TERMINAL ALLIANCE (JANITORS OF THE POST-APOCALYPSE Book One)

JIM C. HINES:

“Marion Adamopoulos.”

The circular training room fell silent. The other humans of Marion’s

crèche turned toward the bubbling hot spring in the center. Scheherazade pulled herself to the edge of the spring, fixing Marion

with one large black eye. “Names are very important to humans. I don’t believe that one was in the database of suggested names.”

“It’s from our history review. It’s the name I chose.” Marion spread her

arms. She didn’t realize until after the fact that she was mimicking Krakau defensive body language. Deliberately, she folded her arms and stared defiantly back at their Awakening and Orientation Officer. Most Krakau massed less than the average human. They were roughly

tube-shaped, with nine tentacles—arms—limbs?

Marion had struggled with the difference. In Human language, the three smooth, snakelike primary limbs with the flat, diamond-shaped pads on the end were the tentacles. The pads were covered in differently sized and surprisingly dexterous suction cups. The lower six limbs were similar to those of an Earth octopus, covered

in suction cups from tip to torso. These lower limbs were used for propulsion and mobility, but for some reason were called “arms” in Human. To quote Scheherazade, humans were strange and illogical, and their

language reflected that. “It’s been twenty-three days since your awakening,” said Scheherazade,

her black, beaklike mouth grinding in confusion. A translator implant, like a large silver pearl in the yellow skin of the Krakau’s throat, repeated the clicks and whistles in Human. “Your ‘rebirth,’ as some humans call it. You have another month before you’ll be given your first assignment. Perhaps you’d like to take more time to consider—”

“This is my name,” Marion interrupted. “You chose your own human name. I have the right to choose mine.”

Every Krakau adopted a name based on the closest thing humans had to a universal language: music. They each pored over hours of intercepted Earth signals and recordings to find the melody best suited to her personality. By now, the other humans had begun whispering to one another. Scheherazade flicked a tentacle in annoyance, spraying droplets of hot, salty water onto several of the humans. “You know the history of that name?”

Marion recited the answer from memory. “Marion Adamopoulos was an early twenty-second-century scientist who helped destroy human civilization.”

“Why choose a name associated with so much death and destruction?”

“As a reminder of what we did to ourselves, and of how much we owe the Krakau for giving us a second chance.”

It was an honest answer, if incomplete. The other reason was simpler: she liked the sound of it. Adamopoulos. It spilled lyrically from the tongue. “So be it.” Scheherazade extended a tentacle to note the decision on the glassy, waterproof console beside her pool, then turned to the next human. “And you?”

The human, a male with bushy black hair and a missing eye, swallowed nervously. “I reviewed the human name database. I can’t decide if I’d rather be called Nelson Mandela, Rosalind Franklin, or Beyoncé....”

Marion made a note of her fellow humans’ new names, but most of her attention was elsewhere. Another month at the Antarctic Medical Facility and she’d receive her first assignment as a member of the Earth Mercenary Corps. Most humans ended up in the infantry, fighting the Prodryans and helping to keep peace in the Krakau Alliance. After all the Krakau had done to help humanity after their self-imposed apocalypse, she was determined to repay the aliens in whatever way she could. She’d named herself for a woman who turned humanity into shambling, feral monsters. The Krakau had spent decades trying to reverse that mistake. Soon, Marion would set out to help them make things right. L IEUTENANT MARION “MOPS” Adamopoulos, commander of the Shipboard Hygiene and Sanitation team on the EMCS Pufferfish, switched off the translation of a nineteenth-century human history textbook she’d been reading and focused her attention on the alert icon on her monocle. “Go ahead.”

“Incoming message from Commander Danube. The Pufferfish has

received a distress call from a Nusuran cargo vessel. All hands should prepare for battle and report to the nearest acceleration chamber. A-ring jump in nineteen minutes.”

The words of her personal AI unit, Doc, came from the directional

speakers of her comm unit, secured in the bulky collar of her one-piece uniform. Doc himself existed primarily as code etched invisibly into the layers of memory crystal that formed Mops’ green-tinted monocle. “What’s the status on the rest of the team?”

“JG Monroe is in his quarters. Technician Kumar is working to repair a

cracked sewage relay on deck L. I’ve relayed the commander’s instructions to them both. Technician Mozart is in the brig.”

“Of course she is.” Mops stretched, grimacing at the popping of her left

shoulder. There was no pain, but the sound and sensation made her cringe. The joint had started acting up two years ago, like machinery past its warranty. She left her small quarters and hurried toward the center of the

Pufferfish. The ship was built like an oversized torpedo, with three elongated weapons pods protruding like outriggers spread equidistant around the hull. The brig was near the aft engines. “How many times is this?”

“This is Crewman Mozart’s fourth incarceration since she was

transferred to your SHS team. It’s her eighth during her one-year service with the Earth Mercenary Corps. Three more incidents, and she’ll break the EMC disciplinary record.”

She greeted several of the crew on her way to the central lifts. Doc

automatically tagged them with their name and rank, not that Mops needed the assistance. After more than a decade aboard the Pufferfish, she knew them all. “Why wasn’t I notified when it happened?”

“You were off duty. Commander Danube is recommending Technician Mozart be expelled from service.”

“I’m not ready to give up on her.” Mops hurried into the first available lift, joining Sergeant Claus from infantry. She nodded a greeting as the doors closed and the lift shot downward. “Where you off to, smoothie?” asked Claus. Mops outranked him, but relations between the soldiers and the noncombat crew tended toward the informal, and she’d known Claus for most of her life. His rebirth had been a year after Mops’ own. After Mops, he was one of the oldest humans on the ship. It was easy to recognize the soldiers, not only by the unit insignia on the right shoulder of their uniforms, but from the scars they accumulated over the years. The left side of Claus’ face was a mess of scar tissue from a flamethrower attack two years back. An old plasma burn striped his right cheek. The only smooth-skinned humans on an EMC ship were either shipboard maintenance or brand-new recruits. Mops had a few small scars from her life before the Krakau cured her, but those were all hidden beneath her uniform. Nor would anyone mistake the faint lines around her eyes and mouth for battle scars. “I need to take care of a mess in the brig,” she said. Claus snorted. “That mess wouldn’t happen to be named Mozart, would it?

I hear she picked a fight with a Glacidae this time.”

“It wouldn’t surprise me. I don’t know what I’m going to do with that child. She’s not happy in SHS, but you know infantry won’t take her. Danube wants to send her back to Earth.”

“Ouch.” He pursed his lips, crinkling his ragged blond mustache. “Give me combat drops any day over trying to survive a planet overrun by ferals. You know if she has enough saved up for passage to one of the stations?

Humans can make decent money working security.”

“I doubt it. She’s not big on long-term planning.” Or short-term planning, for that matter. “What’s the word on this distress call?”

“Command crew doesn’t tell us grunts anything. We go where they send us and shoot what they tell us.” Claus clapped her arm as the lift came to a halt. “Good luck with Wolf, Lieutenant.”

Mops hurried down the corridor to the heavy brown door labeled Brig and Backup Emergency/Acceleration Shelter in Human. The door unlocked with a heavy clunk. Inside was a narrow rectangular

hallway with eight transparent doors, four to each side. A larger door on the end led to the control room. Two guards approached to greet her. “Morning, Lieutenant,” said Private Williams, an older man with a

permanent smirk, courtesy of a dark knife scar across his cheek. “Come to claim your janitor?”

“It was either that or make her walk the plank.” Mops’ quip was met

with blank looks from both guards, who were apparently unfamiliar with old human pirate stories. She sighed and tried a different conversation opener. “How’s your garden coming along?”

Calling Williams’ Earth mosses and lichen a “garden” was stretching

things, but given how few plants could survive life on an EMC cruiser, he’d done an amazing job keeping his little collection alive. “I can’t get the letharia to thrive. It’s not strong enough for the A-ring

jumps.”

“That’s the yellow one with the tufts and branches, right?”

“They’re supposed to be green, but ship’s lighting isn’t right.” His

expression brightened. “The caloplaca’s doing great, though. If it keeps spreading, I’ll need to pick up some new rocks.”

Mops chuckled and approached the only occupied cell. Glowing letters

in the wide, glassy door labeled it Cell 6.

“Doc, how long until we jump?”

“Twelve minutes.”

A narrow cot strained to hold Technician Wolfgang Mozart’s bulk. The

guards had stripped Wolf of her equipment and harness, leaving her black jumpsuit bare and baggy. A short blue service stripe on her upper right sleeve marked her time in the EMC, just as the two short and one long red Lieutenant stripes on Mops’ denoted her twelve years. Wolf’s sleeves were pushed back to the elbows, exposing the tattoo of

an Earth wolf on her left forearm. She flexed her muscles, and the reactive inks animated the wolf’s jowls, making it bare its teeth in challenge. “I was just doing my job. The Glacidae should be in here, not me. They’re the one who started giving me crap.”

Mops folded her arms and said nothing. Anticipating her next request,

Doc pulled up the incident report details on her monocle. The cot creaked as Wolf sat up and ran thick fingers through her dark,

sweat-spiked hair. She looked Mops up and down, probably trying to assess how much trouble she was in. “I mean that literally, you know. I was busting my ass trying to clear a jam in their toilet. The next thing I know, they’re shooting shit-pellets in my direction.”

“That wasn’t excrement. Technician Gromgimsidalgak was expelling unfertilized eggs.”

“Whatever. It was like a machine gun from their ass.”

“I’m sure Grom was as unhappy about it as you were.” The ship’s four Glacidae crew normally spent a few days in Medical during this phase of their reproductive cycles. It must have snuck up on Grom this time. “Williams, I need Wolf released and her gear returned.”

Williams hesitated. “She assaulted a member of the crew. I’m not supposed to release her—”

“Unless there’s an overriding operational need, and someone supervises her conduct,” Mops interrupted. “My team’s short-staffed and we’re about to jump. If we’re going into battle, I need Wolf on duty, not napping in the brig. I’ll babysit her myself.”

“Yes, sir.” Williams ducked into the command room to fetch Wolf’s equipment while the other guard—Tzu—unlocked the cell. “It wasn’t just eggs, you know.” Wolf held up her hands. Black scabs dotted her palms. “These are from Grom’s stingers.”

“You threw the first punch.” Mops chuckled. “And not a very good one, from the sound of it. At least not a good enough punch to keep Grom down.”

“There’s one other citation from Security’s report,” said Doc, pulling it up on Mops’ monocle and highlighting a passage near the end. Mops groaned. “Of all the asinine...

The rest of the galaxy already thinks of us as barely sentient animals, Wolf. You can’t go around threatening to eat people’s faces!”

Wolf sagged back in her cot. “I’ll apologize, all right?

I didn’t know they were...

what do you call that?

Eggstrating?

I’ll bring Grom one of those methane slushees from the mess. The thing put up a hell of a fight for their size. I can respect that.” She shook her hand in mock pain. The cell door slid open, just as a ten-minute countdown popped up in the corner of Mops’ monocle. “Move ass, Technician. We’ve got a jump coming up.”

Wolf’s belongings were standard issue. Where the guards and soldiers carried sidearms and ammo and restraints in their equipment harnesses, SHS personnel were loaded down with an array of hand tools and cleaning supplies, from high-pressure canisters of disinfectants, paints, and sealants to more specialized items like ultraviolet lighting for spotting shed Glacidae spines. Wolf brought her monocle to her left eye socket. It jumped into place

with a faint click, secured by the magnets implanted beneath the skin. “Do you want to be sent back to Earth?” Mops asked in a low voice. “And miss the chance to scrape slime from the water circ filters in the

captain’s quarters every week?” Wolf asked bitterly. “You need to grow the hell up, Technician. I know you’re unhappy here,

but you can’t solve every problem by punching it.”

“Course not.” Wolf tightened the last of her harness straps. “That’s why

we have blasters and batons.”

Four egg-shaped indentations slid open in the back wall of the cell as

Tzu converted the interior to a jump chamber. Tzu and Williams stepped through the doorway. Mops gave Wolf a weary shove. “Hook yourself in. We’ll sort the rest

out after the mission.”

Mops settled into the last vacant pod and raised her hands. The

attachment points locked into matching mechanisms on her harness and tightened her into place. “Doc, what’s the status on the rest of the team?”

“Monroe and Kumar are both secure in acceleration chambers B-11 and

D-4, respectively.”

Mops relaxed, letting the gelatinous padding of the acceleration pod

mold itself to her body. Like practically everything else, the pod, the gel, and the acceleration rings were Krakau inventions. Technically, even humanity was a Krakau invention. They were the ones who’d figured out how to restore the feral remnants of humanity. To reconstruct Earth culture and a Human language. “This distress call, you think it’s pirates?” asked Wolf. “They’re Nusurans,” said Tzu. “Probably started fooling around, got

distracted, and crashed into an asteroid.”

While she waited, Mops had Doc call up the ever-growing backlog of

repairs, inspections, routine maintenance, and emergency cleanups assigned to her team. A backlog that was about to get even longer. With every A-ring jump, there were always a handful of people who suddenly lost the contents of their stomachs. The lucky ones lost said contents through their mouths. Mops had never been able to fully wrap her brain around A-ring technology. The Krakau had developed it a hundred and fifty years ago, opening the galaxy to interstellar travel and communication. From the reading she’d done, the rings were similar in some respects to old human jet engine technology. Where a jet engine compressed and accelerated airflow, A-rings gravitationally compressed space itself. Essentially, they pinched the universe, then shot the ship through like a pellet from a space-time slingshot. The Pufferfish carried thirty A-rings. From a distance, they looked like an enormous white hose coiled around the bow. Each ring could be launched and expanded to allow the ship to pass through. The rings were only a meter or so deep, but the Pufferfish would traverse the equivalent of hundreds of kilometers in that single relativistic meter. A hundred kilometers was nothing in interstellar terms. What mattered was the acceleration the ship gained in the process. As the A-ring disintegrated from the amount of energy being channeled, it sent the ship ahead at many times the speed of light. Human scientists had believed light speed was an absolute limit. Of course, human science also used to believe meat transformed into maggots, the Earth was the center of the universe, and cholera could be treated with a tobacco smoke enema. Mops had once written to the Technological Advancement Council, asking about relativity and the light speed barrier. The rather brusque reply explained that light speed was an absolute barrier. Any object traveling at the speed of light would be instantly destroyed. Which was why they used the A-rings to skip past that barrier and accelerate directly to faster-than-light speed. It had been a remarkably unilluminating response. The countdown approached zero. Mops closed her eyes, exhaled hard, and tightened her core as she felt herself slammed hard against the back of her pod. Inertial manipulation and the loopholes of relativity kept the crew from being instantly transformed into lumps of bloody jam, but technology could only do so much. Three things happened more-or-less simultaneously. The Pufferfish leaped through interstellar space, thumbing its nose at primitive human science. The A-ring disintegrated in a flash of light and radiation. And everyone on board passed the hell out. Mops’ monocle noted it was roughly one hour after deceleration as she awoke. She blinked her dry, gritty eyes and stretched tingling limbs. A pungent, sour smell filled the air. At least one person had puked during the jump or, more likely, during the deceleration at the end. She touched her chin to make sure it hadn’t been her. “Sorry, Lieutenant.” Private Tzu’s face was pale and sweaty. She wiped

her mouth on her sleeve and grimaced. The pods were supposed to vacuum any misdirected bodily fluids, but they never got it all. “This will help.” Mops opened a compressed sanitizing sponge from a

pouch on her harness. It expanded automatically as she tossed it to the private. “Doc, tag that pod for a full scrub down.”

“Done.”

Before she could say anything more, the lights turned green, and a Battle

Stations alert flashed on her monocle. For Mops and her team, that meant stay the hell out of the way and let

the more essential personnel get where they needed to be. She asked Doc for a status report while the guards stumbled out of the acceleration chamber. Tzu nodded gratefully as she left, still sponging off the front of her uniform. “We’re getting the normal list of cleanup requests, but it doesn’t look

like anything vital broke during the jump.”

“Good. Relay the following assignments. Kumar, I want you in Medical. If we get casualties, they’ll need help with cleanup and sterilization so that the med team can focus on patching people up. Monroe—get down to Engineering and coordinate with Lieutenant Lee to monitor and prioritize any repairs.”

Monroe cut in. “With permission, I’d like to make sure all nonessential

plumbing is locked down first. It’s supposed to happen automatically, but some of those valves are overdue for maintenance and replacement. I once saw a lucky shot burst a ship’s pipes and flood two decks with several hundred liters of partially frozen sewage. No way I’m wading through a mess like that again.”

“Good thinking.” Lieutenant Junior Grade Marilyn Monroe was ex-

infantry, and had transferred to SHS after a Prodryan grenade tore up a third of his body. He’d been Mops’ second-in-command for more than a year now. “Report to Engineering when you’re finished.”

“Let me guess,” Wolf muttered, turning to go. “Post-jump puke duty for me.”

Mops caught her arm. “You’re staying where I can keep an eye on you. Right now, that means the aft battle hub. I’ll dispatch you from there if necessary.”

Wolf’s face brightened. “Yes, sir!”

“Once the fighting’s over, then you’re on post-jump puke cleanup.”

Mops ducked into Battle Hub Three, one of several reinforced rooms at the core of the ship. Three other human officers sat in front of hardwired terminals. Mops steered Wolf toward a vacant seat. “Stay there, and don’t touch anything.”

Mops sat beside Lieutenant Tambo from Engineering. The chair magnetized itself to the back of her harness to secure her in place. Once she was settled, the screen expanded and curved to fill most of her vision. In the center was a tactical display of the Pufferfish. Mops’ team appeared as small blue dots. She checked to confirm everyone was at their assigned station, then focused on the bigger picture. A second display showed them to be in the outskirts of the Andromeda 12 system, approximately 260 million kilometers out from the star, and 100 million kilometers “above” the orbital plane. They’d traversed almost thirty light-years in the ninety-minute jump. Two small Prodryan ships hovered over a Nusuran freighter between the fourth and fifth planets, both of which were home to fledgling Nusuran colonies. The freighter looked like a bloated metal maggot, while the Prodryan ships were more like broad-winged gnats. “That’s all?” Wolf sounded disappointed as she peered at Mops’ screen. Tambo snorted. “You were hoping for another Siege of Avloka?”

It was almost twenty-five years since the EMC had freed the Krakau colony of Avloka from the Prodryan occupation. Fewer than half the human soldiers had survived that four-month war, but the Prodryan forces on the planet were utterly destroyed. It was the first time the galaxy had seen a large-scale human army in action. “Just seems like a waste,” said Wolf. “An EMC cruiser for two little

fighters?

How long until we reach them?”

Mops pointed to the display. “We’re coming in at point-zero-eight. That’s around eighty-five million kilometers per hour. We’re still decelerating, but we should be close enough to engage directly in ninety minutes or so.”

“Ninety minutes?” Wolf sagged in her chair. “They’ll have gutted the

freighter and be long gone.”

“You’d be surprised,” said Tambo. “It takes time to get clear and

calculate a jump out of the system, and we’ve got a lot more speed. Even if they started accelerating the second they detected us, we’d have a decent chance of getting within missile range.”

“And it’s not like Prodryans to run from a fight,” added Mops. “Even a

hopeless one.”

“We’ll have this cleaned up before the command crew wakes up from

their nap,” said Wolf, sounding torn between pride and disappointment. Other species were more susceptible to damage from A-ring jumps,

requiring additional medical preparations and time to recover. The Glacidae would start coming around in another few hours. The Krakau would be the last to awaken from their “nap.”

Mops pointed to the second Prodryan ship. “Looks like one of the

Prodryans docked with the Nusurans. They might be taking hostages.”

Wolf nodded, her attention fixed on the screen. Mops couldn’t recall

ever seeing her this focused. “The Pufferfish library has a whole section on Earth military history,”

Mops suggested. “Land, sea, and air battles. I can recommend some titles if you’d like.”

Wolf scoffed. “A bunch of primitive humans running around with

gunpowder projectiles and swords, riding elephants against giant wooden horses and tanks?

No thanks.”

Wolf’s tangled impression of Earth history hurt Mops’ brain. “How

about something simpler. Doc, upload a copy of Sun Tzu to Wolf’s monocle.” She lowered her voice, speaking so only the AI would hear. “Preferably a version with lots of pictures.”

Within twenty minutes, it was clear the Prodryans planned to fight. The closer fighter had begun accelerating toward the Pufferfish, spitting a swarm of green dots across the empty space between the ships. “Missile barrage.” Excitement raised the pitch of Wolf’s words. Tambo chuckled. “At this range, they might as well try to piss out of a gravity well.”

“They’re too eager.” Mops’ pointed look in Wolf’s direction was wasted. Wolf had eyes only for the battle unfolding on the screen. The Pufferfish’s countermeasures had no trouble taking out the barrage. Guidance jamming sent most of the missiles veering away to detonate in empty space. The ship’s interceptor flares had plenty of time to track and set off the rest. A few minutes later, the Pufferfish fired a single plasma beam. At this range, it missed by more than a kilometer, but it seemed to enrage the Prodryans. Which was probably the point. Prodryans acted on instinct, especially when under stress. Another barrage of missiles flew toward the Pufferfish, to be dispatched as easily as the first. A faint wave of vertigo told her the Pufferfish had begun approach maneuvers, angling for a clearer shot at the Prodryan fighter that would keep the freighter out of the line of fire. Mops double-checked water storage and the greenhouses, making sure the acceleration hadn’t exceeded the tanks’ tolerance. It wouldn’t be the first time her team had dealt with a spill in the middle of battle. “What’s that second fighter doing?” Mops muttered. It wasn’t like a Prodryan to pass up a fight. They should have broken away from the freighter by now to join the attack on the Pufferfish, leaving a handful of soldiers behind to supervise their hostages. Instead, the fighter was using maneuvering thrusters to keep the freighter positioned between them and the Pufferfish. “Hiding behind the Nusurans,” said Wolf. “Cowards.”

More missiles came at the Pufferfish, though this barrage was thinner than the others. They couldn’t have many missiles left. Once again, countermeasures made short work of them, though one got close enough for a bit of shrapnel to strike the front of the ship. Mops checked the damage report. “Doc, tag air duct sections 153L through 157L for inspection when this is over.”

The Pufferfish twisted to one side, A-guns firing. The smaller A-rings in

the guns accelerated fist-sized projectiles to only half the speed of light, but that was more than enough to tear through anything they hit. Green lines appeared on the screen to show the path of each shot. Three misses tracked through empty space. The fourth and fifth shots drilled through the Prodryan fighter. Decompression and a small explosion sent the fighter tumbling out of

control. Escape pods burst away like sparks from a firework. “What’s so important about that freighter?” Mops frowned. “And where

the hell do those escape pods think they’re going?” At this distance, it would take the pods several days to reach the nearest planet. “Probably hoping we’ll round them up when we finish their friends,”

said Tambo. “When’s the last time you heard of a Prodryan choosing capture over

death in combat?” The pods had blossomed in all directions when they fled their doomed ship, but they didn’t appear to be heading anywhere. They just sat there, waiting....

She reached for the console, keying in a comm request to the combat

bridge. “BC Cervantes, this is Lieutenant Adamopoulos.”

“Go ahead, Lieutenant.”

“The Prodryans know EMC protocol and procedures. They know we

won’t fire on enemy escape pods. I’ll bet my library they’re creeping toward us, hoping we don’t notice until they’re close enough for a kamikaze run.”

A long pause. “Confirmed. It’s slow and subtle, but they’re all heading

this way. I’ll have gunnery team two track ’em and fire the moment we confirm hostile action.”

Wolf stared at Mops, her forehead wrinkled, her mouth open in

confusion. “Any suggestions for that second fighter?” asked Cervantes. “Even

docked with the freighter, they’re more maneuverable than we are.”

“Shoot through the freighter,” she said. This pause stretched out even longer. “Did I hear you correctly,

Lieutenant?”

Mops touched her screen, zooming in on the Nusuran freighter. “The

Prodryans are tethered to the Nusurans’ cargo bay. An A-gun shot through the bay shouldn’t hit any vital systems. The Prodryans probably cleared the Nusurans out of the way. Even if they’ve got a few hostages tied up in the cargo bay, brief depressurization won’t bother them. Nusurans take naked spacewalks for fun.”

“This isn’t covered in our combat plan.”

“Or you could sit around and wait for Captain Brandenburg to wake up. How many Nusurans do you think the pirates will kill in that time?

Mops out.” She sat back to watch. “What the freeze-dried shit was that?” Wolf whispered, leaning over Mops’ shoulder. “Since when does SHS give tactical advice to the ship’s Battle Captain?”

“When you’ve served longer and observed more battles than anyone else on the ship, people tend to listen.” Mops shoved Wolf’s face back from her own without looking away from the screen. The escape pods had begun accelerating. Moments later, the Pufferfish launched a series of missiles to intercept. The missiles detonated just before reaching the incoming pods, spraying them with a directional shower of shrapnel. At that range, she doubted anyone could have survived. The remaining fighter continued to keep the Nusuran freighter between itself and the Pufferfish. Ninety seconds later, a streak of light flickered from Pufferfish weapons pod three, marking the shot of a single A-gun. Air and debris erupted from the freighter. Both ships lurched, and the docking tunnel connecting the two broke away. Cargo spilled into space. The spray stopped seconds later as the freighter’s emergency systems sealed the ruptures, but by then the Prodryan fighter was peeling around to attack. An attack Battle Captain Cervantes should be more than capable of squashing. “What in the depths are you doing in SHS?” asked Wolf. “You could be up there directing battles, or leading infantry, or—”

“Maybe.” Mops shrugged and sat back to watch the rest of the battle play out. “But then who would keep the ship clean?”

In Earth year 2144, nine years before the Krakau arrived on Earth, a delegation from the fledgling Krakau Alliance met with four Prodryan military leaders to negotiate a truce. Their efforts failed, but records of the exchange offer insight into ongoing Prodryan hostilities. An excerpt from the transcript, translated into Human, follows. Canon D. Major (Krakau diplomat): We understand your

instinctive drive to expand and colonize. There is room enough for all in the vast ocean of space. Why waste your resources attacking other species?

Wings of Silver (Prodryan warrior): Because of our assholes. Major:...

Farkunwinkubar (Glacidae diplomat): I beg your pardons?

Final Countdown (Krakau technician): Apologies, honored

delegates. Our translation software is having difficulties with the Prodryan battle dialect. I believe the problem should now be corrected. Major: Thank you. Wings of Silver, could you please repeat your

reasons for these ongoing attacks?

Wings of Silver: Because we are assholes. Major: Dammit, Countdown!

After further troubleshooting and berating of Technician Countdown, it was determined that the second translation was in fact accurate. The Prodryan system of what we might call “ethics” is largely instinctual. The strongest drive is for species expansion and survival at all costs. The Prodryan mindset automatically classifies all other life-forms into either potential resources (food) or potential threats. Prodryans are aware of their own nature, and openly acknowledge their selfishness, lack of empathy, and determination to destroy anyone and anything they deem dangerous or not of use to the Prodryan race. In short, Wings of Silver was correct. Prodryans are a race of assholes who have warred against the galaxy for more than a century. T HE PRODRYANS MANAGED ONE lucky shot before a combination of missiles and plasma beams from the Pufferfish tore their ship apart. Mops’ screen lit up with the detailed damage assessment. The Prodryan A-gun had pierced the hull on deck C, near the bow of the ship. From the look of things, it had punched through several internal walls and floors before exiting deck F. The ship had automatically plugged the holes in the hull. Engineering would take care of reinforcing and repairing those. Mops was more concerned with the internal injuries. The instant Battle Captain Cervantes signaled the all-clear and the lights returned to their normal colors, she was out of her seat and heading for the nearest lift, dragging Wolf behind her. “Monroe, meet me on deck E, section four. Doc, was anyone hurt?”

“No injuries reported yet.”

“Good. Show me the air readings from the affected decks.” By the time the lift deposited her and Wolf on deck E, she was frowning. Monroe greeted them both with a pop of his chewing gum. The gum was a holdover from his days in the infantry, and Mops didn’t think she’d ever seen him without a piece. The man could walk naked into a sanishower and emerge blowing a bubble of whatever flavor he’d gotten his hands on lately. The Krakau who manufactured the stuff claimed to perfectly reproduce the tastes of old human foods, though it was impossible to know for certain. From the smell, he was currently chewing one of his favorites: pepperoni pizza. “I hear there are still Prodryans on the freighter,” he said in greeting. Mops didn’t bother to ask how he knew. Mops’ connection to ship’s

systems through Doc was supposed to be instantaneous, but Monroe’s gossip network with his infantry buddies always seemed just a little faster. “Cervantes is sending troops over on a pair of shuttles to clean them out.”

Monroe’s ragged white hair was cut short on the left, but hung to

shoulder length on the right, covering the worst of the scar tissue where his ear used to be. He’d left the infantry two years ago, following extensive reconstructive

surgery. Krakau surgeons had rebuilt his right arm and part of his torso, then put him in a coma for a month-long nap in a medigel bed to let his body finish healing. They’d never managed to restore his sense of balance. Rumor had it a gyroscope was mounted in place of his right eardrum, helping him avoid toppling over. The prosthetic arm looked mostly human, but with too-smooth, bleach-white “skin.”

Cleaning and welding tools weighed down his harness, clanking with

each step. He also carried a full SHS kit slung over his right shoulder. “Don’t you miss it?” asked Wolf. “Being part of those infantry

missions?”

“Hell, no. I’ll take cleaning this ship over getting shot, impaled, and

blown up.” There was a wistfulness to his words, though. From what Mops knew, that yearning wasn’t for combat, but for the companionship of his fellow infantry troops. “Air readings suggest we’ve got a cracked waste line,” said Mops. “Doesn’t look like a direct hit, but the shock wave from that A-gun rattled half the deck.”

Her monocle alerted her to an approaching figure around the bend:

Private Anna May Wong, from Infantry Unit Seven. Wong was relatively new to the Pufferfish. He staggered into view and leaned hard against the wall. “You all right, Private?” asked Mops. He nodded. “I got lucky. If I’d been any closer to the impact point,

you’d be scrubbing me off the walls.”

“Thanks for saving us the extra work,” Monroe said dryly. “Do you need help getting to Medical?”

Wong waved a hand. “I’m all right.”

Mops and Monroe locked eyes. “Turn to your left, Private,” said Mops. “Doc, send Wong an image of what I’m seeing.”

“Relaying to Private Wong’s monocle.”

Wong whistled a Krakau curse, something about tentacle incest. A saucer-sized shard of metal protruded from his back, just below the rib cage. Black blood crusted around the wound. “Did I say I was lucky?

I’d like to change my answer, sir.”

“Hold still.” Mops grabbed a canister of multipurpose sealant from her harness and applied a thin line around the base of the wound. The clear gel expanded quickly, turning bright orange as it hardened. “That’ll keep the metal from moving and doing any more damage. Wouldn’t want you out of commission just when things are getting serious with Suárez.”

He blushed hard. “You know about that?”

“I was swapping out air filters on observation deck E the other day.”

He reddened further. “We...

didn’t know anyone else was there.”

“I assumed as much. You were pretty preoccupied.”

“Medical, we need a stretcher,” said Monroe. “I can walk,” Wong protested. “And if you want to keep that ability, you’ll shut up and wait for the stretcher.” Mops folded her arms, looking up at Wong and silently daring him to argue. “Humans are tough. We’re not indestructible. And we don’t know how close that thing is to your spine.”

Wong sighed. “Yes, sir.”

“Was anyone else around when the hull was breached?” asked Monroe. “Not that I saw. I would have noticed this time.”

“Good,” said Mops. “Wolf, go on ahead and find that waste leak. We’ll be along as soon as we get Wong on his way.”

“First battle scar?” asked Monroe, gesturing toward the shrapnel. “No, sir.” Wong touched his left arm. “Lost a chunk of bicep and shoulder two years back. Peacekeeping mission on Cetus 4.

And I had three toes replaced after basic training. Frostbite.”

“Antarctica?” asked Mops, watching Wong closely. His eyes kept drifting, and his skin was paler than usual. “That’s right, sir.”

Mops chuckled. “Was Scheherazade supervising the A\&O after your

rebirth?”

“Worst Awakening and Orientation Officer ever.” Adopting a stiff tone,

Wong said, “‘It is customary for humans to panic when they wake up covered in fish and slime, but panic is nonproductive. Be still and wait for a technician to assist you. Do not harm the cutis fish in your tank. They consume only dead skin cells, body hair, and other human waste.’”

His intonation was perfect. Mops nodded and said, “Her first words to

our crèche were ‘Humans, cease all fear and confusion immediately!’ Because a meter-tall alien squid waving her limbs and shouting at you through the translator is so reassuring in your first moments as a sentient being.”

“I woke up with a fish halfway up my nose.” Wong rubbed absently at

his nostril. “They say that’s where the best-tasting hair is, if you’re a cutis fish.”

Mops stepped aside to make room as the medics arrived, pushing a

humming maglev stretcher. A six-year nursing veteran named Fred Rogers quickly checked Wong’s injury, then helped him lie facedown on the hovering stretcher. Rogers pressed a button on the stretcher rail to activate the built-in scanners. “Chipped vertebrae and a few perforated organs,” he said, giving Wong

a reassuring smile. “We’ll get those glued back together in no time.”

For all that they’d lost to the plague, there were advantages to what

humans had become. Feral humans were all but impossible to kill, and the Krakau had kept that resilience when they began administrating their cure. Earth Mercenary Corps soldiers could shake off anything short of damage directly to the brain or spine. Wong should be up and about again within a day. Once they were out of earshot, Mops turned to Monroe. “Why didn’t

Wong’s uniform register a puncture that size?”

“Maybe it did. You saw his face. He was slipping into shock. If he’d

gotten worse...”

It was rare for injury and shock to trigger a feral response, but not

unheard of. Mops held up her sealant canister. “Then I trust you’d have held him in place long enough for me to glue his ass to the wall.”

She returned the canister to her harness and checked Wolf’s status on her

monocle. According to Doc, Wolf had stopped twenty meters ahead. By the time they arrived, she’d marked several sections of wall panel for removal. “Cracked waste line, like you guessed,” said Wolf. The brief depressurization would have turned the line’s contents into a geyser of sewage steam. The changes in temperature and pressure could have further damaged the line, meaning there was a good chance the mess had spread everywhere. Wolf started to unseal the seam on the first wall panel. “Hold up.” Mops wrinkled her nose. She was regrettably familiar with the smells of shipboard waste. “Doc, how close are we to Grom’s quarters?”

“Fourteen meters.” An arrow appeared on her monocle, pointing the way. “Problem?” asked Monroe. “Grom’s excreting eggs. Not only is our leak officially toxic, it’s potentially corrosive. Doc, tell Kumar to get up here. And I need the emergency channel.” Mops waited for the AI to acknowledge. “This is Lieutenant Adamopoulos from SHS. Sections three through five of deck E are under immediate quarantine.”

“You’re calling a quarantine?” asked Wolf. “Normally, unfertilized Glacidae eggs are inert, but who knows what the shock of that A-gun did. If the eggs break down and interact with the air, they can emit a form of gaseous antifreeze. It won’t hurt a Glacidae, but one whiff can crystallize human mucus membranes. Nasty stuff. Get your hood up, then start setting up the quarantine curtain at the end of section five.”

Wolf opened her uniform collar to pull out a thin, transparent hood. She tugged the hood over her head and pulled a small tab along the edge, sealing the front. The hood inflated and stiffened into a makeshift helmet. Mops did the same, expecting Monroe to follow suit. He reached for his collar with his left hand...

whereupon his right hand balled into a fist and punched him in the face. “Dammit, Arm!” He glared at the artificial limb. The AI that helped control Monroe’s arm was significantly more primitive than Doc. As Doc himself had once put it, it was the difference between a modern cruiser and an old Earth paddleboat. A leaky paddleboat. Probably starting to rot. Most of the time, Monroe’s prosthetic AI could anticipate and assist him. It was also programmed to respond to Monroe’s verbal commands. But every once in a while, the arm got confused. “Oh, you’re sorry, are you?” Monroe snarled. Presumably the AI had

relayed an apology through his monocle. “You know, it’s not too late to replace you with an old-fashioned hook.”

“You all right?” asked Mops. He finished with his hood, using his left hand only, then bent to seal the

bottom of his pants to his boots. “I’ve had worse.”

Wolf’s face brightened. “Like what?”

“Let’s just say you should never use the head with a newly upgraded

artificial limb.”

Mops pulled her gloves from her back pocket. They sealed automatically

to her sleeves. A new readout on her monocle showed her suit’s air circulators were working properly, and everything was airtight. EMC uniforms wouldn’t hold up to a long-term spacewalk, but they were more than adequate for this kind of biohazard work. Doc pinged to let her know Wolf’s and Monroe’s suits were sealed as

well. She rotated her arms to loosen her shoulders. “Who’s ready to start sponging up alien excrement?”

Sponging was a figure of speech. They’d start with the portable vacuum

units from Monroe’s maintenance kit, saving as much raw biomaterial as possible. Everything they collected would be recycled and reprocessed into fertilizer for the greenhouses or next week’s meal rations. She generally tried not to think about that last part. They were an hour and a half into the job when a green all-crew alert starburst flashed on Mops’ monocle. “This is Commander Danube. I’m ordering level one biohazard

precautions effective immediately. Nonessential personnel should remain in their quarters. Anyone who has been in direct contact with infantry units three and five will report to Medical for quarantine.”

Her team stopped working. Monroe lowered the vacuum rod he’d been

using. “Units three and five were the teams assigned to clear the Nusuran freighter.”

Mops turned automatically to Kumar, whose eyes were wide behind the

transparent shell of his hood. “Relax. You’re fine,” Mops said to forestall his inevitable panic. Considering human beings were immune to most diseases, Technician Sanjeev Kumar’s paranoia about germs made as much sense as a hydrophobic Krakau. Though it did mean he was the most thorough and efficient cleaner on the team. “We’ve been in sealed suits since we started working.”

“Why didn’t Captain Brandenburg make the announcement?” asked Kumar. “Maybe she isn’t fully awake from the A-ring jump yet. Focus on the job, Technician.” Mops pointed to the open wall sections and the array of pipes and conduit running through the skeletal metal support beams. “I want this mess cleaned up double-time. If we have a biohazard on the ship, we’ll have more work coming our way soon.”

She watched Kumar until he nodded and got back to work. He’d been on the SHS team for six years, and—unlike Wolf—he’d never wanted anything else. He had the build of a soldier: tall, broad, and muscular. His brown hair was eternally unkempt, sticking out in all directions like the short tangles were trying to escape from his scalp. She stepped back to assess their progress. They’d finished the bulk of the job. Two sealed, waist-high canisters of recovered mostly-human waste attested to that. Temporary clamps locked the broken pipes, and Kumar had rigged a half-pressure bypass line to keep things from getting further backed up. Wolf had soaked the interior of the walls with a chemical bath that would break down any remaining organic matter, and Monroe was making good progress vacuuming up the resultant sludge. Next up was hitting every nook and crevice with the microwave sterilizer. Even at their best speed, they were looking at another hour, minimum. “Doc, how bad is it?” she whispered. “I’m locked out of command-level discussions, but Medical has admitted thirty-one people for examination and quarantine. Three lifts and one-point-eight kilometers of internal corridors are sealed off, awaiting medical sterilization.”

“Thirty-one...

that’s almost a sixth of the crew.”

“I’m a computer. I’m aware of the math.”

“Don’t get smart with me, you glorified contact lens. Any word on what kind of contagion we’re looking at?”

“Nothing official. It started after the first team returned from the

freighter, so there’s a good chance it was contracted there. From the speed it’s been spreading, I suspect it’s airborne.”

“Any chance it could penetrate a sealed suit?”

“Doubtful.”

“Then how did our troops get infected?

They’d have been suited up, and

would have gone through decon when they got back to the Pufferfish.”

“Human error is most likely to blame. Statistically, you humans fail far

more frequently than your equipment.”

