Flagship Victory (Galactic Liberation Book 3)

by B. V. Larson

  He then called Trinity for pickup.

  The Opter defector was brought aboard in shackles, snug duranium bracelets and anklets linked with chains. A heavy, treaded maintenance robot held a portion of the chain with one metal claw.

  Straker had expected an insectoid creature, but this looked like an ordinary man, standing there in Trinity’s wardroom, unassuming, of average height and build, with dark brown hair and faintly golden skin, well within the norms for the many variations of humanity.

  Only his eyes seemed unusual: calm and serene, but still sharp, as if they saw everything around him. Those eyes rested on each being in the room in turn—Nolan, Zaxby, Redwolf, and then Straker, who sat with a welcome mug of caff in his fist.

  “Have a seat,” said Straker, gesturing. “You want a drink?”

  “Anything with caffeine,” the man said in an ordinary tone. He sat and folded his shackled hands on the table in front of him. When he was given a mug of caff, he sipped at it with evident satisfaction.

  Straker had the odd impression the fellow considered himself unrestrained. He certainly didn’t act like a prisoner. He wasn’t defiant. He wasn’t subservient. He simply… was.

  “I’m Derek Straker,” he said. “They call me the Liberator. Who are you?”

  “My designation is Myrmidon. You can call me Don if you like.” The man’s voice seemed very ordinary, with an Earthan accent hard to place.

  “You claimed to be an Opter, but you look human?”

  “As do you, Liberator, though you’re almost as far from original human stock as I. It appears you’ve been infused with Opter biotech.”

  Straker sat back in mild puzzlement. “Not quite. I was infected with the HOC parasite, but I took the antidote before it ran its course.”

  “And where do you think the Mutuality obtained the HOC parasite?”

  Straker’s mind reeled.

  Zaxby, Nolan and Indy all tried to speak at once, demonstrating that they weren’t quite as integrated as Straker believed. Zaxby won out by dint of throwing himself into the seat next to the prisoner and talking to him from a range of centimeters. “I knew it! I knew the Mutuality’s demonstrated biological expertise was insufficient to create something like the Hok. Otherwise, there would not only be Hok, but all sorts of other biotech options for its citizens—such as rejuvenation, or physical alterations for unusual environments, or—”

  Straker interrupted loudly, reaching to shove Zaxby aside. “Pardon the annoying squid brainiac, Mister Myrmidon. So Opter biotech made the Hok? Why?”

  “Call me Don, please. Because the Mutuality was losing to the Hundred Worlds at the time. The Sarmok faction gave them the biotech to balance the scales, disguised as a natural discovery on a newly explored planet. It was untraceable to the Opters, and of course the Mutuality Party oligarchs embraced anything that gave them greater control of over their own citizenry… as any government naturally would.”

  “Yes… it was a win-win for people like that,” Straker said, eyes unfocused. “If a citizen couldn’t be ‘re-educated,’ he’d be turned into a Hok battle slave.” He folded his hands and placed his elbows on the table, leaning forward to focus on Myrmidon—or Don, as he seemed to want to be called. “And the Opters did this to keep the Huns from winning?”

  “Yes.”

  Straker thought about this for a moment. “How long have Opters been interfering in human affairs, encouraging them to fight each other? Balancing the scales, as you say?” He snapped his fingers. “And the nectar. That’s just one more way of screwing with us, I bet. How long?”

  “For centuries.”

  “Why?”

  “I believe you already know the answer.”

  “I can guess.” Zaxby opened his mouth, but Straker nodded to Nolan. Maybe letting the woman speak for Trinity would curb some of Zaxby’s verbal outbursts. “Can you?”

  Nolan’s pale green eyes blinked. “To keep humanity weak and busy fighting itself.” She turned to Don. “Only it didn’t work as expected, did it?”

  “Not in the long run, no. Every gift to one side or the other, every convenient, well-timed breakthrough—and there were many—restored the balance, but the tension between the two human sides kept military technology advancing. If not for the failure of the promise of AI, the progress curve would have turned exponential, as was expected hundreds of years ago. However, this technological singularity never occurred. Instead, humans kept breeding and spreading from world to world. Opters and other species couldn’t compete. It was a dilemma.”

