by Jim C. Hines
“Indeed. If they all jump, I estimate a one-in-three chance of at least one ship striking Dobranok.”
“Monroe, keep shooting,” snapped Mops. “Doc, what happens if they hit the planet going faster than light?”
“Theoretically, striking the atmosphere at that speed would fuse the atoms of the atmosphere with those of the ship. The resulting thermonuclear reaction could wipe out a small continent. The shockwave would ripple through the atmosphere, tearing it away. Depending on the size of the ship and the angle of impact, the oceans would either turn to steam, or else suffer tidal waves strong enough to crush anything in their path. The planet itself might survive, but it would be a burnt-out husk, incapable of supporting life.”
“You have to stop them.” Azure spun toward Mops. “I’m begging you, sir. Please.”
Mops watched as Wolf’s efforts disrupted another group of incoming missiles. It wasn’t going to be enough. “Kumar, do you have that A-ring powered up?”
“We’re going to run?” asked Kumar. Azure whistled in protest.
“From that asshole? No way in hell. Wolf, signal the Krakau. Tell them to break off pursuit. Kumar, deploy the ring with maximum diameter.”
“Grom hasn’t had time to program a course,” Kumar warned.
“We don’t need one. Kill the engines. Set the A-ring to full deceleration. Keep it powered up as long as possible.” She watched the screen as the ship’s microbeams maneuvered the A-ring into place directly in front of the bow. The ring expanded slowly until it was twice the diameter of the ship. At maximum size, it would generate only a fraction of its potential acceleration.
Mops wiped her hands on her uniform and watched the missiles. Now that their target had stopped trying to get away, they accelerated in a direct path toward the Pufferfish.
She counted down the seconds, watching the green sparks converge on her ship. If this didn’t work, at least they’d be dead too quickly for her failure to register.
A-rings had two basic settings, as Puffy had explained in the tutorial, “One for speeding things up and one for slowing them down.”
The Pufferfish’s rings were calibrated for the mass of a cruiser-class ship, with enough power to accelerate them to twenty light-years/hour, or to decelerate them at the end of their journey. And what was deceleration but acceleration in the opposite direction?
The bridge was silent. Even Grom and Azure appeared to be holding their breath as the first missile entered the A-ring and vanished. Energy that would have slowed an EMC cruiser instead hurled the tiny missile back along its path at speed too high for the Pufferfish to calculate or track.
More missiles disappeared, flung into deep space . . . until one struck a Prodryan ship. The potential explosive power of the missile was nothing compared to the energy released by the faster-than-light collision.
One moment Heart of Glass’ forces were closing in. The next, an expanding ball of light blotted them from existence.
“Holy shit,” whispered Wolf.
The A-ring shattered moments later. Shock waves shook the Pufferfish, adding to the list of alarms and damage reports.
Mops pried her fingers from her chair. She licked her dry lips and swallowed. “Wolf, send a message to Admiral Pachelbel. As politely and professionally as you can, please ask if they require any additional assistance from the EMC.”
Twelve years ago:
“Commander Scheherazade, the mid-term assessment results on the new batch of humans is in.”
The Awakening and Orientation Officer for the Antarctic Medical Facility raised her head from the steaming pool. “How do they look, Seikilos?”
“Minor pre-cure damage, but nothing debilitating. All eighteen passed basic physical and intellectual tests, and their EMC training is proceeding well. Several have demonstrated officer-level analytical and problem-solving skills.”
Scheherazade sank back into the water. How anyone could survive, let alone thrive, in this cold, dry Earth air was beyond her. Even the feral humans avoided this continent. But that was the point. Better to restore and train these humans in a remote location where their animalistic cousins weren’t constantly trying to eat everyone.
She touched the screen built into the wall of her steam pool, reviewing this group’s scores. Seikilos was right about the officer potential. She tagged several for command training, and another for sniper work. One by one she added her notes, saving the most interesting for last. She hesitated a long time over that final name before making her decision.