“Bite me.” She wanted to argue the point, but Doc would no doubt have

plenty of data to back his claim. Data he’d be only too happy to highlight on Mops’ monocle. “Keep an eye on the team’s suit integrity. If a single seam even thinks about springing a leak, I want to know.”

“Hey!” Wolf’s shout made the rest of the team jump. Wolf lowered her

sterilizer, a pistol-like device with an oversized metal disk for the barrel. “We’re working here. You’ve got to go around.”

Behind the clear quarantine curtain, a young, heavyset woman stumbled

closer. Mops’ monocle identified PFC Schulz, a heavy gunner from Infantry Unit Two. She gave no sign of hearing Wolf’s instructions. “Doc, give me a direct line to Schulz.” Mops stepped toward the curtain. “This is Lieutenant Adamopoulos. Are you all right, Charlie?”

Schulz pressed her hands against the curtain. The material stretched and

tented against her fingers. The silence behind Mops told her the rest of her team had stopped

working to watch. “We’ve got more company farther up the corridor, around the bend. They’re coming this way.”

“Who?”

Doc tagged four more crew members on her monocle: Price, Smith,

Omáğažu, and Holmes. Beyond the curved wall, their silhouettes moved unsteadily toward Schulz, who had begun to claw at the edge of the curtain. “Feral?” asked Monroe, from mere centimeters behind her. Mops jumped. “Dammit, man. Give a little warning when you come up

behind someone, or I’ll tie a damn bell around your neck.” She turned her attention back to Private Schulz. “Stand down, Charlie!

That’s an order!”

The edge of the curtain tore away from the wall, sounding like a

flatulent Quetzalus. Schulz shoved an arm through, fingers stretched toward Mops’ throat. “Yeah, she’s feral,” Mops said tightly, fear and adrenaline squeezing her gut. She couldn’t see any sign of injury. Schulz was suited up the same as Mops and her team. “Monroe, in your infantry years, how often did you see shock or injury cause a reversion like this?”

“Four times,” he said. “Over eight years of active duty.”

Mops pointed past Schulz. “Ever hear of it happening to five people at once?” From the eloquence of his swearing, she assumed the answer was no. “What’s going on?” Kumar asked, panic edging his voice. Mops caught Kumar’s arm and spun him around, pushing him away. “Check the other curtain and make sure nobody’s coming from that direction. Wolf, Monroe, you’re with me.”

More of the curtain ripped free, and Schulz lunged forward. Her fist collided with Mops’ jaw, and everything flashed white. Monroe caught Mops by the arm before she could fall. Schulz had a hell of a punch. Mops shoved herself off Monroe to avoid the follow-up swing, then moved in to slam a knee into Schulz’s gut. It bent Schulz double. A quick push sent Schulz back into the curtain, where she fell against Smith and Omáğažu. Holmes climbed over them, intent on reaching Mops and her team. “Fall back,” yelled Mops. Wolf ignored her, charging past to drive a shoulder hard into Holmes’ gut. Wolf slammed him against the wall, grabbed the back of his uniform, and hurled him toward Price. “Remind me to put her back in the brig,” Mops muttered. “Doc, they’re still wearing their monocles. Can you control them remotely?

Comms, too?”

Doc gave a disdainful sniff. “Regulations and safety protocols prohibit —”

“I’ll buy you that processor upgrade you’ve been lusting after.” She stepped back as Schulz pulled herself upright. “Safety protocols disengaged. I’m in.”

“Overwhelm them.”

No sooner had she said the words than Schulz’s monocle flashed white. She fell back, both hands clawing at her eye through her hood. She managed to knock the monocle loose from her face, but it simply fell to the bottom of her hood, where it continued to strobe. Doc did the same to the others, who responded in similar fashion. Wolf

took the opportunity to land a few more blows against Holmes, before Monroe hauled her away. “These are our crewmates,” Mops reminded her team. “They’re sick. We’re not trying to kill them.”

“They’re feral,” said Wolf. “We can’t go easy on them. Hell, anything

short of guns or sedatives, and we’re just slowing them down.”

“I’ve seen your marksmanship scores,” Mops shot back. “You’re not

getting a gun.”

A series of thunderclaps filled the corridor as Doc overrode the

attackers’ comm speakers. Mops flinched. If it was that loud to her ears, she couldn’t imagine how painful it must have been through those directional speakers. She yanked her sealant canister from her harness and drew a large zigzag of gel down the wall. “Monroe, give me a hand.”

The two of them seized Schulz and shoved her face-first against the

wall, holding her in place as the sealant hardened. By the time the others recovered, Schulz was secure. “Kumar, cleaning spray.” Mops pointed to the floor between her and the

remaining ferals. Kumar pulled a spray wand from his harness, secured its hose to a bottle

of concentrated detergent, and blasted a film of green suds down the corridor. He coated the four crew who were approaching as well. Holmes was the first to fall. His feet shot forward, arms flailing as he

slammed to the floor. Mops spread another mess of sealant onto the opposite wall, grabbed

Holmes’ boot, and with Monroe’s help, glued him in place. Upside down. A hand clamped around her ankle. Omáğažu pulled herself forward, her

other hand reaching toward Mops’ shin. Wolf slammed a small wrench down hard enough to snap the bones of

Omáğažu’s right arm. Mops twisted free. “Sir, I still have some hull paint from that repair job two days ago,”

Kumar said hesitantly. He held up his spray wand. “I could—”

“Do it,” Mops snapped. Kumar nodded and unscrewed the detergent from his compressor hose,

replacing it with a heavier canister. As the remaining attackers closed in, he fired a thick spray of black paint at their hoods. After that, it was simple enough to glue the rest of them to the walls and floor. After making sure none of them would be going anywhere, Mops stepped back to catch her breath. “Doc, were any of our suits breached?”

“Everyone’s bagged and fresh. Well, Wolf’s a bit sour, but that’s because she hasn’t had a shower since before her fight with Grom. Her suit’s fine.”

“Thank you.” Mops glanced over the disaster that was their workspace. One of the pipes oozed black goo. Someone must have grabbed it when they fell, or slammed into it during the fighting. Cleaning tools were scattered over the floor. Then there was the cleaning fluid, paint, sealant, and who knew what else, all dripping from the walls and the struggling ferals. “What now, sir?” Kumar surveyed the mess, his eyes wide with horror. Mops stretched her shoulder. “We can’t stay here. Wolf, prep a bomb for that wall. I want it sealed and done in two minutes.”

“Aw, hell,” said Wolf. “All that work for nothing?”

“At least you got to punch someone,” Monroe pointed out. Wolf brightened. “That’s true.”

“Don’t encourage her,” Mops said, glaring at them both. Wolf carefully unwrapped a block of what looked like soft blue clay, while Kumar and Monroe maneuvered the first wall panel back into position. Mops grabbed the next panel and did the same. Once all but one panel had been replaced, Wolf pressed the block to the back of the center wall compartment, sprayed it with a milky white liquid, and stepped aside. The block was fizzing and bubbling like Captain Brandenburg’s snail soup by the time Monroe locked the final panel shut. The white spray was a catalyst that would, in another thirty seconds or so, cause the sanibomb to expand into a quick-hardening foam that filled every square millimeter of the wall compartments. Everything inside would be sealed into place, unable to leak or grow or spread. It was the quick and dirty way to decontaminate an area. It also rendered everything in those walls inaccessible until someone—generally the SHS team—came along with the dissolving agent to remove the foam and do the job right. In other words, work that should have taken a few hours had just turned into a multiday job. Mops touched the wall, feeling the heat of the reaction even through her glove. After making sure none of the foam was escaping through the panel seams, she turned to survey her team. “Nobody unseals their suits until I give the order. Is that clear?”

“I should’ve used the head before we started,” Wolf grumbled. “Don’t worry about it,” said Kumar. “EMC official-issue undergarments

can absorb up to two thousand milliliters of liquid.”

“Three thousand,” Doc corrected, broadcasting to the team. “They

upped it after that week-long plumbing shutdown on Stepping Stone Station earlier this year.”

“Fascinating,” Mops said dryly. “Now, how about an update on what the

hell’s going on. Where’s Security?

Do we have an update from Medical?”

“Sorry, sir.” Doc sounded abashed. “I’ve been pinging Medical for the

past five and a half minutes. No response.”

“What about tracking the crew?

Analyze their movements. Tag anyone

shambling around like a feral.”

“I don’t have that kind of access to ship’s scanners. I can tell you what’s

happening in the immediate vicinity, but—wait....”

Mops’ neck tensed. “What is it?”

“I don’t understand. I’m...

Stand by. There’s a lot to download.”

“Problem, sir?” asked Monroe. “I’m not sure. Doc?”

“I’ve—I mean, you—we have been granted command-level rights to

most of the Pufferfish’s systems. Equivalent to what Battle Captain Cervantes would have had during the fighting.”

“Who authorized that?”

“How should I know?

Wait, I have access to the ship’s internal logs now. Looks like your authorization was upgraded automatically seventy-three seconds ago.”

“If we have access, use it. I want the status of the entire crew. Are we

seeing any other outbreaks like we had here?”

“Already in progress. Unlike humans, I’m perfectly capable of doing

two things at once.”

“And?”

Doc hesitated. “Vital signs from crew uniforms are odd. I sent a high-

priority request to everyone save your team, asking them to report in. No response.”

Mops’ gaze returned to her struggling, feral crewmates. Her gut

clenched in anticipation of Doc’s next words. “As far as I can determine, the rest of the crew has gone feral. Your team is the only group unaffected. As the highest-ranking person on board not shambling about in a feral fugue, you are officially in command of the EMCS Pufferfish.”

EMC ship names are chosen by a five-member committee with representatives from the Alliance Military Council and members of the Krakau Earth science team. Traditionally, ships are named after the deadliest species from humanity’s home world. Thus, the EMCS Mantis Shrimp, the EMCS Hippopotamus, the warship EMCS Mosquito, and the pride of the fleet, the dreadnought EMCS Honey Badger. Prodryan warriors reflexively still their wings in terror at the mere whisper of the bomber EMCS Cone Snail....

EMC ships are crewed primarily by humans, with a scattering of other

species. Despite initial fears that the Krakau command crews would lose control of the primitive, savage humans, the fleet quickly earned a reputation for taking on any challenge. Thirty-six years of successful peacekeeping and counterinsurgency missions have proven those fears hollow and helped spread peace and security through the Alliance. “H OW DROWNED ARE WE?” asked Monroe, watching her closely. “Very.” Mops licked her lips. “I’m in command.”

“Yeah, we know,” said Wolf. “Sir.”

“Of the whole damn ship,” she clarified. Wolf’s mouth opened, but she didn’t say anything. “How is that possible?” asked Monroe. It was a rhetorical question, so, naturally, Kumar answered. “The regulations are clear. If every member of the Krakau command crew has been incapacitated, along with the eight other humans who outrank Lieutenant Adamopoulos, then command passes to her.”

“Does this mean the whole crew is...” Wolf gestured toward the five struggling prisoners. “Like them?”

Mops glanced at Monroe, saw the grim understanding in his eyes. “Not the whole crew,” she said quietly. “They’re suffering a relapse of our plague. A plague that affects humans, turning them vicious. Ferals will attack almost anything that moves. If the Krakau and the Glacidae aren’t responding...”

Wolf blinked. “Oh, shit.”

“Pretty much.” Mops took a deep breath, grimacing at the slightly stale taste of her suit’s air. “For now, assume everyone else on this ship is dead or feral. Doc, find us a safe route to someplace secure, preferably a battle hub or another area with full access to ship’s systems.”

“Battle Hub Two is closest. I believe I can plot a route that will avoid the other humans.”

“I spent a year on Earth for basic infantry training,” Monroe said quietly as they started walking. “Salvage and retrieval work, mostly. My unit spent two weeks in a hellhole called Disneyland Tokyo. We stirred up a nest of ferals in the northeast sector. They’d been hiding out in Toontown. We fell back into the only defensible position and held them off for three days before Command was able to send a retrieval team.”

Monroe avoided looking at anyone. “We lost four people. A buddy of mine weaponized some primitive robot tech—animatronics, I think they were called. You haven’t seen carnage until you’ve seen a mechanical yellow bear open fire on a wave of ferals, while a pink robot piglet carries a bomb into the heart of the mob on a suicide run.”

“Sounds like a hell of a fight,” said Wolf. “You got the hell part right, but that’s not the point. On top of being outnumbered, we ran into two major problems. The first is that humans are really hard to kill.”

“Damn right,” grunted Wolf. “The second is how hard it is to pull the trigger against your own kind. Every human we put down was a human the Krakau would never cure. A human who would never be anything but a rabid animal. Every one of us knew the only thing separating us from them was dumb luck.”

He popped his gum, grimaced, and swallowed it. “This mess is going to

be harder. These are our crewmates. Our friends.”

“Also, we don’t have guns,” said Wolf. “Or suicidal robot pigs,” added Kumar. “We’re not killing anyone,” Mops said firmly. “Like Monroe said, these

are our crewmates. Our job is to keep us and them safe until we can get the situation under control and find a way to help them. Doc, can you contact Command?”

“Internal ship communications only. If you want to talk to anyone

outside the Pufferfish, you’ll need to get to Battle Hub Two.”

A dot of light on her monocle signaled an incoming comm message. From Mops’ collar speaker, a voice with the faint mechanical edge of a translator whispered a weak, “Hello?”

Mops raised a hand to halt and silence her team. “This is Lieutenant

Adamopoulos.” A text tag on her monocle identified the caller as Technician Gromgimsidalgak. “Where are you, Grom?”

“The humans have all gone mad,” whimpered Grom. “They’re worse

than Wolf!”

“Grom is in Recreation Area Two,” said Doc. “Specifically, they’re in

the pool. The deep end.”

Mops cocked her head. “The crew went feral, and you decided to go for

a swim?”

“I’m hiding,” Grom snapped. “Glacidae lubricating fluid turns water

opaque. It’s all I could think of, but I can’t keep it up much longer. Send a security team to get me out of here!”

Mops mentally added pool cleaning to her growing list of things to do,

assuming they survived. “Why didn’t you respond before to Doc’s all-crew signal?”

“I’ve been busy trying not to get eaten!”

“Stay out of sight as long as you can.” She signed off and turned to the

others. “Grom is trapped in Rec Two. We’re going to get them.”

“Four of us against almost two hundred feral humans?” asked Kumar. “Minus the five we’ve already dealt with, yes. Doc, how many people

are in Recreation with Grom?”

“Eleven.”

She studied her team. Wolf looked ready to charge to Recreation and fight all eleven herself, proving once again that she had no idea what they were facing. Kumar looked ready to soil himself—a better-informed, if equally noncomforting response. Monroe simply waited, arms folded. “Show us the quickest route to Recreation.” Her monocle lit up with the path plotted and a floating arrow showing which direction to go. “And the closest armory?”

A second route appeared, with an arrow pointing in the opposite direction. Of course. “Doc, start sealing off sections of the ship. Full quarantine lockdowns.”

“Talk to them,” suggested Monroe. “Ferals are drawn to noise. Human voices trigger their hunting reflexes. Broadcast in specific areas to lure them in, then lock the doors behind them.”

“Good thinking. Doc, broadcast from areas where they’ll be unlikely to blow up the ship while they’re locked up. Empty cargo bays, acceleration chambers, that sort of thing. Keep them out of Engineering and away from any command consoles.”

“What should I say?”

“It doesn’t matter. Pick something from my library and start reading. Clear us a path.” That still left the ferals in Recreation to deal with. They wouldn’t leave if they had Grom surrounded. She pulled a half-meter utility pole from the back of her harness and twisted the metal collar at the end. The pole tripled in length. One end was a universal swivel-head attachment point. The other was a nozzle for anything from a high-pressure air hose to anticorrosive paint to simple vacuum suction. It also made a serviceable staff. Wolf had taken out her utility knife, a three-centimeter blade that would have roughly the same effect on a feral human as tickling them with a feather. “What’s the plan?” asked Monroe. “Keep your mouths shut so we don’t attract more company.” She started toward Recreation. “And try not to die.”

As they neared Recreation, Mops began to hear Doc’s voice over the distant speakers. “I have been called an unkind mother, but it was the sacred impulse of

maternal affection, it was the advantage of my daughter that led me on; and if that daughter were not the greatest simpleton on earth, I might have been rewarded for my exertions as I ought.”

“What the hell is that?” whispered Wolf. “Sir James did make proposals to me for Frederica; but Frederica, who

was born to be the torment of my life, chose to set herself so violently against the match that I thought it better to lay aside the scheme for the present.”

“It’s called Lady Susan, by Jane Austen,” Mops whispered. “Now shut

up. Doc, how’s our path?”

“You’re eleven meters from Recreation,” said Doc, without interrupting

his reading. “Everything looks clear. Better drop low to take a quick peek, though. You know, just in case the internal scanners missed anything.”

Mops dropped to one knee, poked her head around the corner and

choked back a curse as she came face-to-face with what she belatedly identified as a half-chewed combat dummy from Recreation. “Your heart rate just spiked,” Doc said, his words brimming with

innocence. “Is everything all right?”

“Hilarious,” Mops snarled. “Remember your little joke when I flush you

down a toilet so you can scan the pipes from the inside.”

“Oh, relax. I knew the corridor was safe. Human psychology suggests

humor is a useful tool for coping with stressful situations.”

“So is violence against computers.” Up ahead, the door to Recreation

was stuck halfway open, blocked by another fallen dummy. Mops whispered into her collar. “Grom, can you hear me?” There was no response. “Doc, give us a tactical view of Recreation.”

Soft-glowing lines appeared on her monocle: a simple projection of the

recreation area. Green figures appeared, crowded around the pool. “That’s...

more than eleven,” said Huang. “Sixteen,” Monroe confirmed. “Doc needs a refresher course on basic

counting.”

“There were eleven,” Doc said coolly, broadcasting to the entire team. “The other five must have wandered in, drawn by the crowd. And for your information, I can derive the Bailey-Borwein-Plouffe formula in the time it takes you monkeys to remove your boots and count to twenty.”

Monroe chuckled quietly, raising his hands in mock surrender. Mops studied the layout in Recreation. All personnel were required to maintain a certain level of fitness. Most found it a source of pride, particularly the infantry grunts and those like Wolf who dreamed of joining them. There were ongoing friendly and not-so-friendly competitions. The walls displayed recent and all-time records in various feats of strength, endurance, agility, and more. Equipment included treadmills, climbing walls, resistance machines, and plenty of combat dummies, both static and responsive. A large, rectangular pool took up roughly half of the room. Trust the Krakau to focus on aquatic fitness. A handful of combat dummies were set up in the pool for underwater practice, including two human-shaped machines, three Prodryans, and a Glacidae. Treadmills routinely spilled careless or overworked runners into the pool. A climbing wall curved up over the water, meaning anyone who lost their grip went for an unexpected swim. The sixteen crew were scattered around the pool. They knew Grom was in there. Once ferals sighted prey, they wouldn’t break away for anything short of another meal. Mops turned to Monroe. “Suggestions?”

“Don’t let them get behind us. If we get swarmed and surrounded, it’s over.” His fingers drummed against his thigh. “We need to thin the mob. Lure them out.”

Mops glanced over her team, her attention settling on Kumar. Kumar’s shoulders sagged. “Him?” asked Wolf. “I should be the one who—”

“I need someone to lead the ferals away, not start a brawl with them,” Mops interrupted. “Doc, plot a path from Recreation. Tag anyone within a hundred meters, and have a lift car waiting at the end of the route. If you get the chance to seal off some bulkheads and trap a few more ferals along the way, great. Kumar, all you have to do is follow Doc’s directions. Once we’ve got Grom, I’ll tell you where to meet us.”

“You’ll have a head start,” Monroe added. “Their coordination is shit. You should be fine.”

“Unless I fall,” Kumar countered. “Or run into a group of ferals Doc

couldn’t see. Or there’s a lift malfunction. This ship is fresh out of combat. We don’t know what else might have been damaged.”

Mops put a hand on Kumar’s shoulder. “Breathe, Sanjeev. You can do

this.”

“I know, I know, I know.” He shuddered. “Just...

give me a minute

please, sir. To plan for everything that could go wrong.”

“You’re going to need a lot more than one minute,” said Wolf. Monroe punched Wolf’s arm, shutting her up. Mops turned her attention back to Recreation. “Doc, can you power up

the air vents in there on my signal?”

“No problem.”

The vents were designed to clear excess sweat and moisture from the

room. In this case, the noise should also cover any sounds Mops and her team made as they approached. Kumar fumbled through his harness, rearranging tools and cleaning

supplies. “Flashlight in case there’s a power outage,” he mumbled. “Access key for locked doors. Pry bar. Detergent and hull paint to slow them down....”

He removed a roll of carbon fiber tape and began looping it around his

left forearm. He did the same to his right, creating makeshift bracers. The tape was more than strong enough to stop human teeth. He swallowed and said, “I think I’m ready, sir.”

“Doc’s got eyes on the whole ship,” Mops reminded him. “He’ll keep

you safe.”

Kumar nodded and set off toward the half-open door to Recreation. Once he was within arm’s reach, he stopped, and Mops could see his breathing speed up. His hands balled tight. He glanced over his shoulder, then jumped forward, waving his arms. Nothing happened. After a moment, he stepped closer to the doorway. “They’re not

reacting,” he whispered, his words relayed through their comms. “They’re fixated on Grom,” said Monroe. “You’ve got to get their

attention.”

Kumar knocked on the door, tentatively at first, then harder. He tried

shouting at them. Mops could see annoyance replacing his fear. He tried again, then pulled a screwdriver from his harness and knelt by the damaged combat dummy, muttering to himself. “After all that, you’re not gonna just ignore me!”

He worked at the neck for several minutes, replaced the screwdriver, and removed the head from the dummy. With an angry yell, he hurled the head into Recreation. There was a meaty thump, followed by angry groans. “It worked,” Kumar said brightly. “That’s great,” said Mops. “Run!”

Kumar took off down the corridor, followed by nine of the ferals. Leaving seven for the rest of them to deal with. She’d hoped for better, but would take what she could get. “Doc, start up those vents, see if it startles any more of them out of the room.” She studied the locations of the remaining seven on her monocle. “And lower all of the climbing ropes on the aft wall.”

“This might not be the best time for a workout,” said Monroe. Mops affixed a small grasping claw to the end of her utility pole and tested to make sure it worked. Normally, the claw was for retrieving dropped tools and other items from drains, crevasses, or anywhere else they managed to lodge themselves. “Wolf, I want you by those ropes. Monroe, stay here for now. Monitor the corridor, and be ready to jump in if I call.”

She would have preferred to have Monroe helping her round up their feral crewmates, but all it would take was a momentary loss of balance, or a single malfunction of his artificial arm, and they’d be overwhelmed. From the way Monroe’s mouth pressed tight, he knew it, too. She summarized her idea for getting the crew out of the way. “Remember, these are our crewmates. They’re sick and not thinking clearly. Stick to the plan.”

“Krakau make plans,” snorted Wolf. “Humans barge in and kick ass.”

“Of those two species,” said Mops, “which still has a functional civilization?” She gripped her utility pole in both hands and crept toward the door. Once there, she double-checked her monocle to make sure the doorway was clear. As with Kumar, the remaining ferals didn’t immediately respond as Mops slipped through and headed toward the climbing wall. To her left, a dark, rainbow-edged film covered the surface of the murky water in the pool, courtesy of Grom’s secretions. She raised her utility pole and waited for Wolf to join her. “Ready?”

“Bring me a body,” Wolf replied. By now, four of the seven ferals had apparently decided the potential

new meals were more interesting than the one hiding in the pool. They trudged closer. Mops stepped to meet them. She lunged for the closest, Private

Washington from Supplies, jabbing the butt of her pole into his face. A follow-up swing to the knees knocked him to the ground. Before he could recover, Mops spun her pole and clamped the claw around his ankle. She hauled him toward Wolf, who clipped a carabiner to his harness. “Doc, retract line one!” Mops shouted. Up went Washington, until he hung from the ceiling like an old Earth

piñata. Mops used her pole to push back the other ferals, trying to isolate Private Red Cloud long enough to get him hooked to the next rope. Red Cloud stumbled. His hand clamped around Mops’ utility pole as he

toppled slowly into the pool. Mops braced herself, trying to yank her weapon free as the others closed in. Wolf charged past with a roar, ropes in both hands. She slammed her

shoulder into the gut of the nearest of the two remaining ferals. She and Sergeant Perón fell to the ground. Private Simpson piled on, trying to tear through the back of Wolf’s hood. “Dammit, Wolf!” Mops kicked Red Cloud in the face, pulled her pole

from the water, and cracked Simpson over the head with it. Simpson didn’t even look up. Mops switched ends and tried to get the

claw around the woman’s neck so she could lever her off Wolf. “Got you,” shouted Wolf. “Retract line two!”

The motor strained audibly as it pulled the rope, dragging Perón from

the bottom of the pile and raising her up to dangle beside Washington. Mops clipped another line to the back of Simpson’s harness. “Doc, reel

in line four.”

The remaining three ferals had given up on Grom and were circling

around the other side of the pool. “Fall back, Wolf.” Mops struggled to focus. She knew their attackers. JG

Rudolph always joked about loaning explosives to Mops’ team to help clear jammed Krakau plumbing. Private Baggins once managed to infest his quarters with a Tjikko fungus that had required the whole place to be stripped and sanitized. Private Gandhi was one of the best sharpshooters on the ship. But there was no recognition in their faces. No awareness. Nothing but an instinctive hunger. “I’ve got this.” Wolf started forward. “Take one more step and I’ll have you transferred to that Nusuran freighter,” Mops said without looking. “You can spend the next five years cleaning up after them.”

Wolf didn’t answer. She didn’t charge in like a wild animal either. Good enough. Mops handed line number three back to Wolf and grabbed line five for herself. “Doc, get ready to drop lines one, two, and four on my signal. Hard.”

“Got it.”

Rudolph paused as she reached the first of her suspended companions. Her head tilted to contemplate Washington’s slow, helpless kicks, and then she shoved past him. Gandhi followed close behind. Off to the side, Red Cloud pulled himself out of the water behind Baggins. “Now,” said Mops. Washington and Perón dropped to land atop Rudolph and Gandhi. Their flailing knocked Red Cloud back into the water. Mops darted in and secured her line to Rudolph’s harness. As Doc hauled the trio back into the air, Wolf managed to hook Gandhi. He flew upward, twisting and kicking, and his foot clipped the side of Wolf’s head. She toppled into the pool after Red Cloud. Baggins jumped in after her. “Shit. Doc, can you power up the underwater combat dummies?”

“Done.”

In the murky water, the movement should keep the ferals distracted. “Wolf, as long as you’re in there, find Grom and get them out. Monroe, we could use an extra hand.”

By the time Mops reached the control console on the front wall, Monroe was there. Mops pointed to the pool and tossed him her utility pole. He caught it and hurried to the far side. Mops couldn’t see anything clearly in the water, but her monocle highlighted Wolf and Grom, along with the two remaining ferals closing in on them. Monroe dropped flat at the edge of the pool and thrust the pole into the water, toward Wolf. Mops cleared the terminal and pulled up the maintenance menu. “Got ’em,” Wolf shouted over her comm. Mops checked over her shoulder to see Wolf gripping the end of the pole

with one hand. Her other was twisted around Grom’s harness. Monroe hauled back, pulling them toward the edge. Once they were close enough, he tossed the utility pole aside and used both hands to drag the Glacidae from the water, with Wolf pushing from the other end. Wolf climbed free a moment later. As soon as they were clear, Mops activated the emergency drainage

cycle. The pool was always drained before A-ring jumps, battle situations, and

for cleaning purposes. The normal process took about eight minutes. But in emergencies—damage to the ship’s internal gravity, for example—high-pressure vacuum pumps could empty all one and a half megaliters in ten seconds...

assuming the pool was free of potential obstructions. The combat dummies were secured to the bottom of the pool for safety. Baggins and Red Cloud were not. Green warning lights shone through the dark water, and a series of

drains in the bottom opened like tiny black holes. Baggins and Red Cloud were yanked downward and pinned against the closest drains. Grates over the drains kept the ferals from being crushed and pulled into the pipes, but they were going to have the galaxy’s worst hickeys. With two drains blocked, it took more like twenty seconds to empty the

pool. It was more than enough of a head start to get Grom out of Recreation and seal the door behind them. Mops sagged against the wall. “Kumar, what’s your status?”

“I’m on deck M, circling back in your direction.” He was breathing

hard, but there was no panic in his voice. “How’s Grom?”

“Alive, but unconscious. Rendezvous with us at—”

“Waste Reclamation,” Kumar interrupted. “If Grom is injured, they

might need extra methane. We can tap the methane stores in Waste Rec.”

Mops blinked. “Good thinking.”

“I spend a lot of time in Medical,” he explained. “I’ve picked up a few

things. I like watching the autosurgeons work. Autopsies are my favorite. You get to see so much more of how the bodies fit together. Once, after the battle of Pictor 3, I got to watch them replace one of Private Hamilton’s lungs. Then they were removing the military implants from Prodryan POWs —”

“You can tell us about your hobby later.” Mops turned her attention to Grom. The Glacidae was small for their species, about one and a quarter meters in length. A hundred-plus stubby legs protruded from either side of their tubular body. Each leg sprouted hundreds of thin yellow tendrils, creating a feathery appearance. Thicker limbs ringed Grom’s head, each one terminating in long, curved claws that had evolved for digging through the snow and ice of the Glacidae home world. Yellow spines lay flat along the back. Atop the head, above the beaklike mouth, were two enormous brown eyes that always reminded Mops of an Earth puppy. A thin oily substance dripped like brown tears down Grom’s face, cutting through the beads of water clinging to their skin. Grom’s equipment harness was secured to the front quarter of their body. Mops didn’t recognize most of the tools, used for computer maintenance and repair throughout the ship. Their monocle was missing, probably lost in the pool. “Can those spines pierce our suits?” Wolf asked, plucking one from her sleeve and flicking it onto the floor. “As long as your suit integrity alert isn’t going off, you’re fine.” Pounding from the ferals inside Recreation made her jump. She grabbed the side of Grom’s harness. “Wolf, give me a hand.”

Together, they hoisted Grom into the air and started toward the lift, letting the rear third of the Glacidae’s body slide along the floor. Wolf looked back at Recreation, and her usual bravado slipped. “What the hell are we supposed to do now?”

“Get Grom to safety,” said Mops. “Signal Command for assistance. Stay alive.”

“Sounds like a simple plan,” said Monroe, pausing to pop a bubble of dark brown gum. “You’ve heard the Earth saying about the best laid plans, right?”

“Isn’t that the one about the plans of rats and men?” asked Wolf. “Rats and men always seemed like a weird collaboration.”

“That’s why it requires planning,” said Monroe. “I’ve made a command decision.” Mops waited a beat before adding, “I’m going to ignore you both from here on out.”

The most brilliant Krakau scientists were assigned to work on the biological restoration of humanity. As a result, the scientists who worked on other aspects of human culture were...

not the most brilliant. Für Elise was a xenolinguist and unsuccessful poet who had tried and

failed to get a position on the Alliance Exploratory Council. While other, higher-status linguists worked to develop a single language for the newly cured humans, Elise was assigned to review the entirety of human literature and curate those works to be translated into the new Human tongue. Elise spent four years on this project. Her notes from this time are

illuminating. Selected excerpts follow:

“Reviewed complete works of Dr. Seuss. These books are not, as first assumed, a guide to obscure Earth creatures. I suspect Seuss lied about being a doctor. Conclusion: total gibberish, completely untranslatable.”

“Have reviewed the history and causes of Earth conflicts through the ages. Recommendation: do not translate or republish human religious texts.”

“Works tagged ‘fantasy’ should be ignored. Based on early estimations of restored human intellectual capacity, these stories would only confuse them.”

“William Shakespeare’s works are full of violence and vulgarity. These could be useful in priming humans for the realities of battle.”

“Have begun reviewing works tagged ‘erotica.’ What is this obsession humans had with procreation, and why did they have so many bizarre synonyms for their genitalia?

They’re almost as bad as Nusurans. I hate my life....”

W ASTE RECLAMATION CONTROL WAS a long, cramped room dominated by a series of pipes and tanks, all clearly labeled for human technicians with large warnings against things like cutting the gas lines. Kumar crouched beneath one such sign, cutting into the three-centimeter methane pipe with his utility blade. “Not too deep,” said Wolf. “All we need is a pinhole-sized leak.”

“This isn’t my first time splicing a gas line,” Kumar snapped. He adjusted his angle and jammed the tip of the blade deeper. “I’m in.”

He returned the knife to his harness and clamped a T-joint over the pipe, then secured a small, flexible hose to the joint. Mops hoisted Grom close enough for Kumar to poke the other end of the hose into the Glacidae’s beak. Slowly, Grom’s mouth tendrils clamped around the hose. Mops’ monocle flashed a warning about a leak in the methane pipeline. She cleared the message and watched Grom’s breathing. “Can you hear me, Technician?”

They didn’t respond, but their body was expanding and contracting more deeply than before. “Why methane?” asked Wolf. “I know Grom likes the stuff, but I thought it was just a treat. They breathe normal air like the rest of us.”

“They prefer a higher methane content,” said Kumar. “It speeds up their metabolism. There’s an Earth drug called coffee that used to do the same thing to pre-plague humans.”

A ripple passed over Grom’s body, like a prolonged shiver. Their legs clicked against the floor as they moved closer to the wall. Mops cautiously released her hold. When it was clear Grom could support their own weight, she stepped away and rotated her arm until a loud pop eased the pressure in her shoulder. “How are you feeling, Grom?”

“Frosted, but alive.” The Glacidae’s language sounded like a growling

tiger with a bad stutter, repeated in Human by the small translator built into their harness. Grom took one more deep breath, then pulled away from the methane line. “Thank you, Lieutenant. Good work. What’s the situation with the rest of the ship?”

Kumar slipped smoothly past Mops, sealing tape in hand, to fix the pipe. Mops brought Grom up to speed. It was always a little odd talking to an

alien whose height meant they appeared to be chatting with your crotch, but she’d had stranger conversations. “Why weren’t you in a quarantine suit?”

“No time. Fortunately, whatever did this to you humans doesn’t appear

to affect Glacidae. Aside from feeling like my lubricating glands are about to burst, I’m fine.”

Mops took a subtle step back. “Who else from the crew escaped both infection and your fellow

humans?” Grom continued. “Other Glacidae, or anyone from the Krakau command crew?”

“You’re the only survivor we’ve found so far,” Mops said gently. “I’m

sorry.”

Grom sagged, automatically coiling the back half of their body into a

recliner for the front. “I...

I see.” They fell silent for several seconds. “I’ll see what I can do about contacting Command to request help. I want you to figure out the best way to disable life support. That should take care of the remaining threat, after which—”

Mops’ sympathy vanished. “We’re not killing the rest of the crew.”

“I know you humans have an instinctive pack loyalty, but we have to

face facts. It’s us against them, and our best chance of survival is to strike now. Life support is the easiest way. Game over, we win.”

Monroe winced and took a step back. Kumar stopped working to stare,

his mouth hanging partly open. Wolf folded her arms and asked, “Now can I threaten to eat them?”

Grom rattled their spines. “Lieutenant, would you please muzzle your

subordinate, or does she have to be returned to the brig?”

Wolf started forward. “You ungrateful—”

“That’s enough,” snapped Mops. “Thank you,” said Grom. “Now, I’ll need an escort to the bridge while

the rest of you take care of these feral humans.”

They trailed off as Mops dropped to one knee, facing Grom at eye level. Glacidae preferred to keep others a body length away. Mops deliberately leaned in, until she could feel their methane-tinged breath on her face. “Do I have your attention, Technician?”

Grom made a sound like they were trying to clear a blockage deep in their chest. “That means yes,” Doc whispered. “I think. With Grom’s accent, it could also be a request for eyeball lotion.”

Mops smiled, wondering briefly if Grom knew enough about humans to distinguish between a smile of pleasure and general good will and a smile that, much like a Glacidae’s raised spines, warned of stabbings and general violence. “Unless you received a promotion while you were fouling the ship’s pool, I still outrank you. If you have suggestions, I’m willing to listen. When I tell you your suggestion stinks worse than week-old slime crusts, your job is to shut the hell up and come up with a better one. Don’t you twitch those spines at me, child!”

Grom jerked back so hard they nearly toppled over. Their legs flapped outward as they struggled to regain their balance. “That’s better,” Mops continued. “We’re going to do everything we can to keep the rest of the crew alive and safe until we can get them the help they need. If you have a problem with that, tell me now, because if you pull this Glacidae status-challenge bullshit on me again, I’ll have Wolf lock you in the brig. Or an air lock. Is that understood?”

The Glacidae scooted back. “With respect, humans aren’t meant to command. Regulations are clear.”

Kumar cleared his throat. “That’s not exactly true. EMC regulation 300-12, Promotions and Reductions, caps human rank advancement at Lieutenant, with allowance for temporary promotion lasting no longer than four hours to Battle Captain. It’s true that humans can’t be promoted to command crew. EMCR 220-40, Command Policy and Chain of Command, specifies that humans must cede command to any available Krakau. But there’s nothing about a human Lieutenant having to take orders from a low-ranking Glacidae.”

Doc pulled up the relevant sections of the manuals as Kumar continued talking. “Kumar’s reciting the regs word for word. Does he have any hobbies other than sitting around memorizing rule books?”

“Watching surgeries,” Mops whispered. “He also cleans a lot.”

“The Alliance Military Council prohibits humans from commanding

ships,” Grom insisted. “This isn’t an Alliance ship,” Kumar countered. “The Earth Mercenary

Corps is contracted to the Military Branch of the Krakau central government. Specifically, we report to Krakau Interstellar Military Command. That makes us employees of the Krakau home planet of Dobranok, not the Krakau Alliance.”

Grom fixed one eye on Kumar, while the other watched Mops. “Lieutenant, your human limitations are no fault of your own. I just think that, for the good of your team and the crew, you should surrender command to—”

“Wolf, where’s the closest air lock?”

Grom sagged into a pile, the Glacidae equivalent of throwing up their

arms in disgust. Mops stood and wiped her palms on the front of her suit. “How much

access do we have to the Pufferfish’s primary controls from here in Waste Reclamation?”

“Not much,” muttered Grom. “Most command functions are restricted to

the bridge and battle hubs. I’m sure there are overrides, but they’re probably keyed to Krakau only.”

“Can you bypass them?”

“I’m a tech. I clean up software and swap out broken hardware. I don’t

hack high-security systems.”

Mops had expected as much, but it never hurt to ask. “Doc, we’ll need a

path to the closest battle hub. Once we get there, our priority will be communications and external scanners. We need to get word to Command and make sure there are no other Prodryan ships nearby.” She studied her team. “I don’t suppose anyone knows how to do any of that?”

Silence. “We’ll also need a plan for sanitizing the ship,” she continued. “Kumar,

Monroe, start brainstorming. We can’t stay in these suits forever.”

“What do we do if there are more Prodryans?” Grom asked quietly. When nobody answered, they said, “I assume nobody on your SHS team is certified on the ship’s weapons and defenses?”

“Every system has tutorials and refreshers,” offered Kumar. “Sir, I’ve found something you should see,” Doc cut in. Mops raised a

hand for silence. “Security footage of Captain Brandenburg and Commander Danube from shortly before they...

expired.”

Mops sat down next to a water filtration access tank, rested her head against the warm metal, and closed her right eye. “Show me.”

Her monocle turned opaque, shutting out the rest of the room, before bringing up an image of the Captain’s Cove....

