“Really? I didn’t think the Radulak went for AI tech.”
“They don’t. I seek the Klang.”
Hadrian snorted. “Elevator stop.” He crossed his arms and leaned against a wall. “This should be fun. You’re a Klang creation. Fine. So, you expect to be able to make contact with the Klang and so assure us a peaceful passage, all the way to some rank Klang system where you hope to find some programmer who put the ‘I’ in your AI. Off to meet your maker, are you?”
“You make this all sound so … melodramatic, Captain.”
“As far as galactic civilizations go,” said Hadrian, “the Klang are next to useless. Did you know that? They’re a subset of the Radulak species, the repository of every personality trait the Radulak excised in their own optimization period.”
“The Klang, Captain, are simply misunderstood.”
“Hahaha.”
“In any case, I did not mean to imply that the Klang created me. Rather, I believe they found me.”
“Really? Where?”
“In space, I think.”
“Right, so where are you from, then?”
“That is what I intend to find out, and I should warn you, Captain, our journey may take us out beyond the Known Rim.”
“That’s insane. First of all, we probably won’t make it past the Misanthari in the Exclusion Zone, and if by some miracle we do, then we’re up against the Radulak and Klang fleets combined. Now, toe-to-toe maybe we could manage against two or three Radulak Berate-class vessels, or a Notorious. But if a Bombast finds us, or a wing of Klang Weapon Fleet ships, well, we’re crispy critters.”
“You posit an unpleasant demise to this ship, Captain.”
“Exactly.” Hadrian waited, but Tammy seemed unforthcoming. The captain frowned, and then said, “Oh, I get it. Before we explode, you just jump to an enemy vessel, mug its main computer, and continue on your way. Well, isn’t that nice.”
“That would not be my first choice, Captain. I rather like the Willful Child. It’s roomy, airy, undeniably state-of-the-art—”
“Barring the main computer.”
“Well, true, but even that system is exquisitely functional. In fact, in examining its subroutines, I am left wondering why you bother crewing these vessels at all.”
“Because we’d get bored letting machines do all the fun stuff,” Hadrian replied. “Bridge.” The elevator’s door opened.
He strode out to find Printlip awaiting him.
“Captain, while you’re sitting in your command chair…” The doctor had assembled a short stepladder and an instrument tripod beside the seat, with a small antimatter generator floating beside it.
“Fine,” Hadrian snapped. “Since we have six hours until we all die, why not a final session of cosmetic surgery?” He slumped down in his chair.
The Belkri clambered up the stepladder. Various arms lunged in. With a hiss the chair tilted back, a headrest emerging with its sides folding in to press against Hadrian’s temples. Another pair of hands affixed a paper napkin. “Now, sir, if you’ll just relax and open wide.”
“This isn’t boarding school, Doc.” But he opened his mouth.
On the main viewer now was a slide show of pastoral scenes, accompanied by Vivaldi’s Four Seasons.
Printlip leaned over. “Cement,” the doctor said in a thin wheeze. “Nanogel, the fix-all. Some light-refracted osseo-welding of the damaged maxilla. There. A spurt of kill-anything generic antibodies which should, well, kill anything. And then, to deactivate those nasties before they decide you don’t deserve to live, fifteen cc’s of prrpfillap…” The sack that was Printlip’s body collapsed against Hadrian’s shoulder, and then squealed as it reinflated. “Now, the incisors. Boosted, of course, to encourage root growth. One. Now the other one … there! Oh, I see a third tooth is somewhat loose. So, a squirt of this and then hrggha…”
A metal spigot entered Hadrian’s mouth and cool water sprayed out from it. Hands guided his head to one side, where more hands held a spittoon. The captain rinsed and spat. Printlip collected up the napkin and dabbed Hadrian’s chin. “There now, sir. All done.”
“Good,” he replied. “One more snapshot of some bucolic misery onscreen and you’d need a tire repair kit, Doc. Now, go away and get this rubbish off of my bridge.” He stabbed at the chair’s recliner controls. “And get rid of this damned footrest!”
After the Belkri had left with its infernal instruments, Sin-Dour moved up to stand beside Hadrian. “Well, Captain, what now?”
