But the CEO’s grip firmed up. “No. We were never friends. I could see what a sociopath you were from the beginning. At first I saw it as a strength—plenty of good CFOs are sociopaths. But I misjudged you. You’re a different breed altogether, and you’re playing with forces you don’t understand.”
Sighing, Steele nodded. “I’m truly sorry it has to be this way. Why don’t you get it over with, then, Calvin? Man up and pull the trigger.”
More trembling. “I’m sorry, too, Tennyson.”
“Just do it, you coward.”
Godfrey fired. The bullet traveled a foot forward and sharply reversed course, implanting itself in the CEO’s fleshy forearm instead. He dropped the gun and fell backward onto the floor, clutching the wound and shrieking.
Steele’s own pistol, which hadn’t been modified remotely, felt pleasantly cool in his hand as he drew it from the holster concealed inside his suit.
“I understand much more than you realize, Calvin,” he muttered as he lowered the muzzle until it touched Godfrey’s glistening forehead. “For example, I knew you were planning this. I intentionally started taking walks down these secluded halls, to give you your opportunity.”
He pulled the trigger, and the bullet did what it was told to do. Godfrey’s shuddering came to an end, and Steele replaced his pistol inside his suit, leaving the bloody, cooling mess for someone else to clean up.
Chapter 17
Coffee Station
“Mind if put on some politics?” Sergeant Caine asked him from her crash seat across the shuttle.
“Hmm? Oh. No, I don’t mind. But we can’t get a live feed from here, can we?”
“Course not. It’s all recordings.” She leaned forward against the straps that held her in the chair and shouted toward the shuttle’s cockpit. “Hey, Skids! Put on the debate!” When she turned back to Husher, she wore a smile. “I could never put this stuff on with the shuttle full of jarheads. Their whining would drown out every point.”
Politicians make points?
The wall that hid the pilot from view held a screen, which typically displayed on-the-ground tactical data. Now it showed Sonya Hurst facing off against Zach Santana, each gripping a podium on a well-lit stage.
“As President of the Commonwealth, I would show the same steadiness that my wife did when she was President,” Zach Santana said. “In her dealings with alien powers, she remained stern but fair, and—”
“Oh please,” Hurst moaned, “spare us the details of your awful foreign policy plan. The people of the Commonwealth are tired of your backroom dealings with enemy powers. I’ll tell you what we’re gonna do. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again. We’re gonna tell the aliens very politely to return to their home systems and that they have one year to do it. No more alien colonies in systems where we have colonies. After the year is up, we kick out the ones who didn’t listen. And then we’re gonna close the darkgates that lead to their systems. Permanently. It’s very simple. We own the darkgates, and they won’t be permitted to use them anymore to come into our systems and play their little games. They can go back to using the old, unstable wormholes they used to use. I just can’t see why—”
“Okay, Skids, turn it off,” Caine yelled. “I just realized I can’t take her right now.” The vid disappeared. “What a shit person.”
“Mm,” Husher said.
The shuttle felt empty without the marines filling the crash seats, shouting insults to each other. Husher found his gaze wandering to the Darkstream reentry suit again, simply because there wasn’t much else to look at. He tried to imagine using the thing to try surviving passage through a planet’s atmosphere.
“I wish there were windows,” Caine said. She seemed uncomfortable with silence.
“Windows would offer a convenient weak point for enemy fire. Or just some stray space junk.”
“I know that. What are you, an encyclopedia? I’m trying to have a conversation.”
“Sorry.”
“You ever been to a Coffee Station?”
“Once.”
“What’s it like?”
“Well, for one, I wouldn’t call it a Coffee Station when you’re in there. They consider the name a bit of a slight.”
Caine squinted at him. “Why?”
“They think it implies they’re just a bunch of silly aliens sitting around and sipping tea or something. But they take the whole thing very seriously, kind of like how we view universities, or how we used to view them before they became so corporatized.”
“What do they call them, then?”
“Knowledge Hubs. Or, usually just Hubs.”
“Good to know.”
A jolt went through the shuttle, accompanied by a thud. They’d docked with the Coffee Station. Husher clawed at his straps, eager to get free of them, and across the shuttle Caine did the same.
A Tumbran awaited them just inside, its protruding eyeballs registering their arrival with no visible reaction. It had probably only ever seen a handful of humans ever come out of that airlock, but if it experienced any surprise, it didn’t let on.
The alien extended both its spindly arms upward, the tips of its hairy fingers coming to about Husher’s belly button. Its drooping chin flesh wobbled when it moved. “Your sidearms, please.”
They’d expected this, which was why they hadn’t come with anything bigger. Husher had insisted on bringing the pistols, though. He knew it would put the aliens more at ease if their security measures yielded actual results. Plus, allowing them to exercise some authority over their human visitors would hopefully help to counteract decades of human dominance.
The Tumbran took their weapons, checked the safeties, and waddled with them to a depression in the wall, which sucked the pistols upward.
“Hey,” Caine said, and when Husher glanced at her she looked embarrassed at her outburst.
“We will return your weapons prior to your departure,” the Tumbran said.
“That’s fine.”
“You may enter.”