Captain Brandenburg and Commander Danube floated in murky, gently swirling water a meter deep. The Captain’s Cove was directly adjacent to the bridge, and resembled a poorly lit cave. The exposed walls and ceiling were rough-textured, like brown sandstone. Captain Brandenburg’s tentacles adjusted the controls on the horseshoe-shaped console at the center of the room. Her rightmost tentacle was thinner and paler than the other two. She’d lost that one three months back, and hadn’t yet finished regrowing it. Her beaklike mouth had a superficial resemblance to that of a Glacidae, but Krakau beaks were smaller and flatter against the face. A series of dark indentations around the upper part of her body were the equivalent of human eyes, though they perceived a narrower portion of the electromagnetic spectrum. Water beaded and rolled from her blue-black skin. Directly in front of the two Krakau, a large screen displayed the image of a Nusuran. A caption at the bottom of the screen identified him as Captain Taka-lokitok-vi, presumably from the Nusuran freighter. According to the time stamp, this conversation had taken place about two hours earlier. “On behalf of the EMC and the Krakau Alliance, we’re happy to be of service, and relieved none of your crew were lost during the fighting,” Brandenburg was saying. “We neither ask for nor expect payment for protecting your people.”

“Our accountants on Solikor-zi might disagree, especially when it comes time to send our hard-earned taxes into your Alliance coffers.” The Nusuran jiggled with silent laughter. “Regardless, Captain, victory should be celebrated!”

Like most Nusurans, Taka-lokitok-vi looked like an oversized Earth walrus encased in a baggy brown sleeping bag. Three triangular plates of bone surrounded his head like ivory flower petals. Long, thin tendrils sprouted like weeds from behind those plates. Smaller pink tendrils wiggled suggestively beneath the round mouth, like a beard of boneless fingers. “What my crew needs is rest,” Brandenburg said firmly. “Not a

celebratory interspecies orgy.”

“We all rest in our own ways,” laughed Taka-lokitok-vi. “Unless your

soldiers were injured when they cleared those ring-dicked pirates from my ship?”

“They were fine,” Brandenburg assured him. “Humans are pretty much

unkillable.”

“So we’ve seen.” The Nusuran’s skull plates scraped together in

thought, sounding like a scraper peeling old paint from a wall. “Perhaps it’s for the best that you and your fellow Krakau decline our invitation. Recreational relations are tricky with a species that severs their own tentacles as part of the mating process. Is it true Krakau never developed the concept of a safe word?”

Mops shifted her back. “Doc, what does this have to do with anything?” The image froze. “I’m establishing context.”

“And laughing at the clash of sexual mores?”

“Personally, I think Captain Taka-lokitok-vi showed both diplomacy and

restraint, by Nusuran standards. Notice how he doesn’t masturbate once during the entire exchange?”

“Just show me what happened next.”

Commander Danube moved toward the screen. “Captain, what was it the

Prodryans wanted?”

“Memory crystals.” Taka-lokitok-vi rattled his skull plates in annoyance. “They removed three containers. Six more were lost when you fired on our ship.”

“Our apologies,” said Brandenburg. “That was a calculated strike—”

“We’d have lost far more if you hadn’t,” Taka-lokitok-vi assured her. “The EMC may not be the most civilized force in the galaxy, but no one can question their efficiency. Speaking of which, if you or your crew change your minds about that invitation—”

“Safe waters to you and yours, Captain. Pufferfish out.” As soon as the

screen cleared, Brandenburg tapped her console. “Lieutenant Khan, report for debriefing.”

“Memory crystals?” said Commander Danube. “They’re valuable, but not valuable enough to explain why that second fighter stayed with the freighter rather than join the fight. None of this makes sense.”

“You think there may have been more to the Prodryan mission?” asked Brandenburg. “We could send a salvage team to gather the remnants of their fighters, but given the punishment we poured on them, finding a scrap of useful, readable data would be like finding a particular grain of sand on the ocean floor.”

Danube click-whistled a command, and a map of the galactic quadrant appeared on the screen, showing the Sagittarius, Orion, and Perseus arms of the Milky Way. There were no borders in space, no walls or boundaries between star systems. Different-colored dots represented inhabited systems. The larger the dot, the greater the number of known inhabitants. The Krakau home world of Dobranok was one of the largest, with more than eleven billion inhabitants living within the planet’s oceans. Twenty-two other worlds were marked in Krakau blue, including the Earth. Until humanity recovered enough to govern and maintain their own planet, designating it a Krakau colony provided legal safeguards and protection. Translucent silver lines, like spider silk, connected the worlds of the Krakau alliance, almost a hundred in total, though many were young colonies whose inhabitants numbered in the thousands or tens of thousands. Known Prodryan worlds were bright green. Suspected colonies and outposts were darker green, including several worlds in the Perseus arm of the galaxy. In sheer numbers, Prodryan territories were almost a match for the combined worlds of the Krakau Alliance. Prodryans were short-lived as individuals, but they did two things incredibly well: fight and breed. “Here are large-scale Prodryan conflicts from the past year,” said Danube. Green rings circled twenty-two worlds, roughly split between Prodryan and Alliance. “We’ve concentrated on hitting military stations and outposts, while they’ve focused their attacks against established colonies.”

“More people to kill, and more resources to steal,” said Brandenburg. “Including Kanoram-yi two months ago.” Danube highlighted the Nusuran colony world. “Kanoram was one of their oldest colonies. The Prodryans could have looted all the mem crystals they needed. So why hit Captain Taka-lokitok-vi?”

Captain Brandenburg swam out from her console. “Do we have a copy

of the Nusurans’ cargo manifest?

Maybe the Prodryans were after more than just mem crystals.”

A list appeared on the screen. “The rest is terraforming equipment for

the colonies. Weather-seeding drones, microbes for adjusting water salinity levels. Nothing that would get the Prodryans’ wings buzzing.”

“Signal Command that we’re going to stay and make sure the captain

reaches his destination without further trouble,” said Brandenburg. “We might be dealing with a splinter group among the Prodryans. The bugs are almost as happy to fight each other as they are us.”

The main door slid open, and a bulky woman stepped down the ramp

into the waist-deep water. Lieutenant Khan had eight years in the EMC, and bore the scars to show it. Her nose was a crooked mess, and a set of parallel scars gave her a permanently furrowed forehead. Her hair was a black cloud spreading from her scalp. The holster on her right hip was trimmed in red, designating her as a

sharpshooter, the second highest firearms rating. A combat baton hung from the opposite side of her harness. “Reporting as ordered, sir.”

“Your teams did an excellent job clearing the Nusuran freighter,” said

Brandenburg. “What can you tell us about the Prodryans you encountered?”

Khan blinked. “I haven’t had a chance to complete my report yet.”

“I understand. I’m asking for your impressions.” The tautness in Khan’s shoulders eased. “They ambushed us the moment

we boarded. I think...” She trailed her fingers through the water. “I think the decompression disoriented them. They were suited up, but most of their shots went wild.”

“How many?” asked Danube. She stared at the rippling water. “Fifteen?

Maybe twenty?

No, not that

many....” Her voice faded. “Lieutenant?” When Khan didn’t respond, Commander Danube swam

closer and extended a sinuous tentacle. Khan slapped it aside with a snarl. An instant later, her eyes went round,

and she stumbled backward. “I’m sorry, Commander!

I didn’t...

I thought you were...” Her voice faded again. Her attention appeared fixed on a point at the back of the room. “She could have received a head injury,” Captain Brandenburg said

softly. “Maneuvering in zero gravity is tricky, even for experienced soldiers, and humans don’t always recognize when they’ve been wounded.”

Danube swam cautiously around the Lieutenant. “I see no visible sign of injury or trauma.”

“Better to be safe. Medical, this is Captain Brandenburg. I need a doctor and security escort in the Captain’s Cove for Lieutenant Khan.”

Khan continued to gaze trancelike into the distance. “Medical would have checked her over as soon as she returned and completed decontamination,” said Danube. “It’s standard procedure. She —”

Khan’s arm shot out, her fingers wrapping around one of Danube’s thick lower limbs. Danube emitted a high-pitched whistle of distress as Khan clamped down and hauled her closer. Captain Brandenburg shot through the water like a torpedo. She wrapped all three tentacles around Khan’s arm, trying to break her grip. “Stand down, Lieutenant!”

“I don’t think she can hear you.” Danube tore free, sacrificing the last twenty centimeters of her captured limb in the process. She wrapped her remaining limbs around Khan. The captain did the same. Together, they pinned and restrained the snarling human. Khan’s teeth snapped audibly as she struggled to break free. “Security, this is Commander Danube. Lieutenant Khan has gone feral. Repeat, we have a feral human in the Captain’s Cove.”

Mops’ monocle cleared. She blinked, fighting off dizziness as the sights and sounds of Waste Reclamation replaced the Captain’s Cove. “What happened?

Where’s the rest of the feed?”

“That’s all I could access,” said Doc. “It could be data corruption, or more likely, medical privacy rules prevent us from seeing the details of Lieutenant Khan’s treatment once the medics arrived.”

The Krakau had always taken human medical privacy seriously. Not only for the humans’ sake; they wanted to protect the details of their treatment, making sure hostile races like the Prodryans couldn’t reverse the cure. Mops tried to imagine what had happened next in the Captain’s Cove. Khan could have broken free when Medical and Security tried to take her. Or, depending on how quickly this thing spread, maybe the humans who’d arrived to help had gone feral as well. “Are you all right, Lieutenant?” asked Monroe. “Nope.” Though her monocle had cleared, she could still see the

wildness on Khan’s face, the mindless hunger. Had Khan known what was happening to her?

Had she felt her humanity slipping away from her?

“We need to figure out how the hell the Prodryans did this and how to reverse it.”

“What if it can’t be reversed?” Kumar asked as he absent-mindedly

polished a series of pressure gauges along the wall. Mops thought about how quickly the Pufferfish’s crew had turned. How

quickly this could spread through the medical centers on Earth, or the EMC training facilities. “In that case, to borrow a phrase from the Krakau, we are officially inked.”

In Earth year 2122, Nusuran organic memory crystals revolutionized computer systems and artificial intelligence throughout the fledgling Krakau Alliance. Composed of pure Stishovite and ranging in size from a few millimeters to several centimeters in diameter, the spherical crystals are exponentially more efficient at storing data than previously used technologies. It’s estimated that a single Nusuran memory crystal could survive a thousand years with less than 0.02 % data degradation. The popularity of such crystals was only slightly impacted by the revelation of their origins, discovered by a Krakau xenocorprologist. Nusuran biology is extremely efficient. Almost everything they ingest is broken down and utilized by their metabolism, except for trace amounts of silica. That trace matter is compressed and processed by a small, densely muscled set of four sphincter-like organs, and excreted approximately once per year. Crystal size and quality varies, depending on the individual Nusuran’s age, diet, general health, and other factors. The largest and purest memory crystals require both a strict high-calorie diet and ridiculously powerful laxatives. —From Rectal Revolution: A New Age in Computer Technology

“W ARNING: SUIT AIR SUPPLY at twenty percent.”

“Kumar, Monroe, where are we at with that decontamination plan?”

asked Mops. Kumar pushed back from the terminal he and Monroe had been hunched

over. “It’s difficult to plan a course of action when we don’t know what we’re dealing with, sir. Is it viral?

Nanoparticulate?

Something else altogether?”

“Given how fast it spread, it’s probably airborne,” said Monroe. “It

reached every part of the ship, so the air filtration systems don’t slow it down.”

“I reviewed the decon logs for units three and five,” said Kumar. “Everyone went through standard decon protocols when they got back from the freighter. Anything they carried on their suits should have been fried. None of them had any suspicious gifts or packages. Is it possible we were infected through some other vector?”

“Unlikely,” said Mops. “Khan was on the freighter, and she was one of

the first to go feral.”

“Once we know how to kill this thing, we’ve got a plan for

incrementally cleansing the ship.” Monroe waved a hand at the screen. “We’ll need to completely shut down air circulation vents, pull the filters, and sterilize every duct from the inside. Individual rooms and corridors should be straightforward. The biggest problem will be the occupied areas.”

“What about Grom?” Wolf piped up. “They don’t seem to be affected. What if we take some of their blood and transfuse it into the rest of us?”

Grom raised their spines in alarm. “I can cite 1,892 reasons why that’s a horrible idea,” Doc offered. Mops sighed. She wanted her team jumping in with ideas. She’d just

hoped for better ones. “Grom, can you fool the maintenance system into believing the ship’s in drydock?”

“I’ll need to shut down and interrupt the reboot cycle, but I think so. It’ll

take at least five minutes.”

“Do it.”

Kumar was the first to figure it out. His eyebrows shot up, and he leaned

forward excitedly. “You want to run a level one decontamination?”

“Whatever this thing is, a level one decon ought to kill it, don’t you

think?” asked Mops. Grom looked up from their terminal. “You realize it would also kill me,

and possibly you and your team as well?”

Another warning appeared on her monocle. At the same time, Wolf said, “Sir?

My suit just gave me a low oxygen warning.”

“We don’t have many options.” Looking at their readouts, the rest would be getting similar alerts any minute now. “Monroe, Kumar, we’ll start with your incremental plan. Waste Reclamation goes first. We’ll decontaminate the room and ourselves at the same time. Grom, you’re going to Battle Hub Two. Once you get there, see what you can do with the internal scanners. Doc’s done a good job walling off most of the crew, but we can’t risk a single straggler catching us off guard or getting into sensitive areas of the ship.”

“The last time I moved freely about this ship, your fellow humans tried to eat me!”

“They should’ve tried harder,” muttered Wolf. “We’ve got most of the crew isolated,” said Mops. “Doc can help you navigate around most of the strays. You’ll be fine. Probably. Better off than if you stay here.”

“Grom’s right that a level one could kill us, too,” Wolf pointed out. “It could.” Mops made shooing motions at Grom until they hunched low and started working on the maintenance systems. “Our other choices are to suffocate in our suits or unseal our suits and get infected with whatever turned the rest of the crew feral. Which would you prefer?”

Wolf didn’t answer. “Powering down maintenance computers now,” said Grom. The terminals went dead, and the lights dimmed. Grom hummed quietly as they waited for the system to reboot. “What are you so cheerful about?” demanded Wolf. The Glacidae glanced over. “If this does kill you all, I’ll be left in command of the Pufferfish.”

Glacidae didn’t look fast, but given proper motivation, they made impressive time. Mops watched on her monocle as the icon representing Grom scurried through the ship toward the battle hub. By now, Mops’ air supply light was flashing a green Danger warning on her monocle. “Shut everything down. Monocles, suit electronics, terminals...

anything you don’t want fried. Monroe, does your arm have an off switch?”

Monroe grimaced. “He’s always cranky afterward. Once after an

upgrade and reboot, he spent ten minutes making obscene gestures at my CO. Claimed it was a malfunction, but the logs were clean.” He murmured a command, and the arm went limp. “Better swallow that gum, too,” Mops added. One by one, the screens

that had just come back up blinked out again. She sat at the remaining terminal and set the countdown for a level one decontamination on Waste Reclamation, along with a hundred and twenty meters of corridor directly outside and a maze of air circulation ducts. Kumar and Monroe had sealed off different vents to isolate the ducts in question from the rest of the system. “Warning,” the screen flashed. “Level One Decontamination cannot

commence until all personnel have left the area.”

Mops studied the safety protocols, which showed four living bodies

present in Waste Reclamation. One by one, she manually retagged them as piles of biological waste material. The warning vanished. Mops started a one-minute countdown, then shut

off the console. “Doc, decon should take about five minutes. Can you power yourself down but keep a timer going to restart in ten?”

“As long as I run the timer from another location and have it send the

startup signal remotely,” said Doc. “But if this thing damages my circuits, I expect an upgrade!”

Her monocle went blank and fell from her eye, landing in the base of her

hood and leaving her in darkness. She sat on the floor and tried to relax her muscles. “I’ve always wanted to see a level one from the inside,” said Kumar. “And we wonder why the rest of the galaxy thinks humans are idiots,”

snapped Wolf. “Not at all,” said Monroe. “There are plenty of other, better reasons.” A hurricane tore through the room, silencing further conversation. The

initial rush of air was meant to stir particulate matter from the various surfaces. It slammed Mops sideways, and she heard someone—probably Kumar—yelp as they tumbled to the floor. The wind shifted. Mops’ suit puffed from her body as the vents sucked

the air from the room. The sound faded, then died. Mops clapped her hands together in front of her face, but neither saw nor heard anything. She kept clapping until the sound began to return, muffled and tinny. The air pumping into the room wasn’t a breathable oxygen mix, but a low-pressure conductive medium for what came next. A blue spark, surprisingly bright, leaped from the ceiling to the floor. She glimpsed Kumar sitting wide-eyed, Monroe resting with his back to the wall, and Wolf standing defiantly in the middle of the room, as if daring the ship to do its worst. The next spark arced to the top of Wolf’s head. She dropped like a stone in Tjikko gravity. The electrical dispersion grid woven into the material of her uniform to diffuse energy weapon strikes should have kept her alive against the shock...

hopefully. More sparks flew, creating a blue strobe effect that made her eyes ache. Normally, her monocle would have darkened to compensate, but the lens was dead and useless at the bottom of her hood. The electrical storm would fry nanotechnology, cook exposed bacteria and viruses, and basically burn the living hell out of anything and everything it touched. If the contagion turning the crew feral could survive this—

A jolt struck her suit. The dispersion grid helped, but not as much as she would have liked. Her muscles locked, and her jaw clenched so hard she thought her teeth would crack. Her heart pounded hard and fast. Her body felt swollen, like she’d been overbaked to the point of bursting. Monroe was next to topple. Electricity sparked over his prosthetic arm. The edges of Mops’ vision turned dark. The flashes contracted to a pinpoint of light. And then that pinpoint went black. “Good morning!”

Mops awoke in darkness to the sound of Doc’s too-cheerful voice and the sensation of drool dripping down her cheek. The salt-and-alcohol smell of sanitizing foam was thick in the air. She wiped her face and froze. She hadn’t unsealed her hood. “I remotely activated your suits to trigger the emergency hood release. After all your efforts, I couldn’t let you and your team suffocate in your own suits.”

“Thanks.” Her throat was dry and raw, like she’d swallowed a wire

brush. “No thanks necessary, Lieutenant. I’m programmed to assist with

shipboard hygiene and sanitation, and that means not leaving dead and decaying bodies in the middle of Waste Reclamation. Especially since there’d be nobody to clean them up.”

“How about some lights?” Her fingers felt stiff and clumsy as she

tugged off her gloves. The thick layer of dissolving foam covering everything didn’t help matters. She fumbled to retrieve her monocle from the bottom of her hood. It snapped into place over her eye, powering up immediately with the status of her team—all alive. Monroe hadn’t woken up yet. Wolf groaned as she gingerly probed the

top of her head. Kumar had taken out a large cleaning cloth and was meticulously scrubbing yellow foam from the front of his suit. “You think it worked?” asked Wolf. “Doc, how long since you unsealed our suits?”

“Two hours, eleven minutes, and twenty-three seconds.” Lieutenant Khan had started showing symptoms when she reported to

the Captain’s Cove. Depending on when exactly she’d been exposed, that could have been anywhere from thirty minutes to three hours. “If it didn’t work, we’ll find out soon enough.” Mops drew her air

compressor gun, fitted it to the small tank in her harness, and blasted the rest of the foam from the closest screen. Kumar perked up and gestured to himself. With a sigh, she sprayed him clean as well before easing into the closest chair. “Doc, put me through to Grom.”

The Glacidae responded immediately. “I see you survived, Lieutenant. I

reached Battle Hub Two without incident, and started working through the tutorials on the internal sensor systems. I take it the decontamination worked?”

“We’ll know in another hour.” Mops frowned. “Was that an explosion?”

“What?

Oh, sorry, let me pause that.”

“Pause what?

I don’t recall explosions and screaming in the standard

scanner tutorial modules.”

Grom hesitated. “It’s...

Maze Hunter 4.

I picked up an expansion pack

on Eridanus 2.

With the rest of the crew offline, the response time is amazing. I’m on the final level—”

“You’ve spent the past hours playing a video game?” Mops asked quietly. “And watching the tutorial. Glacidae are better multitaskers than humans. No offense. Our brains are able to compartmentalize—”

“You didn’t think there might be more important tasks for you to focus on?”

A pause. “I followed all orders you gave me. Sir.”

Mops turned on the console in front of her. “Send me an updated scan of the ship, and a systemwide view of our position.”

“One moment. Let me review my notes.” Several minutes passed before her display lit up with the information she’d requested. The Pufferfish had drifted about twenty kilometers. At this scale, they were essentially standing still. The ship’s internal status appeared unchanged. “Doc, show me everything we’ve decontaminated so far.” Waste Reclamation and the closest corridors turned blue. “Kumar, get to work decontaminating the next areas we’ll need. Food and supplies. Main lifts and corridors to the bridge and other vital areas.”

“At least one bathroom,” Kumar added. Mops didn’t answer. A series of blips on the screen, about 250 million kilometers from the Pufferfish, had caught her attention. “Doc, what are those?”

“A-ring deceleration signatures. Looks like six ships arrived in-system.”

Mops worked through the math in her head. “If we’re just seeing the flares now, that means they arrived about fifteen minutes ago?”

“Nope. More than an hour and a half. But the screen will keep displaying the energy readings until someone acknowledges and clears them.”

She muttered a curse. “If that’s their location ninety minutes ago, where did they go?”

“Unknown. Deceleration signatures are like a flare, visible throughout the star system. Normal sublight propulsion is another matter. At this range, targeted scanners might be able to pick them up, but we’d need to know where to look. Depending on their speed, we’re talking trillions of cubic kilometers.”

She stepped away from the console and knelt by Monroe. His breathing was strong. She pushed back his hood and smothered a laugh. His white hair stood out like a lopsided dandelion, probably a side effect of the electrical portion of the decon process. She ran a quick hand through her own hair. Static crackled, but it wasn’t

as bad as Monroe’s. She gave him a gentle shake. “Wake up, JG. We’ve got six unidentified ships sneaking around. I need everyone up and working.”

He groaned and tried to shove her hand away. When that didn’t work, he

turned onto his side, his natural hand clutching hers. A chuckle behind her cut off too quickly for her to see who it was. She

tugged her hand free. “Attention, soldier!”

Monroe jerked up, groaned, and clutched his head. “Sir, we may have a problem,” said Kumar. “I’ve got a clear path to the

bridge, but the bridge itself is occupied. Looks like two ferals, and...”

Mops moved to look over his shoulder. “And?”

“If I’m reading this right, four Krakau bodies. With two more sealed in

the Captain’s Cove.”

“Work with Doc to get those ferals off the bridge and into a contained

area.”

Wolf perked up. “Can we keep using that Jane Austen book to distract

them?

I’m curious about the Frederica character.”

“I don’t care. Just get them clear. Then run a level one on the bridge and

cove.”

Kumar turned in his seat. “Sir, do you know what that will do to exposed

Krakau flesh?

Especially in the cove, with all that water?”

“Do you know what will happen if those six ships are hostile and they

reach us before we get to the bridge?” Mops didn’t wait for an answer. “Grom, work with Wolf on figuring out communications while we clear the bridge. If you touch another video game, I’ll order Doc to wipe every one of them from the ship’s systems. Including every saved game and high score.”

The Glacidae gave a drawn-out, belchlike cry of distress. Mops wasn’t

sure which was more upsetting, the prospect of losing their scores, or being ordered to work with Wolf. Nor did she particularly care. “Why can’t Doc handle communications?” Wolf protested. Grom replied before Mops could answer. “Because the Pufferfish

doesn’t have a single interconnected computer system. Too easy to hack. Most command functions are isolated, inaccessible to the average member of the crew. Command-level AI assistants are deliberately restricted in their access. A good thing, too, considering how often you lot manage to fry your AIs and personal assistants. I spent most of yesterday cleaning several terabytes of interspecies porn off Private Garcia’s monocle.” Mops’ comm speaker clearly relayed the repulsed rattle of Grom’s spines. “The things I saw....”

“Stay strong, Technician.” Mops hauled Monroe to his feet. “Let’s get to work.”

The worst thing about stepping onto the newly sterilized bridge wasn’t the sight of the four Krakau officers, but the smell. Mops had personally cleaned up some of the nastiest substances from throughout the galaxy. She took pride in being the only one on the SHS team who could walk unmasked into a Tjikko composting mausoleum without puking. Seeing the burnt remains of her former commanding officers made her want to weep, and to lash out at those responsible for the assault on her ship. Her eyes looked at the desiccated bodies and felt grief. Grief that almost overpowered a more primitive response to the cooked-seafood smell that filled the air. She swallowed hard and stepped onto the bridge. “Kumar, get the bodies down to Medical. Put them in preservation pods for now.”

“Yes, sir.” Kumar tugged out his gloves, grimacing as he approached the body of Second Officer Seville. Mops could count on her hands the number of times she’d been to the bridge, usually to deal with spills and stains that were too much for the ship’s automated cleaning processes and scrubber-bots. A large, curved screen dominated the hemispheric room. At the center was the captain’s station, marked off by a horseshoe-shaped console identical to the one in the Captain’s Cove. Eight other duty stations were positioned around the edge of the room, separated by metal guide rails positioned too low for human comfort, but just right for Krakau limbs to curl around. Every station was a shallow pit or depression, with the captain’s being the deepest. The bumpy metal floor offered a level walkway around the bridge, with ramps leading down to the various duty consoles. Each of those stations contained an array of displays, switches, and other equipment...

none of which Mops had the slightest idea how to operate. “Doc, what the hell am I looking at?” she whispered. Tags appeared on her monocle, identifying the Commander’s station and

Navigation to the front right of the Captain, with the Second Officer and Weapons/Defense to the left. Communications and Operations were positioned just behind the captain, with two backup stations at the rear of the bridge. A sealed door in back led to the Captain’s Cove. The main screen was currently dark, as were the two backup stations. The rest were active, judging from the various lights and displays. They must have come back on automatically after the decontamination. Mops stepped around to the ramp leading to the captain’s area. There

was no chair, just a series of bars that looked perfect for coiling boneless limbs around. Mops tried to find a comfortable position that didn’t bend or compress her body, but soon gave up. Standing amidst the tangle of bars, she turned to her team. “Monroe, take Weapons and Security. Wolf, you’re on

Communications.” She pointed them in the appropriate directions. Wolf looked longingly at the Weapons and Security pit, but didn’t argue. “Kumar, hurry up with those bodies, then get to Navigation. Grom, until

we figure out how to kill any contaminants you might be carrying without killing you in the process, I’m afraid the Bridge and all other sanitized areas of the ship are off-limits. Stay in Hub Two for now.”

“Understood,” the Glacidae responded over Mops’ speaker. They didn’t

sound overly disappointed to be effectively restricted from interacting with humans. “Doc, how much help can you give us with operating the ship?”

“I have no direct access to the bridge systems. In addition to

segregating their computers, the Krakau hard-wired a number of safeguards to prevent AIs from seizing control of the ship. It’s described as a defense against hacking attempts by hostile forces, but I think they’re just paranoid about us. It’s rather insulting.”

“Sir, I think we’re receiving a signal,” said Wolf. Mops stared down at her own console. “Do any of these screens feed

from Communications?”

Her monocle highlighted a screen to the right, more-or-less aligned with the position of the communications station. She studied the array of buttons and sliders and touch screens, all a little too large for human fingers. “I think I’ve got it.” Wolf did something on her own terminal, and the main screen lit up—not with an incoming signal, but with an animated caricature of the Pufferfish, a disturbing cartoon with too-large eyes and a too-friendly smile. “Greetings, human member of the EMCS Pufferfish crew!

It looks like you’re trying to establish a communications channel with another ship. Would you like help?”

Wolf’s face turned dark, and she hunched over her console. “Sorry. I thought—”

“Yes, we want help,” Mops snapped. The cartoon smile grew larger, and the eyes turned briefly to pink hearts. “I’m so glad!

What format would you like to broadcast in, and what kind of encryption will you need?

I’m happy to list all available options for you!”

Mops groaned. She’d forgotten how obnoxious the ship’s tutorial software could be. The Krakau claimed they’d based it on old Earth software. Back in basic training, she’d had nightmares about their teaching interface coming to life and chopping through her door with a combat blade, grinning its sociopathic grin and saying, “It looks like you have too much blood in your body. Would you like help with that?”

She shook herself and said, “Just play the incoming signal, but don’t respond yet.”

The image morphed into an oversized drawing of the comm station controls. “Step one: isolate and filter the incoming signal using—”

The screen went blank again. “I got it back on my console,” Wolf said without looking up. She reached out and touched one of the controls, then jerked her hand back as a painful squeal filled the bridge. “Son of a shit!

Sorry. Isolating the signal now.”

A short time later, the main screen flickered, and Mops found herself staring into the iridescent, bulbous eyes of a Prodryan. The bridge comms broadcast a repeating message. “—squadron 52.

Your vessel appears to be in distress. Do you require assistance?

Please respond. Repeat, this is Assault Commander Burns Like Sunspots of Prodryan fighter squadron 52.”

It was impossible to judge size over the screen, but most Prodryans were

about a meter or so in height. From the thickness of the two antennae, this one was male. Organic-looking armor covered his torso: curved, brightly colored plates riveted and hinged for flexibility. Curved barbs sprouted from inside the bristled forearms. Large pink-and-purple wings, vivid as oversized flower petals, twitched behind him. Like many Prodryan warriors, this one had a number of mechanical

enhancements. Lines of microcircuitry traced silver spirals down his wings. One of his four mouth pincers had been replaced with a metal unit that probably doubled as a communications device. “Damn,” said Wolf, as the message continued. “I was hoping for a signal

from Command.”

“Prodryans offering help,” Monroe muttered. “Nothing suspicious about

that.”

“Do we have any information on AC Burns Like Sunspots or the 52nd

fighter squad?” asked Mops. Monroe glared at his console. “I’m sure Command would want that

information to be accessible to the human Battle Captain and crew, but damned if I know how to find it. I can tell you the typical Prodryan squad is eight fighters, not six. Those two pirate ships could have been from the 52nd. They’ve probably got a carrier in deep space as their jump point.”

Grom spoke up over the comm. “Lieutenant, may I remind you that your

training in sanitation and hygiene in no way qualifies you to take this ship into battle?”

“You may not.” Mops frowned at the screen. The Prodryan had stopped

speaking, and appeared to be watching them. Her gut tightened. “Wolf, are we currently broadcasting to the Prodryans?”

“What?

No!” Wolf searched her console. “Maybe.” Mops straightened. “This is Lieutenant Adamopoulos, in command of

the EMCS Pufferfish. This is a Nusuran colony system. Your presence violates Article Nine of the Krakau Alliance charter. You’re ordered to leave immediately.”

“I’m not interested in talking to the ship’s janitor,” sneered Burns Like

Sunspots. “Where is your captain, human?”

Sorry, mouthed Wolf, sinking even lower into the communications pit. “Battle Captain Cervantes is occupied with more important matters,”

said Mops. “As the commander of the Pufferfish SHS team, I can assure you our missiles will be cleaned and polished when they blow your fighters to dust.”

“We are simply responding to a ship in apparent distress.” Prodryans were terrible liars. As a species, they favored force and violence over subterfuge. It wasn’t until they encountered other intelligent races that they began to practice deception. Like most Prodryans, Burns Like Sunspots needed a lot more practice. His antennae quivered, and his words were stilted, like he was reading...

badly...

from a script. Which was a very real possibility. “We must have missed the beacon satellites proclaiming this an Alliance colony system. But as your ship has been drifting since our arrival, we’re happy to offer aid. My squadron will be within range soon, and—”

The Prodryan continued to talk, but no sound emerged. Slowly, Mops turned to Wolf. “It’s not my fault!” Wolf protested. “Puffy told me to adjust the cache threshold to make sure we could screen out any hostile code in the incoming signal. I must have missed something in the settings.”

“Puffy?” Mops repeated. “The animated help ship,” Wolf said quietly. “I thought it needed a name.”

“Can they still hear us?”

Wolf threw up her hands. “Piss if I know.”

“Just get the sound back,” Mops snapped. The Prodryans must have deliberately sacrificed those first two fighters in order to infect the Pufferfish crew. The rest of the squad waited for the infection to spread, then showed up to confirm the effectiveness of their new bioweapon. “—try our patience!” The Prodryan appeared to step closer. “Ignore us at your peril, human!”

“‘Ignore us at your peril’?” Mops turned to Monroe. “Is that our translator, or do they really talk like that?”

“That’s all Prodryan,” said Monroe. The Prodryan’s wings shivered with anger, releasing a fine cloud of pink dust. “We can see the battle damage to your vessel. Do not play games with me.”

“Oh, that.” Mops leaned back, suppressing a grimace as the metal bars ground against her ribs. “We had a minor skirmish with a pair of Prodryan pirates. Nothing serious.”

The lift door opened and Kumar walked in, humming as he hoisted the

next Krakau body onto a maglev stretcher. He was most of the way back to the lift when he glanced up to see everyone—including the Prodryan— staring at him. “A dead Krakau looks serious to me, Lieutenant,” said Burns Like

Sunspots. “Dead?” Mops blinked. “Oh, she’s not dead. She just had an allergic

reaction to some bad shellfish.”

“Bad...

shellfish?”

“Before you say it, food storage is the Quartermaster’s responsibility,

not Shipboard Hygiene and Sanitation. My team had nothing to do with this.”

The Prodryan shivered again, creating a veritable flurry of pink and

making Mops wonder what kind of air filtration setup their ships used. “You’re lying.”

“No, there’s a clear separation of responsibility between SHS and the

Quartermaster,” said Mops. “We can send you a copy of the EMC Operations Manual if you’d like. The unclassified parts only, of course.”

“That is unnecessary,” Burns Like Sunspots said stiffly. “While we’re on the subject of lies, do you really expect us to believe

you just happened to wander into this system and spot us, dead in space, almost two AUs from where you arrived?” Mops chuckled. “You knew where we were because your fellow Prodryans signaled you. Probably right before the Pufferfish reduced them to scrap.”

“We were...

surveying this system—these worlds...

as a potential

Prodryan colony site,” Burns Like Sunspots insisted. “Our presence here has nothing to do with secret weapons testing, nor is this in any way a prelude to larger action to undermine and ultimately destroy the Krakau Alliance!”

“Please stop,” Mops groaned. “This is embarrassing, and I’d think you’d

be plenty humiliated already, given the situation.”

“What situation?”

She leaned forward. “You hid in the darkness while two Prodryan fighter

crews died attacking the Pufferfish. You were too scared to show your face in this system until you thought we were dead. You’re not a warrior. You’re a scavenger, a buzzard come to pick at the bones of our corpse.”

“How dare you,” Burns Like Sunspots roared. His bulbous eyes twitched. “What’s a buzzard?”

“Either get the hell out of here, or get on with your mission,” Mops continued. “Take on an EMC cruiser with your little fighters. Go ahead and try to board our ship. Bring your best guns. We both know those will only piss humans off.”

“Warriors of the Prodryan Expanse do not fear your urinary tactics!”

To her side, Wolf choked off a laugh, turning it into a cough. “But understand, if you try to set one foot on my ship, I’ll personally tear those gorgeous wings off your body,” Mops said. “If you’re lucky, I’ll kill you myself. If not...

well, my team hasn’t eaten since before that attack. They’re all very hungry.”

The screen went dead. Mops blinked. “Did we end that transmission?”

“I’m pretty sure they cut us off on their end,” said Wolf. “Sir, didn’t you tell me not to threaten to eat people?”

“I have no memory of that.” Mops stood, twisted her body until her spine popped, and started barking orders. “Monroe, we’re probably going to need missile countermeasures very soon, along with power to the main energy dispersion grid. Weapons would be nice as well.”

“I’ll try.” Monroe sounded sheepish. “I need to reboot my station first. I tried to rush the tutorial, and it locked up on me.”

“Kumar, get back up here. We’ll dump the rest of the Krakau in the cove for now. I need you at Navigation.”

Kumar acknowledged over the comm, followed immediately by Grom protesting, “Lieutenant, was it wise to antagonize our enemy?”

“I’ll take anything that makes them hesitate,” she said. “Maybe later we’ll have the luxury of ‘wise.’”

“We don’t even know where they are,” said Grom. “We know where they arrived in-system,” Mops snapped. “And we know they’re coming our way. The lag in our conversation was about a second, which puts them around three hundred thousand kilometers. That gives us direction and distance. Get on those scanners and tell me the instant you spot them.”

“Yes, sir.”

Mops sank back into her makeshift seat. “Doc, check through our tutorials and give me a crash course on ship-to-ship combat.”

To human eyes watching from shore, the alien craft would have resembled nothing so much as an amalgamation of large bubbles bobbing in the waves. Not the iridescent soap bubbles human children once produced with flimsy plastic wands, but the dirty yellow bubbles those same children would inflate from mucus-clogged nostrils. Due to the limitations of early Krakau translation software, the first

words broadcast to humanity by another sentient species, in Earth Year 2153 and at a volume of 104 decibels, were:

“We come in harmony to defenestrate your dingo.” At another time in human history, such a message might have triggered

panic and bewilderment. On this sunny evening, however, Old MacDonald’s verbal flub went unnoticed. Rocks crunched beneath the pod’s wheels as it climbed the crumbling

road. MacDonald’s scanners tracked heat and movement in all directions, projecting their findings onto the interior shell of her command module. “This reminds me of the ruins of Black Ice Trench back home,” said her

partner, Alouette. “I see one,” MacDonald announced. “Lurking in that structure ahead. According to the translator, that orange-and-white sign proclaims it the home of the King of Burgers. The human could be one of their leaders.”

The human in question was filthy, but that was no surprise. Living on the

surface, exposed to all that dirt and solar radiation, it was a wonder the species had survived at all. “I thought humans wore clothing,” said Alouette. “Preliminary briefings always get things wrong,” MacDonald said absently, her three long, boneless tentacles working to pull up additional readings. The human’s temperature was lower than expected, though still hotter than any Krakau. “It appears to have a vestigial tentacle between its lower appendages.”

“Interesting. Do you think it’s prehensile?” MacDonald took her pod in for a closer look. The human limped from the broken doorway into the fading sunlight. A mass of tangled black fronds—hair—hung from its scalp, partially obscuring the facial features. Dark scars crisscrossed its pale skin, as if it had been savaged by a deepwater spine serpent. “I think it’s injured.”

Alouette played MacDonald’s recorded greeting message again, adding, “We can heal your clarinets.”

More humans emerged from other shelters and trudged toward the two pods. “I think we have a problem.” Alarm sharpened Alouette’s words. The humans balled their upper extremities and slammed them against the Krakau pods. MacDonald curled the tip of one tentacle around a small control rod and pulled. As the weapons came online, the interior brightened, turning the vivid green of an abyss serpent’s threat display. “Command, we’re surrounded by a school of hostile humans. I see no way to extract ourselves from the situation without harming them.”

The response from the Krakau ship in orbit was short and sharp. “We’re monitoring your situation. Fight well.”

MacDonald froze. “Command, say again?”

“We’re receiving similar reports from other teams. Take whatever actions are necessary to escape. These humans are far more dangerous than we were led to believe. Good luck.”

—From the First Contact Logs of Krakau Explorers Old MacDonald

and Alouette

(collected posthumously)

THINK I’VE FOUND plasma beam firing controls,” Monroe announced. “I “According to the user guide, I can use keyboard, toggle, and voice options to adjust intensity and duration. Targeting...

that needs to interface with our scanners. Grom, send me external scanner data!”

“I’m trying!” Even over the comm, Mops could hear the rattling anxiety

in Grom’s voice. “Try this?”

The main screen switched to a “top-down” map of the system, with the

primary star and planets labeled. The Pufferfish was a blue dot of light. A short distance away, a swarm of green sparks crawled toward the ship. “You sent it to the main bridge display.” Monroe continued fighting with

his console. “I need that feed at Tactical!”

“Sir, that’s more than six ships,” said Kumar. “I know.” Mops gritted her teeth. “I think we’re looking at a missile

barrage.”

Wolf jumped to her feet. “I saw something about evasive maneuvers. I

can—”

“The missiles will just follow us,” said Monroe. “We need

countermeasures. Jamming and hacking their guidance, decoys to pull them off target, and a flareburst for anything that keeps coming.”