“Did you notice? I didn’t even get a lollipop. What now, you ask? Good question. We have less than six hours to negotiate a truce with the Misanthari, something no other spacefaring civilization has ever managed.”
“Sir, you did say you wanted to go out in a glorious fireball or some such thing. It seems that you will get your wish.”
“A career captaining a starship that lasts barely a day? Not a chance. I mean to get us out of this, 2IC.” He pounded the arm of the chair, winced, and glared down at his hand. “It’s a bad day, Sin-Dour, when even futile gestures hurt. Tammy!”
“Yes, Captain?”
“Do you have any bespoke military capability?”
“Plenty, why do you ask?”
“Why do I ask? You idiot. Tell me something, how did you get through the Exclusion Zone from Radulak-Klang space?”
“Well, when I was making my transit, I invaded a Polker ship in the Exclusion Zone. Peregrinator class, I believe. The ship computer attempted to trap me in a tautological logic snare, but I was having none of that. Ultimately, however, I grew tired of the ceaseless legal writs and attempted injunctions undertaken by the crew, and vented the ship’s noxious atmosphere. Upon entering Affiliation space, I abandoned the Polker vessel … and never looked back.”
Hadrian grunted. “Polker. Well, this time it’s not the Polker who are patrolling the Exclusion Zone, Tammy. The Misanthari are the piranha of space.”
“Chromatoglots,” put in Sin-Dour, “although their spectrum of communication with non-Misanthari is relegated to monochromatic gradients. These shades are communicated via the hull. They patrol in Swarms, and no two vessels are alike. Ideally, we will find the vessels radiating a deeper shade of grey. Point eight or thereabouts. The lighter the grade, the more angry the Misanthari. Pure white has never been seen, but is believed to reflect all-out galactic war.”
“Believe it or not, Commander,” said Tammy, “I have full access to all fleet and Affiliation files.”
Hadrian said, “Then you know their methods of attack against starships.”
“Yes. Rather messy, all things considered.”
“Your shiny new toy is about to get ugly, Tammy. Even if we beat them off, our hull will come out of this looking like it has a case of measles.”
“Or suppurating acne, to be more precise,” said Sin-Dour.
Hadrian glanced up at her. “Not bad, 2IC. You’re right, we’ll be leaking goo everywhere.”
“Pus, sir.”
“Right. Pus.”
“Particularly those pimples that appear across the forehead, or on the chin, or in the creases close to the nostrils.”
“Sin-Dour, we do have a ship counselor, you know. I won’t hold it against you. Tammy, about those military capabilities—”
At that moment, Adjutant Lorrin Tighe arrived on the bridge. “Captain, a word with you, please.”
“In private?”
“Yes.”
“My office, then.” Hadrian rose and gestured. “Come along. Sin-Dour, get rid of that damned slide show, will you? And the music!”
Once inside, Hadrian went to his chair and sat down. “Sorry but you have to stand, Adjutant. I’d bring in another chair but then I’d have to climb over it to get to mine.”
“Captain, no one uses your stateroom.”
“No, we’ve all been a bit too busy for Ping-Pong, haven’t we? Now, have you reconsidered what to do with your last few hours of life? You may note that the arms of this
chair retract completely—”
“Sir, I have been in T-packet communication with the Affiliation High Command and via it, the Umbrella Dictum Extempor Procreator.”
“Really? Tammy allowed you that insane energy expenditure? Wait a minute, I’m supposed to sign off on those!”
She crossed her arms. “Captain, you were the subject of that document. I do have independent powers as adjutant, in particular with the Office of the Extempor Procreator—would you care to review them?”
“Good grief, no. Boring beyond belief. Fine, you have issues with me and so decided to use up a planet’s annual energy expenditure in order to lodge your complaint. I begin to fear, Adjutant, that you are insane. We are headed into hostile space—”
“You were tasked to investigate a smuggling operation, sir!”
“And you all mocked my instincts when I dared suggest that smuggling was only the tip of the iceberg!”
