Humans

by A. G. Claymore

  She gave no indication that she’d heard the extra voice.

  Eth had never felt more powerless in his life, even when he’d been a wardu, but he was surprised to realize that he didn’t mind at all. Scylla’s mind, despite the scars, despite the terrible knowledge, flowed around his thoughts like a warm summer breeze.

  That’s nice! she thought. I like this connection too!

  A Chat

  The Dibbarra, Ataqlat system

  Eth took the proffered cup of coffee from Mishak’s hand, recognizing the honor with a Human nod of thanks that acknowledged both the coffee and his lord’s ability to perceive the gesture, even though most Quailu couldn’t. One of the things he appreciated most about his lord was his subtlety.

  “Yeah, he’s more subtle than most,” Abdu admitted. “Still didn’t stop me from taking a bullet to the brain. A tradition that died with me…”

  Eth stifled a flare of annoyance.

  He knew his lord would make a good emperor, as long as he could keep him alive long enough to take the throne.

  “So…” Mishak dropped onto the low couch in the middle of his receiving room, waving Eth to sit in one of the chairs. The suite had been built aft of the bridge, just behind the comms suite, and it gave him the ability to conduct matters of state without having to tramp through the bridge to use Captain Rimush’s boardroom. “… What have you learned?”

  “Lord, I’ve learned that Ilgi knows nothing. He has no idea what motivated his father to send him out on that rump-humped errand. That couch beneath you has a better understanding of its purpose than he does.”

  “So we’ve risked exposing our stealth abilities for nothing,” Mishak grumbled. “It’s my fault. I really thought we could squeeze something from that idiot.”

  “I think we’ve managed to mask our stealth abilities,” Eth said. “I might have given him the mistaken impression that we were shifting between alternate universes, rather than relying on something as mundane as carbon nano-tubule coatings.”

  “You always were a clever one…”

  “Alternate universes?” Mishak stared at him in disbelief. “You can’t possibly expect him to fall for that! It’s a proven impossibility!”

  Eth stifled a knowing smile and the feelings that would have accompanied it. “You did just say he was an idiot, lord,” Eth countered mildly. “He seemed to buy it and, since it’s such a massive whopper of a lie…”

  “The whole empire will be buzzing about how deadly we are within a half-lunar,” Mishak chuckled, a deep throaty rumble in his chest.

  “In all fairness, lord, we are deadly.” Eth drained his coffee and glanced at the carafe on the sideboard. Mishak waved his assent. “And I’m much happier if the rest of the empire thinks it’s for some other tech than what we’re actually using.”

  He poured another cup, then stepped over to refill Mishak’s with an ease borne of many such discussions. “So we got no information from him but we managed to disseminate some favorable rumors, at least.”

  Mishak stared into the dark liquid. “I need to know what my father is up to. Waiting until he reveals his ultimate goal is not a viable option. By the time that happens, it will already be too late to do anything about it.”

  “The sheer number of electors involved could indicate an attempt to keep you from the imperial throne,” Eth suggested.

  “It could, but what does he gain? He doesn’t want that throne. It has little real power, only influence and prestige. He wants to declare himself king of his own territories. That way, he gets to keep his raw power and still sit a throne. Keeping me from becoming the emperor seems irrelevant to his goals.”

  “His goal would be much easier to accomplish if the crown couple aren’t able to interfere directly in his affairs,” Eth said. “Keeping you busy elsewhere in the empire makes his work easier and it makes the citizens question the empire’s ability to keep the peace.”

  Mishak grunted. “It makes them more likely to accept a strong polarizing force within the empire.”

  “Like a king,” Eth said simply.

  “But how is he doing it?” Mishak asked as though Eth hadn’t spoken. “So many awilu are launching attacks that make little or no sense. They must know they’ll face backlash, so what is Sandrak using against them for leverage?”

  He looked up at Eth. “Your man, Gleb – when do you expect to hear from him?”