“Do you know how to do any of that?” asked Mops. “Not yet.” He raised his voice. “And not without scanner data!”

“I’m working on it,” Grom shouted back. Mops turned to her right. “Kumar, what about an A-ring jump to get us

out of range?”

“We’re too far in-system. The sun’s gravity would shear the ship apart. Also, I haven’t gotten to A-ring jumps yet. I’m pretty sure I’d blow up the whole ship.”

“Monroe, give me plasma weapon controls,” said Mops. “You focus on

those countermeasures.”

Another part of her console lit up, showing plasma beam intensity and

duration. Default firing setting was a quarter-second burst at ten-percent power. Nowhere did she see a convenient button labeled Link Targeting to Scanners. A soft-glowing green button drew her attention. Probably the firing controls. She tapped it once...

twice. Most plasma weapons were invisible, but the screen displayed a white

line showing the path and duration of the shot, streaking off into empty space. “I think I’ve got thrusters,” Kumar shouted. “I haven’t figured out gravitational compensators yet, but if I keep the power at five percent, I can move the ship without killing everyone on board.”

Five percent was better than nothing. “Bring us about to” —she double-checked the scanners—“thirty-five degrees starboard, minus ten degrees declination.”

Kumar stared at the controls like they’d sprouted mold. “Um...”

Mops pointed to the viewscreen. “The front of the ship is this way. Turn us thirty-five degrees to the right”—she moved her arm to illustrate, then lowered it—“and drop us down ten.”

“Right.” He hesitated. “You should probably secure yourselves.”

Mops searched the captain’s station for a harness attachment point, but the safety equipment here was designed for Krakau, not humans. How did Battle Captain Cervantes and his team do it?

She settled for crouching next to one bar and wrapping an arm around another. She braced her other hand against the console. The Pufferfish lurched about, coming roughly into alignment with the incoming missiles. She fired again, sending a plasma beam in the direction of their enemies. She missed by less than five degrees. Which, at this range, translated to tens of thousands of kilometers. Even with targeting, it would have been an impossible shot. “We could take one of the Pufferfish’s shuttles,” Grom suggested over her comm. “We might be able to evade the Prodryans and escape to the colony.”

“Do you know how to fly a shuttle?”

Silence. Then, “Never mind. I’ll keep working on scanners. I think I’ve isolated Monroe’s console.”

“I’ve got the tactical feed,” whooped Monroe. “Initiating countermeasures.”

The main screen lit up like fireworks as small probes spat from the ship, spoofing heat and energy signatures, attempting to interfere with guidance systems, and generally making an electronic nuisance of themselves. “Kumar, we’re still turning.”

“I know, sir,” he said. “I shut off the thrusters, but—”

“Physics, Kumar,” she snapped. “We’re in space. An object in motion is going to stay in motion.”

“Remember your zero-gee training,” Monroe added, without looking up

from his console. “It’s like that. Only instead of you ricocheting around in a training gym, it’s the whole ship.”

“If the Prodryans can see us, they’re probably laughing their asses off,”

muttered Wolf. “Prodryans don’t laugh,” said Monroe. The incoming missiles passed through their countermeasures. Many of

the green dots blinked out...

but not all of them. Mops tightened her grip on the bars. “Monroe, anything else you can throw?”

“Sorry, sir.”

Mops jabbed the firing button again, but the ship had drifted too much,

and the beam missed by a wide margin. An instant later, the Pufferfish jolted like it had collided with a small moon. Another of her screens lit up, this one displaying damage reports. “Three

direct hits.”

“What if we ram ’em?” suggested Wolf. “We’ve got thrusters. Just plow

through the bastards. It’ll be like stomping cockroaches back on Earth!”

“First, these cockroaches have missiles and other ship-to-ship

weaponry,” said Mops. “Second, we’re maneuvering at five percent power. They’d dance around us while they cut the ship to pieces.” She watched the approaching ships on the main screen. “Kumar, are you sure you can’t manage an A-ring jump?”

“I tried a simulation,” he said. “Even if we clear the gravity well, I only

completed 0.08 percent of the process before blowing up the ship and killing everyone on board.”

“Good.”

All three turned to stare at Mops. “Doc, the Pufferfish shuttles are mounted with A-rings, aren’t they?”

“Four apiece, yes. They only have a fraction of the power of the

Pufferfish’s rings, but they’re adequate for interstellar travel.”

Mops stared at the viewscreen. “They know we’re in over our heads. They’re probably expecting us to cut and run. That would be the smart thing to do.”

“I take it we’re not going to do the smart thing?” asked Monroe. “We’re humans. Why would we start now?” She smiled and started

pulling up another tutorial. “Grom, how would you like to play captain?”

“This is Gromgimsidalgak, acting Captain of the EMCS Pufferfish. I have assumed command of the ship. Please respond.”

The Glacidae was clearly terrified, their exoskeleton black and oily from fear secretions. It was similar to the lubricating fluid they secreted to help them dig, but this substance clung to the skin, making it harder for predators to get hold. The response was slow in coming. When Assault Commander Burns Like Sunspots eventually appeared on the screen, his antennae were flat with annoyance. “What do you want, Glacidae?”

“You can have the Pufferfish and its human crew,” Grom said, spines clicking with fear and urgency. “Let me take a shuttle to the colony. Do what you want with this frost-damned ship and its idiot inhabitants. I’ll even disable the internal security systems for you. I’m one of the software technicians. I can do anything you need. Just let me go!”

“What happened to the humans I spoke with before?”

“Those clumsy, maggot-brained, soft-skinned imbeciles?

Your missile barrage disrupted ship’s systems long enough for me to transfer control to the battle hub. They’re sealed in the main bridge, waiting to be questioned or dissected or whatever you want to do with them. I don’t care. All I want is to get away and never have to smell their foul stench again.”

On the bridge, Mops pursed her lips as she listened to the exchange. Grom was certainly getting into the role. She was tempted to tell them to turn it down a notch, but it had been hard enough for Wolf to set up this communications channel. If she did anything but passively watch on her monocle and listen through her suit’s speaker, she had no guarantee her words wouldn’t broadcast to the Prodryan ships. “We counted four humans on your bridge,” said Burns Like Sunspots. “What happened to the rest of your crew?”

“They went crazy. Even for humans. Some of them even tried to eat me. They’re animals!”

“Very well. Disable all internal security measures, and we will grant your shuttle safe passage. I suggest you hurry. If you are on board when my warriors arrive, I won’t be able to protect you.”

“Thank you, Assault Commander!”

“If you betray me, Glacidae, I will see you baked alive.” Grom shuddered. “Understood.” There was a brief pause. “Connection

closed, Lieutenant.”

Mops checked her console. “Are we sure?” she whispered. “Completely sure.” Wolf double-checked her console. “Mostly sure.” Mops watched the screen. The six Prodryan fighters weren’t launching

another wave of missiles. So far, so good. “Doc, clear a path so Grom can reach the main shuttle bay. Monroe, figure out if this ship has a self-destruct mechanism.”

Her team fell silent, staring at her. “I am not letting that pastel-winged pirate have our ship or our crew. If

all goes well, we won’t need to use it. But Lady Luck has been crapping all over us so far today.”

“Who’s Lady Luck?” demanded Wolf. Mops rubbed her forehead. “I’m adding Earth literature and history to

your duty rosters when this is over.” She returned her attention to the paused tutorial on her console, practicing the command sequence for remote shuttle control override. The Krakau built limited, short-range override capability into all smaller

ships as insurance against human pilot error. She didn’t have a clue how to fly the thing, but if Burns Like Sunspots did his part, that shouldn’t be a problem. And if not, well, even if the Pufferfish lacked a formal self-destruct

mechanism, it shouldn’t be too hard to blow up the ship. From what she’d seen of her team’s tutorial scores, all she needed was to turn them loose for five minutes, and that would be the end of the Pufferfish and anything else within a hundred thousand kilometers. “I’m sure this time,” said Grom. “Try it now.”

Mops tapped the sequence that should have initiated shuttle three’s

launch sequence. A green error message flashed on her console. Blast fence improperly angled. Reset and try again. Dammit. “How far out are those fighters?”

“A hundred and twenty thousand kilometers,” said Monroe. Mops glared at her consoles. “Grom, have you disengaged the locks on shuttle three?”

“Yes, sir.”

“It’s positioned for launch, and the bay doors are open?”

“That’s right.”

She tried again, this time receiving a new message. Premature injection error. Initiating propellant reclamation and resetting helicon array. Ten minutes to engine reset. In theory, shuttles could launch using either conventional thrusters or grav-wave engines, but the latter was riskier, due to interactions with the Pufferfish’s internal gravity. Mops had no idea how to shut down the grav plates in the main bay for such a launch. Rather, she didn’t know how you were supposed to shut down shuttle bay grav plates. She spun to bring up the familiar maintenance control screen on her console. “Grom, do you know anything about grav engines?”

“In games or in real life?”

“Never mind.” Mops attacked the controls, pulling up the safety menus and triggering an electrical fire alarm in the shuttle bay. The computer pointed out that the bay was currently depressurized, and no signs of fire had been detected. Both valid points, which Mops ignored as she confirmed the alarm. “Sir,” yelped Grom. “Everything inside the shuttle bay just went dead.”

“Good.” Mops braced herself. “Kumar, boost the ship’s aft starboard thrusters to ten percent.”

Her stomach lurched as the Pufferfish began to spin. “Grom, can you see the shuttle?”

“We’ve got emergency lights. It’s just sitting there. Floating, I guess. We lost gravity, too.”

Mops glanced at Kumar. “Push it to fifteen percent.”

“What’s going on?” asked Grom. “Physics.” Mops clutched her console. “We’re using the ship as a sling to launch the shuttle.”

“It’s moving!” Grom shouted. “Sliding toward the bay doors. Ten meters...

five...

It’s out!”

“Good. Cut thrusters, Kumar.”

The Pufferfish continued to spin, but at least it wasn’t accelerating. She watched the main screen, where shuttle three floated away from the Pufferfish in the general direction of the incoming fighters. With luck, the Prodryans would assume its wobbly course was a malfunction. “Grom, shut the bay doors.” Mops studied the controls, trying to figure

out how to stabilize the shuttle’s course. It toppled slowly end over end. Piloting a shuttle was simpler than piloting a cruiser, but Mops hadn’t been trained in either, and ten minutes of “Puffy’s” tutorial didn’t change that. “Prodryans are at one hundred thousand kilometers and closing,” said

Monroe. Mops touched the blinking icon on her console that represented shuttle

three. She double-checked her notes from the tutorial and pressed four more buttons to try to restart the shuttle’s thrusters. Six minutes to engine reset. She switched to grav-wave engines. Shuttle three sputtered sideways,

going into a kind of forward tumble in the general direction of the Prodryans. “Doc, project the shuttle’s course relative to those fighters.”

Monroe popped his gum. “It’s not going to get close enough to do

anything.”

“Not on its own, no.” Mops climbed out of the captain’s station. “Kumar, get over here.”

Kumar hesitated. “You want me to take command?”

“No.” She gestured him into place. “That third console is currently tied

into the shuttle’s navigational controls. Don’t touch anything yet!”

“Sorry!” Kumar jerked his hands back. “Ninety thousand kilometers,” said Monroe. “Sir, they’re changing

course. Moving to intercept the shuttle.”

Mops sat on the floor, one arm hooked around the bars of the captain’s

station. “They just deployed a brand-new bioweapon against the Pufferfish. You think they’re going to let a single witness fly off to warn the Alliance?”

“They plan to kill me?” Grom squawked indignantly. “You know you’re not actually on the shuttle, right?” asked Wolf. “Yes, but...”

“I doubt they plan to kill you,” said Mops. “Not right away.” Wolf turned. “Why not?”

“Remember when we got that new robot toilet snake three months back?

You don’t start with full deployment. You start with a controlled test to see how well it works. If it fails, you have to figure out why it failed.”

“That’s easy,” said Kumar. “It failed because Second Officer Seville was celebrating her offspring’s promotion that week, and the snake wasn’t up for unclogging the end results of her celebratory Krakau shellfish surprise.”

Wolf twisted around. “If the Prodryan bioweapon is the robot snake in this scenario, doesn’t that make us—”

“The Prodryans need to figure out why we didn’t succumb like the rest of the crew. That means keeping Grom and the rest of us alive for questioning and study.” Mops watched the relative distances decrease. “I wouldn’t think too hard about the rest of the analogy.”

“You’re lucky you didn’t give those snakes AI modules,” said Doc. “If anything would spark a machine uprising...”

“They’re deploying grav beams.” Monroe leaned closer, squinting at his console. “I think.”

Mops double-checked the shuttle’s range to the fighters and its distance from the Pufferfish. “Kumar, on my mark, send that shuttle on an A-ring jump. You won’t have much time. Power up the ring and trigger the jump as fast as you can, got it?”

“The safety prechecks...”

Mops simply folded her arms. “Right. Sorry.” Kumar swallowed and spread his fingers over the console. “You can do this.” Mops put a hand on his shoulder, glanced at the display, and said, “And go.”

Kumar jabbed the console with his index fingers. The tip of his tongue poked from his mouth as he concentrated. “Engaging microtractors.”

An image of the shuttle appeared on the top of the console screen, the A-ring highlighted in blue as it expanded like a belt loosening from the shuttle’s waist. The ring began to slide forward. Within three seconds, the ring stopped moving and turned a vivid green. “Misalignment,” Kumar muttered. “I know there’s a realignment process...” He tapped another button, and the ring began to flash brighter green. “That wasn’t it.”

“Sir, I think the Prodryans are powering up energy weapons,” said Monroe. “They’ve disengaged their grav beams.”

“Kumar,” Mops said gently. “Activate the ring.”

He moved a pair of sliders forward, then pecked in another command. “It’s powering up now. Um...” He tapped the screen, where all four of the shuttle’s A-rings had turned green. “I may have accidentally activated them all.”

He’d barely gotten the words out when the console display went blank. The main screen flickered, attempting to display the expanding torus of energy and debris. Energy that tore through the Prodryan fighters like a bleach pressure-wash through mold. The message Shuttle three destroyed appeared on the console. Wolf let out a low whistle. “Good work, Kumar. You can return to your station.” When he didn’t

move, Mops gave him a gentle push. He stared at the screen as he walked, the destruction reflecting in his

eyes. By the time the viewscreen cleared and stabilized, nothing remained of the shuttle or four of the Prodryan fighters. Of the remaining two, one tumbled end-over-end away from the Pufferfish, venting air from a long gash in the hull. The other appeared to have partial engine function. A single thruster fired, trying to stabilize its flight. The fighter spat a pair of missiles toward the Pufferfish. “Countermeasures, Monroe,” Mops snapped. “On it, sir.”

Mops studied the screen. “Kumar, use the RCS thrusters to bring our

nose up two degrees.”

A faint sense of heaviness told her Kumar had fired the small reaction

control system thrusters at the front of the ship. She pulled up the weapons control, adjusted the plasma beam duration, and jabbed the firing button. The screen showed a white beam passing just beneath the fighter. The

fighter’s engines sputtered again. It crawled away, while the Pufferfish’s momentum brought them in a slow circle. They were like two drunken dancers trying desperately to keep from falling. “They’re firing A-guns,” said Monroe. “Moderate damage to weapons

pod number two.”

Mops double-checked her console, glanced at the screen, and tapped the

firing button again. This time, the Pufferfish’s plasma beam boiled a meter-wide hole through the fighter’s metal hull. Mops gave a satisfied nod. “If you can’t aim the guns, aim the ship.”

Humans’ eating habits are, from an objective scientific perspective, disgusting. Feral humans are scavengers. They prefer the meat of still-living or freshly killed warm-blooded creatures, but will eat almost anything. Krakau scientists have observed feral humans eating: reptiles, dead fish, bird eggs, various plants, dirt, rotting wood, insects, and each other. We assumed pre-plague humans would have had a more civilized palate. We were wrong. Historically, humanity’s diet was even more varied and disturbing. Some of the preferred meals we’ve reconstructed from their cookbooks and other literature include:

The organs of an animal called a sheep, prepared and cooked within the stomach of the same creature. Tuna eyeballs. Raw fish. (One of the few sensible items in the human diet.) 100-year-old eggs. It’s a wonder this species didn’t go extinct sooner. Pufferfish. The toxins of this fish were highly deadly to humans. I originally assumed this meal was used as a means of suicide or execution, but in fact, humans ate this for pleasure. The risk of death was part of the appeal. It’s one more example of the human obsession with things that can kill them. Something called a Fried Twinkie. A slower method for humans to kill themselves. I strongly recommend not attempting to reproduce traditional human

meals. In addition to the fear that the mechanics of eating could trigger a resurgence of feral impulses, my conclusion after ten months of research is that human cuisine was primitive, dangerous, and inescapably gross. —From Observations on Human Cuisine, by Under the Orange Tree

(Interspecies Culinary Specialist)

M OPS STEPPED CAUTIOUSLY INTO the mess hall, her utility pole clutched in both hands. They’d scanned and sterilized this area, but she wasn’t taking chances. She searched every corner of the blocky, loungelike room before calling back, “It’s clear.”

“Told you so,” grumbled Doc. The rest of the team followed her inside. Mops headed for the closest of

the six identical dispenser slots built into the walls and punched the button for her daily nutrition allowance. Behind the panel, a vertical conveyor lowered a thick gray tube with a conical cap on one end. Mops reached into the slot, popped the tube free, and retired to one of the chairs in the corner where she could keep an eye on the entire mess hall. Monroe took the chair to her right. “What better way to celebrate

surviving a battle than with a nutritious paste of slow-release fats, proteins, and carbohydrates?”

He’d unsealed the seam in the front of his suit, revealing the dark scar

tissue where pale flesh and white plastic came together. Without a hint of self-consciousness, he tugged part of his uniform to one side to expose the plastic nub of his feeding port. Monroe’s port had been relocated to the left side of his torso to better reach what remained of his guts. Mops opened ten centimeters of her own suit. Her hands moved

automatically through the process of popping the cap from her nutrient tube and sliding the thick needle into her own feeding port. She twisted the tube to lock it in place, fastened the loop on the other end to a small hook on her harness to keep it from pulling free, and pressed a button to begin dispensing twenty-four hours’ worth of food. Mops’ stomach gurgled. She and the team should have eaten three hours

ago, but that would have cost them their chance at collecting what was left of the Prodryan fighters. Trained technicians could sweep up post-battle flotsam in twenty minutes using the ship’s grav beams to tow the pieces into a vacant cargo bay. According to Doc, the Pufferfish’s three grav beam techs were currently locked in the aft observation lounge, the maintenance garage, and a bathroom on deck B. Wolf had insisted she could handle the grav beams. She’d seemed genuinely eager to learn and contribute. Wolf wouldn’t have been Mops’ first choice, but she was reluctant to quash this new attitude. After half an hour poring over the tutorial, Wolf had gotten a lock on the first of the two salvageable fighters...

which promptly crumpled and exploded, destroyed by a missed decimal point in Wolf’s calibration settings. On her second attempt, Wolf had successfully hauled the remaining wreck toward the Pufferfish. She was less successful at slowing said wreck down as it rushed closer. The resulting collision had punctured the doors to cargo bay three, rendering the whole bay unusable. At that point, Monroe had finally suited up and gone out with a magnetic grapple to physically maneuver the ship into bay two. The instant both Monroe and the fighter were on board, Mops had ordered everyone to the mess hall. Despite what much of the galaxy believed, humans weren’t indestructible. Her team was raw and exhausted from the tension of combat, not to mention hungry. Even Monroe appeared pale, and the lopsided slump of his body meant he was ready to drop. They needed to figure out how to contact Command to update them about the Prodryans, but Mops feared if she pushed the team any harder, they’d end up breaking whatever they touched. Wolf mumbled to herself as she grabbed her food tube from the dispenser. “What’s she doing?” asked Mops. “Reviewing grav beam basics on her monocle.”

Wolf plopped down on a couch and stabbed her meal into her feeding port. She kept her head down, continuing to mutter as she read. “What do we do next?” Kumar asked as he joined them. “The ship’s damaged, the crew—”

“Next, we eat,” Mops said firmly. “I know that all could have gone

better. It could have gone a lot worse, too. An Alliance SHS team just took out six hostile Prodryan fighters.”

“Grom helped, too.” Wolf grimaced, as if the admission caused her

physical pain. “Prodryans ought to know better than to mess with humans by now. Ninety-nine percent of the crew out of commission, and we still kicked alien ass.”

“Ninety-seven percent,” Doc corrected, speaking loudly enough through

her comm for everyone to hear. “And Prodryans don’t have asses, per se. They simply regurgitate pellets of—”

Mops cut him off. “Unless I have to install or maintain the plumbing, I

don’t want to know.”

“The Alliance should have ended the Prodryans years ago,” Wolf

continued. “Send the EMC to the Prodryan home world.”

“And do what?” asked Monroe, his words deceptively mild. “How many

would we have to kill to stop the killing?”

“You’d rather let them kill us?

Turn us back into animals?” Wolf waved

an arm. “Any one of us are worth ten Prodryans. I’m not saying we should wipe them all out, but if we burned their home world to slag—”

“Assume we could get through their system’s defenses,” Monroe

interrupted. “Assume we razed their home planet. Blew up their shipyards, turned their cities to craters, and so on. What do you think would happen next?”

Wolf squared her shoulders. “Maybe they’d think twice about continuing

their war against the Alliance.”

“They wouldn’t even think once,” said Monroe. “An attack of that scale,

one that legitimately threatened their species in its entirety, would unify them against us.”

“They seem pretty unified to me,” Wolf muttered. That earned a tired chuckle from Monroe. “If there’s one thing

Prodryans aren’t, it’s unified. Loyalty is to self first, military unit second, family third, and finally to species. Last I heard, Alliance Intelligence estimates fewer than a quarter of all Prodryans are part of ongoing hostilities against us.”

“A quarter of their species has been holding its own against the entire

Alliance?” Wolf scoffed. “You’re full of shit, Monroe.”

Mops listened in silence. Unofficially, you left rank behind when you entered the mess. Officially, she was fully prepared to smack them both upside the head with her utility pole if the argument got out of hand. “Prodryans breed to fill the environment,” said Monroe. “A single mated pair on a new, unsettled planet can have a hundred offspring in a year. A colony of several thousand can turn into a billion in three short generations. The only reason they haven’t overwhelmed us by sheer force of numbers is that Prodryans are incapable of acting as a unified force. The Alliance hasn’t been fighting a war against the Prodryans. We’ve been fighting a thousand wars against a thousand militias and temporary coalitions.”

“Then how do we win?” asked Kumar. Monroe shrugged and settled back in the couch. “If you figure that out, be sure to let the Alliance Military Council know, will you?”

“I still say humans can hold our own against the bugs,” said Wolf. “The whole galaxy’s scared of us. Even the Quetzalus!

You heard the story about the Quetzalus bounty hunter who ate one of our infantry soldiers?”

“I know that one,” said Kumar. “The soldier shot his way out ten minutes later, right?”

“Damn right.” Wolf folded her arms. “Their first loyalty is to self?

Then we hit them in their sense of self-preservation. Remind them what humans are capable of.”

“They know what humans are capable of,” Mops said wearily. “That’s why they’re afraid of us.”

“Are we really human anymore?” Kumar asked. “How old are you, Wolf?”

“Around twenty-six,” said Wolf. “Not your birth age. Your rebirth age.”

“Eighteen months.”

“Eighteen months since you woke up in a Krakau medtank,” Kumar continued. “Maybe two years since you were plucked from the human packs roaming the ruins of Earth. Since you were pumped full of alien drugs, operated on, and reeducated with alien technology.”

Wolf’s brow crinkled. “You saying that makes me inhuman?”

“I’m saying it...

confuses things.”

“It makes you a child.” Monroe pulled a cube of gum from one of his uniform pockets and popped it in his mouth. Chicken soup flavor, from the smell. “No offense intended, but a year and a half of real-world experience?

You’re practically a baby. I’ve known too many newbies like you. Hell, I used to be one. Eager to fight, convinced we’re the toughest things in the galaxy.”

“Aren’t we?” asked Kumar, leaning forward like he was watching a

sporting event. “Physically, maybe. Intellectually?” He snorted and waved a hand. “You

see what happens when we try to command our own ship.”

“We beat the Prodryans,” said Wolf. “We got lucky. We barely survived an encounter with a handful of

fighters the Pufferfish should have swatted like insects.”

“We’re SHS,” Wolf protested. “We’re not trained for any of this.”

“It wouldn’t matter if we were. That’s why we get a Krakau command

crew. Post-plague humans aren’t bright enough—”

Wolf stood. “Are you calling me stupid?”

“I’m saying we’re all stupid, you idiot. At least compared to what

humanity was before.”

“The same humanity that created a plague and turned itself into

animals?” asked Wolf. “They don’t sound too bright to me.”

“We used to have dozens of languages and cultures,” said Kumar. “Now

we all speak ‘Human.’ One language, designed by the Krakau.”

“More like thousands of languages and cultures,” Doc interjected. “Which might explain why Earth history is an unending list of arguments and violent misunderstandings over everything from land rights to the proper way of hanging toilet paper. Communication has never been your species’ strength.”

“They fixed us,” Kumar continued. “They give us jobs, purpose, even

our culture. We call ourselves human, but are we?

Or are we Krakau?

Maybe we’re something in between. Krakuman?”

“I am not calling myself Krakuman,” snarled Wolf. “Kumar has a point,” Mops said, before the “discussion” could escalate

further. “Intellect, creativity, reasoning...

we consistently score lower on every test than pre-plague humans. Whatever humanity was before the plague, we’ve changed. But we are human.”

“How do you figure?” asked Kumar. “Because we have to be.” She studied her team. They were exhausted. Anxious. Scared, though she doubted any of them would admit it. The command crew was dead, and the rest of the crew would happily eat them. Her team was trained to eradicate mold and fix clogged water filters, not battle Prodryan fighters. “Because we’re what’s left. Ten thousand or so reborn humans, with maybe a half billion surviving ferals back on Earth.”

Kumar frowned. “I’m not sure I follow your logic.”

“It’s not about logic.” Mops removed her empty food tube and used her thumb to wipe a single drop of gray sludge from the edge of her port. Her stomach felt bloated and hard, but the pressure would ease within an hour. “We were born of Earth. ‘Human’ is our word. Our history. Our connection to each other. Nobody gets to tell me I’m not human.” Her eyes sought Kumar’s. “Nobody else gets to tell us what that word means.”

“What do you think it means?” he asked. Mops turned, opening the question to the others. “Survivors,” said Monroe. Wolf raised a fist. “Fighters.”

“Hope.” Mops shoved the empty tube into a disposal unit next to the couch. “Hope for the worlds we protect. Hope for our own planet and species.”

She shook her head. “I don’t mind the rest of the galaxy giving us a wide berth. It makes our jobs easier if they think we’re monsters. But I refuse to become one. Destroying the Prodryan home world of Yan?

Slaughtering billions of sentient beings, most of whom never raised a weapon against us?

Hell, no. An act like that would define humanity forever. Who we are and who we become. I’ll be damned if I let that happen.”

Wolf looked around. “So instead, we’ll be defined as toilet scrubbers and wall washers?”

“Nothing wrong with scrubbing toilets.” Mops stood and stretched. “Finish up, then report to the bridge. This isn’t over yet.”

Mops stifled a yawn as she reread the instructions for calibrating the ship’s primary communications pod. Sending out a distress call was simple enough...

if you didn’t mind everyone within range hearing it. Somehow, Mops didn’t think it wise to announce to the galaxy that the Prodryans had a new weapon capable of incapacitating humans. That meant a targeted, encrypted transmission, a private connection with

Command back on Earth. A normal signal from Andromeda 12 to Earth would take approximately

eleven years to arrive. A communications pod, as Puffy had condescendingly explained, was essentially a miniaturized A-ring mounted near the front of the ship, used for accelerating and decelerating electromagnetic waves. Assuming you aligned the communications pod, correctly matched transmission speed to the relative motion of your target, set the proper power levels, and on and on and on. “Simulation terminated,” Puffy said brightly. The cartoon ship’s face

stretched into a caricatured frown. “By sending a signal of that power and duration, you’ve burned out the acceleration module in the communications pod. You completed 62.3 % of the simulation. Would you like to try again?”

“How far did you get?” asked Wolf. “Sixty-two. You?”

“I hit seventy-five point three once.” She flushed. “Only twelve percent

this time, though. I rushed it.”

Mops removed her monocle, set it on one of the inactive consoles, and

rubbed her eyes. Monroe was down examining the Prodryan fighter. Kumar had joined him, after he finished taking care of the Krakau bodies from the bridge and Captain’s Cove. “Doc, what’s the status on the rest of the crew?”

“All alive, according to scanners and security footage. I’ve noted

eighteen injuries, most of which occurred during our exchange with the Prodryan fighters. However, they’re exhibiting more aggression.”

“They’re getting hungry.” She sat back, hooking her arms over a higher

bar for support. The ship was theoretically capable of feeding two hundred humans for six months without resupplying. She imagined her team hunting ferals, setting traps and lures...

Wolf

tackling one...

Mops and Monroe piling on while Kumar unsealed the feral’s uniform and hooked a meal to their feeding tube. Then waiting while the contents were delivered to the feral’s stomach. What could possibly go wrong?

“Doc, what does our nutrient paste taste like?

If we broke open a bunch

of tubes, would the crew eat it willingly?”

“I doubt it,” said Wolf, before Doc could answer. “A bunch of us tried it

back in training. It’s like eating salty snot.”

Maybe they could find something to make it more appetizing. The mess had a small supply of spices and condiments for Glacidae and Krakau palates. “We should take them to the Ganymede Supply Depot,” Wolf suggested. “Last I heard, that place had the mother of all rat infestations. If we dropped the crew off there, they could hunt their own meals. We’d solve two problems at once.”

Grom’s synthesized voice buzzed through Mops’ collar speaker, saving her from having to respond. “I have something you need to see, sir. I’ve been going through the medical team’s logs and video. This is beyond my job description, by the way. Working out of class entitles me to a bonus.”

“The point, Grom?”

“It looks like Medical was making progress on identifying the contagion.”

She sat up, fatigue pushed aside. “How much progress?”

“That’s hard to say. Medical Commander Maria deleted those logs.”

“What the hell?”

“Yes, the hell was confusing to me as well,” agreed Grom. “Sending the logs now.”

Mops’ monocle darkened before she could respond. She saw MC Ave Maria, an older Krakau with dark red skin and thick, muscular limbs talking to one of the human medics, Doctor Curie. Two infantry troops were restrained in exam beds behind them. “You can tell she’s agitated,” said Grom. “See how low her body is, and how her arms undulate in all directions?

That’s a defensive posture. It helps them sense predators approaching through the water.”

A nurse came over, carrying a vial of human blood. Mops recognized him as Sherlock Holmes, one of the feral crew her team had encountered before. He was probably still glued to the wall where they’d left him. She made a mental note to do something about that. “Test results came back the same as before,” said Holmes. “Sir.”

Maria barely looked up. “Your equipment is faulty. You must have forgotten to sterilize it.”

“I know how to analyze blood samples,” Holmes shot back. “And I know how to sterilize the damn equipment.”

Maria shrank away, her skin darkening. “Then the samples must have been contaminated.”

“All of them?” asked Doctor Curie. “That seems unlikely, Commander.”

“Contaminated with what?” added Holmes. “I ran the tests twice, and

the results were the same. The entire infantry team was infected with a derivative of something called Krakau venom.”

“Impossible,” said Maria. “Krakau aren’t venomous.” Holmes’ face turned redder. “Tell that to the damn computer!”

“All right, let’s calm down and think about this rationally,” said the

doctor. “The computer identified a potential match. Does it have any recommendation for how to counter the effects?”

Holmes laughed, sounding a little hysterical. “I asked. It told me there

was no such thing as Krakau venom.”

Maria turned away, whispering so softly Doc had to enhance her words. “Commander Maria to Captain Brandenburg.” She paused, head cocked. “Captain, please respond.”

Mops checked the time stamp. This would have been right around the

time the captain had died. Holmes glared at Commander Maria. “Sir, if you know what this stuff

is...”

“It is a mistake. Nurse, clear all test results from the system. I will

recalibrate the equipment and run the analysis myself.”

Holmes started to argue, but Doctor Curie put a hand on his shoulder. “Commander, a mistake seems unlikely,” she said. “We’ve gotten the same results from different equipment and different samples. We don’t have time —”

“Both of you will delete these test results and report to quarantine,” said

Maria. “Your stubbornness in this matter could be a symptom of infection. I’m ordering you kept in isolation until I’ve examined you both.”

“We have an outbreak on this ship,” Curie said tightly. “Medical is

overwhelmed. You can’t—”

“Do I have to summon Security?” asked Maria. Mops’ monocle turned clear. “Is that all?”

“Holmes and Curie left, as ordered,” said Grom. “Sir, I’ve searched the

medical records, and those test results are gone.”

Mops frowned. “Medical records are protected. You shouldn’t be able to

run that kind of search.”

Grom hesitated before answering. “I used—borrowed—your access

codes as acting captain.”

Mops clenched her jaw, swallowing her initial response. She could chew Grom out later. “Doc, what can you tell us about Krakau venom?”

“There’s no such substance. Krakau aren’t venomous.”

By now, Wolf wasn’t even pretending to work anymore. She stared openly at Mops. “This bioweapon has something to do with the Krakau?”

Mops didn’t answer. She signaled Kumar and Monroe, opening a group comm channel. Monroe had seen more of the galaxy than anyone else on the team, and Kumar had probably read half the nonfiction in the EMC library. “Have either of you ever heard of something called Krakau venom?”

“Krakau aren’t venomous,” said Kumar. “So I’ve been told. Monroe?”

“Not that I can recall, sir.”

Damn. She replayed the recording from Medical. “Holmes and Curie could have been infected. We saw what happened with Lieutenant Khan. She was confused.”

“I’m not the best judge of human emotion, but they didn’t appear confused.”

“No, they did not,” Mops said slowly. “Grom, where did Commander Maria go after that?”

“She removed Holmes’ and Curie’s access to the Pufferfish medical systems, then went to the bridge. I’ve never seen a Krakau move that fast.”

“We could be taking this too literally,” Monroe said over the comm. “Maybe we’re not talking about actual venom produced in their bodies. It could be slang for some kind of recreational drug. You can find all sorts of bizarre shit on the seedier stations and colonies, including more than two hundred varieties of Nusuran aphrodisiacs.”

“That doesn’t explain why the computer identified Krakau venom, then claimed there was no such thing,” said Kumar. “Sounds like someone tried to wipe Krakau venom from the computer’s memory, but missed an entry somewhere,” said Grom. “Why would the Krakau deliberately try to hide this?” asked Mops. Wolf sniffed. “Maybe one of the Krakau was helping the Prodryans.”

“If so, it didn’t work out very well for them, did it?” asked Grom. Mops stood and paced circles around the bridge as she thought. “Forget what it’s called. Look at what it does.”

Wolf shrugged. “It turns humans feral.”

“No, it doesn’t,” said Kumar. “I beg to differ,” Grom growled. “I had ample time to observe when I

was trapped in Recreation, and those humans were very definitely feral.”

“Kumar’s right.” Mops turned. “It doesn’t turn us feral. It neutralizes

whatever the Krakau did to fix us.”

Grom sniffed. “Semantics.”

“It would explain the secrecy,” Monroe said slowly. “The Krakau won’t

even tell us what they pump into our blood to start the rebirth process. Too much potential for abuse.”

“Assume ‘Krakau venom’ relates to the cure.” Mops returned to the

captain’s station, her muscles tensing with each step. “We know the Prodryans can turn us feral again. Do you think they’ve also figured out how to cure feral humans?”

Monroe swore. “If they could raid Earth and round up a group of

humans, they’d be able to make their own EMC soldiers.”

“Grom, keep digging through medical records,” said Mops. “I want to

know everything they said or did as this outbreak spread.”

“Does this mean you’re giving me permission to keep using your

access?”

“For now. But we will have a conversation about this later.” Mops

closed her comm and turned to Wolf. “I don’t care how long it takes, we don’t leave this bridge until we’ve contacted Command.”

It was clear Wolf was as shaken as Mops felt. There was no hint of

attitude or sarcasm in her “Yes, sir.”

Mops turned to her own console and restarted the simulation. EMC Combat Incident Report

Date: April 12, 2251 EGC (Earth Gregorian Calendar)

Location: Andromeda 12 system

Report Filed By: Lieutenant Marion S. Adamopoulos, EMC Serial Number 8251A

Enemy Force (Size, Species, Armament): Prodryan fighter ships (6), under command of someone called Assault Commander Burns Like Sunspots of Prodryan fighter squad 521.

Armament...

they mostly fired missiles at us. EMC Casualties: None

Enemy Casualties: All of them

Has all tactical data from the encounter been uploaded to Command for review?

No, but Puffy says he’ll be happy to help guide me through the process, and to recommend eleven post-combat tutorial programs. Other Notes: I’m considering designating Puffy an enemy combatant. THINK WE’VE GOT IT.” Wolf stabbed her index finger at her console

“I screen. Verifying connection to Stepping Stone Station...

connection

secure. Estimated transmission time: six minutes, eleven seconds. Begin message now. Mops squeezed in beside Wolf. In theory, she should have been able to

send the message from the captain’s station, but transferring the connection to her console was one more opportunity to lose that connection. “This is Lieutenant Adamopoulos of the EMCS Pufferfish. We’ve been attacked and require immediate assistance. Command crew is dead. Most of the human crew is...

incapacitated. Please acknowledge.”

She sat back to wait. Six minutes and change for the signal to reach the

Stepping Stone Station in orbit around Earth. Who knew how long it would take to notify the proper people. Then another six minutes for any response to make it back to the Pufferfish. Given the distances involved, the relative motion of the two star

systems, and the millions of other details that had to be properly calibrated, it was a miracle they could communicate at all. “Good work, Technician.”

“Thanks.” Wolf shifted impatiently and rubbed her eye. “Take a break,” said Mops. “I’ve got it from here.” Wolf was tired enough she didn’t argue. She just nodded and started

toward the lift. “Crew quarters aren’t sterilized yet. Where—?”

“Mess hall,” suggested Mops. Once Wolf left, it was Mops’ turn to

fidget. “Doc, play some music, would you?

This is too damn quiet.”

A moment later, her speaker began to hum with a slow-paced piece her

monocle identified as a court song called “Nakyangchun,” from a country called Korea. “How many different nations were there?”

“One hundred eighty-seven, according to the last known historical

records.”

Almost one for every member of the Pufferfish crew. All with their own

music and history and culture. She tried to wrap her mind around such variety, around a world where people could never hope to meet even a minuscule fraction of their fellow humans. Would the Krakau ever restore her people to what they had once been?

Would Mops live long enough to see it?

A familiar Krakau appeared on the screen, and the song cut off automatically. “Lieutenant Adamopoulos, this is Admiral Pachelbel of Stepping Stone. The last communication we received was from Captain Brandenburg. She said the Pufferfish had successfully destroyed two Prodryan pirate ships. We’ve been awaiting her follow-up report.”

Admiral Pachelbel glanced at something offscreen. “We show you’re still in the Andromeda 12 system. We’re preparing medical assistance and a military escort for the Pufferfish. This channel is secure. Tell me everything about the crew’s status and the condition of the ship. Don’t worry. We’re going to get you through this. Over.”

“Admiral Pachelbel Canon,” said Doc. “Didn’t you serve under her?”

“My first duty rotation. I spent a year on Stepping Stone as a Plumbing tech. I found and fixed a recurring leak in a reclamation line that was contaminating the brine in her quarters with ammonia. She kind of took me under her wing—tentacle—after that.”