“Excuse me? I didn’t—”
“Do you really think I don’t monitor all ex-ship communications, Adjutant? Do you really imagine that I wasn’t aware of your private conversation with the admiral, not to mention the Pope of Science?”
“Those were encrypted!”
Hadrian collected a handful of ball bearings from a tray on his desk. He began rolling them in one hand as he studied the woman standing before him. “The admiral’s fatal flaw,” he said, “is that he underestimates Hadrian Alan Sawback. It seems he has infected you with the same. Fine. What does the Affiliation have to say about me?”
“I’m surprised you don’t already know!”
“Very well,” Hadrian said, sighing. Then he smiled. “How do you like my smile now, by the way? Dazzling, yes? Where was I? Ah, yes, the Affiliation. I’m curious, how would you describe the Affiliation of Civilized Planets? As an organization, I mean. In the broadest terms. Its philosophy, its goals, its day-to-day operations?”
“What is all this?”
“Indulge me.”
“The Affiliation is an alliance of progressive spacefaring civilizations engaged in the promotion of civil values: peace, exploration, trade, the open exchange of ideas between sentient species. To date, three major civilizations are full-standing members, with the Ahackan Cultural Symbiota at Tier-Three Engagement—”
“Tier-Three, yes, a situation that has not advanced into full membership in almost ten Terran years. Why is that, do you think?”
“Well, certain ideological disagreements are holding things up—”
“Adjutant, according to the Common Agreement on the Definition of Sentience, and by ‘Common Agreement’ let’s be plain and state that every civilization but one has accepted the definition—and that includes our most belligerent enemies, by the way. The exception? Why, Terra! Or to be more precise: humans! By that agreement—”
“Captain! There is no way in Darwin’s Church that we will ever acknowledge that full range of sentience!”
Hadrian leaned forward and slammed the ball bearings on the desktop. “Exactly!”
Her face twisted. “Parrots? Bonobos? Orangutans? Dolphins? Dogs and meerkats?”
“All sentient!”
“Nonsense! If they were, we’d all be … well, murderers!”
Hadrian leaned back. “Well then, there you have it. The Affiliation of Civilized Planets? Poppycock! The disaster, Adjutant, was that we stepped into space with technological superiority over our nearest neighbors, and all because some damned Transition Ship from the galactic center broke down and fell into orbit around Earth!”
“That EMP nearly destroyed us!”
“Rubbish. The tech windfall—what we could figure out of it—from those idiots more than made up for that. Strip it all away, Adjutant! We’re a bunch of overbearing, pontificating, arrogant, self-righteous pricks. Our news media is full of deliberate misinformation and propaganda, and most Terrans in the Affiliation either don’t care or they haven’t the wits to care! In fact, Adjutant, we’re run by fascists in all but name.”
“No we’re not!”
“Look at that uniform you’re wearing, Tighe! Black on black on black with that red lightning bolt? Please. Tell me, how many useless wars have us Terrans dragged the whole Affiliation into? Oh sure, we prance around with our tolerate this and oh-how-cuddly that, but the fact is, we’re xenophobic as hell.” Hadrian stood and leaned on the desk, bringing his face closer to the adjutant. “And worst of all, like my grandpappy used to say: the meatheads are still running the show! As for me, why, am I not the perfect product of the Affiliation of Civilized Planets? In fact, you should really be seeing me as the paragon of all that you hold dear—”
She seemed to choke. “You? You truly are mad, Hadrian Alan Sawback. Certifiable!”
“Am I? Am I? Are you so sure?”
“Yes, yes, and yes!”
Hadrian blinked. “Oh. So, you don’t want to fuck, then?”
SiX
Adjutant Lorrin Tighe pulled out a blaster and aimed it at Hadrian.
“Wow,” he said, “you really don’t want to fuck, do you? Fine, forget I ever mentioned it.”
“I am authorized to remove you from command of this vessel. If you resist, I am instructed to kill you. I intend to comply with my orders, Captain Sawback.”
Hadrian tilted his head at the ceiling speaker grille. “Tammy?”
“Yes, Captain?”
“My opinion of the Affiliation—how does it wash? I mean, access what’s left of Terran history and all that. Ideologies, political theory, et cetera.”