  “He sent a coded message just before I came to see you. He thinks it may have to do with extinct species. He found a list of awilu who contract to Meleke for extinct genomes. The empire doesn’t regulate extinction registrations because they’d have to fund their own expeditions. Meleke has never allowed imperial interference in their long-range groups. If those species aren’t really extinct…”

  “Then their economies are sitting on an illegal foundation?” Mishak set his mug down. “How can my father use something like this? A threat to expose any single lord with such information is, by its nature, a threat to destroy the Meleke Corporation as well.”

  “What I’d like to know,” Eth added, “is how he gets this information in the first place.” He made a dismissive gesture. “Those who use extinct species as their wardu labor force are a matter of public record but the list Gleb sent us is very specific. Some he singles out for pressure and others aren’t even on the list.

  He shrugged apologetically. “No offense intended, Lord, but, if someone had information that could do them serious harm, your father…”

  “Is the last person in the universe you should entrust it to,” Mishak finished for him. “So that means he has some kind of leverage over the folks at Meleke. Send me the list and I’ll look through it…” He tilted his head suddenly. “Are we on that list?”

  “No, lord.”

  “I suppose we shouldn’t be,” Mishak said, sitting back on his couch. “Your lot went extinct tens of millennia ago.”

  “How did we go extinct?” Eth, not alone among his kind, had always wondered but there was almost no public data available on the subject. The Meleke Corporation kept close controls on any data. If it could be sold, they kept it under lock and encryption-key.

  “Who knows?” Mishak rumbled as airily as any Quailu could. “Probably killed yourselves off fighting over resources or some gaudy trinket with religious significance. That’s what usually happens.”

  “Bet he knows something,” Abdu growled. “I liked him but, at the end of the day, he’s still a Quailu!”

  Eth’s gaze drifted slightly as he considered this. “Or Meleke released some kind of non-persistent nerve agent in the atmosphere?” he suggested darkly.

  Mishak looked at Eth for a moment, his surprise clear to the Human, though he didn’t know it. “You don’t really think they’d do something like that, do you? Even for an evil corporation like them, it’s too much to even consider!”

  “Perhaps, lord. Perhaps.”

  “Look, all we know is that your kind had developed a basic sort of civilization, fairly low-tech, and then you’d all managed to snuff it.”

  Eth nodded. “And then along comes Meleke with their sniffers and their reconstruction algorithms and Humans become available for license as a wardu labor force and that’s all assuming that we really are extinct.”

  He shrugged, a small compliment for his lord. “Given what we’ve learned so far and, given where I stand in the empire, can you blame me for my suspicions?”

  “I suppose not,” Mishak conceded, “but where do you see your standing in the empire? You’re mushkenu, no longer a slave, and you hold my commission as well as a substantial rank in my house forces.”

  He leaned forward aggressively. “And that’s a rank given by one of the foremost electors in the HQE, not to mention, gods willing, the future emperor!”

  “But what are we?” Eth demanded.

  “What are you? You’re Humans.”

  “But what does that mean?” Eth pointed at Mishak. “Your parents lay together and you were born ten months la
ter. I was grown in a chamber. I have no parents, no ancestors. Even the freeborn Humans on Memnon’s ships came from chambers and I’d be surprised if he didn’t have some sort of agreement with Meleke to make sure they don’t reproduce.”

  “Does Scylla have a steriplant?” Abdu mused. “She wants to play house…”

  “If it’s reproductive rights that you’re concerned about…” He stopped as Eth shook his head angrily.

  “No, Lord… Well, not entirely.” He frowned, not sure how to phrase it, even to himself. He hadn’t planned on unleashing this outburst but Abdu seemed adept at pushing buttons.

  “To make you exist, your parents made a choice, a free choice. To make me exist, you paid a licensing fee to the Meleke Corporation. All Humans exist as a result of a licensing fee.”

  He shrugged. “Are we a species or are we still just a commodity?”

  “Hmmm…” Mishak set his mug down. “Now I see what’s been eating at you lately.”

  “Lord?”