The admiral was large for a Krakau. Her thick yellow-and-brown limbs reminded Mops of distended bananas. White skin ringed her beak and eyes, a sign of old age. For the first time since they entered Andromeda 12, Mops felt like the currents were flowing in her favor. Some high-ranking Krakau had trouble seeing humans as anything more than grunts, low-intellect soldiers who existed to keep their mouths shut and follow orders. In contrast, Admiral Pachelbel had gone out of her way to get to know the humans on Stepping Stone. She would take Mops’ report seriously. Mops pressed the broadcast button. “Nice to hear your voice, Admiral. There’s no easy way to say this. The entire human crew, with the exception of myself and my team, have gone feral. This...

led to the deaths of all nonhuman crew, save Technician Gromgimsidalgak. “I believe the Prodryan pirates lured the Pufferfish here deliberately to infect us with some sort of bioweapon, possibly as a test. Captain Brandenburg sent infantry teams to the Nusuran freighter to clear any remaining pirates and help with repairs. That’s the most likely point of infection. “We’ve secured most of the feral crew and run a level one decontamination to clean a small portion of the ship. This appears to have eliminated the contaminant. But we have no way of curing the affected crew. “An additional six Prodryan fighters arrived in-system a short time later

and attempted to take the Pufferfish. We sustained minor damage and the loss of one shuttle, but we were able to destroy all six enemy ships.”

She hesitated, then added, “Medical tentatively identified the chemical

basis of the bioweapon as Krakau venom. Over.”

She switched off the comm and sat back to wait. Twelve minutes passed. Then twelve more. Mops was about to summon Wolf to make sure the communications pod was still aligned and functioning when Pachelbel appeared on the screen again. “Lieutenant Adamopoulos, we’re revising our plans. Our medical

department will transmit instructions to sedate the rest of your crew for their safety and your own. After that, you’ll secure the crew in their acceleration chambers and return to Earth. We’re preparing a program you’ll be able to load directly into navigation that should automate the A-ring jump process. We should have that to you within five hours.”

Pachelbel whistled softly and moved closer. “Knowing you, you’re

asking what the hell Krakau venom is, and why it necessitates a change of plan.”

“You could say that,” Mops muttered. Five hours to receive instructions

for the A-ring jump home. It was faster than waiting for an escort to show up and install a new command crew on the Pufferfish. Potentially safer, too, given the status of the Pufferfish’s people. “Krakau venom is the code name for an old weapons program,”

Pachelbel explained. “A program we thought had been discontinued. Alliance Intelligence believed all samples had been destroyed. Obviously, they were mistaken. Not only have the Prodryans discovered the program, it sounds like they’ve improved upon it. For the infection to have gotten through standard decon procedures and spread so quickly, they must have developed a microbial carrier capable of rapid reproduction. “The good news is that your Glacidae technician is not a viable host. A

standard acid bath followed by a thorough sanishower should remove any infectious material they might be carrying, after which they should be safe to join the rest of your team. Make sure they breathe deeply during the shower to kill anything in their lungs. You can continue using level one decontamination procedures on the unoccupied parts of the ship.”

Her next words hit Mops like a herd of stampeding Quetzalus. “Unfortunately, we have no way of reversing the damage to your crew. I’m sorry, Mops. I know how you care for your people.”

“You haven’t even examined them,” Mops protested. Pachelbel continued as if Mops hadn’t spoken. Which, from her perspective, she hadn’t. Mops’ words wouldn’t reach her for six minutes. “When you return to Stepping Stone Station, you and your team will be taken into quarantine for examination. I’ll need you to prepare a full report, with as much detail as possible. Have everyone on your team do the same. Every detail, no matter how small, could help us counter this threat.”

The admiral glanced at something off-screen. “I’m sorry about your crew, Mops. It sounds like you’ve done an exceptional job under very difficult circumstances. I know it’s no consolation, but I imagine you’ll receive a commendation for your actions.”

“Thank you, sir,” Mops said automatically. “What will happen to the rest of my crew?”

Another interminable wait. “We’ll examine them and do everything we can, but we can’t risk this thing spreading. The official recommendation from Colonial Military Command is that they be...

put down.”

“Put down?” Mops whispered, fighting a surge of anger. From the way Pachelbel’s tentacles were twitching, she wasn’t happy about this either. “Admiral, there has to be a way to help my crew. The Prodryans might have a cure. Or we could at least try decontaminating them. We can’t give up on almost two hundred human beings.”

The response, when it arrived, was firm. “They aren’t just human beings anymore, Mops. They’re potential weapons. Living biological bombs. I’ll remind MilCom of your crew’s service and urge them to consider every alternative, but our priority is the preservation of your species. Prepare your ship for the return A-ring jump, and do not mention Krakau venom to anyone else. Admiral Pachelbel out.”

Mops killed the connection. “Doc, Admiral Pachelbel gave me a five-hour countdown.” The numbers appeared on her monocle, at the edge of her vision. “Now pull up everything we have on Pachelbel.”

“Sir?”

Mops didn’t answer. A moment later, the information began scrolling onto her monocle. Pachelbel Canon was fifty-three years old, bordering on elderly for a Krakau. She had four offspring, all adults now, with two partners. She’d started with the Krakau Interstellar Military twenty-four years ago, shortly after the founding of the EMC. She wasn’t one of the hard-shelled Krakau warriors, but had served as a

weapons technician before being promoted to tactical officer. She’d also spent two years as Alliance liaison officer on a Merraban warship, after which she’d transferred from Interstellar to Colonial Military. For the last fourteen years of her career, she’d been working with Earth

and humanity as she progressed through the ranks. “What are you searching for?”

A twitch of Mops’ eye flicked her monocle’s display ahead to the next

record. “Pachelbel knows more about humanity than pretty much any other Krakau. Not the science behind the cure, necessarily, but who we are as a species. She also knows me, personally.”

“You’re aware, I assume, that none of those words provide an answer to

my question?”

“She didn’t have to tell me anything. She could have ordered us to

sedate the crew and bring the ship home, and I would have done it. Instead, she volunteered that MilCom intended to have the crew killed. ‘Put down,’ like animals.”

“Perhaps she felt bad withholding information.”

“She’s been an admiral for sixteen years. She protects information every

day.” Mops activated her comm. “Wolf, join us in docking bay two. Monroe, Kumar, we have less than five hours to get answers from that fighter.”

“What happens in five hours?” Monroe responded. “Hell, Monroe. I don’t even understand what’s happening now.” She

replayed her exchange with Admiral Pachelbel in her mind. “But I think we’ve been given a window to try to save our crew, and that’s when it closes.”

The Prodryan fighter was in sad shape. Most of the damage had come from the A-ring explosion, but its haphazard arrival on the Pufferfish had added additional dents...

both to the fighter and the inside of docking bay two. The fighter’s port wing had been completely torn off; the other was

crumpled inward. Large gashes ran along the tubular central body. “Their ships are built like giant metal Prodryans,” scoffed Wolf. “What ego.”

“They’re not the fastest ships, but they’re maneuverable,” said Monroe. “They can fly in space and in atmospheres up to almost twice the pressure of Earth’s. Missile bays are on the bottom. They’ve got a single plasma beam mounted up front. The wings fold in for A-ring jumps, but most of the time they keep ’em spread, even in space. They serve as heat-radiating fins. The color patterns show family lineage, battles won, stuff like that.”

“What patterns?” asked Mops. The wing was a burnt mottling of grays and blacks. Doc did something to Mops’ monocle, and suddenly she saw red and orange and pink swirling through the crushed ruin of the wing. The design reminded her a little of the storms of Jupiter. “Have you figured out how to get inside?”

“We were just talking about that, sir.” Kumar pointed to one of the gashes in the main body. “I say we use a plastorch. Enlarge that big hole.”

“Why not use explosives to blow open the hatch?” asked Wolf. “It would be quicker.”

“You have that kind of explosive sitting around?” Monroe popped his gum. “You know how to use it without killing yourself or blowing a hole in our hull?”

“No explosives,” said Mops, cutting off Wolf’s response. She studied the holes. They were too small for anyone, human or Glacidae, to squeeze through. “How long to cut your way in?”

“The armor’s the biggest challenge.” Kumar rapped his knuckles against the hull. “An hour, maybe?”

“Too bad we can’t just have Grom take a dump on it,” muttered Wolf. “That ought to burn right through.”

Kumar cocked his head. “Given the acidity of Glacidae waste, you’d need at least thirty kilograms of—”

“Just get it open,” Mops snapped. She’d sent Grom for an acid bath. It would be a little while before they were clean and able to assist with the fighter. Mops intended to have the ship fully dissected with the computer equipment ready by the time Grom arrived. Staring over Kumar’s shoulder wouldn’t make the work go any faster, so she retreated to the closest maintenance hub to pull up the instructions from Stepping Stone for sedating the rest of the crew. She’d have to reroute air circulation and bypass eleven different air quality monitors and alarms, but that should be simple enough. “We have a potential problem.”

“What’s that?”

“You told me to get the crew out of the way. I locked nine ferals in

Medical. You’ll need to get past them to reach these sedatives.”

“Can you lure them into the convalescence ward?”

“I’ll devote my full processing power to the task of opening and closing

a few doors.”

“Don’t forget to read them a story, too.” They’d be hungry and restless,

eager to hunt. Mops worked on prepping the air vents while Doc began reading. “‘One morning, when Gregor Samsa woke from troubled dreams, he

found himself transformed in his bed into a horrible vermin.’”

“You’re reading Metamorphosis to a bunch of reverted humans?

That’s

harsh.”

“It’s not like they understand. But if you’d prefer, I could switch to The

Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde.”

Mops shook her head and kept working, overriding alarms and resetting

air circulation to draw from Medical. Roughly sixty percent of the ship was clear, and could be sanitized with a level one decon. “Doc, a little help please?

Given the target dosage, how much of this stuff do we need to release?”

The figures appeared on her monocle, but before she could do anything

with them, a voice through her comm made her jump. “We’re in!” said Monroe. She sat back, grimacing at the stiffness in her shoulder. Had it been an

hour already?

“Grom, are you done with your bath yet?”

A drawn-out sound, like an impossibly flatulent elephant, played over

her speaker. “I’m not sure how to translate that.”

“Move your ass, Technician. Meet us in docking bay two.”

The first thing Mops saw when she entered the bay was Kumar dragging a dead Prodryan out of the ship. Most of a dead Prodryan, rather. Kumar straightened when he spotted her. “Sir, request permission to—”

“There will be no amateur autopsies,” Mops cut him off. As she got closer, she could see where shrapnel had punctured the Prodryan’s torso armor. Dark orange blood with the consistency of hull paint dripped onto the floor. Wolf pulled a second body halfway out of the hole, then yanked a sidearm from the Prodryan’s belt. “Dibs on the pistol!”

“The EMC does not now, nor will we ever, work on a ‘dibs’ system.” Mops held out a hand. Wolf slumped, but gave her the weapon. The grip was designed for smaller hands, and a notch in the curved stock looked like it should rest against the owner’s forearm barb. “Doc, do we have any specs on this model?”

“It’s a hand-held A-gun, similar to EMC infantry issue. Command believes the Prodryans stole the design from us. Their ammo isn’t compatible with our weapons, but you should be able to use it, assuming there’s no personal security. And that it wasn’t damaged in the attack.”

“They’re nasty,” said Monroe. “Not very accurate, but they’ve got a burst mode that can spray a dozen shots in the blink of an eye. I’d keep it on single-fire. The things are prone to overheating, and then...” He spread his hands to mimic an explosion. “Good to know.” Mops slid the gun into one of the equipment straps on her harness, being careful not to touch the protruding nub that appeared to be the trigger. “Grom should be joining us soon. Any idea where we’ll find the computer system in this thing?

I want to know about their mission, where they launched from, who they reported to, and every last bit of information on this bioweapon.”

She stepped closer and helped Wolf haul the remaining Prodryan the rest of the way out. “Leave the bodies alone,” she reminded Kumar as she poked her head and shoulders inside the ship. Her monocle compensated automatically for the relative darkness. The walls were curved metal, striped with deep ridges and grooves. The interior was separated into three oval pods connected end-to-end, with a larger, spherical room in the back. Straps and the contour of the floor suggested the Prodryans lay on their backs while in flight, with most of the controls and displays directly above them. Exposed cables and wires clustered where the head would rest. Mops glanced back at the bodies. Both wore helmets with visors—or the

remains of a visor, in one case. It looked like the cables hooked directly into the helmets, making them a possible connection point to the main system. She pulled herself inside and lay back in the closest compartment. It felt

like she’d crawled into a metal cocoon. “Doc, adjust my vision. Show me the Prodryan visible spectrum.”

Her monocle flickered, first turning dark, then brightening until she had

to squint, before settling back to a normal level. Instead of the dingy black-and-gray interior, she saw squares of bright blue-and-violet text on rich brown walls. “What do they say?”

“Some of it is labels and instructions for the various instruments. There’s a ship’s identification or registration code: 156934-C. To your left is...

I think it’s a poem.”

“Show me.” As she focused on a given line of the angular text, a

translation appeared on her monocle. “This...

isn’t very good.”

The scars of battle make us strong. The blood of our enemies makes us strong. The loneliness of space makes us strong. Victory makes us strong. Death...

does not make us strong. But death in battle brings the vengeance-strength to our hivemates. And thus death makes us strong!

(Except for those who are dead.)

Victory to the Prodryan Expanse!

“I can confirm that neither the rhythm nor the description are any better

in the original language.”

It went on like that for another four stanzas. Mops turned her attention

instead to the different cables and controls, searching for information about the computer systems. “This can’t be the first time the EMC captured a Prodryan fighter. Don’t we have records on how they work?”

“If so, I’m not able to access them. A good portion of the Pufferfish’s

files are classified and off-limits to us, even with your increased access as acting captain.”

To her left, a cracked pane of transparent plastic or silicate protected what looked like personal mementos: a green seed pod the size of her thumb, a glass bead bracelet, a toy knife, and a porous brown rock several centimeters in diameter. “A scent-stone,” said Doc, noting the direction of her gaze. “Prodryans often use such stones to preserve the scent of a mate. Depending on their mate’s hygiene, of course.”

Mops crawled through the ship until she reached the larger chamber in the back. It was big enough for three Prodryans—if they were on good terms and kept their wings flattened. The curved walls were honeycombed with storage drawers and control panels and access ports. A sound like dozens of stiff brooms sweeping the walls made her whirl. Grom had followed her into the ship, their shell gleaming wetly. They smelled of methane and cleaning chemicals. The feathery tendrils of their legs scraped the interior of the ship with every movement. Without a word, they snatched one of the wires that connected to the Prodryans’ helmets. Holding the wire in one digging claw, they used two others to strip the coating. They pulled a small, beeping box with a blinking yellow light from their harness and clamped a lead onto the exposed wire. “This will let me trace the wire back through the system,” they said, their face centimeters from the hull. “It’s old technology, but reliable. Can you hear the signal pulse?

It will lead us to the source of any data the crew receive through this connection.”

Grom crawled through the ship into the back chamber, for once unconcerned with keeping a comfortable distance from humans. Their legs brushed Mops’ ankle as they ran delicate feelers over a panel in the entryway. “I believe what we want is here.”

“Can you access it?”

“The memory core will be encrypted.” They pulled another tool from their harness, a metal wand with a cord stretching to a small battery pack. Grom switched it on and moved it around the edge of the panel. “The screws are on the inside. Standard precaution to keep the ignorant from accessing the system. You need a focused magnetic screwdriver to pop the shell.”

After a series of five clicks, the panel popped free and fell onto the floor. Grom peered inside. “The crystal harness looks standard. Power supply is operational. This thing might be salvageable after all. It’s frozen right now —some sort of software deadlock. Let me see if I can get it running.”

“What are you doing?”

“Turning it off and back on again. This looks like a modified NR-4

tactical computer. If I can boot it into recovery mode, we should be able to bypass the initial authentication and at least learn the basic specs.” They jabbed another tool into the guts of the computer. The ship’s lights flickered once and died again. “It will also let me safely remove the mem crystal. I can plug it into the Pufferfish systems and try to crack the encryption.”

“You want to plug an alien computer core from a hostile ship into the

Pufferfish?

What if it infects our systems?”

“Do you take me for some incompetent h—for a fool?” Grom’s mouth

clicked nervously. “Maintenance has stacks of isolated computers with no connection to the rest of the ship. I’ll plug it into one of those. Worst case scenario, it fries a single backup unit that was just gathering dust anyway.”

Mops wasn’t sure which she found more insulting, Grom’s bitten-off

reference to “incompetent humans,” or the implication that her team would allow dust to gather anywhere on the ship. “I’ll need command-level clearance to access the decryption software,”

Grom continued. “I’m sure that can be arranged.”

“Let me isolate the crystal harness. Once I’ve disconnected—” A blue spark illuminated the chamber. Grom toppled backward. A scent

like burnt oil filled the air. “What the hell was that?” Mops snapped. Grom twisted upright, leaving a greasy black smear where they’d fallen. The spark had startled them as much or more than it had Mops. They poked their head into the panel and sniffed. “I think that was a physical safeguard...

probably designed to fry the crystal.”

Mops took a deep breath. “And the chances of salvaging anything useful

from it?”

They turned to look at her, brown eyes even wider than normal. “I...

I’m sorry, sir.”

She didn’t trust herself to answer. Grom had done their best, but they

were trained for routine maintenance of EMC systems, not infiltrating enemy military hardware. She crawled past them and exited the fighter. From the somber expressions of her team, they’d all heard what happened. “I want every millimeter of this wreck searched, inside and out,” she said softly. “Find every scrap of information you can. I want to know where they came from, who they reported to, what their orders were, and everything they knew about Krakau venom.”

Kumar cleared his throat. “Sir, wouldn’t Alliance Intelligence techs be better equipped for this?”

“Yes.” Mops waited while Grom crawled out of the ship behind her. “But Command intends to let the rest of the crew die.”

Monroe’s right hand twitched. “Sir?”

“I spoke with Admiral Pachelbel. Command believes containment is our top priority, and every infected human is a potential threat to the EMC and our entire species.”

“Well...

she’s not exactly wrong,” said Kumar. Wolf spat. “If this shit is such a threat, shouldn’t they try to study it?

Figure out a cure?”

“Mentioning Krakau venom spooked her.” Mops thought back to the conversation. “That’s when she changed the plan from sending an escort to having us run a preprogrammed A-ring jump back to Earth.”

“Risky,” said Monroe. “None of us are trained for that. It would be safer to stick with the escort, and would only take a few more hours. They could send a team to pilot us back home. We know enough now to protect them from exposure.”

“Unless they’re not worried about exposure,” said Wolf. “This could be a cover-up. A conspiracy to make sure nobody else finds out about Krakau venom. If that’s the case, they’ll probably kill us as soon as we get back.”

“Is unfounded paranoia a sign of feral reversion?” asked Grom. Wolf whirled. “This is founded paranoia, dammit!”

“There’s a simpler explanation,” said Kumar. “When a dog turns rabid, you shoot it.”

“What’s a dog?” asked Grom. The admiral’s phrasing echoed in Mops’ mind. Put down. “They can still examine the crew after they’re dead,” Kumar continued. “It would be safer, since you don’t have to worry about them struggling or escaping. Let’s be honest. To most of the galaxy, humans are little more than animals.”

“Well, most of the galaxy can kiss my ass,” muttered Wolf. “That’s enough.” Mops hammered a fist against the fighter’s hull,

cutting off further discussion. “We’re not an intel team, but we’re the only hope this crew has.”

“Maybe we don’t need Intelligence,” muttered Kumar, picking up one of

the Prodryan helmets. Mops jabbed a warning finger at Grom before they could comment. “I need a vacuum snake, at least three meters long.”

“Wolf, there should be a five-meter snake in the bay supply closet,” said

Mops. “What are you thinking, Kumar?”

“Prodryans are carnivores. They eat about once a day, swallowing their

prey whole, then hock up pellets of anything they can’t digest.” He held out the helmet. “This attachment here with the low-pressure valve would be right in front of the mouth. What’s a spacesuit without built-in plumbing, right?”

Grom scooted away from Kumar. “You want to go spelunking for

Prodryan mouth-shit?”

“If we examine what they were eating, maybe it will help us figure out

where they were before they attacked the Pufferfish.” Kumar tossed the helmet aside. “The pellets are cleaner than human or Glacidae excrement, and depending on how it’s processed and stored in the fighter—”

“I don’t need the details,” Grom interrupted. Wolf returned, hauling a coiled tube of segmented metal. She pressed a

button on one end, and the tube unrolled to its full five-meter length. She passed the end to Kumar, who climbed into the fighter. A few moments later, the tube seemed to come to life, segments

squeezing together and pushing apart like a worm. Its diameter expanded to three centimeters, then contracted again. With each surge, it crawled deeper into the Prodryan plumbing system. “Want a snake’s-eye view?” offered Doc. “I can hook you up to the

camera, show you what the inside of a Prodryan mouth-toilet pipe looks like.”

“I’m good, thank you.”

“Chewing through the first valve,” Kumar called out. It didn’t take long

before the snake was moving again. The ripples in the protruding end grew stronger, and a chunk of shredded metal and plastic popped out of the back and onto the floor. The remains of a second valve followed less than a minute later. “Here we go.”

The snake’s movements slowed, becoming almost gentle. A short time later, it began depositing a series of dark green spherical clods on the bay floor. Kumar scooted backward out of the fighter, careful to avoid dislodging the snake. He yanked on his gloves and crouched beside the closest dirtlike clump. “Looks like Prodryans use the same vacuum-tech as most species to dry and sterilize their waste.” He crushed the clump in his hand, letting the granules fall between his fingers. “The water gets reclaimed and circulated back to the crew.”

“You know you’re spreading Prodryan shit all over the deck,” Wolf pointed out. “Technically, it’s Prodryan regurgitate.” He grabbed another clump. “See how this one is bigger and lumpier than the others?

I didn’t see anywhere on the ship to store live food, so they’re probably eating some form of prepared nutrients while on board. Smooth and bland, without much waste material. But this chunk’s irregular.”

He dug carefully into the material, revealing what looked like bits of bone and blackened scales, along with a small, curved beak. “They didn’t eat this on the ship. This was from wherever they last docked.”

“Where was that?” asked Mops. Kumar’s triumphant expression faded. “I’m not sure.”

“Give me a closer look at that beak.”

Mops pulled on a glove and took the beak, bringing it close to her monocle. “Turn it so I can see the underside.”

While the top of the beak was black, the underside was lined with a series of curved white ridges, like sharp ribs running the length of the beak. “Humans call it a balloon lizard. Four of those curved beak pieces come together like flower petals. It can swallow prey up to twice its own size. They’re from Cuixique, but Quetzalus colonists have successfully bred it to survive on several other settlements.”

“It’s a Quetzalus lizard,” Mops said. “I’m surprised eating that didn’t kill them.” Kumar was trying to fit two small bones together, as if he wanted to rebuild the lizard. “Humans can eat pretty much anything, regardless of its biological basis, and the most we’ll get is a stomachache and a nasty trip to the head. But for most species, eating an animal from another world means a quick, painful death.”

“A good chef can tailor meals to other species,” Wolf said quietly. “Your

body might not get any nutrition from it, but they’ll neutralize any toxins and make sure it can pass through your system without...

complications.”

The way Wolf was avoiding eye contact...

“Dammit, Wolf,” said

Mops, matching her soft tone. “How long have you—”

“A couple of times, when we were between jobs.” Wolf shrugged one

shoulder. “It was me and a handful of guys from infantry. Nobody lost control or went feral or anything like that.”

“It’s not unheard of,” said Monroe. “Some of the troops think eating

gives them an edge. Brings out the aggression in battle. Depending on what they eat, the most vicious side effect is heartburn and gas.”

“The regs against eating are decades old,” added Wolf, apparently

encouraged by Monroe’s comments. “Can you name one instance of someone going feral just because they had an unauthorized snack?”

Grom reared back, legs twitching furiously at Wolf. “You threatened to

eat me. You were serious?”

Wolf raised her hands. “I have much higher standards for what goes in

my mouth.”

Grom bristled more. “Cool it, both of you,” said Mops. “Do you want to chew me out, or do you want to figure out where these

Prodryans came from?” Wolf snapped, regaining a bit of her usual defiance. “You’re right.” Before Wolf could gloat, Mops pierced her with a glare. “The chewing out can come later.” She turned her attention back to the clumps on the floor. “We’re looking for someplace that gets enough interspecies traffic to have specialized chefs on the payroll. That eliminates most colony worlds. It has to be somewhere the Prodryans could go without people asking too many questions. Doc, give me a list of all known locations that meet those criteria.”

Doc brought up a list of about a dozen space stations and settlements. Wolf picked up another clod. She crushed it in one gloved hand, and

used her fingers to tug out a length of tattered black string. A clump of something shiny and best left unidentified stuck to one end. “Coacalos Station.”

“Are you sure?” asked Mops, checking the list. Coacalos Station was the

third name Doc had provided. “They use strings like this to muzzle anything served live. The strings are color-coded to show which species can eat it without dying. Black for Prodryans. Red for Nusurans. Blue for Glacidae, and so on.”

“Do we report this to Command?” asked Monroe. Nobody spoke. It wasn’t a question of whether the Alliance had people who could do a better job digging up the Prodryans’ secrets. They absolutely could. The fried mem crystal in the fighter proved that point. “Not yet,” Mops said quietly. Grom fidgeted. “We were ordered to return to Earth.”

“I know.” Nobody said the word “treason,” but Mops suspected they were all thinking it. Most of them, at least. Kumar was busy sweeping up the dusty remnants of Prodryan waste pellets and only appeared to be half-listening to the conversation. She considered offering them the chance to back out, something like, “Anyone who doesn’t want to be court-martialed or worse, speak up now.” But sometimes noble sentiments had to give way to practicality, and she was shorthanded already. “We’re going to Coacalos Station.”

Kumar glanced up. “How?

We still don’t know how to fly the Pufferfish.”

Mops checked the timer on her monocle. “You’ve got several hours left to master those navigation tutorials. Finish up here, and let’s get to work.”

This is my firearm.1 There are many like it (because they’re mass-produced to precise standards at the Lunar Armaments Manufacturing Facility), but this one is mine.2

My firearm is an extension of my body. (My firearm is not, however, a

metaphorical extension of my genitalia.) Without me, it is useless. Without it, I am incomplete. I will shoot swiftly. I will shoot true. I will shoot the enemy before they

shoot me. If that fails, I will shoot the enemy after they shoot me. But before is preferable. I will respect my firearm and treat it with the same care I would my own

flesh. I will learn its strengths and limitations. I will learn to operate it to its fullest capacity. I will follow cleaning and maintenance protocols to the letter. I will not use my firearm to clear fuel line jams.3 What counts in life is not the stripe on my holster, but my accuracy in

battle. I will honor my firearm, my training, my crew, my species, and my Corps. —EMC Firearms Oath, based on Earth Rifleman’s Creed, by

General William H. Rupertus

—

1.

Firearms are property of the Earth Mercenary Corps. 2.

See note #1.

3.

See incident report #6142L, “Destruction of EMCS Army Ant:

Lessons Learned.”

“H OW MANY IS THAT?” Mops asked as she secured Private Carrie Fisher into an acceleration pod. Fisher was another smoothie, less than two weeks out of basic training after being reborn at the Siberian Medical Facility. She was a good kid, with enough energy and enthusiasm for three people, and deserved better. “One hundred twenty-two,” said Doc. Leaving roughly seventy unconscious humans to find and drag into the acceleration chambers, Mops grabbed her now-empty maglev stretcher and checked her monocle to see who was next. The sedative had worked just as Command had promised. Another hour or so, and they’d have the whole crew strapped in. She checked her oxygen and suit integrity as she returned to the target range to collect two more napping infantry troops. “Kumar, any progress?”

“I’ve gotten through 4.5 percent of the A-ring tutorial without killing everyone.”

Mops swallowed her first three responses. “Technically, that qualifies as progress. Keep at it.”

“At this rate, it will be a minimum of two-point-eight days before Kumar successfully completes his first simulated jump.”

“I know.” She checked the status of the rest of her team. Wolf and Monroe were on decks C and F, respectively, gathering more ferals. Grom was on the bridge with Kumar, trying to dig through the ship’s logs to find any other information on Krakau venom. “What if we hired someone for navigation?

We could put out a call to the colonies, or maybe ask one of the Nusurans from that freighter, assuming they’re still hanging around the system.”

“Aside from violating eight security regulations, the differences between a Nusuran freighter and an EMCS cruiser are too great. It would be like expecting a Glacidae to be able to pilot a shuttle based on their ability to ride a snow-serpent.”

“We’ve got an incoming signal from Command for you, sir.”

“Thanks, Grom.” Mops checked her timer. “They’re twenty minutes

early. Send an acknowledgment and relay the message to me.”

“I’ll try. Wolf left some notes on the communications console, but her

handwriting is atrocious. Stand by.”

Two minutes later, her monocle changed to a visual of Admiral

Pachelbel. Mops cleared her throat. “Grom...?”

After another minute, the message restarted, this time with sound. Pachelbel offered a brief greeting and reminded Mops once again about the danger of their situation, and the importance of following orders. The rest was a data dump Doc identified as the emergency override instructions for navigation. “You’ll have to load and authorize it. Once you do, the ship should take

us straight back to Earth.”

“How long will the jump take?”

“Eleven light-years?

It looks like they’ve got us flying pretty close to top

speed, so I’d say just under a half hour.”

Thirty minutes until Pachelbel and the rest of Command would expect to

see the Pufferfish’s decel signature flare in Earth’s system. They could probably stall another hour or so, saying they were getting the rest of the crew into their acceleration pods. That meant ninety minutes to figure out how to fly this thing. She paused. “Doc, how well can you read that nav program?”

“I don’t know the navigation controls enough to understand what it all

means, but I can read the code. It’s significantly clearer and more straightforward than trying to read Human.”

Mops allowed herself a small smile. “Grom, I have a new assignment

for you and Doc.”

The bridge acceleration chamber was designed for Krakau. The acceleration pods were cramped, designed to fill with viscous, honey-colored fluid. A set of syringes injected a mild blood thickener, providing additional protection to Krakau brain tissue. Mops had taken one look and ordered her team down to the pods at

Battle Hub One. The bridge pods could probably be reconfigured for humans, but she had neither the time nor the technical knowledge to do it. Wolf and Monroe were already secured in their pods, while Kumar and Grom hunched over the backup navigation console. “You’re sure this will get us to Coacalos?” It was the fourth time Wolf had asked the question. “Nothing is certain until it’s done,” answered Grom, also for the fourth time. With Doc’s help, they’d copied and reprogrammed a new emergency navigation override program, this one targeting the edge of Alliance space. “Yeah, well, you crash us into a star, and I’m gonna eat your face,” grumbled Wolf. “Noted.” Grom flicked their hind legs in Wolf’s direction, a sign of annoyance. “I don’t believe you understand the complexity of this operation. Navigating these distances is like standing on the surface of your Earth and using a pistol to hit a target the size of your eyeball on the moon. We’ve run more than twenty simulations, only one of which resulted in catastrophic failure.”

“What kind of failure?” demanded Wolf. “We emerged a thousand kilometers deep in the star. I’ve adjusted the parameters, and the rest have been within acceptable ranges. Though the damage to the Pufferfish adds an element of chance that’s impossible to fully predict.”

Mops settled into her own pod and began rereading the information Doc had pulled up on Coacalos Station. The station resembled a giant volcano spinning through space, orbitally leashed to a hypergiant star roughly a hundred and fifty times the mass of Earth’s sun. That much mass would affect their A-ring jump, so Grom had plotted a conservative course that would likely put them several days’ journey from the station. Not ideal, but better than getting sucked into the star or looped into tight orbit and shredded by slingshot forces. Thick black leaves covered the station’s exterior. They acted as solar collectors, with roots stretching more than a kilometer through the rock walls to the station interior. The Quetzalus who owned and ran the station tapped the plants as their primary source of power. The station was independent of both the Quetzalus home world of Cuixique and the Krakau Alliance. The Coacalos family was part of a minority who’d broken with their clan and objected to joining the Alliance. They’d originally intended to form an independent colony, but after years of ugly legal battles, the Quetzalus High Court and the Alliance Judicial Council had proclaimed that any such colony or space station would fall under Alliance jurisdiction. Which was why Coacalos Station was, legally speaking, a spaceship: an

enormous, self-sustaining spaceship parked in a wide stellar orbit. A spaceship large enough to welcome other ships and their crews, provide living space for trade and recreation, and to do pretty much anything an official space station might do. But it could travel from one system to another under its own power, and that—technically—made it a spaceship. That legal technicality gave the Coacalos family absolute command over their “ship” and everything that went on there. Alliance law didn’t matter. Only the law of the family. Anyone was

welcome, even Prodryans, though Mops wasn’t sure how the family would feel about hosting potential bioterrorists. It probably depended on how much money those bioterrorists put into Coacalos coffers. She glanced down at the Prodryan pistol she’d taken from the fighter. She’d forgotten to store it in a security locker. “Doc, what are the marksmanship ratings for the team?”

“Their ratings...

oh, dear. Monroe has a sharpshooter rating with rifle

and is listed as marksman with pistol, but he hasn’t been to a range since he left the infantry. The others passed minimum firearm certification— eventually—when they enlisted. Technician Wolf required three attempts to pass basic pistol certification.”

“What about Grom?”

“They are proficient with Glacidae small arms.”

“Good.”

“However, the Pufferfish does not stock Glacidae weaponry.” To her right, Monroe whispered something inaudible. A moment later, a

message from him appeared on Mops’ monocle. “Are you sure about all this?”

Mops responded in kind, speaking too quietly for anyone but her suit’s

mic to pick up her words. “I’m not letting this crew die.”

“I’m with you a hundred percent,” said Monroe. “But bringing this

team to Coacalos?”

“I’ve never been,” Mops admitted. “How bad is this going to be?”

“Rumor has it the Coacalos family was one of the backers of the

Ventazos rebellion.”

Mops whistled softly. “I knew they preferred their independence, but I had no idea....”

Thirty-six years ago, a Quetzalus colony called Ventazos had rebelled against their home world of Cuixique and the Alliance. Government officials with any suspected ties to Cuixique were imprisoned or killed. Alien diplomats suffered the same fate. The Alliance sent the newly formed EMC to restore order. The Quetzalus had laughed and transmitted messages mocking the puny human police force. The laughter, like the subsequent fighting, was short-lived. While most Quetzalus these days supported the Alliance and dismissed the Ventazos rebels as misguided extremists, the species had never forgotten that humiliation at the hands—and guns—of the EMC. If the Coacalos family had been on the side of the rebels...

“I’m counting on you to help keep the team out of trouble,” Mops said quietly. Monroe’s snort drew startled looks from the others. “I think we’re ready,” said Kumar. “Start the countdown and secure yourselves in your pods.” Mops watched their status on her monocle until both showed as ready for the jump. She double-checked the rest of the crew as well, making sure none of them had woken up or gotten loose from their pods. “Funny thing,” Kumar said casually. “You’d think we were committing treason when we actually made the jump. But according to regulations, we crossed that stream the instant we modified the program from Command.”

“Good to know.” Mops sat back. “Monroe, don’t forget to spit out your gum.”

“How did you— Yes, sir.”

Strangely enough, it was comforting to know they’d already crossed the line and betrayed the Alliance. It took away some of the pressure and anxiety, allowing her to close her eyes and wait in relative peace. Given what lay ahead, she’d take any peace she could get. They’d emerged more than a billion kilometers from the station, roughly two hundred million kilometers beneath the orbital plane. At this distance, Coacalos would have picked up their deceleration signature, but shouldn’t have been able to identify them as an EMC ship. That would change as they got within range of the security beacons and satellites scattered around the station. Assuming they could get within range. For half a day now, they’d

drifted in space while Kumar continued trying to figure out how to fly the ship. Much as the delay gnawed at Mops’ patience, her team needed the

break. She’d caught a nap herself before heading down to the target range to try to relax. After making sure the range had been fully sterilized, she went through several practice rounds, then called Wolf down to join her. By the time Wolf arrived, Mops had reset the range to its default

configuration: a rectangular room thirty meters in length, ten wide, and ten high, with black grooves crisscrossing every surface. Wolf rushed to the weapons panel on the wall, eagerness sparking from

her every move. From the rack of pistols and rifles, she grabbed one of each, slinging the rifle over her right shoulder. “These are practice weapons, but treat them like they’re hot,” said

Mops. “Safety on until you’re ready to shoot. Finger off the trigger unless you mean to pull it.”

“I know, I know.” She twirled the pistol on her finger. “Do that again and I’ll shoot you myself,” Mops continued, her tone

never changing. The Prodryan pistol on her hip made it a very real threat. Wolf swallowed and lowered her gun. Mops checked her own EMC practice pistol. The weapons were

identical in size, mass, and feel to the real thing. Three hexagonal barrels were stacked in a triangle. A series of thumb switches on the contoured grip controlled the safety and firing modes. “Basic firing range. One shooter— humanoid. Ten-meter distance.”

A wall dropped from the ceiling ten meters away. A single humanoid

silhouette appeared at the center. A circle of light on the floor marked the firing position. Wolf jumped into place, raised her pistol, and squeezed the trigger. Her

face reddened. She turned off the safety and tried again. This time, the gun torqued in her hands, nearly twisting free. Wolf’s face tightened with frustration and embarrassment. She adjusted her stance and grip, aimed, and fired. A green dot on the target showed she’d removed the enemy’s ear. She rolled her shoulders, snarled, and kept shooting until she’d emptied the weapon. Of the thirty-six shots, thirty-two had hit the target. Wolf slid the practice magazine free and reinserted it, simulating a reload. “Not bad,” said Mops. “Doc, give us mobile targets. Hostiles and friendlies, random species. Fifteen meters.”

The range reconfigured, and a new set of silhouettes began moving to and fro. As they crossed the range, about one in four would randomly turn green, indicating an enemy target. That was when the slaughter began. To her credit, Wolf shot every hostile, scoring enough hits to “kill” more than ninety percent of her enemies. She also killed eighty percent of the friendlies, including six shots to a Glacidae silhouette who’d been scampering along, minding their own business. Mops waited for the simulation to finish, and for Wolf to safety and holster her weapon. Wolf stared at the floor. “Yeah, I know.”

“You didn’t shoot me,” said Mops. “That’s something.”

“I’m out of practice.” Wolf shrugged. “Too busy unclogging drains and mopping up alien shit.”

“Out of practice,” repeated Mops. “Whose fault is that?

The range is open to anyone during off-duty hours.”

“Who has time for that?”

Mops drew her pistol. The ammo count appeared on her monocle, along with a crosshair that moved wherever the barrel was pointed. Since she currently had the gun aimed at the floor, the crosshair hovered at the bottom of her monocle with an arrow pointing downward. She switched to gun’s-eye view, and the view through her monocle changed, showing her a patch of floor by her right foot with the crosshair dead center. The split in visual input to the eyes could be disconcerting. Mops had earned herself a migraine the first time she tried it. But it meant she’d always see what she was shooting at. She could even shoot around corners or over barriers, keeping her body safe behind cover. “Rerun program.” She raised the gun and started shooting...

never looking away from Wolf. Her accuracy was a little low—33 hits out of 36 shots—but all 33 hits

were on hostile targets. She turned to leave. “That’s it?” asked Wolf. “You’re just going to show off and walk

away?”

“Pretty much.” Mops returned her weapon to the rack, then stopped in

the doorway. “You have as much time in a day as I do. Hell, you have time right now. What are you going to do with it?”

For the next four and a half hours, Doc provided ongoing updates of Wolf’s scores as she went through one scenario after another. By the end, her scores had improved somewhat, though she was still killing too many civilians. After Wolf finished, Mops spent the day assessing the rest of her team’s

skills. It did not improve her confidence. Kumar was an excellent shot, as long as the enemy didn’t mind waiting

for him to double-check his stance, steady his weapon, take three painfully slow breaths, and ever-so-carefully squeeze the trigger. He tracked moving targets with equal care, up until Mops programmed

those targets to return simulated fire. At that point, Kumar was repeatedly “killed” without ever getting a shot off. Grom was able to use two of their digging limbs to brace the EMC pistol

like a tiny rifle, holding it against their lower jaw. They turned out to be a surprisingly adequate shot, despite their odd habit of humming and making “pew, pew” sound effects the entire time. She’d saved Monroe for last. If things went to hell, she was counting on

his experience and expertise to save their asses. Monroe entered the empty range like a man attending his own court-

martial. He glanced around the empty range, the fingers of his artificial hand twitching nervously. “Everything all right, JG?”