They approached a hatch that slid open for them automatically. When they stepped inside, the entire room went silent, and Husher remembered a classic Western vid he’d watched as a teenager, in which the hero’s entrance into a saloon had produced a similar effect.
“I’m surprised at the number of Ixa,” Caine muttered. “I count five. Do you think they’re here to spread the Prophecies?”
“Maybe. But not every Ixan believes in Ardent.”
They headed for the service counter—a sweeping oval in the center of the room, staffed by two Wingers and a Gok, who towered over it like a pile of rocks. All three personnel wore the burgundy tunic characteristic of Coffee Station workers.
“I don’t think the Prophecies are even about religion,” the sergeant said. “It’s just more ideology-driven propaganda, left over from their go at taking over the galaxy. They still think they have a hope of defeating us.”
“What do you want?” the Gok asked once they reached the counter. It leaned down to hear them, boulder-like fists planted on the colorful desk.
“Come again?” Caine said. Most Gok had gravelly voices that made it easy to mishear them.
“It asked what you want.” Husher felt slightly uncomfortable calling the alien “it” to its face, but aliens mostly used the same pronoun for humans. The various species typically had a lot of trouble discerning each other’s gender.
“Oh. I’ll have a coffee,” Caine said.
“What?”
“Uh…coffee? Do you have coffee?”
Husher resisted the urge to cover his face with his palms.
Please don’t let this devolve into a fistfight with a Gok. One of the few things he remembered about his father was his saying about the massive aliens: “If a Gok doesn’t punch your face in, it’ll melt your brain with its stupid bullshit.”
One of the Wingers behind the counter came over and placed its talons on one of the Gok’s massive arms, where its tunic looked stretched n
ear to busting. “Hey. Thole. What did it just say to you?”
“It asked for coffee.” The Gok’s tiny eyes narrowed as it spoke. They were the same dark-green color as its skin. The ridge that overshadowed them inched downward. “This human walks into the Hub and insults us to our faces.”
The Winger indicated the exit with its talons. “New policy. We don’t serve humans here. Kindly leave.”
Caine shook her head. “I just—”
“Leave!” the Winger squawked, hopping up and down the same way Fesky did when she was agitated. Its feathers stuck up all along its head and neck. “Leave now!”
“Come on,” Husher said.
The sergeant didn’t budge. “I don’t get it. They seriously don’t serve coffee here?”
“Sergeant Caine, we need to get out of here right now.” All around the Coffee Station, heads looked up from consoles or swiveled away from truncated conversations. Toward the back another Gok stood up, staring at the UHF officers, and seconds later an Ixan did as well.
This finally convinced Caine, but by then it was too late. When they headed toward the exit, five Wingers moved to block their way.
“You humans attacked our home planet,” one of them said. “You killed Fins.”
Husher raised his arms to show the aliens his empty palms. “I don’t know anything about that.”
“How convenient,” the Winger shot back. “We could believe you. Or we could decide you’re guilty without asking any questions, just like you’ve done to so many of our people.”
“Not all humans are like that.”
“Enough talk. You get as much consideration as you gave those defenseless Fins.” With that, the Winger charged at Husher.
Chapter 18
Ek
The alien rushed forward, its massive wings spread, awakening a primal fear inside Husher. He shoved the useless emotion aside.
Widening his stance, he raised his hands before him, standing ready for combat but taking care not to telegraph his intention. The instant before the Winger connected, he crouched low, pushing upward against the alien’s taut midsection. Its talons scrabbled for purchase on Husher’s upper back, tearing his flesh, but it failed to arrest its own momentum. The Winger crashed into a table.
Nearby, Caine grappled with a second assailant, and a third rushed to help its comrade. Husher wanted to back the sergeant up, but the remaining two Wingers stepped toward him, separating for a flank. Behind him, chairs scraped against the floor, and dozens of alien voices filled the air. They sounded angry.
“Stop this madness!”
The Wingers froze, backing away from the human officers.
A sigh of relief escaped Husher’s lips. “Are you all right?” he asked Caine.
“Yeah.” Her opponents had bloodied her mouth, but other than that she looked unhurt.
“Apologies, Fin Ek,” said the Winger who Husher had sent into a table. It pushed itself to its feet, speaking slowly, as though suddenly unsure of itself. “If you think our actions foolhardy, then I defer to your superior wisdom.” It righted the table.
Feeling reasonably confident the aliens didn’t plan to attack them again, Husher turned to thank whoever had spared them from what likely would have been a beating.
The words caught in his throat.
He’d seen photos of Fins before, though even those were rare. This one did not resemble them. It wore clothes, for starters—a skintight body suit that covered everything except its mottled face. Cybernetic legs sprouted from its hips, allowing it to stand upright with its tail trailing behind it, also clad, and providing extra balance. Twin hoses protruded from the gill slits in its neck, wrapping around its shoulders, presumably to connect with an apparatus on its back.
“You find my appearance strange,” it said with a voice that sounded distinctly feminine. “I can appreciate that. But I hope you can appreciate just how little time you have to stand and marvel. I am able to restrain the Wingers, even though they also find me odd. But these others…”
Husher glanced past the Fin and saw a hulking Gok moving across the room toward them, as well as two Ixa who looked about to do the same. He nodded. “Thank you for your aid.”
