Human, page 9
part #1 of Humanity Ascendant Series
His father glared at him. “You’d better keep an eye on how they add up because they’re damn good at multiplying .
“You can leave in two days?” he pressed.
Mishak nodded. “The modifications to our ships should be done before the last Humans report aboard.”
Sandrak nodded. “The PLC teams are still working out the glitches?”
“A few,” Mishak agreed, “but we’re also adding in some redundant systems and a few ladder chutes for the Humans.”
Sudden anger.
“You’re modifying our ships for the slaves?” Sandrak thundered. “I said you could fill the ranks with them, not change our whole damn military to accommodate them!”
Mishak calmly opened a holo recording of the test in engineering. “Watch this,” he said simply.
Uncertainty , some of it a result of Mishak’s calm demeanor. He’d noticed a facial tic that a friend had taught him to recognize as annoyance.
The holo was impossible to dispute.
“Do you see, now, why the Susai are so successful in combat?” he asked respectfully.
The Susai ruled nine systems containing twelve inhabited planets. Three of their native species were arboreal and two of those had been mushkenu for millennia.
“They let their free natives serve…,” Sandrak mused.
“And we all laugh at them for it, despite their combat record.” Mishak froze the display, just as Oliv reached the target. “It’s not much of a secret,” he admitted, “but it’s an easy one to hide in a society that doesn’t want to see it.
“These free Humans will give us an edge,” he insisted.
“We could replace the ladders with elevators…”
“We already have elevators, but they’re still slower than ladders and you have to wait for the damned things to arrive. What if you have a hull breach on the ventral side but the elevator is taking a damage control team to fix a dorsal shield emitter? If you replace that elevator with a shaft that multiple crewmen can use, you get both problems fixed faster.”
“The bleed on grav-plating?”
Mishak nodded. “We looked into that as well. Five meters for standard plating. You’d need at least a twelve-meter hole in the deck to get a two-meter-squared hole in the gravity. That’s one hundred forty-four square meters of lost deck-space per deck per hole and we’d need them in multiple locations.”
“Which takes as much space as sixteen elevators…”
“Or we just do a meter-squared hole for a ladder,” Mishak countered. “Believe me, I’ve done the math. This will give us an edge without having to sacrifice secondary systems. All that’s really needed is a willingness to help the Humans work at their peak efficiency.”
“And what do we do when the fighting calms down and we’re stuck with free Humans? If we don’t get them all killed off, Kish will be flooded with a mushkenu Human population in five decades. You can’t very well eliminate them without losing valuable ships.” Sandrak waved his hand at the far wall. “This is the latest design, very expensive.”
He looked sharply at his Mishak, who’d been wondering if there might be another son that he didn’t know about. His concern had been entirely over the loss of the ships and not the loss of his ‘only’ heir.
“I have an idea about that,” Mishak said. “One of the Humans on this ship is a highly trained coder. He’s the one who penetrated the system on Chiron.”
“That was a valuable strike,” Sandrak allowed, “though you might have easily ended up in their hands by now, if it had gone backwards on you.”
“It was a risk,” Mishak admitted, “but a risk never taken is an opportunity lost.
Sandrak sighed, another physical ‘tell’ that his friend had told him to watch for in his fellow Quailu. “It gave us an edge in this region at a moment when we needed it most.”
Mishak could feel how hard it was for his father to say that. He let his annoyance escape.
Sandrak glanced at him. “You said you have an idea involving your native programmer?”
There was no need to fake his enthusiasm though it wasn’t necessarily directed toward the death of his freed Humans. “He’s the one making the improvements in our fleet. I’ve been thinking of challenging him with a new idea while we shape space for Ur.”
He opened a holo between them. “A small scout-ship. We can build it entirely for Humans, so we save space by eliminating ramps. We can make them very stealthy, give them minimal armament to reduce the heat signature…”
“And they reveal an approaching enemy by exploding?” Sandrak raised an eyeridge. “It sounds like a good start. We’ll need time to find enough Quailu recruits to replace them,” he warned, “so don’t start killing them off right away.”
“I’ll try to restrain myself.”
“Hmph!” Sandrak leaned forward. “I’ve entered negotiations with Dagan.”
“For recruits?”
“Don’t be absurd! It’s time you were married. You should at least be up to the task of providing an heir, assuming you can tear yourself away from your Humans long enough!”
Mishak felt the color coming into his skin. He needed to avoid following the new trend of thought before his father picked up on it. Sudden mention of a mate naturally let to thoughts of other… activities. “Mot?” he said, incredulous.
“She’s a fine young female, very intelligent, good tactician…”
“And my first cousin!”
“The chromo match is clear; there’s no genetic risk.”
“She’s vile! I once watched her torture a wardu Keevan to death, just because she was bored.”
“I don’t care,” Sandrak snapped. He stood, leaning forward to place his hands on the table. “At the earliest possible moment, you will find yourselves in a bed-chamber in front of accredited witnesses. Our houses will be joined.”
“We’re already joined too closely for my comfort.”
Sandrak ignored this, stepping back from the table. “Signal me when you leave orbit.”
