shut out, I believe all navigation controls have been locked.”

  “I have to go.” Azure had shrunk to two-thirds her original size. “My presence triggered this crisis. Squarm and I can take our chances with the colony.”

  “Doc, will that work? If we get Azure off the ship—”

  “You can’t. Docking bay doors are locked down. I’ve checked the entire ship. There’s no way in or out.”

  “How long until we jump?” The countdown appeared on her monocle. “Azure, I’m sorry, but you’re stuck with us for now. Doc, put me through to the rest of the team.” She waited for acknowledgment. “I need all of you on the bridge. We have three hours and twenty-one minutes before the Pufferfish jumps to the Krakau home world. Find a way to regain control of our ship.”

  “What should I do?” whimpered Azure.

  Mops turned back to the Coldwater Krakau. Something in her stance made Azure retreat farther up the ramp. When Mops finally spoke, her words were ice. “You’ll keep a safe distance from myself and my crew. If you make any threatening movements, I will shoot you.”

  “I understand.”

  Mops paused. “How do you inject your venom?”

  Azure raised one of her primary limbs. “Barbs in the suckers on the tip.”

  A shudder ran through Mops’ core. Within those tentacles was the chemical that had taken out her entire crew . . . perhaps her entire species. “Come with me,” she said softly. “You’re going to explain exactly what your people did to my planet.”

  “If I do, will you protect us from the Krakau?”

  “The Krakau aren’t the ones you should be afraid of right now.”

  Azure huddled miserably in front of the main viewscreen. Mops had considered interrogating her in private, but her team deserved to hear this. If she’d gone elsewhere, Wolf would have spent the whole time trying to eavesdrop anyway.

  “Where did you put Squarm?” asked Mops.

  “One of the vacant Glacidae quarters,” said Monroe. “The door’s locked, and we made sure there was nothing they could use to cause trouble.”

  “We don’t want trouble,” moaned Azure. “We just wanted to be free. Instead, you’ll deliver us to our executioners.”

  “We’re working on that.” Mops glanced at Grom, who was half-buried in the open wall of wiring and circuitry beneath the navigation console. Wolf was pounding and swearing at her console, while Kumar worked patiently through the emergency tutorials, both hoping to find a way to bypass Doc’s control of the ship.

  “This subroutine was hard-coded,” Doc said. “We can’t erase or rewrite it.”

  “Keep trying,” said Mops.

  “It wasn’t entirely my fault, you know. Everyone else’s monocle sent the same signal when they spotted Azure. But their software wasn’t smart enough to notice, or to try to fight back.”

  “It’s all right,” she assured him. “We’ll figure something out.”

  “You know the biosensors in your suit not only let me monitor your health, they also suggest when you’re lying.”

  She ignored him, turning her gaze back to Azure. “Your people destroyed our civilization. Why shouldn’t I hand you over to the Krakau? Hell, why shouldn’t we save them the trouble and execute you right here?”

  “In a way, it was as much your people’s fault as our own,” Azure began.

  Mops dug her fingers into the arm of her chair. “Not a good start.”

  “My people call themselves Rokkau. The Krakau you’re familiar with outnumbered us nine to one. Our races were never truly at peace, but Dobranok is a large world. For generations, the Rokkau kept to the cold polar regions, while the Krakau girdled the globe. But as time went on, both our people spread and multiplied. Competition increased, leading to conflicts.”

  “Conflicts you lost,” guessed Mops.

  “More often than not, yes. Our numbers were fewer, our resources limited. As overpopulation increased, a group of Rokkau turned their attention to the stars. We were always more technologically inclined than our Krakau cousins. We lived in a harsher environment. It forced us to be more adaptive, and to make better use of our limited resources. In the frigid winds of the Vickoud Ice Shelf, we developed and tested a primitive form of A-ring technology.

  “The Krakau confiscated the prototype as soon as they learned of it. ‘In the interest of world peace and security.’ But they didn’t understand it, which gave the Rokkau leverage. We were able to force a partnership, and within a generation, we set out together to explore our cosmic neighbors, searching for worlds that could support life. We found our way to Earth.”

  “You tried to colonize us?” Wolf snarled.

  Azure flinched back. “This was a hundred and sixty years ago. Records from that time are sparse . . . and often deliberately altered. I don’t believe the Krakau or Rokkau intended to harm your species. All I know is there was . . . an incident. A misunderstanding between our explorers and your people. Two Krakau were killed, and the Rokkau . . . she lashed out in self-defense, striking one of your world leaders.”