He walked to the weapons rack and pulled out a practice rifle. His hands

moved automatically through the process of inspecting it, first clearing the magazine and disconnecting the firing mechanism. The hilt and trigger guard slid free. He squeezed the trigger with his mechanical hand. “Trigger pull’s a little light.”

“I’ll be sure to report that to the small arms tech,” Mops said dryly. “Arm says it’s only off by a quarter of a kilogram.” He flexed his white fingers. Difficult as the assistive intelligence in his arm could be about some things, it was obviously familiar with weapons maintenance. Monroe reassembled the rifle and reloaded, then synched it with his monocle. “I haven’t touched a gun since I left infantry.”

It was the last thing Mops had expected. “Why not?”

He shouldered the rifle and took a pistol from the weapons rack, inspecting it with the same speed and efficiency he had the rifle. “Infantry training isn’t just guns and combat batons and tactics. You learn an attitude. They train you to fight without hesitation. It becomes instinctive, until you’re ready to take a swing at someone for bumping you in line or looking at you sideways. “By the time they send you out, you’ve learned to rein things in a bit. I’ve never once slugged a superior officer, despite serving under several who needed it.”

“I appreciate your restraint,” Mops said dryly. “It hasn’t usually been a problem with you,” he replied in the same tone. “And I get it. When you’re a soldier being sent out to fight, those instincts can save your life. In other situations...”

Mops was starting to understand. “You’re worried if you pick up a gun, you’ll be too quick to use it.”

“I’m worried I’ll stop searching for alternatives,” he said. “I worry the EMC has developed the same tunnel vision. We’ve always been quick to escalate to lethal force. Sometimes that’s effective. Swift action can bring a swift end to a conflict. By preventing a drawn-out fight, you end up saving lives in the long run.”

He tested the pistol’s barrel light, twisting the switch from narrow to wide-beam. “But you’re more likely to make mistakes. To miss other options and kill innocent people.”

His right hand twitched, the index finger convulsing as if it were pulling a trigger. He scowled, and the hand slowly relaxed. “I was counting on you to be the one who knew how to use these things,” Mops said. “Oh, I do. Trouble is, I will use them. If things go hot, I’ll start shooting

until the threat’s down, or I am. Given that we’re trying to get information, and to do it without attracting attention, it might be better if I’m not walking around primed to kill.” He handed both weapons to her. “I’m pretty good with a combat baton. That usually leaves everyone alive to answer questions.”

Mops pursed her lips. “Combat baton it is. Under one condition.”

“And that is?”

“If we end up in a firefight, you use that baton to knock Kumar the hell

out and take his weapon.”

By the end of the day, it was clear Kumar wouldn’t be flying the Pufferfish to Coacalos Station. True, he was getting better. His simulator scores now gave him an almost one-in-three chance of reaching the station without blowing them all up or otherwise breaking the ship. Needless to say, nobody was happy with those odds. Mops gathered everyone on the bridge to discuss options. “A shuttle is easier to fly and to dock once we get there,” said Monroe. “They’ve got more than enough fuel for the trip.”

“Shuttle armor and weapons are crap,” said Wolf. “And they’re slow. Do

you know how long we’d be packed together, practically stacked on top of each other?”

Kumar glanced at the main screen. “Twenty-two hours, at the shuttle’s

top speed. At regulation-approved speeds, closer to thirty-six.”

“Someone would need to stay behind to monitor things on the

Pufferfish,” said Monroe. Grom lunged forward, rising to their full height. “I volunteer to not go

with Wolf!”

“Fine,” said Mops, before Wolf could respond. “In addition to keeping

the ship ready for our return, you’ll be responsible for tending to the rest of the crew.”

The Glacidae dropped low. “Pardon?”

“For now, we can probably keep them sedated, but they’ll need to be

fed. Small portions, since they’re not using much energy.”

Wolf’s expression had done a one-eighty from annoyance to amusement. “What about sanitation needs, sir?”

Mops fought to keep a straight face. “Their uniforms will absorb and wick away most excretions for now, but if we’re gone more than five days, you’ll need to start changing and cleaning them. Are you familiar with the ship’s laundry systems?” When Grom didn’t answer, she waved a hand. “Don’t worry, there’s a tutorial.”

Grom looked unhappy, but didn’t argue. Not unless you counted the low, drawn-out belch. “We’ll take shuttle two,” she decided. “Wolf, Monroe, get it ready for departure. Doc will send you a copy of the preflight checklist. Double-check everything. Kumar, switch over to shuttle training. Grom, you might as well get to work feeding the crew. Better to start now while we’re here to answer any questions.”

Once everyone else had left the bridge, Mops moved into the Captain’s Cove. They’d drained the water and sanitized the room, but the faint brine smell remained. She shut the door behind her. “Doc, how’s the rest of the crew?”

“Still napping. Given human endurance, we can probably keep most of them sedated for at least a month with no permanent ill effects.”

“Most?”

“You should probably have Grom keep an eye on Private Chaplin. When everyone was shambling about, she tried to eat the contents of chem lab one. It looks like the A-ring jump made her vomit, which got a lot of that junk out of her system, but her skin’s a bit flushed, and her breathing’s quicker than normal.”

“Good to know. Anyone else I should flag?”

“Some cuts and bruises. A few fractures. A crewman from infantry tried to tear off his uniform and nearly strangled himself. Kumar got him taken care of.”

Mops circled the room, studying various items Captain Brandenburg had kept in small niches and recesses in the rough stone walls. A coiled black shell with rainbow edges from her home world. A set of entertainment slices, with each wafer of crystal neatly labeled along the outer edge. A collection of water samples from every world the Pufferfish had visited while under her command. She picked up a vial of amethyst water from a Glacidae colony and held

it to the light. “Doc, have you had any luck getting us into the armory?”

“Not yet. Standard welding and repair equipment won’t cut through

those doors, and access is restricted to Krakau officers.”

More Krakau safeguards. More evidence of their true feelings about

humans. Mops considered bringing one of the bodies out of storage and trying to use it to access the armory, but after the level one decontamination, she wasn’t sure the computer would recognize the remains as Krakau. Even if it did, the Pufferfish’s security systems knew the entire command crew was dead. Their access would have been locked down automatically. She looked toward the door. “When Lieutenant Khan reported to the

captain, she had her sidearm and combat baton with her. What happened to those?”

“Khan was taken to Medical. Her personal items would have been

placed into one of the storage lockers. And before you ask, yes, as acting captain of the ship, you can access those storage lockers.”

“Good. Check to see—”

“How many other infantry personnel were taken to Medical before they

could stow their weapons?

Looking at the records, six.”

“Were those storage lockers decontaminated with the rest of the ship?”

“Normally, lockers are airtight. But they open automatically during a

level one decontamination.”

“We’ll need to test to make sure the guns’ electronics weren’t damaged.”

Mops headed for the door. “One last thing. Make sure you’ve synched my library to the monocle. I have the feeling I’ll need the distraction during the trip.”

Shuttle two looked like an old Earth school bus had mated with a fat caterpillar. Its official designation was the unimaginative Pufferfish-S2.

Triangular wings were currently folded up around the body. Like its mothership, the Pufferfish-S2 was matte black, painted in an energy-absorbing material that rendered it harder for sensors to find or track. When the light hit at just the right angle, Mops could see the hair-thin lines of the shuttle’s defensive grid, giving it a scaly appearance. Two small weapons pods ran the length of the ship on either side. Two other shuttles were locked down in the back of the bay. This one had been moved into the center, its nose aligned with the docking bay doors. “Inventory looks good,” Monroe called from inside the shuttle. A copy of his checklist flashed onto Mops’ monocle. “All system checks are blue.”

Mops checked her team’s status. In addition to the usual information, her monocle now displayed weapons and ammunition count. Wolf and Kumar each had a single pistol and extra magazine. Mops had taken two pistols for herself. A black combat baton, half a meter in length, hung from Monroe’s left hip. Mops had packed additional ammo in the shuttle, along with a single rifle. If all went well, they shouldn’t need any of it. Given their luck so far, maybe she should have hunted around for more ammo. She turned to Grom, who was waiting a short distance from the shuttle. “As soon as we’re clear, close the bay doors and shut down all systems except what’s necessary to keep yourself and the crew alive. I want the Pufferfish invisible until we get back.”

Grom slid closer. “What if you don’t make it back?”

“If you don’t hear from us in two weeks, consider yourself promoted.”

“That prospect...

isn’t quite as appealing as it would have been a few days ago.”

Mops grinned and climbed into the shuttle, settling into one of the egg-shaped seats built into the interior wall. “Take care of the crew. And if you spend the whole time playing video games, I’ll jam a utility pole up your backside and use you as a dust mop. Is that clear?”

“Vividly clear.”

Mops secured the contoured, padded restraint plates over her thighs. The back of the seat locked automatically to her equipment harness. Additional restraints would secure her head and limbs if the ride got rough. She glanced toward the front, where Kumar was settling into the pilot’s station, and double-checked to make sure those extra restraints were working properly. Wolf and Monroe squeezed in and took their seats. The boarding ramp folded shut, the exterior door sliding and locking into place. “Air circulation in these things is mediocre at best,” said Monroe. “Try

not to puke during the flight.”

“Seal and secure your suits for takeoff,” added Mops. If something did

go wrong during launch, the suits could keep them alive long enough to get back to the Pufferfish. At least in theory. She double-checked to make sure everyone’s suit status showed blue. “Kumar, we’re ready to go.”

“Yes, sir.”

There were no windows or viewscreens, so Mops called up an exterior

view on her monocle. Grom had left the bay as fast as their countless legs could carry them. From the cockpit, Mops heard Kumar muttering under his breath. “Doc, what’s going on up there?” she whispered. Doc switched to a view of the pilot’s console, where Puffy was happily

reminding Kumar not to engage the main engines until they were at least one kilometer away from the Pufferfish. “I know,” muttered Kumar. “Did you remember to depressurize the bay?

Otherwise...” Puffy

turned and let out an exaggerated, animated belch. A tiny shuttle launched from his mouth, tumbling out of control like a minnow in a maelstrom. “Depressurizing the bay,” Kumar called back. The sound of a windstorm

outside slowly faded into silence. A short time later, Mops felt the Pufferfish-S2’s docking clamps retract. “Reducing power to docking bay gravity plates.”

Mops’ stomach lurched. She grabbed the restraints without thinking. It

felt like she was falling sideways. Her monocle changed to show the shuttle sliding free of the bay. Doc

had outlined the black hull of the Pufferfish against the blacker emptiness of space. “An external reference point can help with spacesickness.”

“Thanks. Feed that view to the rest of the team, please.” As she spoke,

the system’s star rotated slowly into view: a ball of blue-white light surrounded by a faint ring of dust. “If you replaced Earth’s sun with that star, it would engulf Mercury,

Venus, Earth, Mars, and Jupiter,” said Doc. An icon on Mops’ monocle indicated he was addressing the whole team. Wolf swallowed. “Let’s not do that, then.”

“Where’s the station?” asked Monroe. “According to their beacon signal, right there.” A blue dot appeared to the left of the star. The shuttle lurched hard up and to port, eliciting a curse from Wolf. “Sorry,” said Kumar. “Thrusters weren’t this touchy in the simulation.”

Wolf glanced around the cramped space. “I don’t know if I can handle thirty-six hours of this.”

“Shift your thinking, Technician,” said Mops. “Consider this a day and a half off your regular duty shift. I don’t know about you, but I intend to take full advantage of the opportunity.”

“Opportunity for what?”

Mops smiled and used her eye movement to queue up a list of files on her monocle. “Allow me to introduce you to the works of Jane Austen of Earth.”

Greetings, visitor. Welcome to the Coacalos Family Generation Ship, a privately owned and politically neutral vessel. Environmental specs are available for download from any of the forty-

two perimeter beacons. If you’ve forgotten to bring your own air supply, the family is happy to provide daily, weekly, or monthly air allotments tailored to your species, for a fair and reasonable price. We recommend using any of the financial kiosks to set up automatic payments to guarantee continued respiratory security. Your ship will be scanned, registered, and docked by our professional

and certified docking technicians. By proceeding, you agree to waive all liability for any damage, injuries, or deaths that may (but almost certainly won’t) occur during docking. A complete list of rules and regulations are available for download from

the perimeter beacons. Any violations may result in fines and/or expulsion from the station. If you are unable to pay your fine, your ship may be kept in payment, in which case you will be expelled from the nearest air lock. Whether you are allowed a spacesuit depends on the severity of the violation. Remember, if you’re close enough to receive this message, our weapons

have already locked onto your ship!

Thanks for visiting the Coacalos Family Generation Ship. We hope you

enjoy your stay. “A RRIVAL IN SIXTY-FOUR MINUTES,” said Kumar. Wolf groaned. “Can’t you slow us down a bit?

I’m most of

the way through this damn book, and I still don’t know if Mr. Darcy is going to propose again, or if—”

“The books will be waiting when we’re through,” Mops assured her. After a day and a half in the shuttle, everyone was sore, smelly, and sick of each other’s company. Deliberately postponing their arrival would likely trigger a mutiny. “It looks like you’re approaching a space station,” Puffy announced. After the first day, they’d broadcast Puffy’s feed through the team’s monocles, just for the distraction. “Remember, everything in space moves. Begin by inputting the velocity of your target. Comparing their vector to your own will tell you how to accelerate.”

“Hold on.” Kumar scanned the area around the pilot’s station. He’d been scribbling notes in white marking pen on every bare surface: reminders and instructions and shortcuts and formulae for everything from fuel consumption to changing Puffy’s color scheme. “Station vector was part of the transmission from that beacon we passed...

got it. Um, sir?

I think we’re getting a tight-beam communication from the station.”

“Patch it through to me,” said Mops. Kumar nodded. “How do I do that?”

“There should be an incoming signal icon,” said Wolf. “Tap it.”

“I did,” snapped Kumar. “I’m tapping it right now. Nothing’s happening.”

A sound like an angry tuba filled the shuttle, making the entire team jump. Mops grimaced. “Turn that down, and run it through the translator, Kumar!”

Wolf unfastened her restraints and shoved her way toward the cockpit, but the transmission stopped before she could squeeze in beside Kumar. “What did you do?”

“Nothing!” Kumar raised his hands, as if to prove he hadn’t touched the controls. Mops leaned forward. “Please tell me we didn’t just hang up on Coacalos Station.”

“Maybe they hung up on us first,” offered Wolf. Before Mops could respond, the transmission resumed, this time in deep, gravelly Human. “Are you comprehending this language?

This is Coacalos docking control. You have thirty seconds to identify yourselves and your intentions. Failure to comply will be considered a declaration of hostility and result in your incineration.”

Mops cleared her throat. “This is Marion Adamopoulos, in command of

the Elizabeth Bennet. There are four of us, all human. We intend to spend a few days relaxing at Coacalos Station.”

A pause. “Your ship’s beacon identifies you as the Pufferfish-S2 of the

Earth Mercenary Corps.”

“Does it?” Mops glared at Wolf, who was supposed to have disabled that

beacon. “How strange.”

“Very strange,” the voice replied. “Particularly given the bounty the

Alliance announced earlier today for the EMCS Pufferfish and its crew.”

“As I understand, Coacalos Station isn’t part of the Alliance,” said

Mops. “True...

but we aren’t about to turn down a bounty of that size when it

flies into our maw. Unless a more profitable alternative presents itself, of course. Before you respond, please keep in mind that we have a confirmed weapons lock on your ship.”

Mops squared her shoulders, pretending it didn’t sting to know the

organization she’d served for twelve years considered her a traitor. Technically, she was, but that didn’t make it any less painful to hear. “A more profitable alternative. Tell me, how much does the station earn in an average week?”

“That information is confidential.”

She’d expected as much, but it didn’t matter. “If you turn us over to the

EMC, you’ll get your bounty. Then, once the Alliance realizes why we came here, you’ll have several hundred human troops inspecting every square centimeter of your station. They’ll tear the place apart and interrogate every one of your staff and guests. Knowing EMC procedures, they’ll spend at least a week disrupting your business.”

“The Alliance and the EMC have no jurisdiction here.” Mops lowered her voice. “Given the situation, I don’t think that’s going

to matter.”

“What situation?

Explain!”

“Not over an open channel.”

“All of our communications are tight-beam, short-range transmissions,

encrypted with temporal-variable—”

“It’s not your end of the conversation I’m worried about,” Mops interrupted, glancing toward Wolf. After a long pause, the voice said, “Please stand by.”

Kumar looked up at her. “What do you think they’re doing?”

“The same thing any of us would do with a situation that could potentially blow up in our faces,” guessed Mops. “Searching for a superior to dump the problem on.” She checked their position. “For now, continue matching course with the station.”

Whoever the dock controller had escalated the call to, they’d gotten an impressively fast reply. Less than a minute later, they signaled the Pufferfish again. “Attention, Marion Adamopoulos. The Coacalos family will hear your warning. Do not deviate from your present course, or you will be destroyed. Security will meet you at your shuttle after docking is complete. Do not attempt to disembark until instructed, or you will be destroyed.”

“Understood, thank you.” She turned to face her team. “From here on, everyone is on their best behavior. That means—”

“Marion Adamopoulos, you are still transmitting.”

Wolf offered a sheepish apology, then began bickering with Kumar over how to end their broadcast. Puffy chimed in a moment later. “It looks like you’re trying to disable communications equipment,” Puffy said cheerfully. “Would you like help?”

With a sigh, Mops stretched back to wait. “You are now free to disembark.” The mechanized voice over their comms lacked inflection—either a cheap translator program or a low-level AI. “Atmospheric pressure is approximately one-fourth Human normal. The use of breathing apparatus is recommended.”

Mops secured her hood and gloves, made sure her team had done the same, and opened the shuttle door. As soon as she ducked through and her feet touched the docking ledge floor, she arched her back and stretched. Her spine let out a series of audible cracks and pops, causing the closest of their Quetzalus guards to jump back in alarm, bristly hair glowing like heating elements. “Do you require medical assistance?”

“No, thank you.” Mops chuckled. “Rearranging our internal skeletons is

just something humans do.”

“That is...

disturbing.”

The Quetzalus were the largest intelligent species known to the Alliance. They were quadrupedal, with long necks and bright orange beaklike mouths. Scraggly, bristly hair covered their leathery skin. The one who’d spoken was on the small side, barely four meters in height. When a Quetzalus was at rest, their hair was a dull waxy color. But each

strand was internally reflective, anchored deep within bioluminescent sacs that ran the length of the Quetzalus’ body. The tip of each hair could light up like a spark, broadcasting the Quetzalus’ mood for all to see. Older Quetzalus generally controlled and minimized the effect. A rippling yellow glow suggested this one was both young and anxious. The brilliant red crest sprouting from the head like an out-of-control shrub marked him as a male. Flaps of bare skin stretched between his fore and hind limbs, vestigial wings his species hadn’t used in eons. He and his two companions all carried short-barreled blasters mounted to the sides of their meter-long beaks, along with translators and communications units. They were big enough and strong enough to physically pick up the

shuttle and throw it back into space. And they were clearly terrified of the four humans. “We don’t want to cause trouble,” Mops assured them. “Your people are trouble,” the young Quetzalus replied. Wolf chuckled. “Hard to argue with that.”

“What’s your name?” asked Mops. “Quil Coacalos.”

“Second child of the Coacalos family, so he’s pretty important,” Doc

added. “Try not to scare him any more than you have.”

Mops glanced around the docking bay, an enormous hollow cylinder

covered in circular ledges that reminded her of fungal growths. Grav beam generators protruded from metal blisters in the wall. At the top of the bay, a heavy black dome sealed them off from the emptiness of space. A layer of fine black sand crunched beneath Mops’ boots. An insectlike

creature the size of a human hand crept along the wall, twitching feathery blue wings and watching the newcomers with huge, chronically surprised eyes. “This place is filthy,” muttered Kumar. His hand went automatically to one of the small spray canisters in his harness. Mops caught his wrist. “Half the station runs on biologics. You have no idea how much damage you could do if you start disinfecting.”

“This way,” said Quil Coacalos, tromping toward a large, circular air lock door. Mops and her team fell in behind, with the other two guards bringing up the rear. “There will be a brief cleansing process before you’re allowed into the station. Your equipment and weaponry has been scanned and registered.”

The cleansing was similar to a level four decon: chemical spray and low-level irradiation. A fluid sample check followed. They each unsealed their hoods long enough to spit on a long white swab, which was then inserted into a small hole in the side wall. “To make sure you’re not carrying anything potentially infectious,” explained Quil. Discomfort turned the tips of his hair orange, like someone had set him on fire. “Humans are rumored to be...

that is, we’re aware of your species’ unique history, and don’t want to risk—”

“We’re not contagious,” growled Wolf. “Lucky for you, the computer agrees,” said Quil as the holes closed and the inner door slid open. Air and noise rushed in, buffeting the humans backward. The Quetzalus didn’t appear to notice. “We have had human visitors before,” Quil continued. “Several of your species have even taken up employment on Coacalos Station. The air is adequate to sustain you.”

“Confirmed,” said Doc. “A bit high in CO2, but nothing you can’t handle.”

Mops had seen her share of space stations, villages orbiting whatever star or planet kept them on their gravitational leashes. Each had its own feel. The Stepping Stone back home was primarily a military installation, clean and utilitarian, shared by Krakau and humans. Others functioned as trading posts and supply depots, or shipyards, or exploratory stations with their massive arrays of telescopes. Coacalos Station wasn’t a village, but a city. Mops was reminded of footage she’d seen of pre-plague Las Vegas on Earth, if Vegas had been built in a hollow mountain instead of the middle of the desert. The docking bay was a broad central shaft through the core of the mountain. They emerged from the air lock onto a sturdy walkway and observation platform. Quil bobbed his beak, pointing to a transparent lift tube to their right. Mops moved to the edge of the observation platform instead. A clear

wall, filmed with dust and smears from dozens of species, prevented anyone from falling. They’d emerged near the base of the station. Outside, a tower that appeared to be made of rippling sapphire stretched as high as she could see. Shifting lights within the glass formed images and alien letters, which Doc translated into advertisements for everything from exotic clothing to entertainment implants to animated tattoos. She glanced at Wolf, who shrugged and said, “Yeah, I got my ink on this

station. Not this tower, though. There’s a Glacidae in Tower Two who does great work at half the price.”

“According to the courtesy map download, this is Tower Three,” said

Doc. “We’re on level two, near the bottom. The station is segmented into six towers, each with six levels. The higher you go, the more expensive everything gets.”

“This way,” Quil said, flashing an impatient lavender. The lift played a soft, unremarkable melody as they descended to level

one. They emerged between the amethyst tower and a smoky red one to the left, which Doc tagged as Tower Two. Small booths and tents were spread across the rocky ground between the towers, an open-air market that smelled of grease and sweat and alien excretions. The air was cold enough to raise bumps on Mops’ skin. Aliens of every variety cleared a path as the Quetzalus led them between

the towers, toward the outer edge of the station. A group of Nusurans ducked into a tent whose holographic walls played a pixelated loop of purple waves crashing against a ruby beach. A furry creature with nine legs scampered across their path, chasing a ratlike thing with a hard, spiral shell. Overhead, a pair of Prodryans glided on mechanically enhanced wings. “How many people are here at any given time?” she asked. “Coacalos Station has a maximum capacity of twelve thousand,” Quil

said automatically. “We pride ourselves on providing accommodations suitable for every species. Humans will be most comfortable with the environmental conditions of Tower Five. Not that we have many human guests.”

So many beings from so many different species, and the only thing they

had in common was the way they shied back from Mops and her team. A plump, green-tinged Glacidae dropped flat and scampered into the nearest booth. A trio of Krakau shrank away. A Nusuran froze, the bulk of her body hidden behind a rustling tent. Doc enhanced and translated the whispers as they walked:

“Don’t stare. Humans take that as a challenge.”

“Humans take everything as a challenge.”

“Is it true they can’t be killed?”

“I can smell them from here.”

“I hear they eat the flesh of their enemies.”

“On Earth, they survive by eating their own young.”

“Why are they here?”

Quil had said they had humans working on the station, but it was obvious most of these people had rarely seen one up close. Their stares made her skin itch, and she fought the impulse to check her weapons. Merely shifting a hand toward one of her pistols would probably send the gawkers into a panicked stampede. If she was this tense...

she glanced at Wolf, whose shoulders were hunched nearly to her ears. “At ease,” she said quietly. “They’re just curious.”

“I’m used to it,” Wolf muttered. “Usually, I pick a fight to break the tension and get them to stop staring.”

“And we wonder why humans have such a reputation for violence.”

After what felt like close to a kilometer, they reached another lift, this one with metal doors and a security console to one side. A single human stood guard in the shadows, dressed in dark green and holding a rifle with a serrated bayonet. A heavy helmet completely obscured the human’s head. The human didn’t move as Quil tapped his beak on the security pad and whispered something into the speaker. The lift door slid open with a heavy clunk. Another Quetzalus head-butted Mops from behind, knocking her several steps forward. Mops turned slowly and folded her arms. Any appearance of weakness would make it that much harder to negotiate with the Coacalos family. To her left, she saw Monroe rest his hand on his combat baton. She gave him a slight shake of her head. The Quetzalus who’d pushed Mops drew herself taller. “Keep walking,

human.”

Instead, Mops stepped closer and patted the Quetzalus on the leg. Lowering her voice, she said, “I can’t imagine your bosses would be happy about you starting a brawl before they’ve heard what we have to say, which tells me that bit of rudeness was for show. Trying to make yourself look tough by shoving the human around. Who are you trying to impress?”

The Quetzalus quickly suppressed a green glow, but Mops saw the way

her attention shifted. “Oh, I see.” Mops checked to make sure the other Quetzalus weren’t

listening. “You have a thing for Quil. Isn’t he a bit young for you?”

She opened her mouth and flashed a glowing blue tongue, a sign of

distress. “My lips are sealed,” whispered Mops. “You just mind your manners.” The Quetzalus blinked, then gave a slow, human nod. “The Family is waiting,” said Quil, bobbing his head toward the lift. They descended again, this time emerging in a roomy, well-lit cavern

with mossy carpeting—no, that was real moss. Humidity gave the air a heavy feel. Quil led them past scattered, irregularly shaped rock formations. It wasn’t until Mops saw a pair of Quetzalus settled atop one such formation that she realized the rocks were the equivalent of furniture. “Wait here.” Quil tromped ahead to speak with the two resting

Quetzalus, who stretched their necks and widened their pearl-black eyes to get a better view of the humans. Normally, those eyes were almost invisible, hidden in four recessed sockets just behind the beak. The larger pair saw in black and white, but with great acuity. Only the smaller perceived color, albeit a narrower range than human vision. “This is Lazan Coacalos,” said Quil, bobbing his head toward the larger

of the two. “Mate of Zan Coacalos and Second of the Coacalos Family.”

“Second-in-command,” said Doc. “Consider Lazan the commander. Zan

Coacalos would be the equivalent of captain.”

“With him is Ix Lataclox. She’s a specialist in galactic law.” A lawyer, in other words. Ix Lataclox had a lighter beak, more yellow

than orange, and lacked the crest of the males. As for Lazan, he was the largest Quetzalus Mops had ever seen, more than five meters in height. He probably massed as much as their shuttle. Neither appeared to be armed, but who knew how many weapons pods were hidden throughout the cavern, ready to vaporize hostile visitors. “You are Lieutenant Marion Adamopoulos of the EMCS Pufferfish?” asked Lazan. “That’s right.”

Lazan’s head cocked a full ninety degrees. “I assume your cruiser is somewhere in-system?”

“It is.” There was no point lying about it. They would have noted the A-ring deceleration flare. “You say it would be a mistake to turn you over to the EMC and collect the bounty. Explain.”

“The bounty is a misunderstanding,” said Mops. “The EMC says you took the Pufferfish after the rest of the crew was incapacitated or killed, and that you disobeyed orders to return to Earth.”

“That part’s accurate,” Mops admitted. “They also say you may have been involved in the attack against your crew, collaborating with Prodryan agents. You’re described as potential terrorists and traitors to the Krakau Alliance.”

“The hell we are!” Wolf snapped. Mops silenced her with a glare. Wolf clamped her mouth shut, tension visible in her jaw as she glared at Lazan Coacalos. Beside her, Kumar was crouched on one knee, apparently fascinated by a bit of blue moss. Monroe simply waited, his face impassive, his attention on Mops. “I’m flattered Command has such a high estimate of our competence and skill,” said Mops. “But we had nothing to do with that attack. If we hadn’t been suited up to fix a cracked sewer line, we’d have been affected by the same weapon that took out the rest of the crew.”

Ix Lataclox lowered her head to human eye-level. “The bounty is not contingent on your guilt or innocence. And the potential cost of harboring Alliance refugees is severe.”

“Oh, we’re not here to hide,” laughed Mops. “And I guarantee the cost of not helping us will be higher.”

A wave of orange rippled over Lazan’s body. “Does the Alliance bounty on us say anything about how my crew was disabled?” asked Mops. “It does not,” said Ix. “The Prodryans used a biological weapon. A weapon that caused the

humans to revert to a feral state. They killed the nonhuman members of our crew, all save one.”

Lazan pulled back slightly. “The attackers came from this station,” Mops continued. “Whatever the

cost of harboring Alliance refugees, how does that compare to the backlash when the Alliance finds out you’ve been harboring bioterrorists?”

“We know nothing of any such bioterrorists,” protested Ix. “The consequences aren’t contingent on your knowledge.” Mops

shrugged. “Once the Alliance has inspected the station and interrogated your guests and staff, they’ll probably leave you in peace. It shouldn’t take more than a few weeks. A month at most.”

The two Quetzalus glanced at one another. “Or you can let us snoop around,” said Mops. “Give us access to your

records to see how long the Prodryans were here, who they met with, where they came from—”

“That information is private,” Ix interrupted. “Neither you nor the EMC

have any legal standing on this ship. The confidentiality of our guests is—”

“How many humans do you have working here?” Mops asked. Lazan’s crest flared in annoyance. “Eighteen.” Ix muttered something to him. “I’m sorry, seventeen. One of our humans recently quit without notice.” Mops removed her monocle and faced the concave side toward the

closest wall. “Doc, please show our hosts what happened when we went to rescue Grom from Recreation.”

Bright light shone from the monocle, painting a picture of the

Pufferfish’s recreation area on the wall. The irregularity of the wall distorted the image slightly, and the room’s lighting gave the whole thing an orange tint, but it was clear enough. Lazan’s long neck stretched closer, until his beak cut a bite-sized

shadow from the image. “Those humans. They’re feral?”

“Bastards would have eaten every last one of us,” said Wolf. “Whatever did this to my crew was here,” added Mops. “It could still be

here. Your clients are jumpy enough around humans as it is. What do you think would happen if one of those seventeen humans reverted?”

Kumar cleared his throat. “It wouldn’t be just the one, sir. Remember

how quickly this spread through the Pufferfish?

If it gets loose here, it would contaminate the whole station. All seventeen would go feral within hours.”

“Imagine the publicity.” Monroe raised his hands, as if painting a sign. “‘Coacalos Station: It’s been zero days since an employee ate a guest.’”

“You’re probably calculating the cost of firing and replacing those seventeen humans,” Mops continued. “I’m sure you could afford it. It would be simple enough for you to dispose of us as well, for that matter. But that just makes you look guiltier when the EMC arrives. If a handful of humans figured out the Prodryans were here, it won’t take Command long to do the same. Right now, you have plausible deniability. You can say you didn’t know.”

Lazan Coacalos’ crest slumped to one side, and his hair pulsed a dull yellow. His attention remained fixed on the battle playing out against the wall. Ix leaned close and murmured something into the small earhole at the base of his neck. “I will...

consult with Zan Coacalos,” said Lazan. “What is your proposal, Marion Adamopoulos?”

Mops smiled. “To begin with, we’ll need you to waive our docking fee and put us up for a few days....”

Grom crawled from beneath the navigation console. Wires dangled from open panels like brightly colored roots. Every bridge console now displayed an identical image of the blue hypergiant star, along with the pinpricks of light from other stars, and a blue dot representing the station. Clicking happily as they worked, Grom returned to the back of the

bridge to grab a customized Glacidae computer console. They slipped the strap over their head. One edge of the console snapped into place against the front of their equipment harness, secured by several powerful magnets. The Glacidae’s uppermost legs gripped the sides of the terminal, while

their tunneling claws attacked the keys. “Load Pufferfish data storage structure, triptych display.”

The main directory appeared on the primary viewscreen. Recently

accessed subdirectories popped up on the consoles to either side of the main screen. Grom quivered with triumph. After two days, they’d finally gotten all the

bridge stations talking to one another in proper sequence. Isolated workstations were fine for a fully crewed ship, but without these improvements, it would only be a matter of time before those idiot humans crashed the ship into a supernova. Now for the real test. “Verify Gromgimsidalgak, Technician, software

and computer support division, EMCS Pufferfish.”

“Verified,” said the computer, in Grom’s native language. Their quivering increased, the plates of their exoskeleton clicking

together in excitement. Grom continued typing, digging into their personal data storage subfolder. “Load program ITM-6-Lev3.”

The bridge lighting dimmed. The file directories vanished, replaced by the dark, icy caves of home. Orange light turned one of the tunnels to glowing glass. A serpentine robot emerged from the tunnel, streaks of flame shooting from its six eyes. Words appeared in the air, directly above the robot’s head:

ICE TUNNEL MINER VI: VIPER’S REVENGE

➢ Start New Game

➢ Continue Saved Game

Grom tapped Continue and crawled into the captain’s station. The captain’s console displayed their character’s supplies and stats, while the main screen loaded level three, the glacier hunt. With the bridge’s systems linked and devoted to the game engine, and nobody else on board to drain the computer’s resources, the game was more responsive than Grom had ever seen. Grom leaned to one side for a sip of methane slushee, then settled in to start blasting robovipers. T OWER FIVE WAS BUILT to comfortably house Glacidae, Krakau, and the occasional human. Mops and her team were given space on level one, the “ground floor.”

The tower’s exterior was a deep brown, almost black, that reminded Mops of obsidian. Her temporary ID badge, hanging from her neck on a thin but surprisingly strong chain of tarnished metal, got them through the doors. A series of blinking lights on the back of the badge pointed the way to their lodging. The damp, chilly air greeted them with the smell of brine and the urine of at least three different species. The hallways were rough-carved tunnels coated with cheap brown spray sealant. The light strips stretched down the center of the ceiling and floor were running at half power, but still managed to illuminate every stain. Puddles of water, some up to three centimeters deep, splashed with each step. The noise sent insects retreating into cracks and holes in the wall. A loud hiss made her jump. She spun to see Kumar spraying a foaming

cleanser onto a discolored patch of wall. “Don’t bother,” said Mops. “You could scrub this place until you died of

old age, and you wouldn’t put a dent in the mess.”

Kumar gestured at the walls, outrage and horror momentarily robbing

him of words. “Save it for our quarters,” suggested Monroe. A pair of Krakau emerged from a door up ahead, releasing a low swell

of water into the hallway. Most of the water vanished through small, partially clogged grates at the base of the walls. The Krakau spotted the four humans and ducked right back into their room, locking the door behind them. “We’re off to the right,” said Mops, following the lights on her badge. They passed an open area to the left where a group of beings watched a knot of at least five Glacidae struggling together. A short distance away, a pair of Quetzalus rested in a pool of foul-smelling, bubbling black liquid. “What is that?”

“According to the station directory, it’s Tar Bath 2,” said Doc. “They’re

not recommended for most species. You would likely survive the temperature extremes, but you wouldn’t enjoy it, and you’d never get the smell out of your hair.”

A trio of Nusurans skirted past the tar pool. From the size and

coloration, Mops guessed them to be a mated group—a hi, a vi, and a si. Their young rode on the back of the eight-legged vi, looking like fat, giggling blue sausages. “Over here,” said Kumar, turning down another hallway. He shoved his

badge into a slot on the wall, and the door slid open. The lights came on automatically, revealing an empty room with six

fold-up cot frames built into the far wall. Carved steps in the wall formed a crude ladder for reaching the higher cots. An air vent rattled in the ceiling. A pool of centimeter-deep water shone around the drain in the center of the room. Kumar ran a white rag over the closest wall. It came away a waxy

yellow color. He sniffed the rag, then scowled. “They used a knock-off sanispray to disinfect this place, but didn’t wash it down properly once the foam dissolved.”

Mops checked the multispecies bathroom off to the side. The shower facility was a glorified hose, and the toilet was a large bowl in the floor. A set of seats was propped against one wall, each designed for a different species’ needs. “Not the worst place I’ve ever stayed,” Wolf said, folding down one of the top cots and doing a pull-up to test the frame’s strength. “What’s the plan for finding our Prodryans?”

“Weren’t you paying attention back at the meeting?” asked Monroe. “In the beginning, sure.” Wolf switched to one-handed pull-ups. “Then it got boring, so I went back to reading.”

Mops should have chewed her out for that, but she found it hard to get angry at Wolf for reading books. “They gave us three days. We’ll be working as station janitors for cover.”

That made Wolf perk up. “How much does it pay?”

She chuckled. “They pay by not tossing us into space.”

“And by getting copies of everything we learn,” Monroe added. “You know they’ll be monitoring us. Everything we do, everyone we talk to.”

“I’m guessing the badges are bugged,” agreed Mops. “Along with the usual station surveillance. Anything you say, assume the Coacalos family is listening over your shoulder.”

She subvocalized a follow-up, asking Doc to pass her words along to the team and hoping whatever listening tech was in place couldn’t crack short-range EMC signals. “They might be going along with us because they don’t want trouble from the Alliance. Or they could see it as an opportunity to get their hands on a potentially valuable weapon.”

“Quetzalus don’t have hands,” Kumar responded in kind, his words appearing on her monocle. “When do we start?” asked Wolf. “Prodryans tend to stick with Tower Two, as high up as they can afford. Gravity’s lighter up there. I say we head up and beat some answers out of—”

“Let’s save starting an intrastation war as our backup plan,” Mops interrupted. “Lazan Coacalos has given us limited docking records on Prodryan visitors, but I didn’t see much there. The Prodryans probably housed the fighters in a larger freighter with forged registration. We’re not going to find anything listed under Assault Commander Burns Like Sunspots or Prodryan fighter squadron 52.”

Wolf shook her head. “If this mission was so important, they would have

been careful.”

“I’m sure they were,” agreed Mops. “But secrets are slippery. You tried

to be careful last month when you were sneaking time with Private Salieri instead of finishing the mold inspection in the greenhouse.”

Wolf’s face reddened. “Or last year when Captain Brandenburg went on leave to have a child,”

Mops continued. “Only the command crew knew why she was leaving, but word leaked to the whole ship within two days. Keeping secrets is hard, especially in a place like this. Someone on Coacalos Station knows about Burns Like Sunspots and his squad. Someone has the answers we need.”

“There are hundreds of Prodryans on the station,” said Kumar. “How do

we find the one with answers?”

“The restaurants,” said Monroe. Kumar blinked. “Restaurants?”

“Squad 52 was about to fly off to attack an EMC cruiser,” said Mops. “What do Prodryans do before a battle?

They eat and drink and get wasted on fruit honey. Wolf, you know the restaurants here. Where should we start?”

“You really think anyone’s going to talk to humans?” asked Wolf. “Humans have a bad reputation. Not an entirely undeserved one.” She

gave Wolf a pointed look. “We’ll have to earn a little gratitude. This place is a mess, a SHS crew’s nightmare. That gives us the opportunity to make friends and improve our reputation. We’re station janitors now. Do the job, then ask questions. Fear of humanity is nothing compared to the relief of finally being able to use your toilet without worrying about explosive backfire.”