Without waiting for an answer, he turned and left.
“So,” Mishak mused, “I’ve got that to look forward to.”
Mot was an attractive Quailu by any physical standards you wanted to apply but she was a vicious creature. raised by Sandrak’s youngest brother who was also fostering uncle Uktannu’s son – so perhaps her disposition was no surprise – Mishak’s skin always crawled when he was near her.
The idea of being her mate, sharing her emotions, horrified him. He didn’t want her in his head, not even as a hypothetical exercise.
The door snapped open and he looked up in alarm, thinking he’d missed sensing Sandrak’s return, but then he smiled.
“The old prick is gone?” Oliv asked from the door.
He nodded and she gave him a sympathetic smile, sauntering over to where he sat.
It amazed Mishak how she could read him better than most members of his own species and she didn’t even have empathic abilities.
She swung her leg over him, sitting on his thighs, facing him. “You held your own,” she declared, looking at his face with approval. “He didn’t manipulate you the way he usually does.”
“I think that pisses him off.”
“No doubt, but he’s probably a little pleased as well. No father wants his son to be a complete pushback.”
“Thanks ever so much…”
“Hah!” She leaned forward, placing her hands on his waist. “You gave him a reason to feel proud, so what’s got your face so twisted?”
Body language was a dark art to the Quailu, thanks to their reliance on empathic communication. That didn’t mean they were devoid of any physical cues. Faces the universe over tended to react to feelings but the Quailu were terrible at understanding them or at noticing that they even had them. Why waste time on micro-expressions and gestures when you could simply feel someone’s mood directly?
Of course, as Oliv had already taught him, all Quailu learn to exert control over their emotions before they could be read, but none were adept at concealing the physical expressions. They always showed up, even if only for a brief moment, but they were enough to read.
It often came as a shock when Humans could sense his moods, but it still felt far less invasive than his own species.
“He wants to marry me off to my cousin.”
“So? It’s time you had a mate.”
“She’s pure evil.”
Oliv laughed, sliding up his lap. “So just go to her homeworld,” she whispered in his ear, grinding against him, “and do your noble duty until you’re both dehydrated.” She glanced down in pleased amusement. “Rinse and repeat until you have an heir or two and then just forget she exists. I’m sure that’s her plan already.”
“Thanks. You sure know how to seduce a fellah…”
“You’ve met her?”
“Many times.”
“Then she already knows how you feel about her. Don’t you think she’s looking forward to getting rid of you so she can enjoy a little freedom?”
He reached for the front of her crew-suit, only to find it already open. His hands slid inside to her waist. “Can we talk about this later?”
This old habit of theirs had even more spice to it, now that she was no longer a wardu.
He wondered how long she’d be interested in continuing it.
The Meeting that Never Was
N ot in there, you fool!” Kuri took a longer step forward and slapped the chamberlain on the back of his head, hard enough to rattle his third row. The hapless Quailu nearly stumbled through the door into his lord’s throne room.
He recovered his footing and wheeled on Kuri in outrage but his threat turned to a squawk as the imperial envoy grabbed his tunic and dragged him away from the entrance and into a side hall.
“Has there been any announcement made or schedule notes regarding my presence here?” Kuri growled. “Am I actually expected in your master’s throne room ?”
Fear, confusion, uncertainty.
“Well, I…”
Kuri cursed quietly. Despite clear instructions, this moron had scheduled him for a formal presentation, no doubt unable to resist the prestige of receiving an imperial envoy. If he walked in there, he wouldn’t be able to have the necessary conversation, not with hundreds of witnesses. If he simply avoided walking in there, suspicion would be aroused.
He hadn’t spent eight days in path-space just to turn around and go home. The only way to avoid walking into a public meeting was to make everyone forget about it in the first place. They’d need something more important to worry about. Nodding to himself, he pulled out the ceremonial sidearm that all diplomatic personnel carried.
The chamberlain’s eyes grew wide.
Kuri gave him an apologetic smile. “Can’t afford to take any chances. Sorry…”
The chamberlain squealed in terror, hiding his face in his hands as Kuri fired up at the ceiling. He shuddered, then peeked out from between his fingers.
Kuri waved his weapon to clear some of the acrid smell from the launch rails and shoved it back into its holster just as the first alarm started blaring.
Apparently , weapons fire had been detected in the governor’s palace.
Kuri turned his attention back to the chamberlain. “Where do they take him during a weapons alert?”
The chamberlain radiated fear but he at least had some small measure of courage. “No! I can’t…”
Kuri decided to kill him if he wouldn’t be of use. He could hardly leave him here to rally the security forces. He let that resolve flow through his conscious mind.
The chamberlain flinched as though he’d been slapped again. He looked down the hallway they stood in.
“That way?” Kuri demanded.
A nod. “But the anteroom is unbreachable during a lockdown. You’ll never get in.”
Perhaps that thought allowed him to think he wasn’t really betraying his lord. Kuri grabbed him and shoved him along the hallway.
They came to an ornately decorated round door at the end of the hall.
