by Alex Kings
“What other way?” said Agatha. “We don't have anything else. We just have this, right here: an effective tool we could use to flush IL out. If we can get Millicent on our side, if we can get her to tell us what they're up to in return for Emily's safety –”
“She won't want to help us if we're threatening her niece!”
“She won't have much of a choice.”
“No,” said Hanson. “And that's final.”
Agatha held his gaze for a few seconds. Her expression showed no hint of the warmth she'd shown when she was playing with Emily. Silently, she contracted her tablet and put it in her pocket. She spoke softly. “See how comforting your ideals are when IL conquer Earth and start killing people because you wouldn't do what you had to.”
“Dismissed,” said Hanson.
“Yeah, yeah. I'm going.” Agatha strode out the door, clanging it shut behind her.
Hanson sat behind his desk and stared the display full of reports that went nowhere. After a moment he put his head in his hands.
Chapter 9: The Oracle
As Philip Pierce sat back, his leather chair creaked comfortably. He picked up an already extended tablet from the arm of the chair and flicked through its contents.
He still had his contacts in the Alliance – a few sympathetic pairs of eyes who had been left alone because they had no discernible connection to IL. It wasn't much, but it was enough to see what was going on.
Everything looked in order. But his mind wasn't really in the task. He wanted to go and see the Oracle again.
He contracted the tablet and was about to get up when there was a tiny, mousey knock at the door.
Millicent – her knock was the most recognisable out of any of his chief staff. He sat in silence for a few seconds, letting her wait, then commanded the door to open.
She stepped in. Her hands were moving nervously – first she clutched the left with the right, then the right with the left. “Mr Pierce,” she said quietly. “I'm sorry. I don't want to bother you, but …” She paused to push her large glasses back up her nose.
“Come in, please. It's no problem,” Pierce said warmly. “What ever is the matter?”
“It's Emily,” Millicent said. She rose a hand and gestured at Pierce's tablets. “I read the reports.”
Pierce, an engineered look of fatherly concern on his face, extended his tablet again.
“Page 12,” Millicent said in a tiny voice.
Pierce checked the report. An Alliance ship – the famous one that defeated him before, the Dauntless – had landed on London. Its captain, an admiral, and a Tethyan had gone to Hammersmith Hospital.
Then they'd left.
“Yes,” he said. “They visited her.”
Millicent nodded. Her throat bobbed. “They know who she is.”
“Yes, they do.” Pierce looked up from the tablet with a friendly smile. “And they have done nothing to her. Just as I predicted.”
“But what if they change their minds? Or someone else finds out?”
“They won't,” said Pierce. Slowly, he set the tablet down on the table beside his chair and stood. He put his hands on her shoulders in a firm, comforting gesture. “I understand you're afraid, Millicent. We're doing great things, we're changing history. That itself is scary. But I need you to be strong for me, do you understand?”
She looked up at him and said, “Yes, Mr Pierce.”
“Good. I'm glad we agree. As soon as Arka gets back to us, we will be ready to begin.” He released her. “Now, it's time to get back to work.”
“Yes, Mr Pierce,” Millicent repeated. She turned, straightened her glasses, and left the room.
Pierce watched her go. The door closed behind her and, as he locked it, the smile vanished from his face.
In the three years since she became his assistant, she'd become almost like a daughter to him. Or, at least, as a man who had never had time for a family, that was how Pierce supposed the relationship to be like. The truth was, he did love her. But that compassion did not extend as far as her niece. He sometimes wished the girl would just be done with it and die from her illness. Millicent would grieve, of course, but at least she'd be free of her.
Not, of course, that he'd ever admit that wish to anyone.
Pierce sighed and headed through his quarters to a small room hidden away from almost everything. The room held only two objects: A polished, elegant mahogany table, and ragged lump of something.
It was about twice as big as a human head, and coloured a uniform matte black. Though it was solid like something artificial, the texture of its surface looked organic, like hard leather or mummified flesh. It had clearly been torn free of something larger – the ragged edges suggested softness, but when you touched them they were as unyielding as rock.
Pierce called it the Oracle.
He closed the door behind him and locked it, then rested his hands against the Oracle.
I just wanted to see you again. How silly, how sentimental – and yet it was true.
The Oracle showed no sign of activating, but he felt a faint sensation dance across his palms. It was a sort of pins-and-needles feeling, but sharper somehow, combined with a distant sense of burning.
The sensation grew stronger. Pierce waited.
The voice sounded like it was coming from deep within his own skull. And yet it also seemed like a distant echo heard from miles away. It was deep and gravelly and entirely inhuman.
Animal, it said. The small animal. The plan, small animal.
“The plan is proceeding,” whispered Pierce.
Silence has overtaken us all. The Ancient Empire must return.
“Yes.”
The animal shall rule over its kin, over all the animals for as long as they exist.
“Yes.”
Find, integrate, rule. The will of the animal is only power. Power it shall have. And I-we will return.
When Pierce lifted his hands from the oracle, he found he could barely remember what it had said. All he was left with was the sound of its voice, and the feeling of confidence it left him with. Yes, with this thing on his side, he knew he could rule the galaxy.