“Commander?” The hesitant clicks and whistles of Seikilos’ voice carried easily into the water. “The one you marked for hygiene and sanitation duty. Are you sure? She had the highest score in—”
“I like humans, but we both know how dangerous they are,” said Scheherazade. “Officers need a degree of intelligence and independence. This one has too much of both.”
“I . . . understand,” said Seikilos, who clearly didn’t.
“Trust me, technician. I’ve been in this job a long time. Put this human in the field, or worse yet, in command, and sure, she’ll excel for a while. But in the long run, it could be very bad for the Alliance.”
COOK HAD DONE A nice job repairing the damage to his restaurant. He’d also added a new sign to the door: NO BOMBS ALLOWED.
Mops scanned the customers on both sides of the restaurant. “Well?”
“I’ve identified Admiral Pachelbel.” Doc highlighted a floating table on the Krakau side of the restaurant. “I don’t see any additional security, but if she doesn’t have backup in here, she’ll have a team waiting nearby. Probably monitoring the situation through her visor.”
“Miss Mops!” Cook hurried from the kitchen, his fuzzy arms outstretched. “I’m happy to see you alive, and I hope today’s meal goes better than your last!”
“Me, too,” said Mops. “I’m so sorry about what happened before. I’m meeting a . . . a friend. I promise this one won’t try to blow me up.” At least, not here in public.
Cook beamed. “I’ll have a round of Tjikko nuts sent to your table.”
“That’s not necessary,” Mops called, but Cook was already scurrying away. With a sigh, Mops waded down the ramp toward Admiral Pachelbel. The water warmed her legs, but her uniform kept it from penetrating. “How’s everything looking outside?”
“All clear so far,” Monroe reported over the comm. “If the Alliance is watching, they’re keeping their distance. A pair of Prodryans started to go in, but changed their mind when they spotted Wolf loitering by the door.”
“You think they’re up to something?”
“I doubt it. Word in the towers is that the Prodryans here have been keeping their heads down since Dobranok. Heart of Glass’ failure brought shame to the whole damn race.”
“Kumar, keep our shuttle warmed up and ready to go, just in case.”
“Yes, sir,” said Kumar.
Mops nodded to herself. “Pufferfish, any sign of additional Alliance ships?”
After a brief delay, Grom responded, “Sensors haven’t picked up any unusual traffic. Everything’s fine here.”
Azure cut in to say, “Everything is not fine. This Glacidae uses cheat codes for their fighter combat simulator. I scored a direct plasma strike to their primary engines!”
“It’s not cheating,” Grom argued. “My ship has optical displacement technology from a previous campaign—”
Mops closed the connection as she reached the admiral’s table. She lowered herself onto the tangle of bars that served as a Krakau chair. Buoyancy kept it from being as uncomfortable as it could have been. “I’m a little surprised you agreed to meet with me, Admiral.”
Pachelbel chewed a small crustacean as she looked Mops over. “I appreciate the aesthetic modifications you’ve made to your uniform.”
“Thank you.” Mops had eliminated the rank
stripes and unit insignia for herself and her team. One sleeve retained the pufferfish icon for their ship, while the other showed a slowly rotating image of the Earth. “The infected members of my crew are sedated in a cargo container on docking bay level four, along with Squarm, the scientist who worked on the bioweapon.”
“Squarm?”
“Squarmildilquirn. You’ll find he’s wanted for interplanetary drug smuggling, assault, and public lewdness.”
“And the cure?”
Mops reached into a chest pocket and removed a metal vial. “It should be enough to analyze and duplicate. I’ve kept a sample on the Pufferfish as well, just in case.”
“Thank you.” Pachelbel stretched a tentacle toward Mops’ head. “What is that?”
“A baseball hat. An old relic from Earth. It used to belong to a man named Floyd Westerman. I’m told the curved red line and stylized animal were the symbol of a human sports team called the Chicago Cubs.” Mops trailed off as Cook arrived, balanced expertly on a small hover-raft, with a small sack of Tjikko nuts for Mops and a bowl of thick green soup for Pachelbel. “Can I bring you anything else?”