“It’s eight thousand kilos of advanced composite armor,” the chamberlain advised, clearly still terrified of Kuri’s wrath, especially now that he’d be thwarted. “It would take a warship to blast through it.”
Which of course would destroy the entire room along with it. Kuri grunted in amusement. He kept his left hand on the collar of the chamberlain’s tunic and grabbed a fistful of cloth nearer his lower back.
With a shove, he propelled him forward, gaining speed as he veered to the right. He slammed the poor fellow into the carbon wall panels to the right of the door and the chamberlain crashed through the relatively flimsy wall to sprawl at his lord’s feet, covered in acoustical batting.
Kuri stepped through the newly made opening, shooting the two guards who were training their weapons on the chamberlain, shuddering at their surprise and pain. “Sorry I’m late, My Lord,” he offered mildly, “but we could hardly have a meeting like this in a crowded throne room.” He glanced down at the chamberlain who now had a dark stain spreading out from his groin.
“Thank you for conducting me here.” He smiled down at him. “I think we can carry on without your assistance.” He gestured toward the hole they’d just come in through.
The chamberlain wasted no time in scrambling to his feet and scuttling out of the room.
“You shot my guards,” the lord chided.
“And I could easily have done the same to you,” Kuri replied, unruffled. He holstered his weapon. “Seeing as they’ve failed in their primary duty, I can only assume you’d have had them executed for dereliction anyway. I’ve saved us all some bother.”
“Well, you certainly have my attention.” The lord stepped over a dead guard and moved to a couch. “What message does your master send?”
“He finds it interesting that your overlord keeps you on the verge of becoming an elector.”
Intrigued .
“My duty is to my overlord,” the lord replied carefully.
Kuri sat in a chair facing him. “Loyalty is one of the most admirable qualities, but it’s a binary system. If it’s not reciprocated, it eventually decays. A wise overlord realizes that a grateful colleague is far better than a disgruntled subordinate.”
Betrayal is best eased into. One must first portray it as a normal, even natural thing. Outline the root cause, blame it on the victim, and then promise open approval and support.
The lord waved off Kuri’s words and leaned forward. “Let’s come straight to it. You said ‘elector’. That means the imperial court would like for me to seize a system and not out of any concern for my status. What is this proposed target that will give me my eighth system and why are we discussing this?”
For once, the personality modeler was correct. Kuri leaned in as well. “Heiropolis.”
The lord drew back. “Your master has spent too much time at court and not enough in the real universe. I would rather bide my time and hope my overlord changes his mind. Do you really think Sandrak would smile upon such an endeavor? I’d be splitting his holdings in half!
“Given the recent scandal, he’d also expect a free hand in dealing with me.”
“And if he didn’t have that free hand?”
“Don’t offer me hints and riddles! If you want me to risk my neck, then you’d better lay your pieces on the board – all of them!”
“Taking Heiropolis is contentious, to say the least,” Kuri admitted. “We would have to dispatch a force of Imperial Varangians with an adjudicator who would, of course, find your claim to be valid. You should put something together, before you launch your assault – perhaps the cousin of a long-lost uncle who once ruled there…”
“Where will this force be staged,” the lord demanded, “and how quickly can it arrive?”
“A neighboring system. Not here, obviously. We don’t want to arouse suspicion.”
“And the court will confirm me as an elector?”
“They will,” Kuri confirmed, “but there’s more to the bargain…”
“There always is, isn’t there?”
New doubts growing. Too good to be true…
Kuri held up a hand. “It all comes before you take the system. When you seize Heiropolis, everything will have to move very quickly, including your elevation to elector, or the entire enterprise will unravel.”
“Then what’s missing from this puzzle?”
“You need to conduct false-flag operations in Sandrak’s territory, in the half that’s farthest from Throne World.”
“You want to draw off his forces from the closer half, then cut them off?” The lord shuddered. “If any part of this rump-ravaged enterprise should happen to go awry, I’ll not only lose my current systems, I’ll lose my skin as well!”
Kuri smiled. “Then we have an agreement?”
Playing to Strengths
Scouts
E th walked into the forward hanger and over to the cluttered corner where Noa, Hendy and Oliv were staring at a large hologram. Behind them was a row of seven old shuttle cores, just the main bus conduits, control linkages and propulsion systems. Next to each sat a neat, black cube of the nanites that had formed the hulls of the shuttles.
Mishak had ordered the small craft brought up from the surface before they left Kish. His explanation had been exciting, to say the least. Eth would be given command of a small scout-ship, one with an entirely Human crew. If all went well, they’d become the core of the fleet’s security picket.
First, of course, they had to design the ship.
Noa shook his head, reaching out to drag a block of code from the main program. The entire aft section of the holographic ship disappeared. “It doesn’t need to end there, Hendy,” he insisted. “The shuttle’s propulsion is pitch-based – no shaping involved. It can project the pitch field effectively out to fifty meters before it loses focus.”
“I keep forgetting about the pitch-drive,” the pilot admitted, scratching at the back of his head. “I’d still rather have the ability to shape a path. If the fleet shapes away in a fight, we’ll be left behind if we just have a pitch-drive to run away with.”