  “I’ve been picking up on some subtle physical cues,” the Quailu said, not without a touch of pride, “and whatever the Varangians did to you seems to have worn off a little as well. I get the occasional hint of a feeling.”

  Though his students in the Understanding took care to keep their feelings readable to the Quailu, Eth had to take a more gradual approach, easing back from the total blankness that his lord had already noticed. He hadn’t realized that he was letting some of his discontent seep through.

  “Are you saying you’ve developed a better understanding of physical cues because of my… injury?”

  Mishak leaned away slightly. “Ah, well…” he temporized. “I have paid closer attention since your visit with the Varangians,” he said, telling part of the truth in the manner of an empathic individual who’s trying to hide the other part.

  Eth suddenly felt a mix of fondness and guilt in his lord. He found himself thinking of a Human, one he knew but couldn’t quite identify. It had to be coming from Mishak. A Human female…

  He decided to steer away from that. “Even if the current group of mushkenu Humans decide to exercise our reproductive rights,” he mused, “at what point do we stop being an anomaly and start being an actual species?”

  “Given your species’ reproductive statistics,” Mishak said with a grin, “it would be pretty damned quick! Have patience. Things are changing.”

  “Change happens damned slowly,” Eth grumbled.

  “That’s why it’s not called chaos!” Mishak retorted. “And from the Quailu perspective, it’s happening with terrifying speed. Remember how Abdu died on Chiron? He shielded some lowly Quailu office minion from getting shot by local security troops. Gave his life for someone of little importance simply because of his species.”

  “Yeah,” Abdu drawled, “might have heard something about that!”

  Mishak pointed a finger at Eth. “How many Quailu have you killed since then? Bau told me how you threw her crew off that scout-ship.” He held up a hand. “Don’t concern yourself. She explained how it was necessary to get her to a more-or-less safe landing.

  “The point is, the various native species of the empire, in just a few months of conflict, have gone from a point where they were sacrificing themselves in order to save Quailu lives to one where they’re actively killing them. It’s not just Humans, either. The HQE can never go back to the way it was.

  “Those who fought for their lords aren’t going to meekly lay down their weapons and go back to their old ways.” Mishak drained his cup and set it down. “You want change and, though it seems slow to you, it seems terrifyingly fast to the Quailu, at least to those of us who’ve bothered to give any thought to where all this is leading.”

  Eth bristled. “They’re afraid they’ll have to be polite to us savages?”

  “They’re afraid,” Mishak countered gently, “that they’ll end up going from positions of power to complete irrelevancy. We’ve already met a delegate from the Zeartekka Hive. They want their queen to rule the Zearta system for real. Not even a token Quailu lord or governor.”

  Eth frowned. That, in itself, wasn’t terribly surprising. The Zeartekka were, by far, the most unusual species in the HQE. Their loyalty to their queen was absolute and always would be.

  It wasn’t just a question of sworn loyalty and tradition for them. They might have different fathers but the queen was, quite literally, their mother. She would always have first claim on their allegiance.

  He tried, but he couldn’t imagine having a mother. He couldn’t begin to understand the concept of having his own parents.

  Eth had the feeling that an iceberg lurked beneath the Zeartekka delegation. “Who else has petitioned you?” As the presumed heirs to the throne, Mishak and Tashmitum would be a logical target for lobbyists.

  “An endless stream of them,” Mishak sat back with a sigh. “Some want native seats on planetary councils, some want full proportional representation. It goes all the way up to those who want out of the HQE altogether.”

  “Lord! The empire won’t survive if we start letting systems secede!”

  “I fear Tashmitum and I may be the last royal couple to rule the HQE. Not a very distinguished epitaph but, there it is and the longer we take in uncovering my father’s schemes the greater the changes to the empire. Your fellow had better work quickly!”

  “If anyone can do this, it’s Gleb,” Eth assured him. “He can only move so quickly, though, when he’s waiting for chance to look his way. That’s how he got that list from Melvin the Bastard.”

  Mishak chuckled. “Did he learn where Melvin got those Humans he has on his ships?”