“We’re fine,” said Mops. “And she’s paying for all of this.”
Cook clicked his claws in appreciation and shifted his weight, sending the raft back toward the kitchen with only the smallest of ripples through the water.
As soon as he was gone, Mops leaned across the table. “Turns out there are a number of illegal Earth artifacts floating around, smuggled off-world by human recruits and bored Krakau. What I’d really like to find is an honest account of Earth history.”
“Honest history?” Pachelbel dipped her head, and a series of bubbles marked her amusement. “That’s as much an oxymoron as civil war.”
“Maybe,” Mops conceded. “But I imagine human accounts come closer to the truth than the stories we’ve been fed all these years. Particularly when it comes to the plague.”
Pachelbel sighed. “I wasn’t there, of course, but . . . what I’ve been told matches the information Azure gave you. A single Rokkau was sent along on that first contact mission. She attacked one of your planet’s leaders. Her venom, combined with human efforts to nullify the toxin, resulted in the devolution of your people. That mission was almost entirely erased from our history, hidden from everyone save the highest-ranking officials.”
“You could have stayed on Earth and tried to help us,” said Mops.
“They . . . we . . . were afraid. Afraid of what we’d done. Afraid of the fallout back on Dobranok. I say this to explain, not to excuse.”
“Where are the Krakau keeping the exiled Rokkau?”
“Until I received the alert from your ship, I believed the Rokkau were extinct,” said Pachelbel. “Even then, I assumed this Azure was a fluke. One of the last survivors, or perhaps one of a small group of refugees. This story of a rogue prison floating through space, an ice planet with millions of Rokkau trapped within . . . I know nothing of any such place.”
Mops picked up the tube containing Squarm’s counteragent and rolled it between her fingers. “I’m going to need more than that, Admiral.”
“Lieutenant—Mops—have you considered what you will do next? You have a stolen ship, heavily damaged and severely undercrewed. The Alliance has offered a bounty for your capture. Where will you go?”
“You’ll forgive me if I don’t feel like discussing our plans with you, Admiral,” Mops said dryly. “I think my team has managed pretty well so far. If I were you, I’d worry more about what happens when the rest of the Alliance learns the truth.”
“I am worried,” said Pachelbel. “More than you know. You should worry, too.”
Mops cocked her head. “Is that a threat?”
“It’s not intended as such. But consider your position. You have no real proof of your claims, save a being who could easily be dismissed as a deformed Krakau. Many believe you were working with the Prodryans.”
Mops grabbed a Tjikko nut and crunched down in disgust. “The same Prodryans we chased off or atomized two weeks ago when we helped save Dobranok?”
“I never claimed their belief was rational,” Pachelbel admitted. “If you pursue this course, it could destabilize the Alliance. The Krakau have kept peace among allied worlds for more than a hundred years. We’ve coordinated our defense against the Prodryans. Would you risk the security of the galaxy?”
“Security built on lies?” Mops snorted. “There’s your oxymoron, Admiral. The Krakau Alliance was born from the technology of a banished race. That security you value so much? My people are on the front lines defending it. The same people you nearly wiped out. If the truth destroys the Alliance, maybe that’s for the best. Maybe what grows from the ashes will be better.”
“And maybe it won’t.” Pachelbel uncurled a tentacle across the table, dropping a centimeter-wide memory crystal beside Mops’ bowl.
Mops didn’t touch it. “What’s this?”
“Instructions for a secure communications drop you can use to reach me, along with information on certain misrouted funds and other irregularities from the Alliance military budget. Ships whose mission logs are locked even to me. High-ranking HMC officials who issued a flurry of classified orders immediately following the fugitive alert on Azure. It’s not much, but somewhere in here could be . . . I believe humans call them ‘crumbs of bread’ to lead you to the Rokkau prison planet. If such a place exists.”
“Why would you give it to me?”