“I will see you to your shuttle.”
“Then let’s go.”
Caine closed the hatch behind them once they exited into the corridor.
“I’ve never heard of a Fin leaving the ocean before,” Husher said. “Did I hear your name is Ek?”
“Correct.” She led them toward the airlock, her metal feet clacking against the floor. “Wingers’ hatred for humans has never been higher. But you have no knowledge of the empty ship that crashed into our shared homeworld. Do you?”
“Not until now.”
“The impact killed hundreds of Fins, and it is fortunate the toll was not higher. The orbital defense platforms would have deterred a crewed ship, but an empty one…” Ek’s tail thumped against the floor as she walked. “Ecological damage was also significant. The Wingers burn with shame at their failure to perceive this weakness in their defenses. They have always been protective, and the Fin deaths have sent them into a blind rage. I believe they plan to expend themselves in an effort to do as much damage to your Fleet as possible.”
Caine frowned at Ek. “Expend themselves?”
“Perhaps your word ‘kamikaze’ will provide illumination?”
“Oh.”
“Is it possible the crash was the result of some awful accident?” Husher said.
“I consider it unlikely. It seems someone wanted this war.” They’d reached the airlock, and Ek turned toward them. “You swim in murky waters at a time when survival requires the ability to see. I have recently completed one contract and am available to take another. I offer you my services.”
“Your…services?” Sergeant Caine’s eyebrows bunched together.
“Fins are supposed to be highly perceptive,” Husher said. “To the point where they’re borderline empaths, without having any actual psychic ability. They can discern motivations from very little data. The Wingers derive much of their policy from insights offered by the Fins.”
“That is one function we perform,” Ek said. “Though you’ve oversimplified quite a lot.”
“Sorry,” Husher said, glancing toward the Coffee Station hatch. “I’m assuming we’re short on time. Where’s that Tumbran?”
“Let’s just leave the guns,” Caine said. “Are you seriously considering taking her with us, Husher? The captain may not want the expense of hiring her. And you know what Fleet regulations have to say about it.”
“You’re right.” Caine had just decided the matter for him. “Come on, Ek. You’re coming with us.”
Chapter 19
Questions
Ek followed the humans into the airlock, ignoring the sidelong stares the one called Caine kept directing her way.
“I’m surprised you’re able to stay anchored,” Husher said. “Did you have someone inject you with Ocharium nanites the same time you had that suit designed?”
“I designed the suit and breather,” she replied. “And no. Fin cells are apparently adept at rejecting foreign objects, even microscopic ones, and we simply excrete them.”
“I see. So…”
“Only the suit contains Ocharium.”
Husher nodded, and Ek could see that he understood what that meant. Her body was suffering from the degenerative effects of prolonged free fall, and it had been ever since she’d started traveling the stars.
But it’s worth it, to me.
“So, what sort of service do you intend to provide, exactly?” he asked her as the airlock hatch opened before them, revealing a narrow corridor.
“I would ask you to allow me a couple of hours to explore the ship and figure that out.”
“Okay…” The human scratched his head. “Aren’t you concerned what the captain’s going to pay you? If anything?”
“I have already determined you are honorable. I am confident that
you will lobby on my behalf in order that I am fairly compensated for any utility I happen to provide.”
“All right, then. I’m going to go explain your presence to the captain. Should be a fun conversation. You should probably accompany Ek, Caine. Otherwise the crew might react badly to an unknown alien wandering the ship unaccompanied.”
“Fine. Let’s go.”
They parted ways with Husher at the first intersection.
“So, what have you figured out about me?” Caine said.
Ek’s dorsal fin writhed inside her suit, but she figured the human likely didn’t know it was an expression of amusement. “Something absurd.”
Caine’s facial configuration changed to indicate anger. “What is it?”
“That you resent the attention paid to me by the first lieutenant.”
The sergeant stopped walking, her mouth hanging open slightly. When Ek continued on, Caine jogged to catch up and didn’t speak again for a while, which was the desired effect.
Rounding a corner, Ek came face to face with the first human who wasn’t Husher or Caine. He gaped at her, seemed to realize he was gaping, glanced at Caine, and turned, continuing on his way.
“You did not tell me there was a Winger aboard,” Ek said.
Caine blinked. “How…how could you know that?”
“An educated guess, which you have just confirmed. That ensign registered surprise at my presence, but not enough surprise to indicate I am the only alien aboard the Providence. After deducing that, I underwent a simple process of elimination. Human relations with the Gok and the Ixa are too fraught. The Kaithe are isolationists with whom UHF regulations expressly forbid contact. And Tumbra are not typically found on warships.”
“Why not another Fin?”
Ek nodded. “I like your joke.”
“Thanks.”
They continued down the corridor. “Can you take me to a place likely to contain several crewmembers? Ideally, this would be a place of relative leisure, where Fleet personnel are free from duty and able to fully register and react to my presence.”
Supercarrier: The Ixan Prophecies Trilogy Book 1 Page 6