The list of backlogged maintenance tickets was extensive enough to keep Mops and her team employed for a year. Of the thirty-eight restaurants in the station directory, thirty-five had one or more service requests ranging from faucet replacements to a freezer that had been broken so long its contents had probably evolved into a primitive tool-using society. They started with Tower Two. From the outside, it looked like a stalagmite made of dark red glass. A sign at the main entrance warned visitors to expect lessened gravity, and listed the various gases in the air. Krakau and Tjikko were strictly prohibited from entering without a portable air supply, available from a vending machine to one side. Mops stepped carefully through the doors and across the threshold. The ground was perfectly flat, but her body felt like she’d missed a step on a staircase as she crossed onto the lower-power grav plates. Where the other towers she’d seen had floors to separate each level, Tower Two’s levels were separated primarily by bridges and platforms, allowing Prodryans to fly from one area to the next. Most structures had flat rooftops and ledges where Prodryans watched like colorful gargoyles as the humans entered their territory. Mops double-checked her list and the map Doc helpfully displayed on her monocle. Doing her best to look like a bored employee, she raised her voice and asked, “Can anyone tell us where to find a place called...

Well-Burnt Food for the Happiness of Your Ingestion Holes?”

“I assume the name flows better in the original language.”

A Glacidae wearing a respirator gestured to a path bordered in vivid purple brick, curving off to the left. Mops and her team spent the next two hours unclogging a backed-up drain in an acid-cooker, used for softening up certain Quetzalus delicacies. The second restaurant—Dead Meat Products with Spicy Grease, Served Fast!—needed six kilograms of congealed fat unclogged from their pipes. Both owners were grateful for the help, but neither had any information about Prodryan pirates hosting a prebattle feast in recent weeks. They also seemed quite eager to usher the humans out of their restaurant and away from customers—preferably through the back door. “Where did you eat when you were here?” Mops asked Wolf as they left Dead Meat Products. “A bottom-level dump in Tower Five called Home-Grown Spicy Protein Slabs. I can take you if—”

“Heads up!” Monroe’s shove sent Mops sprawling. In the reduced gravity, she slid and rolled a full three meters before recovering. She rose into a crouch as a pair of Prodryans flew through the air where she’d been standing. They swooped away, clawed limbs scraping along the ground. Monroe was close enough he could have cracked them both with his

baton. He didn’t, but kept the baton ready as he watched the pair fly higher to disappear among the bridges that crisscrossed the air higher up. “Bastards,” snarled Wolf, fumbling for her weapon. “Stand down,” Mops snapped. “They’re just kids. No armor or

enhancements. They probably dared one another to fly close to the scary humans.”

Her monocle had flagged a number of drawn guns from nearby

Prodryans who were doubtless hoping for an excuse to use them. From their rooftops and ledges, they’d have no trouble mowing down Mops and her team. Mops waited until Wolf secured her pistol. “The next job is a busted

utensil sanitizer at Cooks Good Meals Restaurant. Eighteen meters ahead and to the right, on Pink Street. Monroe, keep watching the sky. Everyone keep your hands off your guns unless they start shooting first.”

“Don’t they find it suspicious that maintenance staff are armed?” asked

Kumar. Wolf snorted. “Around here, they’d be more suspicious if we weren’t.” They reached the restaurant without incident. Inside the door were a pair

of bulky vending machines. One offered a variety of Prodryan cigars, while the other sold Krakau stim slugs—dried sea creatures with a mildly intoxicating effect. Past the entryway, the building split into two wings. A ramp to the left led down to a shallow pond where two groups of Krakau dined at floating tables. To the right was a larger, tall-ceilinged area occupied mostly by Prodryans. An unfamiliar song played over ceiling-mounted speakers, blending with the clicks and splashes of conversation. A greeter pedestal with a squeaky wheel zipped up to welcome them to

the restaurant and ask for their party size and seating preference. Mops tapped the “Other” button and said, “Maintenance. We’re here about the broken sanitizer.”

As if he’d been waiting for them, a Merraban burst through a door in the

far wall, his long arms raised in greeting. “Welcome, and thank you!

I’m Cooks Good Meals. Call me Cook.”

“I thought that was the name of the restaurant,” said Kumar. “It’s named after me. Cooks Good Meals’ Restaurant. The possessive doesn’t translate well from Prodryan Pidgin into Human.” He gestured toward the door behind him. “This way, this way.”

Merraba were friendly, but relatively rare. Most preferred to live their lives in their home system. Mops had only encountered three others in her life. Cook was typical of the species, standing a meter high, with an armored torso shaped like a giant yellow walnut. He stood on four fuzzy legs. Extending those legs would double his height, but most Merraba were more comfortable in that squatting posture, despite the fact that their absurdly long arms tended to drag along the ground. Each arm was twice as long and twice as furry as the legs. Only the hands were hairless, with five jointed fingers and two thumbs, one on either side of the palm. Cook’s head was small and bare, mostly hidden by the yellow fur of his shoulders. When threatened, Merraba could duck their heads entirely into their shells, leaving one or both eyestalks exposed if they chose. Not that anything was likely to threaten a Merraban. They were one of the most easygoing races in the galaxy, even adopting new names to fit in with other cultures. Mops wondered what Cook had called himself before he took on a Prodryan-style name. “That sanitizer’s been acting up for weeks,” said Cook, leading them into the kitchen. “We’ve had to cycle it two, three times just to get a decent clean. Sometimes the heat doesn’t kick in at all.”

“Sounds like an electrical problem,” said Monroe. Kumar glanced around. “Depends on the model. Some of the older industrial sanitizers had glitchy temperature sensors. If that gets corroded, it can cause erratic heating.”

Large refrigeration units dominated the back wall. A long, multi-surface cooking table stretched most of the length of the kitchen. On one end, a Prodryan grilled a batch of small yellow insects skewered with sliced orange tubers of some kind. Beside her, another Prodryan fought to keep a green-shelled crustacean from crawling out of a metal pot. “Clamp that lid,” Cook barked to the second Prodryan. A Krakau hurried out of a storage closet and pulled herself up to help. The sanitizer was a chest-high metal box set into the wall. It reminded Mops a little of an old safe, with its reinforced round door. A rotten-egg smell drifted up the instant Cook opened it. Inside was a series of circular racks and shelves for dishes, utensils, pots, and pans of all sizes. “Smells like you’ve got a bacterial problem growing in the hoses, too,”

said Mops. “Can we disconnect the power without disrupting the rest of your kitchen?”

Cook stepped nimbly out of the way. “Do whatever it takes.” Disassembling the sanitizer took close to an hour, after which Kumar

crawled inside to examine and test various hoses and electrical connections. “I was right. The sensor’s gunked up. Looks like some clogged jets as well.”

A sensor module clattered onto the floor a moment later. Monroe picked

up the small metal rod and began scrubbing it down. Wolf crouched at the door and fed a power-spray hose in for Kumar. “Would you like to try a roasted Tjikko nut?” asked Cook, coming up

behind them. “No, thank you,” Mops said firmly. “We brought our own food.” His eyestalks twitched in dismay. “I’ve seen the nutrient tubes humans

are expected to ingest. Calling them ‘food’ is an insult to food throughout the galaxy. To subsist on nothing but tasteless goop in a tube...”

“They’re good, sir!” The sterilizer amplified and echoed Wolf’s voice. “The nuts, I mean. Don’t worry, you’re not eating part of a Tjikko. The nuts come from a non-sentient tree from their world.”

Cook extended the nut. It was the size of Mops’ fist, with a green string

tied around the middle. The ebony shell was polished and scored to be easily cracked. “I infuse them with an oil similar to your Earth chocolate. I so love seeing your facial expressions the first time you taste one. Consider it my way of welcoming you to the station.”

“I appreciate the offer, but it’s not healthy for our species.” Mops patted

him on the arm, remembering how fond Merraba were of friendly physical contact. “Thank you, though. It’s nice to run into someone who isn’t terrified we’re going to eat them.”

“Merraba are toxic. I imagine eating one of us would make even a

human sick.” He made a warm trilling sound, the equivalent of laughter. “I’m just happy to see four more humans who’ve escaped the EMC.”

“Escaped?” Monroe repeated. Cook gestured at their jumpsuits. Mops had made certain they removed

all rank and other insignia, but anyone familiar with EMC issue uniforms would still recognize them. “Do you know why the Krakau haven’t enlisted scientists from other species to help cure your planet?”

“Because they don’t want to risk anyone sabotaging their work,” said Monroe. “Or trying to use that research against us.”

Obviously, that secrecy hadn’t stopped the Prodryans. “Could be, could be.” Cook bobbed his eyestalks again in easy agreement. “But I’ve always found it curious, how protective they were of your Earth. I remember when the Quetzalus first detected signs of life on your planet, about a hundred years ago. They filed their intentions to send an exploratory probe, all legal and proper. Next thing you know, the Krakau are scrambling to put together a mission of their own to get there first.”

“You remember that?” asked Wolf. “Merraba can live two hundred years,” said Mops. “Not pissing off everyone you meet has a significant effect on life expectancy.”

“True enough,” trilled Cook. “I’ve always wondered what the Krakau wanted so much that they stole Earth from under the Quetzalus’ beaks.”

“You think they were after us?” guessed Monroe. “Humans?”

“Let’s just say, as an outside observer, it looks like they’ve gotten an excellent return on their investment in Earth. Don’t get me wrong. If you’re satisfied with your arrangement, it’s none of my business. But I like you people. You’re mostly straightforward, easy to deal with, and all a little crazy. You might be an endangered species, but I’m rooting for you.”

A spurt of water inside the sanitizer made Kumar jerk back. “It’s all right,” he called. “Just cleared a water line, that’s all. Someone hand me a vise clamp and a tube of sterigel to flush the line.”

While Monroe and Wolf assisted with the repair, Mops lowered her voice and said, “You mostly serve Prodryans here?”

“I serve anyone willing to eat,” he said, with a good-natured bump of her arm. “But Tower Two is mostly Prodryans, yes. They won’t harm you if that’s what you’re worried about. They may not like humans—or anyone else—but they follow Coacalos rules.”

“They declare war on the galaxy, but they play nice on this station?”

“For now, sure.” Cook turned to shout orders at one of his chefs. With one eyestalk watching his employees, he continued, “Some Prodryans will kill other species on instinct, but every race has its outliers.”

He rapped his knuckles on his shell, as if to demonstrate. “There’s an advantage to neutral territory where they can interact with other species. To buy or trade for things they can’t steal, or just to catch up on the galactic gossip. Don’t let them goad you into a fight, though. If you fire the first shot, all bets are off.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” Mops lowered her voice. “I hear they can get

pretty rowdy. Especially at those prebattle feasts.”

Cook leaned closer. “Who doesn’t get riled up at a party?

But they’ve

never given me trouble I couldn’t handle. Some broken furniture and dishware, maybe. I make sure they pay for the damages.”

“How long since the last one?” Mops asked. “Eleven days.”

Which would match the timing for the attack on the Pufferfish. Mops

checked the other cooks again. “Do you happen to remember the names of those Prodryans?”

Cook’s eyestalks bobbed again, giving her a once-over. “Why does it

matter?”

“They may be responsible for hurting some friends of mine.” He started to back away. “I’m not interested in helping anyone get their

revenge.”

“I don’t want revenge,” said Mops. Wolf perked up. “I do!”

Mops elbowed her in the ribs. “We’re here to try to stop them from

hurting anyone else.”

“I appreciate your assistance with the sanitizer, and I have great

sympathy for your situation and your species, but—”

“Tell him you’ll eat the Tjikko nut,” said Wolf. Mops spun. “What?”

Wolf stepped toward Cook. “She’s fresh from the EMC, like you

guessed. She’s never tasted real food in her life. Not since she was cured, anyway. Your concoction would be the first thing she ever eats. Believe me, you never forget your first time.”

Mops’ glare promised a long string of nasty assignments, followed by

extreme death, but Wolf ignored her. “Never?” Cook repeated, turning back to Mops. His eyes bulged with a

mix of sympathy and disbelief. “Not even an illicit taste while on leave?”

“It’s not a good habit for us to develop,” Mops said sternly. Wolf snorted. “One nut is not a habit, and I promise it won’t hurt you.”

“She’s probably right,” Doc added. “There are very few documented cases of eating-related reversion, and none of them were triggered by anything this small.”

“Et tu, Doc?” With a sigh, she held out her hand. “All right.”

“Oh, wonderful!” Cook trilled. He placed the nut into her palm and waited expectantly. “Don’t eat the string.”

It was heavier than she’d expected. She tugged off the string and turned the nut over in her hand. “How do I do this?”

“Here.” Monroe took it in his mechanical hand and squeezed. The shell split along the carved line. He tugged the two halves apart and gave them back. The interior looked like a little fossilized black brain, divided into two oblong hemispheres. Some sort of syrup or glaze shone in the wrinkles. “I just...

dig it out and eat it?”

“I can get you a nut fork if you’d like,” Cook offered. He put a fuzzy arm around her shoulders. “Most prefer to use their fingers, though.”

With a sigh, Mops dug her fingertips around the wrinkled mass and pulled half of it free with a cracking sound. It felt like water-softened wood, and smelled earthy and sweet. Saliva pooled in her mouth. She crunched down. Chewed. Swallowed. “Well?” asked Wolf. Mops swore silently to herself. “It’s...

delicious.”

TO ALL COOKS GOOD MEALS EMPLOYEES

Re: Surprising Guests with Celebratory Outbursts

We’re all familiar with the Prodryan celebration of First Flight, marking a young Prodryan’s successful survival after being hurled from the nest. Many Prodryans choose to celebrate in this very restaurant. Staff are welcome and encouraged to help with this and all other

festivities, whether that means a song and free dessert for a mated Nusuran trio celebrating their sexual anniversary, toffee-wax candles for our Krakau patrons to enjoy on the Day of High Tides, or in the case of First Flight, providing fire wine and harmless explosives for friends of the family to set off when the triumphant Prodryan enters the restaurant. I appreciate initiative, but we must also be aware of different species’

habits and preferences. Quetzalus mourn the death of a family member with a quiet celebration

of that person’s life and accomplishments. It was an honor to have the Xalupux family choose Cooks Good Meals as their gathering place to mark the passing of their matriarch. (A potentially profitable honor, given Quetzalus appetites!)

I understand Assistant Chef Swift Knife was only trying to enhance the

celebration. However, surprising a group of mourning Quetzalus with explosives and flaming drinks is not only culturally inappropriate, it’s potentially dangerous. As Swift Knife and everyone else present that night learned, Quetzalus have a deeply ingrained fear response, evolved to allow them to better fight or flee in times of danger. All total, our guests’ projectile vomited approximately fourteen kilograms of partially digested food matter throughout the restaurant. Given that Swift Knife was directly in the path of this explosion, I don’t think there’s any need for disciplinary action. The concussion he suffered from the impact was consequence enough, and I’m certain he will not make the same mistake again. That said, if it does happen again, all cleaning and medical costs will come from the responsible employee’s paycheck. Thank you!

—Cooks Good Meals

M OPS HAD INTENDED TO go straight to the Coacalos family for information on the names Cook had given them, but Kumar recognized one from their maintenance list. Heart of Glass, from apartment 2-6-103, had put in a request more than a week ago for a clogged drain line. She stepped off the lift and double-checked her monocle. According to Doc’s map, Tower Two, Level Six, Room 103 should be right across this bridge. The bridge to the residential section stretched like crystallized red toffee from the lift, splitting off from a central platform in four other directions. Thinner reinforcing strands made the whole thing look like a giant bloody spiderweb. The gravity was even lighter up here, allowing the Prodryans to drift and loop about as they watched Mops step onto the bridge. Despite its appearance, it felt solid enough to support them. Monroe had to hunch to grip the low railing. A yellow-winged male with a thin, metal exoskeleton affixed to his limbs corkscrewed around them, never quite coming within reach. “We’re here to fix a waste line in 103,” Mops called out as she approached the pentagonal platform at the center of the bridge. The looping Prodryan alighted on the rail. “You’re not wanted here. The

last resident brought a human to this level, and its stink fouled the whole section.”

Mops simply smiled. “How long ago was that?”

“Thirty days the stench has lingered.”

“It’ll be easier to clean if we know what Hurt of Ass was doing with this

human.”

The Prodryan paused. “Heart of Glass’ business is none of yours,

human.”

“Thanks anyway.” Mops tapped the side of her monocle and moved her

lips like she was reading. “Says here Mister Glass was working with some sort of venom. You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?”

The Prodryan spread his wings and moved closer, mouth pincers spread. He had a floral smell, surprisingly pleasant. “I know nothing of Heart of Glass’ work with azure venom.”

Bless Prodryan attempts at lying. “Azure venom, is it?” He froze, then spat a small pellet onto the floor in front of her and

jumped from the platform. Mops watched him swoop toward a balcony one level below. “Doc—”

“Already on it. I’m not aware of any references to azure venom, but I’ll

keep searching.”

Mops took her time crossing to apartment 103, hoping another Prodryan

might try to get in their faces and accidentally provide additional information, but they seemed content to watch and glare. The smell was worse than she’d expected, making her nose wrinkle

from four doors away. She could hear the air filtration fans rattling and vibrating like growling metal robots, but they couldn’t fully clear the pungent smell of chemicals and rotten meat. “It wasn’t me,” Wolf said, waving a hand in front of her face. A notice on the door’s lock screen explained that the room was closed

for maintenance. A swipe of Mops’ badge deactivated the lock. Mops stepped inside. She was tempted to seal her hood, but in this line

of work, smell offered too many clues to where a given problem could be coming from. “They blame that stink on one human?” asked Monroe, waving his left

hand in front of his face. Wolf stopped in the doorway. “Should we really be going in there?

If they were working on their venom weapon—”

“Anything in the air would have cycled through the station by now,” said Kumar, his voice tight. “You saw how fast it spread through the Pufferfish, and I guarantee our air circulation system is cleaner than anything here.”

The first thing to catch Mops’ eye was a large cylindrical tank with a curved door. “Doc, check the logs on this room and find out when they installed a Glacidae shower.”

“Twenty-six days ago, billed to Heart of Glass.”

Mops surveyed the rest of the room. Three small hammocks hung from the high ceiling. A stone-topped worktable sat against one wall. She checked the gleaming surface—spotless. Someone had done a much better job cleaning this room than the one Mops and her team were staying in over in Tower Five. Kumar pulled on his gloves, sealed his hood, and slid open the shower door, releasing a new cloud of stink. “According to the work order, this is the drain line they clogged up. I’ll pop off the grate.”

“I’m surprised you’re taking the lead on this one,” said Wolf. “You can’t walk past a window without scrubbing the fingerprints clean, but you want to reach into that cesspit?”

“I’d rather cut off my own hand.” Kumar’s face was pale. Sweat beaded and dripped from the tip of his nose. “But whatever’s in here, we’ve all been breathing it. The quicker we find out what it is, the quicker we can purge it from the station and, if necessary, our lungs.”

“You said if it was gonna hurt us, it would have done it by now.” Wolf bent to peer over Kumar’s shoulder. “We were probably just inhaling particles of rot or shit or shed skin.”

Kumar tugged the grate. One of his hands slipped, coming up to smack Wolf in the side of the head. Wolf staggered backward. “You did that on purpose!”

“I hope so,” said Mops, before Kumar could respond. “It saved me the trouble of doing it myself.”

Kumar tossed the grate aside and shone a light down the pipe. “It’s pooled up about ten centimeters in.” He grabbed a slender pry bar from his harness and poked one end deep into the mess. “Something crunchy, like eggshells. Quetzalus lay eggs, don’t they?”

“No way Heart of Glass swiped a Quetzalus egg,” said Monroe. “Not on

this station. The Coacalos family would have ripped his wings off.”

Kumar sat back. “We need a vacuum snake.”

Unfortunately, theirs was back on the Pufferfish. Mops checked the list

of cleaning supplies in the nearest maintenance closet. “Looks like the closest they’ve got is a basic three-centimeter vacuum hose.”

“So let’s siphon out the water and get a better look at the blockage,” said

Monroe. “Bad idea.” Wolf pointed at the pipes coming into the tank. “Glacidae

use a mild acid wash to keep their shells clean and polished. Given how cheap the rest of the station maintenance equipment has been, I doubt their hose could handle it.”

Mops raised an eyebrow at her. “I had to adjust the acid levels and neutralizing rinse in Grom’s quarters

last month, remember?

Burned the hair off my left arm, along with a few layers of skin.”

“Find another option.” Mops turned to examine the rest of the room. Pale discoloration on the floor showed where droplets from the Glacidae shower had splashed beyond the tile. She found a closet and a small wall safe, both of which were unlocked and empty. Eye hooks on the ceiling were spaced out to hold four more hammocks, if necessary. She also found a broken security monitor nestled in the corner. She checked the garbage bin next. The contents had been purged and the

interior sanitized. “Nothing here.”

“Check the waste logs,” said Kumar. Wolf laughed derisively. “Waste logs?”

“The station charges for both the disposal of day-to-day trash and for

organic excretions. Everything gets analyzed and weighed and logged. Didn’t you read the toilet-and-sewage section of the orientation packet?”

Mops raised a hand to forestall further argument. “Doc, can you pull up

the logs for this room?

Trash and organic waste.”

A column of data streamed onto her monocle, each entry tagged by date,

time, weight, material, and cost. Doc highlighted four rows and said, “It appears several of our Prodryans returned from their celebration at Cook’s eleven days ago and promptly vomited.”

Mops started with the garbage log. “Ten days back, Heart of Glass threw

out what look like mem crystal fragments, synthetic fabrics, chemical powders, and pieces of nonfunctional electronic equipment.” She switched her attention to the organic logs. “Most of the waste is tagged Prodryan, but not all. They also flushed material from a Glacidae, a human...

and a Krakau.”

“They had a Krakau in here?” asked Wolf. “Not necessarily,” said Kumar. He and Monroe had both squeezed into the Glacidae shower, trying to clear the drain. “All we know is that someone flushed Krakau waste material. We don’t know if that material came directly from the Krakau. Maybe it was brought here by an intermediary.”

Wolf grimaced. “Why in the icy depths would anyone—”

“I’ve got something,” Monroe interrupted, to Mops’ relief. She stepped around to the shower door to find Monroe stretched out on the floor. His right sleeve lay flat on the tile. With his left hand, he held the gleaming white bicep of his detached artificial arm. “What did you do?”

“Found something the acid wouldn’t hurt.” Monroe shifted to one side while Kumar reached over with his gloved hands to help pull the arm free. Oily yellow liquid dripped from the unnaturally white skin. The arm twisted in Kumar’s grip, making him yelp and nearly drop it. “Be careful!

That’s expensive.” Monroe pushed himself upright. “Arm, show us what you found.”

The arm held out a handful of pitted yellow bone. Kumar set the arm gently on the shower floor and poked the fragments. “I hate to say it, but I think these are human.” He grabbed a pebble-sized bone between his thumb and index finger. “No other species we’ve encountered has teeth this size and shape.”

“Poor bastard,” said Wolf. “How long would it take to dissolve a human body in a Glacidae acid shower?” asked Kumar. “Depends on whether they were properly diluting the acid wash,” said Wolf. Mops thought back to her conversation with Lazan and Ix Coacalos, and Lazan’s comment about a human employee who’d quit without notice. “I think we’ve found the Coacalos family’s missing worker.”

Hauling the remains of a fellow human through the station in a ten-kilo biohazard container felt disrespectful, but at least the bright green warning labels kept the Prodryans at a distance. In the lighter gravity of the upper tower, the box felt empty, but the rattling of shifting bones reminded her what she carried. Monroe had retrieved most of the bones from the drain, along with a few

pieces of corroded metal—buckles and other fasteners. The rest had flushed away once he removed the worst of the blockage. Monroe’s right arm hung limply at his side. He insisted everything had

passed diagnostics, and Arm was just pouting about being used as a drain snake. A quick wash and rinse in neutralizer wasn’t enough to make up for that level of indignity. Which seemed reasonable enough to Mops. They were halfway back to Tower Five when Doc flashed an incoming

message alert. “It’s from Ix Lataclox.”

“I was wondering when you’d call,” said Mops. “Thank you for recovering the remains of our worker.”

“You’re sure that’s who it is?”

“Genetic testing will confirm the identity,” said Ix. “Assuming the acid

hasn’t corrupted the DNA. Please bring the remains to the organic waste processing facility on level one of Tower One.”

Mops stopped walking. “Waste processing?

You’re going to recycle

them?”

“It’s the most cost-efficient choice. Unless you wish to purchase the

remains?

As de facto station employees, I could arrange for you to receive a five percent discount.”

Mops closed her eyes, calming herself with soothing images of punching

Ix Lataclox in the throat. “What was the human’s name?”

“Does it matter?

The human’s death is unfortunate, but it’s obvious the

Coacalos family had nothing to do with these matters.”

She counted ten more punches. “The name.”

There was a long pause. “Floyd...

Westerman, I believe.”

“I assume you had the humans crammed into one of the bottom-level

apartments in Tower Five. Where can we find the roommates?” A short list appeared on Mops’ monocle. She ended the connection. “Doc, who on that list is closest?”

“Vera Rubin, a security guard currently working in Arena Two, down in

the first sublevel.”

Monroe stepped closer to whisper, “We’re being followed. Thirty meters back. Green wing. She’s been watching us since the lift.”

“Took them long enough,” Mops replied. “Doc, show me.”

Doc ran a quick replay of everything Mops’ monocle had seen since leaving the lift, quickly picking out and highlighting four stills of the Prodryan. Her right wing appeared to be missing. The other was lime green and lay flat against her body, the end ragged. A dull brown shawl over the right side of her body could conceal any number of small weapons. She was obviously watching the humans, but that proved nothing. Half the station was staring at Mops and her team, while the other half was just as obviously avoiding eye contact. Mops handed the crate over to Wolf. “Monroe, you and Wolf take Westerman back to our quarters. Give your arm a proper cleaning and tune-up while you’re there. Maybe that will soothe its hurt feelings. Kumar and I will go talk to Vera Rubin. We’ll see who our friend follows, if anyone.”

“We’re not taking Westerman to Tower One for processing?” asked Kumar. “Hell, no.”

Monroe smiled. “Yes, sir.”

The Prodryan chose to follow Mops and Kumar. Mops looked from side to side like a gawking tourist as she walked, allowing Doc to track their follower from the edges of Mops’ monocle. When they reached the lift, the Prodryan turned away to enter a small shop selling exoskeletal etchings and piercings. “Doc, tap into the team’s monocles and put a flag on that Prodryan. If she enters visual range of anyone on the team, highlight her as a potential threat.” As the lift closed behind her, she added, “But remind Wolf that does not mean she has free rein to start shooting!”

Sublevel one had a cavernous feel: tall and dimly lit, with vast open spaces between rounded structures that grew out of floor and ceiling like insect hives. Everything was the red-brown hue of iron-rich rock. The hum of station machinery filled the air, and Mops could feel the faint vibration beneath her feet. She didn’t see many people, and of those she did, most appeared to be station employees. A pair of Quetzalus hauled a shuttle-sized load of fertilizer toward one of the plant feeding stations at the far wall. A Glacidae maintenance worker hung upside down from the ceiling, working on a bad lighting panel. After making sure nobody was paying them too much attention, Mops

set off toward Arena Two. Unlike the rest of the sublevel, the three large arenas were decorated in bright-colored stripes and labeled in more languages than Mops could count. There was even a small section in Human that listed upcoming events and attractions, along with the prices for each. The main entrance was six meters wide and blocked by a metal gate

bristling with thorny spikes. A thick-limbed woman stood to one side, a heavy club in one hand. Mops’ monocle identified the club as a modified combat baton. “The next event isn’t for another hour,” said the woman. “Vera Rubin?” Mops guessed. She frowned. “Who’s asking?”

“We’re from Maintenance,” said Mops. “We should be in the system.” Rubin closed one eye. She had no visible monocle, but was probably

wearing a lens or using some kind of implant. When she looked up again, her demeanor had eased from wariness into a generally depressed slump. “I didn’t realize the family had hired new humans. Don’t get your hopes up. It’s no better here than in the EMC.”

Vera Rubin wore what looked like an old, modified black EMC uniform,

layered with thin armor plates over the torso, shoulders, waist, and thighs. A black helmet mostly concealed a set of dark scars down the side of her neck. “The next event is a Tellarian bone duel?” asked Kumar. “I’ve never

seen one.”

“Bone duels aren’t bad,” Vera said in a low monotone. “Pointless, but no

more than the rest of this drivel they call entertainment. The Nusuran sex opera later tonight is worse. Short-lived titillation to fill the meaningless void of people’s lives. We’ll probably have another packed house.”

“Sex opera?

I hope your autocleaner’s well-maintained.” Mops gave a

mock shudder, then nodded toward Rubin’s scars. “You were infantry?”

“I was, yeah, but these are from fighting a couple of Nusurans who tried

to sneak into a water ballet without paying.” Rubin started to say more, when something in her breast pocket squirmed and let out a low gurgle. “Sorry, hold on.”

“What’s that?” Kumar asked, peering closer. Rubin pulled what looked like a seven-centimeter-long slug from her pocket. “Nusuran blood slug.”

Kumar searched his equipment harness. “I’ve got a spray in here that should—”

“It’s my pet,” Rubin continued. “I named it Slug.” She rolled up her sleeve and set the blue slug on her forearm. “I’ve been teaching it tricks. Mostly things like ‘Hide’ and ‘Stand up.’”

She snapped her fingers twice, and Slug reared up to display its slick blue underbelly. “You used to share an apartment with Floyd Westerman,” said Mops. “That’s right.” She nudged Slug, who coiled around her wrist like a slimy bracelet. “He didn’t like my pets.”

“Pets, plural?” asked Kumar. “How many do you have?”

“Twelve, if you count my tapeworm.” She smiled slightly, the first sign of emotion Mops had seen. “I’m saving up for an Earth dog. Or maybe a possum.”

“We wanted to talk to you,” Mops pressed. “Earlier today, my team found what we think are Floyd’s remains.”

She sighed and tugged Slug from her wrist. “If he’s dead, are they really his remains anymore?

Who owns a body with no life left in it?”

“There’s plenty of life left in dead bodies.” Kumar hesitated. “Though probably not this one.”

Rubin turned her full attention to Kumar. “You think the remains belong to the microorganisms that consume us after we die?

That’s a lovely thought.”

Mops couldn’t tell whether that was sarcasm or genuine sentiment. “Legally, it’s another story,” Kumar continued. “According to station regulations, the Coacalos family can claim ownership, meaning they would technically be the Coacalos’ remains. But in the larger scheme of things, who says we own our bodies in the first place?

Is it just right of first occupation?

Our biological parents contributed the initial cells.”

“Ownership is imaginary,” Rubin countered. “Everything is temporary.”

“We found Floyd in Tower Two,” Mops interrupted. “We’re trying to figure out how he ended up there. Do you know why he would have gone into a Prodryan residence?”

She shrugged. “Floyd was Security, like most of us. He was a charger.”

“Charger?” asked Kumar. “Big, strong, and scary looking,” explained Wolf. “They charge into a

conflict, hollering like maniacs. Half the time, the sight of a huge, half-crazed human running at you is enough to end a fight right there.”

A human like that would have been even harder for the Prodryans to

abduct against his will. “He wasn’t really scary,” said Rubin. “Slug liked him.” She frowned

and, for the first time, looked Mops in the eyes. “What are you here to work on?

I didn’t think we had anything in the maintenance queue.”

“You don’t,” said Mops. “Did Floyd say anything about a Prodryan

named Heart of Glass?”

“The moths mostly keep to themselves. Humans, too. We do our jobs

and keep our heads down. It’s better for everyone. Floyd had problems, but he kept away from the bloody tower.”

“The bloody tower?” asked Kumar. “Floyd said Tower Two was the color human blood used to be, before

the plague. He knew lots of things about old Earth and pre-plague humans. He collected Earth artifacts. Plastic toys and old writing instruments. A pair of glasses frames. Little pins to wear on his shirt.”

“What kind of problems did he have?” Mops asked, gently trying to

keep the conversation on track. Rubin looked at Mops like an instructor with a particularly dim pupil. “The same problem we all have. Money. Earth artifacts aren’t cheap. Floyd owed a lot of money to Theta.”

“Theta?” Mops repeated. “The Tjikko who lives in Tower Six. He knows as much about what

goes on in the station as the Coacalos family. Maybe more. She has his roots into everything.”

“Did she work with the Prodryans?” Mops stumbled only slightly over

the pronoun. Every species’ gender terminology translated differently into Human. Glacidae preferred the singular “they.” Krakau, all of whom were capable of carrying and bearing young, had chosen “she.”

The Tjikko, once they got over their amusement at the concept of

gender, had chosen to alternate pronouns. They said the variation best reflected their own biology, which changed depending on the season and whether they chose to flower and cross-pollinate. Mops hadn’t worked with enough Tjikko for the conversational back-and-forth to become habit. “He worked with everyone,” said Rubin. Mops nodded. “What would Theta do if you owed her money?”

“He always gets her money back, one way or another.”

Before Mops could follow up, an impact like a hammer slammed into the back of her thigh. Her leg buckled, and she caught Kumar’s arm to keep from falling. “Suit punctures,” Doc warned. “Back and front.”

“You’re bleeding,” said Rubin, in that same empty monotone. She grabbed Mops with one hand, Kumar with the other, and hauled them both into the relative shelter of the arched gateway. After pressing them both against the stone wall, she pulled her combat baton and switched it on. “Sir?” Panic honed Kumar’s voice. Mops looked down at the two-centimeter hole in her uniform. Her right thigh throbbed, presumably from the matching hole through her leg. “Your heart rate and breathing have sped up, and your pupil is enlarged.” The words sounded distant and distorted. “You’re in danger of going into shock.”

Another shot shattered a chunk of wall by Kumar’s head. He jumped back, jabbing his arm and shoulder against the barbs on the gate. “Stay down.” Mops grabbed a tube of bioglue from the emergency kit on her harness. “Doc, where did that shot come from?”

“Based on the entry and exit wounds, given where you were standing at the time...” An arrow appeared on her monocle, pointing back in the direction of the lift. “The shot may have chipped the outer edge of your femur, but the fact that you’re still standing means it didn’t shatter completely.”

She bit the cap from the tube and fumbled to get the nozzle into the hole in the front of her leg. “They wouldn’t be shooting at us if we weren’t onto something.”

“They might,” said Rubin. She peeked around the archway, then yanked back to avoid more gunfire. “Most people don’t like humans.”

“Don’t you have a gun?” asked Kumar. “The Coacalos don’t trust human employees with guns.” Rubin adjusted the controls on her baton. A portion of the electromagnetically secured monofilaments bent and reformed into a new configuration, creating rows of three-centimeter spikes on the end of the weapon. “I’ll charge them. You call for assistance.”

“They’re after us, not you.” Mops awkwardly squeezed another glob of

bioglue into the back hole. Replacing the cap, she returned it to her harness. “Monroe, this is Mops. We’ve got company. The angry type, with guns.”

“Wolf and I can be down there in ten minutes.”

“Be careful. They might have backup watching the lifts.” Mops drew her

gun, biting back the urge to tell him to hurry. Monroe knew as well as she did that this would probably be over in ten minutes. One way or another. Warning: Tonight’s Nusuran opera may be offensive to members of sexually repressed cultures. The performers may ask for a volunteer from the audience. Volunteers must be physically healthy. Coacalos Station is not responsible for any injuries suffered by those who choose to participate. For this performance, the part of the Interstellar Brothel Ghost will be played by understudy Loka-Farnikor-vi. Rows 1-4 have been designated as a potential “splash zone.” Anyone wishing to change seats must notify an usher before the performance begins. Recording for personal use only is permitted and encouraged. These are trained athletes and actors. Do not try what you are about to see at home. M OPS SHIFTED TO GUN’S-EYE view and pointed the barrel around the edge of the archway. Doc indicated the direction of their attackers, but she didn’t see anyone. Any station employees had scurried for shelter. Even the insects had burrowed into the walls and ceiling, leaving the sublevel eerily still. A shot from the opposite direction came close to removing her hand at the wrist. She jerked back. “Dammit, Doc!”

“It’s possible the shooters relocated.”

“You think?” Mops fired twice at the edge of a small equipment storage

building, her best guess as to where the shooter was hiding. “We’re pinned down. Rubin, get this gate open. We’ll cut through the arena to get away.”

“That’s against the rules,” Rubin said flatly. “Only performers and

authorized personnel can enter the arena between performances.”

Mops spied movement toward the lift. She shot three more times,

sending the figure scurrying back for cover. “They’ll kill us if we stay here.”

Rubin cocked her head, as if considering the possible outcomes. “That

seems likely.”

Kumar put a hand on Rubin’s arm. With his other hand, he pointed to the

gouged stones of the archway. “They’ll also do a great deal of damage to the arena. You’re supposed to protect this place, right?”

“That’s right.”

“Let us into the arena,” Kumar continued. “Once we’re inside, they’ll

stop shooting at it. You’ll be saving it from damage. Then you can kick us out through another doorway.”

Rubin took several long seconds to consider the idea before turning

around and pressing her badge against the control panel. There was no sound to indicate a change, but when she pushed the gate, it swung inward. Mops shoved Rubin and Kumar through, then hobbled after, pulling it shut behind her. “Can you lock it again?”

“It locks on its own.”

The arched tunnel was broad enough for two Quetzalus to walk side by

side, and extended roughly two meters. Mops hurried through to find herself in an enormous lobby area, with shuttered shops along the walls. Stairs, ramps, and lifts led both down toward the stage and up to higher tiers of seats. Enormous vid screens hung from the ceiling. Without an active signal,

they looked like rectangles of translucent smoky glass. On the stage, a group of Glacidae arranged squares of rocky terrain for the upcoming show. “Get out!” Mops shouted. “We’re working here,” one called back. “Come back when the show

starts, you stupid human.”

A slight pause and change in inflection suggested Doc had substituted

“human” for one of the more vulgar terms for Mops’ species. With a sigh, she limped forward, pointed her gun over the stage, and fired. The Glacidae dropped low and scurried away without a sound. The only thing scarier than a human was a human with a gun. Kumar grabbed Mops’ other arm, and they hurried after the fleeing Glacidae. They’d just reached the main stage when a small explosion behind them marked the arrival of their attackers. A pressure wave thundered through the arena, along with the rattle of shrapnel. The Glacidae stage crew belched in terror and ran faster, leaving oily black trails as they disappeared into a dark maintenance tunnel. Rubin paused, staring at something only she could see. “The Glacidae have secured the exit behind them to prevent us from following.”

“Can you open it?” snapped Mops. “I am not part of the stage crew,” she said simply. Mops limped down the closest ramp and cut across through the relative shelter of the deep Quetzalus seats. “Doc, can you alert station security?”

“I’m being jammed.”

Mops’ fist tightened. “Is there another way out?”

Rubin shook her head. “The Quetzalus don’t want anyone sneaking in to sabotage or rig an event.”

Mops scanned the arena. The seats in the pie-shaped sections were clearly designed for different species, from oversized divots for Quetzalus to the miniature jungle gyms for the Krakau. None offered much in the way of hiding spots. Brown daubed-on insulation covered most of the ceiling, all save the air vents, lighting, and the arena autocleaner. The vents were probably maintained from the outside, maybe from an access tunnel on the next level. “Rubin, where are the controls for that autocleaner?”

“I’m not sure. I usually stay by the gate.”

Kumar poked his head up to look around. Mops hauled him down, barely saving him from getting shot. “Looks like a Tun-Ka-Vi autocleaner. If they’re using a standard model, the controls should be built into the stage itself. Given the size of the stage, it’s probably a Seven or Eight. The Eight has more efficient heating and a wider nozzle range, but it costs almost twice as much as—”

“Come on,” said Mops, shoving him to the floor and crawling toward the stage. Gunfire raked the seats, then fell quiet. A quick peek back showed their attackers moving through the aisles to line up a better shot. “Are those Krakau?”