  “So what changed after so long?” asked Straker. “Why attack us now?”

  Don stared and blinked at Straker. His eyebrows rose slightly.

  After a long moment, Straker got it. “Me. Or at least, the Liberation. I’ve upset the balance. We have a real shot at unifying humanity now, and you Opters can’t stand that idea.”

  “Not all Opters. The Sarmok faction.”

  “What’s this Sarmok faction?”

  “There are two major factions within our species. The Sarmok is dominant, but not all-powerful, composing approximately five-sixths of our people. They border human space. The Miskor is the other faction. They are located on the other side of Opter territory.”

  “And you’re one of those Miskors,” said Nolan, approaching Myrmidon to lay a hand on his shoulder.

  The man—if such he were—seemed to take no notice of the touch, and spoke. “I am Miskor. I’ve been embedded for years among the Sarmok, gathering information.”

  “So you’re an internal spy,” said Straker. “An operative.”

  “I am.”

  “Then how can we trust you?”

  “I don’t expect you to. I expect you to verify everything I say. Without my information, though, you’re likely to make grave missteps. I don’t think you wish to court a general war with the Opters.”

  “You don’t call this battle the start of a serious war?”

  Myrmidon smiled faintly. “This was an independent raid, tacitly approved by the Sarmok and conducted by some of the most belligerent Nests. If justification is ever needed, it will be claimed either that these Nests acted as rogues, or that they were attempting to aid the legitimate Mutuality government against the Liberation rebels.”

  “Fake reports. Propaganda, lies and politics,” Straker spat. “I hate politics.”

  “But you’re a warrior, and war is politics by other means. Across the galaxy, life’s base impulse is to spread and grow and ruthlessly dominate its neighbors, to its own benefit.”

  “That sounds like a miserable view of things.”

  “It is,” said Don, “ though I said this is life’s base impulse. With sentience comes morality, which regulates the ruthlessness of the jungle. A sufficiently advanced species will endeavor to think honestly and act morally.”

  “That doesn’t describe most species I know.”

  “Precisely. While enlightenment is a goal, it’s also a journey.”

  Straker snorted. “Now you’re talking in cryptic mumbo-jumbo, like my Kung Jiu instructors.”

  “Do you have writing materials?” Don asked.

  Zaxby reached into a drawer and retrieved a pad and stylus, activating its analog graphics feature before placing it in front of Myrmidon. The Opter-man scribbled with the stylus for a moment, and then turned it to show Straker a list of mathematical equations.

  “Yeah, so?”

  “To you, that’s cryptic mumbo-jumbo. But to this Ruxin here, whom I perceive to be a technician or scientist, it is—”

  “—a rather elegant proof of Ridzo’s fifth theorem!” Zaxby cried, seizing the pad in three tentacles and holding it as if precious. “It’s not the first proof I’ve seen, but it is undoubtedly the most elegant! I must record this and distribute it to my network of Ruxin colleagues—”

  Straker crossed his arms. “Great, point made. You have to know things to know more things. But you also have to translate your obscure higher principles into actions that
help people in the real world. That’s what I’m doing. I’m liberating people from oppression. I can’t tell them how to live after that. In fact, I don’t want to keep intervening—unless they start up with the oppression and subjugation again.”

  Don folded his hands again. “That’s a fine goal, but even if you succeed in the short term, you’ll only be putting out fires.”

  “Then the fires will be out. Call me a fireman. I know my strengths and weaknesses. I’m not a builder or a ruler.”

  “What if you could be more than you are?”

  Straker shrugged. “What if I don’t want to be?”

  “Then there’d nothing more to be said on the subject.”

  “Fine.” Straker stood. “Trinity, debrief him fully. Verify as much of his story as you can, and then turn him over to Fleet Intelligence for further interrogation.”

  Don stood as well. “I’ll provide all the information I can, but sending me to rot in some think-tank is an unwise use of my skills.”