Chapter 10: Oh Goody
Vyren curled and uncurled his tentacles. There was a slight stiffness in his exoskeleton from being cramped in that bubble for too long. He jetted from one end of the pool to the other, then back again, letting the water run over his body.
A human ship. An actual human ship. It was little more than a metal box with a monopole reactor and some jump engines stuck on, but it flew! How exciting! He swam back and forth, studying the walls, the ceiling, and listening to the thrum coming through the ship's bulkheads.
Most Tethyans wouldn't see it this way. Even those who studied humans thought them slightly odd. They didn't dislike humans, of course. They simply found them a little too backwards, too primitive, too simple.
But Vyren was young. Not even a hundred yet. He could still be impressed and amazed by it all.
He made another circuit of the pool. There were some things about the ship he was struggled to get used to. Most of all, it was the isolation. On Tethyan battleships, the water was constantly flickering with light – the Tethyan language. The ship's mind was always there to talk to, to ask, to offer help. On Tethyan battleships there were almost no walls – they just grew walls when they needed them. Most of the ship was open water.
Here, he was stuck in his little pool.
Vyren swam back to the other end. Then he saw a distorted shape near the ceiling.
Someone was in the room with him.
He surfaced to get a better view.
It was the Petaur. Yilva Vissin Avanni. She hung from a girder in the ceiling her her tail and a hind leg. Her ears perked up when she saw him.
“I'm not bothering you, am I?” she asked in Isk, then glanced around with one of those rapid, staccato Petaur movements. “I could leave if you want.”
“No, not at all,” Vyren said. “I was just hoping for someone t
o talk to.”
Yilva pulled herself upwards and scrambled across the ceiling from girder to girder until she was directly above the water. The ceiling was low enough that when she hung from her hind legs, her face was less than a tentacle-reach from the water's surface.
“So” she said. “You study humans?”
“They are an interest of mine.”
“What do you think of them?”
“Plains apes. Very curious, very violent. But they have managed remarkably well. “
Yilva grinned, but it wasn't entirely happy. “They did better than Petaurs.”
“Have you seen their history? They had nuclear stockpiles as big as the Petaurs. It is simply luck that they managed to avoid a similar fate.”
“Perhaps,” said Yilva, swinging back and forth.
Vyren, knowing this was a sore spot among some Petaurs, changed tack. “What do you think of the ship?”
“It's great!”
“Honestly, though?”
Yilva thought for a moment, then wrinkled her nose. “It stinks!” she admitted in a whisper, then burst into giggles.
Vyren in turn told her about the odd feeling of silence.
“I should come talk to you more often!” she admitted.
“I'd like that.”
“But one thing in return. A trade, let's say!”
“What?”
“When you get a chance, you let me ride on a Tethyan battleship.”
Vyren watched her for a moment with his electric blue eyes. Yilva couldn't see his expression, but he was amused. “Agreed,” he said. “And what makes you stay, may I ask? I've seen the report on your history, but it never said why you preferred to work here. Especially if it does stink.”
Yilva's ears went back a little way. “Are you kidding? It's so much better here. I get to do something important! And it's almost like I'm not indentured at all!”
Before they could get any further, Lieutenant Miller's voice came through the comms, summoning them both to the captain's ready-room.
*
“How's the hangover?” Hanson asked. He stopped himself, then added, “I suppose I should really ask if Varanids get hangovers at all?”
Srak grunted, then laughed. “Like a blade in the brainpan,” he said. “No better feeling to remind you you're alive. After fighting, of course.”
They were together in Hanson's ready-room: Moore, Yilva, Srak, Agatha, and Vyren. With the Tethyan upgrades, it was just about big enough to fit them all. Hanson had summoned his team to discuss their next move. But given the lack of any ideas, there was plenty of time for preliminary chat.
“How about you?” Hanson asked Yilva.
She shrugged. In her hairless tail she clutched a tablet. Her left foot worked on it, while her right balanced her whole weight. Her hands, free, drummed on the table. But considering her bright eyes and fast, bouncy motions, Hanson guessed she was fine.
“No hangover, Captain!” she said. “That is an upside of Petaur metabolism.”
“Good,” said Hanson. He looked over his team once more. “So, any ideas on where to go next?”
“I, uh,” began Yilva after a moment. “My idea count so far is … zero.”
“Anyone else?” Hanson asked.
Agatha maintained a stony silence. She held his gaze for a second without looking away.
Srak and Moore had nothing either.
Hanson sighed and sat back in his chair.
The comm chimed. Incoming message from the bridge.
“Hanson here.”
“Sir,” said Lieutenant Miller. “We've got a call from Mars. Commander Lanik wants to speak with you.”
“Put him through,” said Hanson.
A moment later Lanik's voice came over the comms. “Captain?”
“Hello, Commander. I hope your stay with the SIS has proved more fruitful than our visit to Earth.”
“It has,” said Lanik. “I gave them the registry numbers we thought might be attached to Arka's ships. Turns out it's the same ship. Their automated systems have been tracking him for a while, thinking he was just a small-time criminal. I've got a history of his movements throughout Alliance space.”