  Azure flexed one of her tentacles to demonstrate. Thornlike barbs emerged from the center of the pale suction cups on the end. “The venom shuts down higher brain functions in our prey, inducing a kind of hibernation. It’s how we used to preserve our food through the icy winter months. It interacted differently with human biology.”

  “Human and Krakau—sorry, Rokkau—physiology shouldn’t be compatible at all,” said Kumar. “If anything, it should have just killed whoever you poisoned.”

  “Humans are an adaptable people,” said Azure. “Difficult to kill, even before you became . . . what you are today. You evolved on a planet determined to destroy you. So many of your animals are venomous. Your plants are just as quick to poison you. Your people lived on islands next to active volcanoes, on shores battered by quakes and tsunamis, but that wasn’t enough. You jumped out of aircraft for fun! You ate p
oisonous sea creatures. You raced through the streets with horned mammals ten times your mass. Perhaps evolution made you stronger to counter your madness. Whatever the cause, your leader survived. But she was not unaffected.”

  Azure drew herself tighter. “Our venom compromised her higher neuroelectrical processes, turning her into broccoli.”

  “Into a vegetable?” guessed Mops.

  “Yes, that. Earth scientists attempted to cure her, first by using the Rokkau’s venom glands to create an antivenom. When that failed, they used a retrovirus to capture and isolate the venom in her system, and to modify her genes, hoping to trick her body into repairing the damage. It worked, in a sense. They restored her mobility and primitive neurological functioning, but she was not what she once was.”

  “She turned feral,” said Monroe.

  “Indeed. And despite their precautions, the virus spread. As I understand it, the effects were confined to humans and a few species of higher primates.” Azure looked curiously at Mops. “According to the stories the Rokkau passed down, one of the scientists involved in designing the retrovirus was named Adamopoulos.”

  “What happened then?” asked Mops.

  “Your world fell into chaos. Our contact team returned to Dobranok, where they were taken into seclusion. Imprisoned, to keep the truth from the public. It’s said the Rokkau killed herself from shame, unable to live with the guilt of having destroyed an entire race. Others believe the Krakau murdered her so she’d be unable to contradict the official government account.”

  “What account?” asked Kumar.

  “That the Rokkau had done this deliberately, to wipe out your people so they could claim Earth for themselves. Ironically, the Krakau used this as justification to try to wipe out the Rokkau and claim Dobranok for themselves.”

  “What about us?” Mops felt numb. Her words were little more than a whisper. “You could have sent ships back to try to rescue the humans who weren’t yet infected. You could have helped fight the spread of the virus. How long did it take for the Krakau to return to Earth?”

  “Fifty years.” Azure twined her arms together. “By which time your civilization had fallen. They expected humanity to have died out, but—even infected—feral humans have a strong survival instinct. They survived and reproduced.”

  “Fifty years. You’re talking about the contact mission of 2153,” said Kumar. “Seven Krakau were killed by feral humans. Did they know...?”

  “I don’t believe so,” said Azure. “The original mission was considered a failure, soon forgotten with the outbreak of war. The government directed our explorations elsewhere. The Krakau made contact with the Nusurans and the Glacidae. They laid the foundations for the Krakau Alliance. And they did everything in their power to erase the Earth from their records.”

  Monroe pursed his lips. “Then why come back at all?”

  “In 2151, the Quetzalus picked up old signals from Earth and proposed a contact mission. The Krakau tried to prevent it. When that failed, they rushed a mission of their own to claim Earth as a Krakau settlement and make sure nobody else could discover the truth.”

  “Why not just bomb Earth into slag after the first mission?” Wolf looked around at the horrified expressions of the rest of the team. “I’m not saying I want them to nuke the Earth. Just that it would have covered things up pretty well.”

  “Guilt and shame,” said Azure. “Combined with the war on Dobranok. Earth was light-years away. The Krakau were more concerned with destroying the Rokkau.”

  “But you weren’t destroyed,” Wolf pointed out.

  “Nothing gets past her,” said Doc.

  “Not all of us, no. More than a million Rokkau survivors were banished to a prison planet with an ocean core, surrounded by a shell of ice. Its location is known only to the highest-ranking of the Krakau.”

  “Assholes,” Wolf murmured.

  Azure hesitated. “I don’t understand. To whose anuses are you referring?”

  “How did you escape?” asked Mops before Wolf could respond.

  “As I said, the Rokkau have always been more technologically inclined than our warm-water kin,” said Azure. “According to the stories, nine Rokkau families—fewer than five hundred individuals—fled Dobranok in hastily constructed ships. Those who survived have lived in hiding ever since.”

  “Why haven’t we heard of the Rokkau?” asked Mops. “How could the Krakau keep this a secret from us—from the whole galaxy—for more than a century?”

