Capital Starship (Ixan Legacy Book 1)

by Scott Bartlett

  Glancing back, he saw that Mews and Zimmerman were mixing it up similarly, and that made him glad. They were in this together.

  A Winger approached, cawing, wings spread to their full, enormous span. That spoke to something animalistic deep inside Toby, and he chose fight over flight, charging into the alien’s embrace, bowling it over, and finding its scrawny but muscular feathered neck. He gripped that as hard as he could, trying to choke the Winger out like they choked out new guys back in the bunkroom.

  Something white and blue snaked around Toby’s neck. Oh, shit. That’s a Kaithian.

  The head-tail constricted, and Toby’s last thought was to marvel at how suddenly the tables had turned.

  Chapter 36

  A Lucky Guess

  Doctor Bancroft was late for their Prolonged Exposure session, and Husher had a pretty good idea why. He sat in the waiting room and used his Oculenses to review an inventory of the ship’s munition stores until, twenty-five minutes later, Bancroft appeared.

  “Your corporal is lucky that Kaithian didn’t snap his foolish neck,” she said. “When the Kaithe fight, they usually play for keeps.”

  “I know it,” Husher said, remembering his time on the Kaithian homeworld. He’d fought the aliens inside a simulation, then, though he’d since learned that the simulation had accurately represented their ferocity, which was completely at odds with their size and appearance.

  “What are you going to do with the three marines that went out there?”

  “Exactly what I said I’d do. They were all involved in a violent altercation, and so they’ll all do time in the brig.”

  “I would have expected dishonorable discharges for the three of them.”

  Husher tilted his head to the side. “Seriously? Marines get into brawls all the time without being dishonorably discharged. I don’t mean to diminish the severity here, but no one was seriously injured, and from the sounds of it, there were extenuating circumstances.”

  “Excuse me?” Bancroft said, and her sharpness surprised Husher—it ran counter to her usual caring demeanor. “Extenuating circumstances, Captain? Your marines went out looking for trouble. They willingly violated Nonattendance Day.”

  “Which wasn’t compulsory. And when they went out, they found other humans lounging out there on the sand.”

  Bancroft shook her head. “Well, you’re the captain. The decision is yours, I suppose.”

  “I suppose it is.” He nodded toward her office. “Are you ready to begin?”

  Without another word, she walked to the door and opened it, gesturing for him to enter. He did, and she shut the door behind him.

  “What atrocity will I bear witness to today?” he asked, trying to lighten the mood a little.

  Bancroft pursed her lips. “Before I load the program into your Oculenses, there’s a matter I need to raise with you.”

  “Oh? What is it?”

  “The complaints from crewmembers who feel unsafe are increasing.”

  Shutting his eyes, Husher drew in a deep breath. “Let me guess. They’re all from graduates of Cybele U, or some other capital starship university.”

  Now it was the doctor’s turn to cock her head to one side. “Have you been abusing your special access as captain to view confidential crew medical files?”

  “Is that a serious question, Doctor Bancroft?”

  “Yes.”

  “No, I haven’t. I was actually joking, but it seems I took a lucky guess.”

  At that, Bancroft reddened slightly. “I feel it’s my responsibility as this starship’s Chief Medical Officer to say this. If you don’t take further action to address the fears of your crewmembers, I’ll be forced to bring my concerns to Cybele City Council.”

  Husher looked at the floor of Bancroft’s office, and he held his gaze there for several long moments. At last, he said, “Thank you for your input, Doctor. I’ll certainly give your concerns the careful consideration they are due.” With that, he got up.

  “What about today’s exposure session?” Bancroft asked, eyebrows raised.

  “I’ve decided I don’t have the stomach for it,” Husher said as he left the office.

  Chapter 37

  Scythes Through Wheat

  After receiving news that the Viburnum munitions facility had been destroyed, Husher gained some new nightmares. In addition to dreams of the night his daughter died, he now started having equally dark dreams featuring giant Ixa who stalked through the galaxy, felling all other beings with impunity. It didn’t matter who or what came against them—they tore through opposition like scythes through wheat.