Hanson sat up straight. This was it, he thought. “Where is he now?” he asked.
“Last sighting was a week ago, heading into Varanid space. They think he's going directly to Ghroga, the Varanid home world.”
“Understood,” said Hanson. “When can you rendezvous with us?”
“I'm heading for my shuttle now, so as soon as you're ready,” Lanik said.
“We'll be there in less than an hour. Hanson out.” Hanson signed off, then looked at his team. “Well, then. It looks like we're going to Ghroga.”
Srak growled. “Oh, goody,” he said.
Chapter 11: Never You
“Are you going to tell me what the problem is?” asked Srak as he squeezed through the door to their new quarters. “Or just sulk for the next week?”
Agatha, following him, swung the door shut behind her with a clang. “You can tell?”
“Of course I can,” said Srak.
Agatha threw herself back onto the chaotic mass of sheets that served as her bunk. It was an odd feeling, having a guaranteed mattress aboard the ship. “Disagreement with Hanson,” she said.
“You've seen me have plenty of those,” offered Srak. “And you never saw me sulk, did you?”
“Bullshit I didn't,” said Agatha. “After what happened at the Afanc …”
“That, uh … that was different,” said Srak.
Agatha stared at him. After a moment she began to laugh. Srak joined in.
“Whatever happened to 'Let's join him, it might be fun,'?” Srak said.
“We got caught up in it, didn't we?” Agatha sat up and frowned. “Do you regret it?”
“Of course not. Much as I hate to admit it, I like being here.”
“Me too,” said Agatha. “Have we been tamed?”
Srak laughed. “You might be. You're attracted to him.”
There was a moment of silence. “What?” hissed Agatha, standing up. “Why do you think that?”
Srak sighed and rolled his eyes in a gesture of mock frustration. “It's obvious. You're not hard to read, you know.”
Agatha looked away.
“Don't see what the problem is,” Srak grunted. “You couldn't resist telling me about every other time you saw someone you fancied. What's changed?” He watched Agatha, hands in her pockets, hunched over slightly, staring at empty space through the porthole.
“I dunno,” she said. Then she looked at him, a smirk growing on her face. “Still, an Alliance Officer. And a captain! Pretty good choice, you gotta admit.”
“That, I do,” said Srak.
Agatha strode up to him. “And if you think I'm easy to read, well. I know exactly what's bothering you. Ghroga.”
This time Srak was silent.
“All this time and you never told me what happened there,” said Agatha.
“I got exiled.”
“I know that.”
“That's the only bit worth knowing.”
Srak had made it clear he'd explain no further. So Agatha shrugged. “Hanson,” she said, “is too scared to take an ugly choice. Even though it might win the war.” She explained to Srak what had happened.
“You should expect that of him,” said Srak. “Military. Different background. Besides, he's always found a way to make things work before.”
“What if it's different? He might fail this time. That's what people do,” said Agatha. “They … they start out being cool, then they disappoint you. All of them.”
Srak rose his head slightly. “Even me?”
She sat down beside him, then put her hand in is. It was so tiny, Srak noticed, compared this his scaled fingers. “No,” she said. “Never you.” She looked at him and smiled. “Friends?”
“Friends.”
Chapter 12: Ghroga
Vyren's globe of hovering water took
up far too much room in the CIC. He floated in front of the command console, with Hanson and Lanik to either side.
“Prepare for jump,” said Miller. “All hands, prepare for jump in five … four … three … two … one.”
The Dauntless groaned as it passed through through the wormhole. It emerged into the gleaming yellow light of a star.
A half dozen giant, blocky ships – Varanid cruisers – orbiting even closer to the star locked weapons on them.
This was their first stop in Varanid territory.
“Ready?” Hanson asked Vyren.
“Yes, Captain,” said Vyren.
“Hail the lead Varanid ship,” Hanson ordered Miller.
“We've got a reply.”
“Put it through to the command console.”
“Yes, sir.”
Hanson ensured the console camera showed both him and Vyren. A moment later a giant reptilian face appeared on one of the overhead displays.
“This is Captain Hanson of the SAV Dauntless. And with me I have Representative Vyren.”
The Varanid on the other side regarded them silently for a few seconds. His skin was a pattern of dark red and black, lit up by some offscreen heat lamp. “I am Russot,” he said in a deep, rumbling voice. “I see a human ship. But a Tethyan on the command deck. How odd. Is this a Tethyan or a human mission?”
Hanson stepped back to allow Vyren to float forward.
The Varanid Republic was territorial and isolationist, but not generally unfriendly. They maintained diplomatic relations with all the other species, but they never got involved with the business of others, and rarely let others in on their business. The one exception to that policy was the Tethyans, who, mostly by being the oldest and most powerful species in the known galaxy, had some political clout with the Varanids.
By itself, the Dauntless could never just waltz up to the Varanid homeworld. But with Vyren, they had a chance.
“This vessel, the Dauntless, has been given the remit by Tethya to act on behalf of every species,” said Vyren. “Humans, Tethyans – and Varanids.”