  “Because the Krakau have had more than a century to teach their version of history. To indoctrinate their young with tales of us as fanatics and extremists who rebelled against the rightful governments of the world. The name Rokkau is all but forgotten. They say we were disgruntled Krakau, leeches on our society who refused to surrender until the Krakau were forced to destroy us. It’s not a part of their history they like to share with outsiders, as you can imagine.”

  The bridge fell silent. Mops’ team looked toward her, waiting for her to speak. For her to process and make sense of a history in which humanity’s downfall wasn’t a result of their own arrogance and hubris, but of an accident and the apathy of the race Mops had believed to be their saviors.

  There was too much: denial and grief, anger and anguish, all of it swirling together in a vortex of emotion that threatened to tear free as hysterical tears, or perhaps laughter. She couldn’t distinguish the two anymore.

  “Are you all right?”

  “Not in the slightest.” She swallowed. For now, she had to focus on what was directly in front of them. “Knowing all this, you and Squarm still worked with the Prodryans to produce this new bioweapon? To turn the few reborn humans back into animals?”

  “A Prodryan called Heart of Glass attacked my family’s lifeship,” said Azure.

  “How did he find you?” asked Kumar.

  “We were scavenging for supplies on an abandoned smuggling base in an unsettled system. Heart of Glass arrived, intending to do the same. When he found our ship, he robbed us instead. At first, he assumed we were Krakau. His warriors boarded us. Our matriarch triggered the ship’s self-destruct countdown. The Prodryans retreated, and the lifeship fled, but by then I was a prisoner.”

  “Does he have other Rokkau prisoners?” asked Mops.

  “I don’t know.” Azure spread her limbs helplessly. “One of his warriors was poisoned during the fighting. Heart of Glass questioned me and learned the truth about the Rokkau. He brought a scientist on board to study my venom.”

  “Your partner, Squarm.” Mops nodded to herself. “Squarm said they could cure our crew.”

  “I believe they can help your crew, yes. But it makes no difference. The Krakau won’t allow anyone to leave this ship alive.”

  “How many people know the truth about Earth and the Rokkau?” asked Monroe.

  “Only the highest-ranking officials of Homeworld Military Command.” Azure spread her limbs. “Probably a few in Colonial and Interstellar Command as well, in case they ever come across a Rokkau refugee. Along with whoever monitors the Rokkau prison planet.”

  How much did Admiral Pachelbel know? She’d reacted so strongly to the possibility of a source for Krakau—Rokkau venom. “What have the Rokkau been doing all these years?”

  “Hiding. Trying to live our lives in peace.”

  Mops pressed her lips together.

  “You don’t believe her?” murmured Doc.

  “I’m not sure,” she responded, for his virtual ears only. Azure’s account was certainly plausible, but her gut told her there was more to it. Details Azure was holding back.

  “Rokkau body language is bound to be different from that of the Krakau. Perhaps that’s making you unconsciously distrustful?”

  “Maybe.” She studied Azure. You didn’t need Kumar to do another dissection to see Azure was a distinctly different race than the Kra
kau.

  The nagging in her gut grew stronger. Something about Kumar’s dissection. Something she was missing. She lowered her voice. “Doc, replay Kumar’s report after he finished dissecting the captain.”

  She watched the rest of her team as she listened. Monroe’s face was a mask of tension. Wolf looked angry, but that was her default expression. Kumar had gotten distracted by something he was reading on his console.

  She straightened in her chair. “Wait. Replay that.”

  “‘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.’”

  “What is it?” asked Monroe.

  The bodies were in such good shape. She held up a hand, thinking hard. “Remember Falls From Glory, the Prodryan we met with back on Quetzalus Station?”

  “The one who blew herself up?” asked Monroe.

  “The same. Right before the explosion, she thanked us for answering her questions.”

  Doc replayed the relevant recording without her having to ask. “You told her, ‘We could get you off this station, drop you on any planet you wanted. The Krakau don’t have to know.’”

  “I confirmed the Krakau were dead,” Mops whispered.

  “I don’t understand,” said Azure. “What are you talking about?”

  She slid her gun from its holster. “I told Glory the Krakau didn’t have to know about her. That’s not an offer I could have made if any of the Krakau on the Pufferfish had survived. That’s the answer they were digging for. That’s what their test was about, to confirm the Krakau had been killed.”

  “The Pufferfish was overrun by feral humans,” said Wolf. “It’s a miracle anyone survived.”

  “You think the Krakau don’t have contingency plans?” countered Mops. “They could have sedated the crew or locked themselves away.” She spun. “Kumar, how did our command crew die?”