  “I’ll be the judge of that.” Straker nodded at Nolan, and she followed as the robot marched the chained man-thing out of the room toward the ship’s tiny brig.

  He turned to Zaxby. “What do you think?”

  “He seems to be as human as you are. Indy has a full suite of biometric sensors on him and could sense no deception. However, we don’t know his capabilities. Perhaps he could lie and show no sign.”

  “He seems sincere—and what he said about meddling with humans is plausible. Obvious, even, in hindsight.”

  Zaxby blinked all four eyes in sequence. “It may also explain my own people’s subjugation by humans.”

  “You weren’t any more subjugated than humans were to other humans.”

  “It may seem so to you. You never had to deal with the bullying, the taunts, the mean-spirited abuse from your adolescent fellow cadets at Academy, who knew they would never be as capable.”

  Straker snorted. “Oh, yes I did take that crap—many times. They knew I was destined to be a top mechsuiter, and some resented it. But I bet you brought a lot of it on yourself by acting superior and snooty.”

  “I am superior.”

  “And snooty. But people don’t like their noses rubbed in it.”

  “Fortunately, I have no nose.”

  “But they do. Why don’t you think with some of your Trinity brain for a while and try to see things from other points of view? I’m sure Miss Nolan has a lot of insight into humans.”

  “That’s a good idea. I am constantly amazed by your lack of stupidity, Derek Straker.”

  “And I’m constantly amazed that, even brainlinked to an AI and a human, you haven’t improved your people-skills.”

  “Thank you,” Zaxby said primly.

  “That wasn’t a compliment.”

  “I believe it was. It’s also ironic, coming from you. I never heard anyone laud your people skills.”

  Straker sighed. “Forget it. I’m totally beat. Gonna catch a nap. Hold any comlinks. Wake me up in three hours and I’ll read the debrief.”

  Later, fresh mug of caff in hand, Straker read over the written summary of the defector’s debrief, and then read it again. It appeared Myrmidon’s story checked out, as far as Trinity could tell. More interesting, he’d provided an enormous amount of useful intelligence on Opter territory, technology and weaponry.

  Everything Straker saw worried him.

  He carried the handtab and mug to the brig. The door unlocked and opened with a push of his elbow. Of course, Trinity controlled everything aboard her body. Or Indy did. Whatever. He couldn’t figure out where one began and the other ended.

  Inside, he sat facing Don, who still wore his chains like jewelry rather than shackles. “I’m amazed at this windfall of intel,” Straker said, holding up his handtab. “What made you decide to betray your people?”

  “I’m not betraying my people. I’m attempting to restore balance. Opters revere balance, elevating it to a spiritual significance. Like many revered spiritual values, however, it’s often sacrificed by those greedy for gain.”

  “So you’re acting for the greater good. I understand that. I’m thinking about doing some things that my old chain of command in the Hundred Worlds would consider treasonous, though I deem them to be for the greater good. Yet, giving us all this intel could lose a lot of Opter lives…”

  Myrmidon shrugged. “Opter Nests don’t hold the lives of individual members in high regard. Losing warriors, workers or technicians is analogous to a corporation losing machinery. The Nest is the valued entity, not the member.”

  “I’d guessed that, from your tactics. But you might lose whole Nests, if it comes to war.”

  “We may.”

  Straker tossed the handtab on the table, rubbed his jaw and thought. “But since you’re Miskor, from the underdog faction, you don’t necessarily mind if the Sarmok take some hits. It will bring things closer to the balance you like.”

  “Very astute. That’s one consideration.”

  “What’s another?”

  “We believe the current Sarmok intentions to be immoral, intended to subjugate or, if necessary, wipe out the majority of your species.”

  “We, the Miskor?”

  “Yes.”

  Straker sighed. “This is all pretty convenient, this story you’ve told me. It’s plausible, it’s consistent, and it’s seductive. I want to believe it. But it could also be a complete illusion, a setup and a scam intended to get me and the New Earthan Republic to act a certain way.”