  With the munitions facility destroyed, logistics had become much trickier in the part of the galaxy that bordered on the Concord System, formerly the Baxa System. Resupply would now take days, and eventually weeks, if demand from warships operating in the region were to increase.

  Judging by initial recon missions into the Concord System, demand probably would increase. The intel gathered there confirmed Husher’s worst fears: the system had become a rallying point for Gok warships, and a starship similar to the one they’d faced near Edessa had also been scouted there. Teth was clearly preparing to launch an all-out war against the Milky Way, and he’d already struck a devastating blow.

  Husher wasn’t expecting the orders that came next from the admiralty, but they also didn’t surprise him.

  “Captain Husher,” said the message from Admiral Iver, which had come in by com drone thirty minutes ago. Husher reviewed it alone in his office. “After deliberations, the admiralty has decided that in light of the munitions facility’s destruction in the Viburnum System, and in light of the large amassing of hostile warships in the Concord System, it would now behoove the Interstellar Union to make a sincere diplomatic effort to bring peace to the region.”

  Husher chuckled bitterly at the suggestion that the threat posed by Teth was limited to just this region of space, then he continued reading:

  “The ultimate goal is a long-lasting armistice, however, even a shorter-term nonaggression pact is viewed as a desirable outcome, and worth pursuing. As such, the diplomats accompanying your battle group will be given significant latitude in the negotiations. You’ll find a separate data package attached to this message—it includes a list of everything we are willing to offer, depending on the length and quality of peace we are offered in return. These include resource rights to mineral-rich systems. I’m well aware of what your reservations will likely be in this matter, Captain, but the point I would raise to you is this: given the power and numbers already fielded by our enemies, it’s clearly a worthy aim to avoid further bloodshed. And if our enemies were to renege on a peace deal at any point in the future, we will have had time to bolster our forces and will be better-positioned and -provisioned to answer such a violation with an attack aimed at retaking the systems we’ve relinquished.

  “A final note: it was remarked during our deliberations that you have the Ixan, Ochrim, aboard your vessel. If he’s amenable, it might be worthwhile to include him in the negotiations with Teth. If anyone can placate the Ixan commander, it will be his own brother.”

  After passing on the data package to the diplomats Shobi and Bryson without comment, Husher indulged himself by taking a moment to lean back and squeeze his eyes shut.

  Seeking a ceasefire with the Ixa had been exactly what the UHF had tried during the most desperate hour of the First Galactic War. In fact, the mission Husher had been given felt particularly cyclical, since it had been his father, Warren Husher, who was sent on that first diplomatic mission.

  Warren’s mission had gone about as well as Husher expected this one to go. The Ixa had taken him prisoner, making it look like he’d betrayed his own species and painting him as a traitor for the next twenty years. Shortly after Warren’s return to his species, they executed him for the crime of high treason. And soon after that, it became known that without Warren Husher’s actions, humanity would have been doomed.

  As far as Hu
sher could see, the main difference between then and now was that Warren’s mission had come after a long-fought struggle against the Ixa—after humanity had smashed itself against the implacable alien war machine, and all had seemed lost.

  The IU, on the other hand, was giving up with barely a fight.

  There was no peace to be had with Ixa. That was just as true now as it had been then. But orders were orders.

  Before he passed on those orders, however, he decided to take care of some other business first. That business involved receiving a small transport craft inside Flight Deck Zeta and accepting an unauthorized shipment consisting of one thing: more Ocharium than Ochrim could possibly want or need.

  Chapter 38

  What Toxic Actually Looks Like

  The voyage to the Baxa System, now the Concord System, would involve another week-long warp transition followed by several darkgate transitions and a final journey under warp, since the Corydalis-Baxa darkgate had been destroyed during the final battle of the Second Galactic War.