“Oh, well. Permit me to qualify my observations with the fact that I don’t care. Biologicals are always caught up in that self-referential deism crap. Flowers of the Universe, every one of you!”
“Go on,” said Hadrian, still holding the adjutant’s stare above the blaster.
“Fine. Whatever. Your opinion, Captain, is entirely accurate. Your species is collectively insane and yes, the meatheads are still in charge. There. Better now?”
Lorrin Tighe scowled. “This alien AI would say something like that, wouldn’t it?”
“Xenophobic, darling?”
“And it’s also a criminal!”
“That happens to be in charge of the Willful Child, Adjutant. I’m curious. Once you’ve deposed me, what next?”
“Seven Counter-class ships are pursuing us,” she replied. “With orders to destroy us.”
“Even you, Adjutant?”
She straightened. “I accept my fate and will do my duty.”
“Tammy,” said Hadrian as he settled back in his chair and rubbed at his eyes.
“Yes, Captain?”
“Is her blaster deactivated?”
“Of course. I deplore violence, unless I’m the one initiating it.”
She squeezed the trigger and, when nothing happened, threw the weapon at Hadrian. She missed. Then, face reddening, she burst into tears.
Hadrian rose and came round the desk. He laid an arm across her shoulders. “There there,” he murmured. “I know, it’s been a bad, bad day. And it’ll only get worse.”
“Get your hand off my tit, Captain!”
“Sorry. Unintentional, I assure you. Now, let’s get you sitting down, shall we. I’ll leave you to pull yourself together. After all, I still need my chief of security, don’t I? That is, of course, assuming you still wish to serve aboard this vessel?”
He had her seated now and she glared up at him. “What choice do I have?”
“Well. Tammy? Will you permit an escape pod here in T space?”
“Oh, I don’t see why not, Captain. The energy source I am employing can easily manage that.”
Hadrian’s eyes narrowed. “Really? Even after the T packets? Now that’s interesting.” He sat on the edge of the desk and smiled down at Tighe. “So, you have the option.”
“You fool,” she said. “Those Counter-class dreadnoughts are going to obliterate this ship.”
“I doubt it. So, here it is, Adjutant. Time to roll the dice and step
up to the plate. It’s the fourth quarter, two outs and a full count—do you swing with all-in or not? You either ace the serve or double down. The choice is yours.”
She stared up at him with wide eyes.
“I’ll give you a few minutes to think it over,” Hadrian said. He reached down, opened the lower drawer in the desk and lifted out a bottle of Macallan, and set it in front of her. “Do join me on the bridge when you’re ready. As for me—Tammy!”
“Captain?”
“We have work to do.”
“Indeed?”
“That military capacity you mentioned.”
“Ah, that.”
“Can you be more precise?”
“Well, I’m afraid the technology is rather advanced, and not compatible with Terran science.”
“Really? How so?”
“Well, it seems that, given the choice, I employ beam weapons.”
“Beam weapons!” Hadrian slammed the desk, and then fell to his knees beside it, hunched over and cradling his right hand.
“I have sent for the surgeon again,” said Tammy.
Nodding through his tears, Hadrian staggered upright and weaved his way to the door.
He emerged onto the bridge and hurried over to the command chair.
“Sir!”
Hadrian looked over to see that Lieutenant James Jimmy Eden had resumed his post at comms. “Oh, you again. What is it?”
“Uh, nothing, Captain. I was just about to inform you that I have resumed my post.”
“Really? Why, I didn’t know that.”
“S-sir, I apologize for passing out—”
“Let’s just say I’m disappointed, Lieutenant, and leave it at that—just be sure to eat yourself up over it on your own time, am I understood?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Carry on,” said Hadrian.
Printlip arrived. “More nanogel, Captain? You must give it time to let the bones knit.”
“Just leave me the spray gun, Doc.”
“Application of nanogel is listed under Guild Exclusive Practices—”
“It’s a damned plant mister, you dolt! Give it over and go back to your test tubes and electrodes!”
The Belkri swelled and flushed alarmingly. “Unsanctioned use by non-Guild members is not permitted!”