“Because I’ve seen the kind of chaos you’ll leave in your wake if I let you do this alone.” Pachelbel dipped the tip of a tentacle into the soup, then brought the dripping limb to her mouth. “I believed I was one of the few Krakau to know the truth of our history, but if Azure is correct about this prison, I was simply fed an alternate lie. If I investigate these things overtly, I’ll be stripped of my rank and locked away, branded a criminal and a traitor.”
Mops snorted. “But since we’re already traitors . . .”
“Exactly.”
Mops picked up the mem crystal and rolled it between her thumb and forefinger. “We’re going to need resources.”
“I’ve been given a great deal of leeway to negotiate with you for the bioweapon cure.”
A slow smile spread across Mops’ face. “Doc, please transmit our wish list to the admiral’s interface.”
Mops settled into the captain’s chair and turned to the backup station where Azure and Grom were working to analyze the memory crystal Admiral Pachelbel had given her. “What do you think?”
“Scanning software isn’t finding any hidden programs,” said Grom. “I want to run more checks, but it looks clean.”
“You really think this Krakau wants to help you find my people?” asked Azure.
Mops shrugged. “She didn’t try to arrest me. She didn’t try to shoot our shuttle down when we left the station. Neither of the two EMC ships in-system have tried to follow us. So far, it looks like she’s on our side.”
Azure twitched the stump of her missing tentacle. “I don’t trust her.”
“I didn’t say I did either.” Nor did she trust Azure, for that matter, but—so far—the Rokkau had done what she could to make herself helpful. And their chances of finding the other Rokkau would be significantly better with her help.
The pop of gum pulled her attention to the front of the bridge. “What’s our tactical situation, Monroe?”
“Not great,” he said. “Plasma beams are still functional on two weapons pods. A-guns are only running on one. But I talked to that Tjikko, Theta, like you ordered. He gave me the name of a shipyard that might be willing to help. They’d strip two of our weapons pods for parts and keep those as payment for fixing the third. We’d be down to thirty-three percent of our standard armament, but we’d have a fully loaded and functional pod. They could probably repair the other damage we’ve collected, to
o.”
“Send the coordinates to Kumar, so he and Grom can prepare for the A-ring jump.” Mops cleared her throat. “Kumar?”
Kumar jumped. “Sorry, sir. I was showing Vera how navigation works.”
Mops smiled at the newest member of the Pufferfish crew. “What do you think of the ship, Vera? This is your last chance to change your mind.”
Vera Rubin shook her head. “I’m done with Coacalos Station.”
It would be several more weeks before her body fully healed from the damage she’d suffered during the battle on the station. She’d lost her left eye and two fingers from her left hand, and her ribs and leg were restrained in healing braces. But she hadn’t hesitated when Kumar offered her the chance to join the Pufferfish.
Mops had made it clear that next time, he was to ask her first, but given what Vera had done for them, she could hardly say no. Vera might not be the most creative thinker, but she had a good memory, and did well with routine tasks. “Kumar, why don’t you take Vera through our rather convoluted process for plotting an A-ring jump.”
“Yes, sir!”
A crew of seven for an entire cruiser presented plenty of other problems. She’d sealed off and shut down roughly three-quarters of the ship, but everyone would be working long shifts for the foreseeable future. Pachelbel had provided access codes to the primary computers, which should allow a skilled programmer to automate more of the ship’s functions. Assuming they could find a reliable programmer to do it.
Pachelbel had also provided funds to cover refueling, and was looking into a source to replace the ship’s A-rings. Rings large enough for the Pufferfish were generally only manufactured at Alliance-controlled military facilities. The one bright spot was their food supply. With such a drastically reduced crew, they had enough nutrition to last months.
“The EMCS Box Jellyfish is leaving Coacalos Station,” said Wolf. “We’re receiving a tight-beam signal. Battle Captain Steve Irwin instructs us to power down and surrender immediately, by order of IMC Fleet Admiral Belle-Bonne Sage.”