  The lengthy journey gave Cybele City Council plenty of time to continue “experimenting” with how much more damage they could do to ship morale.

  On the second day under warp drive, Husher found himself sitting in the Cybele City Council chamber, getting stared down by Maeve Aldaine, who’d been invited to attend the meeting as a representative of the students of Cybele U.

  “You are called here, Captain Husher,” Penelope Snyder said in the ringing tones she reserved for this round, inward-turned room, “to account for the actions of your three marines—Corporal Toby Yung, Private First Class Dion Mews, and Private Jordan Zimmerman—and to give a comprehensive overview of the steps you intend to take to ensure such an incident can never occur again.”

  Drawing a long breath, Husher spoke. “I can’t account for the actions of my marines. They were reprehensible, and in direct contradiction to my urging crew to remain within the Vesta’s crew section during Human Nonattendance Day. In the same note, I made clear that any humans who chose to go to Cybele anyway and engage in violent—”

  “This is such bullshit,” Maeve Aldaine interrupted. “Did you actually believe a love letter to your violent crew was going to accomplish anything? You should have forced them to stay out of Cybele!”

  Staring at Aldaine, Husher realized that her words had succeeded in raising his usual disbelief to new levels—something the councilors’ silence in the wake of her outrageous statement did nothing to diminish.

  Clearing his throat, Husher said, “I was asked to discuss the actions of my marines and the steps I’ve taken to address them. Am I going to be allowed to finish?”

  “Go ahead,” Chancey said, his tone kindly.

  “As I was saying, I made clear to the crew that anyone found engaging in violence would face disciplinary action. And that’s exactly what I’ve done. The three marines already named are currently in the brig.”

  “Have you scheduled any workshops to educate the rest of your crew on the situation?” Aldaine demanded, her sapphire eyes aflame.

  “Workshops…?” Husher said.

  Tossing her head in exasperation, Aldaine spat, “Yeah, you know, hands-on sessions designed to educate through participation. Topics like the historical oppression Wingers have faced at the hands of humans would be appropriate, in a situation like this.”

  “Everyone’s well aware of what humans, particularly human governments, have done to Winger populations,” Husher said. “Tell me, is it so radical to suggest that it could be more unifying, more peaceful, to not continually bring up our species’ past animosity and fling it in everyone’s faces?”

  “There we go again,” Aldaine said, flinging both hands toward Husher while looking around at the seated councilors, who mostly wore strained-looking expressions of sobriety. “Minimizing and dismissing the experiences of groups that he’s had a direct hand in oppressing. This is honestly sickening. How much longer will I have to listen to this man’s poison?”

  “I think we’ve heard quite enough,” Snyder said, feathered wings waving as she shifted in her seat and stared at Husher, apparently attempting to pierce his soul with her gaze. “Before we discuss policy, there’s one more matter I’ll bring to your attention, Captain. Are you aware of the horrific sentiments cropping up across the battle group’s narrownet?”

  Husher’s mouth quirked, but he stayed silent. Horrific sentiments crop up on the narrownet all the time.

  “I take your silence to signify you have not. Allow me to enlighten you. There are growing voices on there who are openly praising Teth and the Ixa. The title ‘Immaculate One’ has been floating around for Teth—I have no idea where that charming phrase originated—and several have referred to him as their ‘personal Command Leader.’ Specifically, they praise the genocide of Ixan interspecies offspring, the subtext being that perhaps humans would do well to ‘purify’ galactic society of beings who do not match human ‘prowess.’ The same groups spreading these hateful messages also name you as a figure of admiration, because you stand up for humans to the ‘powers that be.’ What do you have to say to that?”

  Husher blinked, opened his mouth, then closed it. “It’s awful,” he managed at last. “The Ixan genocide was one of the reasons I fought them during the Second Galactic War. I felt we needed to take a stand against that as a society.” The Ixa were the only known species with the ability for females to reproduce with non-Ixan males, a practice reviled by the Ixa who’d taken power during the lead-up to the First Galactic War.