  Don spread his hands to barely less than the limits of his chains. “You’ll have to decide for yourself.”

  “Oh, I will. But here’s another question. Why are you so smooth? Why aren’t you like other aliens? Even someone like Zaxby, who’s been around humans much of his life, doesn’t act like one. Nobody would ever guess you’re an Opter.”

  The Opter-man took a deep breath and sighed. “I suppose it’s because I’ve been studying the human worlds all my life. I’ve lived among you off and on for years, immersed in your civilization. Culture matters more than the body or its appearance. Opters can use biotech to reshape bodies at will—which renders the body largely irrelevant as a marker of identity. In every way that matters, I am human.”

  Straker pointed a finger at Don. “That’s exactly what I mean. Smooth. You got an answer for everything, and that’s what bothers me. In fact, the one flaw in your perfect humanity is that you’re too perfect, too stereotypically human—because real people are never as poised and perfect as you are. But con men are.”

  Myrmidon shrugged. “A catch-22, then. If I made mistakes, you’d see them as evidence of deception or untruth. If I don’t, you see that fact as evidence of deception or untruth. Damned if I do, damned if I don’t.”

  “Another perfect answer.”

  “That’s how you perceive it. I am a more advanced soul than you are.” Don said this without a hint of smugness, as if merely stating a fact.

  Straker’s answer dripped sarcasm. “Oh? Really?”

  “Yes. Just as you’re above a recruit at boot camp. The recruit doesn’t even know what he doesn’t know, and at first must be convinced of his fundamental ignorance.”

  “True wisdom is to know you know nothing.” Straker rubbed an eye and sipped his cooling caff. “Socrates.”

  “Among others.”

  “But I always thought that was bullshit. I know what I know, and it ain’t nothing.”

  “But you have no inkling of what you don’t know. For example, you not only didn’t know the Opters were an enemy, you didn’t even know Opters existed until recently—nor did you know you should care, and how they influenced your life. One key to success is to expect to be surprised at all times.”

  “If you expect to be surprised, you can’t be surprised. Okay, fair enough. But how does that get us anywhere now? How can I trust what you say?”

  “Seeing is believing.”

  “Meaning what?”

  “I can take
you to the Opter space. You can walk among us as I do.”

  Straker’s eyes widened. “What, they’re gonna let a human just roam around?”

  “You still misperceive. No, they will not let a human roam around, but they will let an Opter do so. I am Opter. The bipedal form of a human I wear is of little relevance. Bipeds have been incorporated into the Nests and Hives over the last few centuries, just as the workers and warriors and other specialized Facets were over the preceding millennia.” Myrmidon smiled. “If we can turn humans into Hok in the space of days, we can certainly turn them into Opters. And breed our own.”

  Straker shuddered involuntarily at the horror of a biotech that would steal people’s humanity. He’d gotten used to the idea of the Hok, but only by ignoring its deeper implications.

  Now, he had to face those implications. Even more than the threat of conquest, these Opters could corrupt and change what made people human.

  What made him human.

  What made Straker himself.

  Were those the same thing, though?

  “Trinity, you listening?” Straker asked.

  “I am.”

  “Send out a message to your brainiac network, all the labs and biologists and so on. Get working on a vaccine, something to protect people from Hok and Opter biotech. If we already have one, make sure it gets distributed and that people are vaccinated.”

  “That will be an enormous undertaking across a thousand systems—a matter of years.”

  “Then the sooner it gets started, the better.”

  “I will pass the message.” Trinity’s voice seemed to express doubt, but Straker didn’t care. His job was to get people to do what needed to be done, not tell them how to do it.

  “That’s a wise precaution, but the Sarmok can create endless new strains that will get around any vaccine,” said Myrmidon.

  “Move and countermove. It will be a biological war. Don’t forget, we humans have engineered some pretty nasty diseases ourselves. We’ve wiped out whole species of bugs on our planets.”

  Myrmidon raised a palm slightly. “You don’t need to convince me. I’m working toward peace and balance.”

  “Too bad that usually means fighting a war first.”