  “Not exactly. He did learn that the Humans on Memnon’s ship are considered free-born but they’re also all indentured in order to cover the cost of their emancipation.”

  “That may actually be legal,” Mishak mused, “though it’s murky enough to tie me and the Meleke Corporation up in the courts for decades. Technically, I’m the only legally licensed user of the Human genome, but it’s specifically for wardu use. If there are free Humans like yourself…” He grinned, or at least moved his facial features in a very Quailu parody of a Human grin. “So they see the value in using Humans on their ships?”

  “They’re no more useful on that ship than any Quailu. They just fill the bottom end of the labor pool.”

  “That’s because Melvin’s not the great visionary that I am,” Mishak said dryly. It was something he never used to do, employing sarcasm with a non-Quailu, because it was so hard for them to know when he was being serious.

  But Eth seemed to pick up on it and Mishak assumed the Human was just better than most at picking up on the miniscule body language of the ruling species.

  “Perhaps, lord, he doesn’t have your extensive background at ripping off your neighbors?” Eth suggested lightly.

  Mishak threw back his head and rumbled with laughter. “Gods, I needed a good laugh!” He chuckled. “A little impertinence goes a long way,” he said, suddenly leaning toward Eth. “A little!”

  Eth held up his left hand, thumb and forefinger close together. “A little, lord,” he agreed.

  “Here I am,” Mishak said, “lamenting my stressful existence while Gleb is on my father’s ship, surrounded by potential enemies. I can’t imagine how he keeps it together.”

  “You’d be surprised, lord.” Eth tilted his head, frowning. “Not to take away from the difficulty of what he’s doing, but he’s a Human on a ship where the Quailu look right through Humans as if they don’t exist.”

  “That’s a bit strong, isn’t it?”

  “Not really, lord. With respect, you can’t know what it’s like. You grew up at court. The princess royal was a childhood friend. People always see you. I know you possess the imagination to work most of it out, intellectually, but you’d have to actually live it to know that staying hidden on your father’s ship is the easy part.”

  “If that’s the easy part, what’s the hard part?”


  “Not killing the other Humans. Gleb says it was bad on Memnon’s ship. The folks he’s hiding among were grown recently and just crammed aboard the ships. They’re trying to figure out what it means to be Human with no real frame of reference, no pre-existing society or traditions to guide them.

  “Some have turned out alright but there are more than enough of them who see ways to exploit their crewmates and they’re acting without any restraint – coercion, theft, rape and murder, just for starters.”

  “That’s unconscionable!” Mishak exploded. “The officers are supposed to be responsible for everything that happens on their ship. There’s no excuse for allowing any abuse to take place!”

  “They can’t know everything,” Eth countered. “There are endless little moments where pressure can be brought to bear without anyone knowing about it.

  “You’d probably be surprised at how close I came to knuckling under to a petty officer third class when we first reported aboard the Dibbarra. He came storming up the boarding ramp of our shuttle, shouting insults, and tried to lay hands on me.”

  “What?” Mishak’s head reared back in surprise. “But you were a warrant officer! You outranked him by a wide margin…”

  Eth offered a wry grin. “It’s one thing to know that sitting here, but being there, caught up in the adrenaline and uncertainty with a Quailu coming at me as though he had every right to do so and only days after Ab sacrificed himself for some nobody simply because he was a Quailu…

  “I had to force myself to twist that petty officer’s arm half out of its socket.”

  “That was funny!”

  “You did that? How is it that I’ve never heard of this till now?”

  “Lord, if I’d come to you every time someone on your ship was behaving like an asshole, you’d have concluded that it was a mistake to write out a warrant for me. If we couldn’t prove we were capable of looking after ourselves, we might have ended up like the Humans on Memnon’s ship.”

  He held up his hand again to forestall his lord’s protest. “I know you would never have ordered such a thing but it would have happened naturally from the constant pressure we got from the rest of the crew, and you would have been disappointed that we allowed it.”