  “Whether or not you’re telling the truth about your motivations,” Aldaine said, “can’t you see your actions as commander of this ship have led directly to the toxicity we’re seeing on the narrownet?”

  Husher shook his head. “If I haven’t already made it clear, I strongly condemn that talk and those ideas.”

  “What about the people responsible for the talk? Do you condemn them?”

  “Yes!”

  “Good,” Aldaine said, and seemed about to speak again, but didn’t. Maybe she hadn’t been expecting that answer from Husher.

  “I think it’s time we arrive at some legislative proposals for addressing these problems,” Snyder said. “since Captain Husher has demonstrated that he’s either unwilling or incapable of doing so.” She folded her hands across her exposed, digitally flat stomach as she continued. “I’ve already discussed such proposals with several council members individually, but now we’ll put them to a vote, as Mayor Chancey suggested just prior to today’s meeting.

  Snyder lifted her hands, parting them while clearing her throat. Then, apparently satisfied with the level of ceremony, she spoke, her eyes clouded with the fog of someone reading from an Oculens overlay: “I am motioning my fellow councilors to adopt a proposal for the creation of legally enforced spaces within Cybele where only nonhumans and their human allies are permitted—places where they can go with the guarantee they’ll be free of oppression, including some of the toxic ideas Captain Husher has propounded here today.” Husher assumed she’d ad-libbed the part about him, but it was difficult to be sure.

  “The question of which humans are to be considered allies and therefore permitted to enter these spaces,” Snyder continued, “is to be determined on an ad hoc basis by the nonhuman beings occupying a given space at a given time. The only step necessary to legally require a human to leave the space will be a request by a nonhuman occupying it. Any Tumbra desiring entry to these spaces will also be subject to the occupants’ estimation of whether they are allies, and if they are not, then they will be required to leave. All in favor of this legislation, say aye.”

  “Wait a second,” Husher said. “As captain of this vessel, I have a right to speak before the councilors vote.”

  Snyder’s eyes widened in apparent outrage, but Chancey gave a brisk nod. “Go ahead.”

  “What spaces are you proposing to prevent humans from occupying?” he asked.

  “Only humans who aren’t allies will be pr
evented,” Snyder said primly. “As for the specific spaces, those were meant to be worked out should the policy be approved.”

  “I’d like to hear what spaces we’re talking about. If we’re talking about private residences, that’s one thing. But if we’re—”

  “The aftward half of Cybele University Green, the area between Skyward Mall and the Epicenter, the Starboard Concourse, and one acre inside Santana Park,” Snyder said.

  “Those are all public spaces.”

  “Yes. Out of respect for underprivileged groups and the hardship they’ve faced, I personally think it’s the least we—”

  “Well,” Husher interrupted, “you’ll no doubt be allowed to enter the spaces, so it probably makes no actual difference to you, except to help you feel even more self-righteous whenever you enter them.”

  “Excuse me?” Snyder said, her eyes widening so much it was almost comical.

  “You always say your aims with policies like these are integration and unity, but this will accomplish exactly the opposite. By excluding people from places they once could go, based on their species, you’ll be damaging society in a way that might be irreversible. You’re shrinking the world for certain individuals based on their species or on beliefs they hold that you don’t like. You’re emulating the sort of people you claim to oppose. If Cybele really is the Womb of Civilization, if the rest of the galaxy truly takes cues from what happens here, then I’m begging you—do not vote to approve this legislation. This is what toxic actually looks like.”

  Snyder opened her mouth, but Husher wasn’t done. “And why in Sol do you keep lumping in the Tumbra? I still haven’t figured that out.”

  With an exasperated sigh, Snyder said, “Because anyone without the sort of blinders you wear can see how steeped in privilege the Tumbra are, mostly because of how willing they’ve always been to get in bed with humanity. The Tumbra are part of the problem, here, Captain. They remind nonhuman beings of their past and present oppression, and if they are asked to leave, then they will be required to leave.”