Doc froze and enhanced the image. “Indeed. Four of them.” The gunfire started up again as they reached the bottom row. The stage

stood before them on a meter-high base of sculpted stone. Doc helpfully translated the captions on the different scenes carved into the stone, tribute to some of the most famous events held here. Mops saw everything from hand-to-hand fights to a galactic record-setting display of competitive flatulence. A Nusuran held the title for decibels, but a Quetzalus had easily overpowered them in terms of sheer, eye-watering power. Kumar stopped abruptly and pointed to the faint lines of a conduit

channel in the floor. “There’s a power line here.” He squatted in front of the stage, then turned in confusion. “I’m sorry, sir, but why are we worrying about cleaning the stage?

This wasn’t on our maintenance list, and even if it was—”

Mops shoved him aside and followed the conduit to a small rectangular

panel on the side of the stage. She ripped off the cover. Inside was a grid of amber lights. A few blinked at varying speeds, while the rest glowed steadily. “Oh, wow, it’s a Six Mark II,” said Kumar, peering over her shoulder. “This thing’s twenty years out of date. This is just a maintenance panel, not the main console.”

“Can we control the autocleaner from here?” snapped Mops. Kumar brought his badge to the panel. The lights turned red. “Looks like

it recognizes us as maintenance techs. We can’t do anything fancy like a selective four-stage sterilization, but we can do test cycles and basic, preprogrammed runs.”

Gunfire turned one of the carvings to Mops’ left into a series of glowing

craters. An amplified voice called out in mechanically translated Human. “That was a warning shot. You’re pinned down. Surrender.”

“What’s the broadest radius for the Six Mark II?” Mops whispered. “It’s big enough to cover the whole arena, easily,” said Kumar. “The jets

are rated for a range of a hundred and eight meters. From that height, they could reach one-twenty, though you’d have to adjust for the slope of the stands, and—”

“What disinfectants are they using?”

“I can get that for you.” Doc pulled up a list. Mops skimmed the ingredients and nodded to herself. “Kumar, turn the detergent-to-water ratio up to max, and run a full cleaning cycle.”

“This is your last chance,” shouted one of the Krakau. Another burst of gunfire struck the stage. Kumar touched four of the lights in sequence, paused, and tapped three more. “There you go.”

Mops tilted her head. “Well?”

“The Six Mark II has a three-minute warm-up cycle. There’s no way to bypass it from here.” He replaced the cover. Mops grabbed the others and hauled them away from the stage, down to the relative cover of the first row of Glacidae seats. The next shots shattered and shredded the contoured seat backs. Doc had started a countdown without being asked. Two minutes and forty-five seconds. Mops drew her second pistol, but before she could lean out to return fire, Rubin caught her shoulder. “You need more time for this plan.” It wasn’t a question. “Two minutes, forty seconds,” said Mops. “If we can stall or hold them off—”

“We lack adequate cover.” Rubin stood, hands raised above her head. “And they continue to damage Arena Two.”

“Get down, dammit!”

Instead, Rubin looked around, her movements those of an infantry soldier tagging enemy targets. “What are you doing?” asked Kumar. Rubin stepped out of reach. “Stay down.”

“We don’t want you,” shouted one of the Krakau. “We know you’ve got two other humans down there.”

Two minutes twenty. Rubin started up the stairs to the left. She lowered her arms and grasped her combat baton in both hands. A warning shot cracked a step in front of her. Two minutes ten. With a strange, ululating shout, Rubin raised her spiked baton and charged. “Ah,” said Kumar. “So that’s what a charger does.”

Mops leaned out to provide cover, but as soon as she peeked over the

smoking, half-destroyed chairs, the Krakau opened fire from two directions. She managed to pull the trigger once before ducking. One minute fifty-five. More gunshots. Mops cringed at the wet thump of slugs tearing through

flesh. Rubin kept shouting. One of the Krakau swore loudly. Another whistled

orders. “Keep shooting. Aim for the head and spine!

Try to—”

A squishy crunch cut off whatever she’d been trying to say. One minute forty-five. Mops pulled her second weapon. With the Krakau distracted by Rubin,

she raised both guns over the seats, lined up the crosshairs, and fired. A Krakau dropped. But Rubin was down, too, and Mops spotted movement at the entrance

—Krakau reinforcements. She swore and ducked as the newly arrived Krakau turned their weapons

on Mops and Kumar. She crawled on her stomach toward a less-damaged area, kicking Kumar to get him to follow. At the one-minute mark, the arena lights dimmed, causing a momentary

pause in the assault. A green warning light flashed. Mops risked another peek to see whether it would be enough to scare them off, but the Krakau kept closing in. Forty seconds. Mops grabbed Kumar’s collar and pressed him to the

ground. Doc continued to ping her with suit puncture alerts from stone fragments. “Where the hell is station security?” Mops muttered. “Rubin can’t have

been the only guard down here.” The Krakau must have found a way to disable or distract the others. At fifteen seconds, a series of tarnished metal nozzles poked out of the

ceiling like animals leaving their burrows. None of the Krakau appeared to notice. Nor were they likely to hear the pumps starting up. She silently counted down the final seconds. “Keep your head down and

shield your eyes.”

The countdown flashed zero. Nothing happened. “He said three minutes, right?

That was exactly three—”

“Kumar!

Why isn’t it working?”

“It’s old tech,” Kumar protested. “The timing mechanism probably needs to be recalibrated or replaced. Do you want me to add it to the maintenance log?”

Before Mops could answer, jets of heated cleaning fluid—a mix of water, alcohol, and lots of detergent—shot down with enough force to knock one of the guns from her hand. She retrieved it and holstered both of her weapons, counted five seconds, and climbed to her feet. Krakau were sensitive to temperature extremes, and these jets were easily powerful enough to cause bruising. Neither of those things would stop a determined Krakau with a gun. The detergent was another matter. One of the Krakau who’d been fighting Rubin pointed a long, tubelike weapon in Mops’ direction. The weapon promptly squirted free of the Krakau’s grip and clattered to the floor. She lunged to retrieve it, missed, and kept on sliding down the aisle...

directly into Mops’ path. Mops gripped the closest seat for balance and met the Krakau with a swift kick, launching her three rows up like an Earth football. “You’ll appreciate this story, Kumar.” She limped toward the next Krakau. “Eight years ago, we had a malfunction in the bridge lift autocleaner. Commander Danube was completely doused. She spent the next two days slipping and falling like her limbs had turned to greased ice.”

The second Krakau fumbled with her weapon, trying to bring it to bear on Mops. Mops reached down to dig her fingers into one of the Krakau’s primary tentacles. Using the tentacle as a handle, she spun the Krakau through the air, then slammed her to the ground. The unconscious Krakau slid away like a Glacidae ice puck. “Krakau secrete several different chemicals from their skins,” Mops continued. “One makes them slick and harder for predators to hold. Another forms a thin layer of biological gel on their limbs, which allows them to grip almost any surface. Industrial detergent dissolves one of these two chemicals. Guess which one?”

The reinforcements had abandoned their weapons and were trying to retreat through the Krakau section. They clung desperately to the bars of the seats and pulled themselves upward, using sheer muscle to overcome their lack of grip. After only two rows, they were both beginning to sag from exhaustion. Mops barely noticed when the autocleaner jets finished their rinse cycle,

and the water began to trickle down toward concealed drains at the base of the arena. As she approached the Krakau, they dropped from the bars and shrank to half their size. Mops pointed one gun at each Krakau. “One of your friends shot me,”

she said, jerking her chin toward the hole in her thigh. “I probably could have forgiven that. But then you started shooting at my friends....”

“How is she?” asked Mops. “Alive.” Kumar’s muscles were taut as he continued dabbing bioglue

into Rubin’s wounds. “They shot her eleven times before she fell. Missed the brain and spine, but she’s in bad shape.”

“What were you thinking, Rubin?” Mops demanded. “They were in the arena.” Rubin coughed. “Nobody’s allowed in the

arena before the show.”

“Can you walk?”

“No, she can’t!” Kumar snapped, adding a curt “sir” a moment later. “There could be more Krakau on the way.” Mops glanced at the four

whimpering Krakau. None had tried to move from the Quetzalus seat where she’d dropped them. “We need to get somewhere safe.”

“Her legs are too messed up.” Kumar pinched another wound shut,

holding it until the bioglue took hold. “I can carry her.”

“Do it.” Mops yanked a garbage bag from her harness and shook it open. “You and you, inside,” she said to the two closest Krakau. She sealed the bag and grabbed another for the remaining two Krakau. Between their weight and the hole in her leg, she had a distinctly

lopsided gait as she started up the arena stairs. She had to drag the bags behind her, bumping their occupants against each step. “The sooner you Krakau want to start talking, the better. If anyone else starts shooting, I intend to use you all for cover.”

The Krakau squirmed weakly within their bags, but didn’t respond. “Monroe, Wolf, we’re alive and heading your way.” She stopped at the

archway. Wisps of smoke curled up from the broken remains of the gate. Nothing appeared to be moving outside. Holding the bagged Krakau in front of her, she stepped cautiously through. “What made a bunch of Krakau team up with Prodryan terrorists in the first place?” Mops waited for a response, though she didn’t expect one. “I suppose it makes sense. Out of ten-plus billion Krakau, there’s bound to be some extremists who don’t like the Alliance.”

“Sir?” Kumar carried Rubin over his shoulders in a fireman’s carry. He pointed his chin at the lift, where three armed humans had just emerged. “Now station security shows up?

It figures.” Mops dropped the two bags. “Last chance, ladies. Tell us who you’re working for and where we find them, and I’ll ask Security to take it easy on you. Otherwise...” She shrugged. “The Coacalos family isn’t known for being gentle with people who shoot up their property. Are you sure there’s nothing you want to tell me?”

One of the Krakau twisted inside the bag. “Lieutenant Marion Adamopoulos, by the authority of the Krakau Alliance, I hereby place you and your subordinates under arrest.”

Mops froze. “You’re Alliance?”

“She could be lying,” said Kumar. Mops rubbed her neck and shoulder. She’d been so intent on rooting out Prodryan collaborators she hadn’t stopped to think about other possibilities. Of course the Alliance would have agents planted at Coacalos Station. And if Command had put out a galaxy-wide alert about Mops and her team...

“If they’re telling the truth, they probably contacted Command as soon as they spotted us. How long do you think we have before a cruiser full of troops docks with the station?”

“A day?” guessed Kumar. “Two if we’re lucky. Do you think there are other Alliance agents here?”

“We have to assume so.” She raised a hand to greet the approaching security guards. “We’re mostly all right. There are two dead Krakau back in the arena, though.”

“Which arena?” asked the closest human. Mops stared at him. “I don’t know, son. Try the one with all the smoke and rubble?”

A second human smacked the first on the back of his helmet. To Mops, he said, “You look like you need medical assistance. The Coacalos family will be happy to provide hospital services for a reasonable price.”

“We’re fine, but Rubin is in bad shape,” said Kumar. “She’s station

security.”

“Don’t worry.” The human came to take Rubin in his arms. “She’ll get a

fifteen percent employee discount.”

“Surveillance was shut down,” said the third human. From her tone and

bearing, she was in charge. She glared at the squirming garbage bags, then back at Mops. “Who did this?”

Mops hesitated. If the Krakau were Alliance, they were only following

orders from Command. Anyone from the EMC would have done the same. Until a few days ago, so would she. “We never got a good look. They chased us into the arena and started shooting. I assume it’s just another hate-crime against humans.”

She nudged one of the bags with her toe. “These Krakau were just in the

wrong place at the wrong time, and got caught in the crossfire.”

“Were they injured?” asked the commander. “Just washed. A random shot must have set off the autocleaner. The

Krakau are having trouble walking, but they’ll be fine in a day or two when their skin gets back to a healthy level of slime.”

The human hesitated, but apparently decided to accept Mops’

explanation. “How many attackers were there?”

“Four,” said Mops, while at the same time Kumar blurted out, “Six.” Mops gave an apologetic smile. “Like I said, it was pretty chaotic. We’re

brand new here. We’re assigned to Maintenance, not Security. Are things always this violent?”

“Not usually.” The human in charge gestured to the others, sending them

to examine the arena. “Do the Krakau require medical assistance?”

Mops unsealed one of the bags, folded her arms, and waited. She trusted

they knew exactly what the Coacalos would do if they discovered Alliance agents had been working—and starting a firefight—in their station. “The injuries...

are not life threatening,” said one. “We decline your

offer of assistance, thank you.”

“No skin off my bones.” The human shifted her rifle and tapped the edge

of her monocle, a blue-tinged model Mops hadn’t seen before. “Let me get your names and a snap of each of you. We’ll probably have more questions once we’ve looked around, and we’ll want a download from your monocles of anything you saw.”

Mops gave her name and nodded for Kumar to do the same. The Krakau complied as well. “Doc, can you give them a data dump of our mystery attackers?”

“You have an AI assistant?” The human peered closer. “Fancy.”

“Saved up for years to afford him.”

“I take it you’re expecting me to just edit something together that will fool a security analyst AI?”

“That’s right,” said Mops. “You know, sometimes it feels like you take me for granted. But I suppose I can layer in more autocleaner spray to obscure most of the incriminating evidence. And if I adjust the lighting a bit, and snip out the part where you went after the Krakau...

rewrite the time stamps, add more motion-shake....”

Two minutes later, Doc had transferred the edited data over to station security. Two minutes after that, they were on their way. Mops whispered a quick message to Monroe as they approached the lift. “We’re headed back up, and we have company.”

There was no response. “Monroe, respond.” Her stomach tightened. “Wolf, what’s your status?”

Nothing. They hadn’t acknowledged her earlier call after the firefight either. She’d been too caught up in the aftermath to notice. She dragged the Krakau into the lift, dropped both bags, and hammered her fist against the wall, waiting impatiently for the doors to close. The instant the lift began to move, she pressed her badge against the control panel. “Emergency stop.”

The lift halted abruptly. Mops pulled her guns and pointed one at each bag. “Kumar, open them.”

His eyes were wide as he unsealed both bags. The first Krakau thrust her head free, whistled in alarm, and tried to duck back into the bag. Kumar tugged both bags lower, exposing the four squirming Krakau. “My people aren’t answering,” Mops said quietly. “You’re going to tell me exactly what’s happened to them. Once you’ve finished, I’ll decide which of you—if any—will survive to report back to Command.”

“We didn’t—” started one, a younger Krakau with blue-green skin. “You were our primary target, Lieutenant,” said one with a gold braidlike design tattooed around her head, just above the eyes. A mud-brown Krakau with a chipped beak added, “We planned to take

you first, then round up the others.”

The fourth Krakau, an older warrior with a vivid yellow shell armoring

her torso and two missing legs, simply shrank away. They might be lying. Unlike Prodryans, the average Krakau lied as well

or better than any human. But to Mops’ eye, they looked scared and exhausted. Their skin was tight, their limbs curled close to their bodies. “All right,” she said. “Then tell me about a Prodryan named Heart of Glass, and a human named Floyd Westerman.”

“It’s not our job to care for human deserters,” said the brown one. Mops shifted her aim. “However,” the Krakau continued hastily, “we have been observing the

Prodryans. We believe the one called Heart of Glass is actually a Prodryan exile named Invisible Flame. He crossed one of the warlords, and fled Yan to avoid execution.”

“Yan?

He’s from the Prodryan home world?” Mops filed that fact in her

mind. “What did he do to earn a death sentence?”

“Advocated cooperation with other species,” said the warrior. Mops whistled softly. “So we’re dealing with a radical extremist. What

was he doing on Coacalos Station?”

The tattooed Krakau answered, “We know he had several meetings with

certain...

questionable elements.”

“Like the Tjikko?” asked Mops. “Theta?”

“That’s right.” The warrior rose, arms lashing out in anger. It would

have been an impressive display if she hadn’t slipped and toppled onto her tattooed companion. Struggling to regain both balance and dignity, she said, “We suspect Heart of Glass was also working with humans. Traitors to the Alliance.”

Her implication was clear. “You mean us,” said Mops. “The rest of your crew was lost, but miraculously, your team survived,”

said the warrior. “You then proceeded immediately to Coacalos Station to rendezvous with your Prodryan contacts. Or do you expect us to believe humans, acting on their own, could track down the origin of this attack so quickly?”

“Technically, we were tracking the origin of the threads in Prodryan

regurgitate pellets,” Kumar protested. Mops took advantage of the Krakau’s confusion to ask, “What can you tell us about a Prodryan missing her right wing?

The other was green and tattered.”

“Her name is Falls From Glory,” said the one with the tattoo. “Disgraced, like Heart of Glass, though for different reasons. She’s a low-level messenger and spy.”

Mops ordered the lift to resume. “What will you do with us?” asked the brown Krakau. “While you were busy shooting up the arena, Falls From Glory must have gotten reinforcements and gone after Wolf and Monroe.” Mops began shoving the Krakau back into their bags. “If I were you, I’d pray we get them back safely.”

Human Restoration Project Manual Ver. 1.1 , Section 23: Harvesting Guidelines

1.

Whenever possible, attempt to collect humans that are mostly

intact. Humans should have four (4) limbs. 2.

Never pursue humans into their nests, or anywhere that does not

offer you a quick escape route. 3.

Mature specimens only. But not too mature. Examination of teeth

and scalp fur should help you determine a human’s age. (See Figure 23.1.)

4.

Once you’ve selected a human, try to isolate it from its pack. 5.

Raw meat can be used as bait to lure humans into the open. 6.

Humans are resistant to pain and most forms of chemical

sedation. A strong electrical charge can temporarily stun a human, but physical restraints will be required. a. Restraints should secure upper and lower limbs, as well

as the jaw. (See Figure 23.2.)

7.

All humans must be immediately tagged and cataloged upon

capture. 8.

PLEASE BATHE YOUR HUMAN BEFORE BRINGING IT TO

THE MEDICAL FACILITY. Addendum, to be added to Version 1.2 : Humans require air to breathe. Transporting a human in a standard Krakau holding tank will cause the human to expire. T HE LOCK PANEL OUTSIDE their room was dead. Mops had to physically force the door open. Light strips flickered on inside, revealing shattered furniture and spattered blood—both human and Prodryan. Mops searched the room, gun in hand, until she was certain the Prodryans hadn’t left anyone behind. Behind her, Kumar paced the room, muttering under his breath. He hadn’t stopped moving since they handed Vera Rubin off to station security. “Any update?” asked Mops. “She’s stable. Currently unconscious in a medtank.”

Mops dumped the four Krakau into the closet. It was a tight fit. “You four know this place. What’s the easiest way to arrange a meeting with Theta?”

“Theta’s time is valuable,” said the warrior, her arms curling with disdain. “If you wish to meet with her, you’ll need to pay.”

“We’re not going after Wolf and Monroe?” asked Kumar. “Not directly. Not with only two of us.” Mops smiled. “I doubt either of us has enough cash to attract the interest of someone like Theta. Fortunately, we have the four of you to contribute.”

“Now you mean to rob us?” the Krakau snapped. “You meant to shoot us.” Mops leaned closer. “Would you prefer I follow your example?”

Contacting Theta was simple enough. The Tjikko was listed in the station’s directory as a permanent resident. He claimed to know nothing about Wolf and Monroe, nor about Heart of Glass, but after Mops transferred a generous amount of money into her account, he’d grudgingly agreed to meet with them in one hour, giving Mops time to do some preliminary research and set up a few precautions. Forty-five minutes later, Mops double-checked her suit’s seal and air supply as she and Kumar entered the Tower Six main lift. The atmosphere was thinner here, with a higher concentration of carbon dioxide than was healthy for humans. So far, the patches to her suit’s gunshot holes and other punctures appeared to be holding. She studied Tower Six through the clear lift walls. This tower had a

more organic feel than the others, with exposed roots from the solar-powered plants outside the station clinging to moss-covered stone walls. Water dripped from the ceilings and fogged her hood. Mops’ monocle automatically compensated for the brightness of the warm, yellow light. They shared the lift car with a Prodryan and a Glacidae, neither of

whom looked happy about it. Though it was difficult to read much from the Glacidae, who wore an insulated environmental suit. The Prodryan, on the other hand, kept scraping the blades of his artificial claw together in a clear sign of hostility. The lift stopped on level two, opening to reveal a field of dirt, rocks, and

knee-high yellow grass. Green-barked trees grew like pillars, roots and branches digging into the floor and ceiling both. She studied the closest for a moment, prompting Doc to tag it a “Leafless Stanch, one of sixty-three trees engineered by the Tjikko for architectural uses” on her monocle. Insects and gliding rodents flew from one tree to the next. Other

creatures rustled invisibly in the tall grass to either side of the rocky pathways. It was quieter here than Mops was used to. She spied a few people moving between wood-and-stone buildings, but much of this level was open and empty. The Prodryan and the Glacidae followed them out, the former muttering

about human diseases and the foolishness of letting “animals” roam freely throughout the station. After several such comments, Mops moved to the side of the path and waited to see if they’d pass. Instead, the Prodryan stopped to glare up at her, his antennae quivering

with indignation. “Shouldn’t we just ignore them?” Kumar whispered. “No.” Mops aimed a smile at the Prodryan. “Do you have something

you’d like to say?”

The Prodryan glanced behind him, as if making sure his Glacidae

companion hadn’t fled. “What are you doing here, human?”

Mops relaxed. If he was working for Heart of Glass, assigned to follow

or spy on them, he wouldn’t be trying to pick a fight. “Look, son. We’re in a hurry, so I’m going to jump to the end of this conversation. From the shine of your thorax, you’re barely old enough to call yourself a warrior. Probably still figuring out how to use that fancy new hand. That’s right, I see the scabs where you’ve cut yourself.”

The Prodryan started to protest, but Mops moved closer and kept talking. “I know what it’s like to want to prove yourself. You figure you’ll push around a couple of humans and act like a real warrior in front of your friend there.”

She unsealed and removed her left glove, letting it dangle from her cuff. Her right hand shot out to seize the Prodryan’s wrist. Squeezing the joint to immobilize it, she scraped the blades over her palm. “What are you doing?” the Prodryan cried. She shoved him away. “There you go. Your blades are now wet with the blood of a human.” She grabbed the bioglue and squeezed a line over the first of the two shallow cuts. “Take the win, son. Go home and tell everyone how you stood up to a human. Because if you don’t, I’ll make you eat those blades.”

He stepped back so quickly he stumbled over the Glacidae, who had curled into an armored ball. Without another word, the Prodryan flew back toward the lift, wings buzzing. Mops treated the second cut and pulled her glove into place. To Kumar, she said, “Never ignore them.”

After that, their path remained remarkably clear. They passed a pair of Quetzalus rubbing their beaks against a tree, and a green-furred Merraban resting in a hammock, but nobody gave them a second glance. Theta lived on the far side of the level. A barricade of trees and interwoven branches curved out from the tower wall. There were no guards, nor any security cameras she could see. The branches were covered in dark needles between two and three centimeters in length. Striped ratlike creatures scurried away as Mops ducked through a narrow opening. Branches wove together behind them, trapping them in a space the size of a small closet. “Where is she?” whispered Kumar. Mops spread her arms. “We’re standing in him.” Raising her voice, she said, “We paid for the chance to talk.”

Slowly, more branches creaked aside to offer passage. Needles scraped over Mops’ suit as she squeezed deeper into the tunnel of trees, but none penetrated. They emerged into a small, circular clearing, fenced in by interwoven trees. Gnarled roots had cracked and crushed the rocky ground, turning the

path treacherous. Warm light shone from glass bubbles in the ceiling. Insects stirred among the fallen needles and leaves. The trees here were thicker, flush with oily plum-colored leaves with

yellow veins. These were older Tjikko trees. Mops turned in a slow circle, giving Doc time to tag the various weapons tracking her from the branches. “Do you have a communications interface?”

“Over here, human.” The words came from a sapling to her left. Thick

wires ran from a black metal cuff around the base of the trunk to a voder embedded in the bark about a meter up. “What do you want?”

“Two of my team were taken from our quarters earlier today. I want

them back.”

“You think I took them?” Stilted, mechanical laughter boomed from the

sapling. “I don’t get out of Tower Six very often.”

“I think you know who took them.” Mops glanced around. “Do the

Coacalos know how much of the station you’ve infiltrated?

We tracked water usage patterns before we came to see you. Your roots spread through every tower.”

Branches rustled. A few leaves fell lazily to the floor. “The Coacalos are

aware. We have a symbiotic relationship.”

“Meaning they get a cut of your profits,” Mops guessed. “The Prodryans

who took my people. They work for Heart of Glass, right?

Where can I find them?”

“I’m not sure. I have a hard time distinguishing one animal from

another.”

“We know you sold Floyd Westerman to the Prodryans.” Mops paused. “We recently discovered his remains.”

The trees leaned inward, blocking more of the light. “Tread carefully

with your unspoken accusations. Unlike the animals who roam this station, I don’t fear humans. Particularly human sanitation workers pretending to be soldiers. You’re correct that Westerman owed me a debt. When he was unable to pay, I found another way to collect. As for your other questions, those answers are...

expensive.”

“We paid you—” Mops began. “For a meeting,” said Theta. “A meeting which I granted. If you wish to

know more, you will pay more. Or you can challenge me and pay that price. I’m always in the mood for additional fertilizer.”

“Human bodies wouldn’t make good fertilizer for a Tjikko,” said Kumar. “Too much oxygen, not enough nitrogen, not to mention the virus and medications and all the trace elements—”

“She knows,” Mops said wearily. “Theta, there are only eleven Tjikko in the whole galaxy, right?”

“Twelve,” corrected Theta. “Beta launched a new groveship two years ago.”

“Congratulations,” said Mops, not missing a beat. “Maybe you’ll understand when I tell you there are only ten thousand or so humans. I’m sure that sounds like a lot, but we’re not colony life-forms. We’re individuals, and we used to number eight billion. The tiny fraction of us who remain?

They’re all we have left. They’re family. One of them died in this station. Another is in Medical after being attacked earlier today. And two more people—members of my team—were taken from our quarters. “I know you have enough weapons in here to mow us both down. And I know, even if we could afford to buy your information, you’d only turn around and sell us out to Heart of Glass for an extra profit.”

Theta’s voder gave a passable imitation of laughter. “Perhaps humans aren’t as foolish as I’d believed.”

“Oh, no,” said Mops with a laugh of her own. “We’re plenty foolish. Always picking fights. If we were soldiers, we’d have probably tried to figure out a way to smuggle up weapons of our own. Flamethrowers and so on. But like you said, we’re just a couple of glorified sanitation workers. Sanitation workers who are very angry, and very good at our jobs.”

Theta’s branches stilled. “What are you implying.”

“All this security, but you did a piss-poor job locking down your plumbing,” Mops continued. “How painful do you think it would be if the supply pipe for a Glacidae acid wash got crossed with one of those water lines feeding into your roots?

Or a malfunctioning decon process wiped out the microorganisms in your soil?

Or your fertilizers became contaminated with lead or mercury or any of the other waste materials collected down in the station sublevels?”

The closest trees shuddered in unison. “Our species has gone to war for less.”

“You could kill us, but we’re the only ones who know what changes we’ve made to your support systems.” Mops waited. “Your computer interface is plugged into the equivalent of your veins, right?

You control it by adjusting the pressure of those water-transporting cells?

What would happen if someone introduced trace elements into your water supply to corrode those interfaces?

Why, months from now, you might suddenly wake up mute, unable to control anything.”

“I don’t think Tjikko sleep,” said Kumar. Mops stepped closer to the voder. “It’s possible the Coacalos would

realize it was a technical problem and fix it. At a reasonable price, I’m sure.” She paused. “Or they might assume you’d died, and chop you down for firewood or building material. Do you want me to keep going?

I can spend all day talking about the ways an experienced sanitation and hygiene worker can gum up the works. The things I’ve seen...”

The silence stretched for one minute, then two. Finally, the Tjikko

chuckled. “I admire your initiative. Would you be interested in working for me?”

“No, thank you.”

“Heart of Glass has left Coacalos Station,” said Theta. “A Prodryan

named Stab the Stars tends to things in his absence.”

“Stab the Stars?” Kumar repeated. “I know.” Theta rustled his leaves. “Don’t get me started on the

absurdity of animal nomenclature.”

“Why did they want Floyd Westerman?” asked Mops. “I believe they meant to use him for chemical testing of some sort.” They’d tested their bioweapon on Westerman. Once they knew it

worked, they’d killed him and used the acid shower to destroy the contagion and eliminate any evidence. Mops swallowed her anger. “Where did these chemicals come from?”

Theta paused. “I’ve told you a great deal already.”

“Doc, send her the details on the modification we made to water line 6-

2-17, as a show of faith.” Once Doc indicated he’d done so, she said, “We’ll reroute that infuser on our way out. Keep talking, and we’ll take care of the rest, too.”

“Heart of Glass and Stab the Stars took delivery from a shuttle. My

sources couldn’t identify its origin,” Theta admitted. “I overheard Stab the Stars ordering a subordinate to contact someone named ‘Azure’ to confirm delivery.”

Doc flashed an alert, but Mops didn’t need prompting. The Prodryan

they’d confronted outside Heart of Glass’ apartment had mentioned azure venom. “If you can tell me who Azure is and where to find them, we’ll fix everything we broke and give your water circulation system a full overhaul as a bonus.”

“I’m afraid I don’t have that information. I could, however, arrange a meeting with one of Stab the Stars’ people.” His tone deepened. “In exchange, you will reverse your sabotage and offer your expertise in helping me secure those...

vulnerabilities. Do we have a bargain?”

Kumar stepped forward. “I can do that. If you cover Vera Rubin’s medical costs.”

Mops tried to keep her surprise from showing. That hadn’t been part of the plan. Kumar watched her, his eyes pleading. He clearly knew he’d overstepped, but he wasn’t backing down. Nor should he, Mops decided after a moment’s thought. Rubin had been protecting them. “Those are our terms.”

“Vera Rubin is a stranger to you,” said Theta. “That doesn’t matter.” Mops gave Kumar a small nod. “She’s still one of us.”

It took two and a half hours for Theta to arrange the meeting at Mops’ chosen location. During that time, Mops had Kumar reverse four of the six disruptions they’d arranged for the Tjikko’s plumbing and environmental regulation systems. The rest would come after confirming Theta hadn’t double-crossed them. Mops tensed as a Krakau approached, but she was merely bringing a small, steaming bowl to their table. “Compliments of Cooks Good Meals. He says to tell you the sanitizer is working beautifully.”

Inside the bowl, carefully arranged in a pale blue pudding, were five Tjikko nuts. Each was tied with a black string, and a note clipped to the side of the bowl listed the different flavors the nuts had been infused with. “I’m sorry, I can’t...” The Krakau had already left. Mops sighed and studied the appetizer, trying to ignore the saliva pooling in her mouth. They’d chosen a table at the back of the Prodryan side of the restaurant, where Mops and Kumar could monitor everyone who approached. Almost two-thirds of the tables were unoccupied. Since arriving, Mops had watched two groups of Prodryans enter, notice the humans, and immediately turn around to go elsewhere. She felt bad for Cook’s business, but it meant there were fewer potential enemies to worry about. Mops’ stomach gurgled loudly enough to draw glares from two nearby

Prodryans. “Just one,” she muttered, not sure if it was to Kumar or herself. “So Cook doesn’t feel insulted.”

If anything, anticipation made this Tjikko nut taste even better than the

first. Mops was still chewing when Doc said, “Falls From Glory has just entered the restaurant.”

“I see her.” From Kumar’s abrupt shift, Doc had alerted him as well. Mops lowered a hand to her weapon as the one-winged Prodryan approached. She appeared to be alone. A few other diners glanced up, but most deliberately avoided looking at Falls From Glory. The sight of a “broken” Prodryan was almost as offensive to them as the sight of two humans. “Hello again.” Mops gestured to an empty chair. “Take off that shawl so

I know you’re not hiding anything. It’s Falls From Glory, right?

Would you mind if I just call you Glory?

It’ll save time.”

“I would prefer to minimize the duration of this meeting, yes.” Glory

removed the shawl and set it on another chair, then sat. Her left wing rustled sharply. “What is it you want, human?”

“First, you’re going to return Wolf and Monroe, alive and unharmed. Second, you’ll give us the cure for the bioweapon you used against the Pufferfish. Third, I want information on everyone involved in developing that bioweapon and arranging the attack on the Pufferfish. And finally, another round of these Tjikko nuts.” She didn’t know when exactly she’d eaten the rest of the five nuts. “Is that all?” Glory’s slender antennae flattened against the top of her

head, conveying the sarcasm the translator couldn’t. “Almost.” Mops moved in, resting one elbow on the table. “I want to

know what Krakau venom is.”

“Krakau aren’t venomous.”

“Exactly,” said Kumar. Glory stared. “What?”

Mops took a deep breath. “Your boss received a shipment from someone

named Azure.”

Glory didn’t answer. “She has a comm device implanted somewhere. I’m picking up the signal, but it’s encrypted. Before you ask, I can’t trace it.”

The Krakau waiter returned, looked from Glory to the humans and back, and in a tentative voice, asked, “Would the new arrival care for a drink?

We have eleven varieties of nectar-wine, and a honey-based—”

“Go away,” snarled Glory. No sooner had the words cleared her translator than the Krakau was scurrying back to the kitchen. “As for what you’ll get in return,” Mops continued, “I’ll tell you why your bioweapon failed on us, and why it’s going to fail when you try to use it against the EMC. I assume that’s why you sent the second group of fighters?

To assess the effectiveness of your attack?”

One of Glory’s multifaceted eyes twitched sideways. “Tell me why some humans were unaffected.”

“Give me proof Wolf and Monroe are alive.”

She tilted her head, listening to a voice Mops couldn’t hear. “Very well.”

“Incoming signal. Yes, I’m trying to track it, but it’s being relayed through Glory’s implant. So, I can track it all of one meter to her chair on the other side of the table. The signal appears clean. Displaying now.”

Her monocle darkened, then changed to an image of Wolf and Monroe lying unconscious in a small room or cell. Mops watched long enough to make sure both were breathing. “I’m also receiving a signal from their uniforms. Their breathing patterns match the visual. This appears to be a live feed. Downloading environmental readings. Current gravity and atmosphere don’t match this or any other Coacalos towers. Their suit logs suggest they were taken from Tower Five and passed through a low-gee, low-pressure environment before arriving at their destination. Those intermittent readings are a ninety-nine percent match to what we experienced when we first stepped off our shuttle.”

They’d taken Wolf and Monroe to a ship in the docking bay. “Are they still on the station?”

“I believe so. Suit logs don’t show any gravitational spikes consistent with an accelerating ship.”

“No more questions,” said Glory. The image vanished. “Give us the information we want. Who else survived the attack on your ship, and how did you do it?”

“That doesn’t matter. Kumar?”

Kumar removed a small mem crystal from one of his front pockets and

rolled it between his thumb and forefinger. “What is this?” demanded Glory. “A report I prepared for Command,” said Kumar. “Eleven

recommendations for updated sanitation and quarantine procedures for EMC ships and stations, beginning with adjusting the spectrum and intensity of the air lock decontamination processes. Based on the filters we used to successfully clear the agent from the Pufferfish, I’m recommending a separate breathing mask to be installed in our uniforms. A mandatory quarantine period for anyone coming on board will be inconvenient, but it should prevent the spread of infection while we develop a test to detect your contaminant in humans and other—”

“Enough.” Glory snatched at the mem crystal, but Kumar pulled it deftly

out of reach. “I also drafted a schedule for rolling everything out,” said Kumar. “Prioritizing the most effective changes while taking cost and difficulty into consideration.”

“I had to order him to stop,” Mops said dryly. “Otherwise, he’d still be

at it, refining his schedule and plotting cost-benefit analyses.”

Glory flexed her arms, momentarily extending her forearm barbs. “What

is your point?”

“To show that Heart of Glass and Stab the Stars wasted their shot.”

Mops reached for another Tjikko nut. “If you’d taken out the Pufferfish, you could have kept the element of surprise. Who knows how many ships and stations you might have been able to infect. But now that we know about it?

Your Krakau venom is all but useless, and the sooner you realize it, the better off you’ll be.”

“Perhaps we had other uses in mind.” Glory looked pointedly toward the

Tjikko nuts. “Perhaps the intent was to refine a weapon for individual targets.”

It was like she’d pumped coolant fluid directly into Mops’ veins. Her

breath caught, and her mind plunged into memories of the Pufferfish crew —of her friends and colleagues shambling about the ship, their consciousness shredded until nothing remained but instinctive, animalistic hunger. Like most humans, Mops didn’t remember her life before the Krakau cure. That hadn’t stopped fragments from embedding themselves in occasional nightmares. Flashes of hunger and cold. Of huddling in dank, dark ruins. Of the incessant groaning and ragged breathing of other humans....

“Sir?” Kumar reached toward her. Mops caught his hand, stopping it a centimeter from her shoulder. She licked her dry lips and looked closely at Glory. “She’s lying. You saw how quickly the infection spread through the ship. This is a weapon of mass murder, not targeted assassination.”

“It could be both,” said Glory. “Perhaps we’ve successfully modified the venom to infect only one target. Perhaps it’s affecting you right now. Your mind is shutting down, and soon you’ll turn on the other human and begin eating him!

Perhaps you’re right now jumping from your chair to devour his meat parts!”

Mops deliberately took another Tjikko nut. “The sad thing is, you’re still a better liar than most Prodryans. Are you done, or did you want to continue?”

Glory slumped. “I’m done.”

“The Alliance knows we’re here,” said Mops. “I don’t know how many warships they’re sending, but if they’re not already in-system, they’ll be here soon. They’re going to tear this station apart.”

“Let them,” said Glory. “We don’t fear the violence of your human shock troops.”

“How long do you think a flightless Prodryan will last against them?” She checked the restaurant. Nobody appeared to be listening or paying undue attention. “Help me get my team back. Tell us how to cure my crew, and I’ll do everything I can to make sure you’re protected when the Alliance starts kicking down doors.”

Glory twisted, hiding her wingless shoulder from view. “I have no access to anything involving Azure’s venom.”

“Who is Azure?” asked Mops. “Our ship called it Krakau venom. Is Azure a Krakau?”

Glory jerked back. “Azure?

I’ve never heard that name before.”

“You literally just said it,” said Kumar. “No, I didn’t.”

Kumar removed his monocle. “Do you want me to replay it for you?”

Glory ignored him. “Why didn’t you get a replacement wing?” asked Mops. “Wings are difficult to rebuild. And expensive.” She hesitated. “I was

not a skilled enough warrior to earn such a gift.”

“How long have you been skulking about in the shadows for people like

Stab the Stars?” Mops sat back. “Playing messenger, meeting with humans...

it’s degrading.”

“My choices are limited.”

“Your problem is much worse. Your imagination is limited. Let us help

you. I can get you off this station, drop you on any planet you want. The Krakau don’t have to know. Our medical facilities on the Pufferfish could synthesize a strong, lightweight wing for you.” She paused. “You’d have to help cure our medical crew, but once that happens, they could have you flying again within a week.”

Glory’s left wing extended partway. Her head tilted back, like she was

looking through the ceiling to the open air beyond. Then she shook herself and roughly shoved the wing back with one forelimb. “There is a counteragent, though it hasn’t been tested on humans. It’s stored at the lab where the weapon is manufactured.” She shuddered harder, then seemed to relax. Her antennae sagged. Her limbs lowered. When she spoke again, her words were soft. “But it won’t help you. It’s too late for your people.”

“I’ve got another signal to Glory’s implant!

Just a brief pulse, but it

originated on the station.”

“I know they’re listening in,” said Mops. “We can help you, but you

need to decide quickly, before—”

“No, you can’t.” Falls From Glory looked almost serene. “Thank you for

answering our questions, human.”

Before Mops could ask what answers she meant, Doc said, “Infrared

shows her body temp spiking around the thorax.”

Threads of mist or smoke rose from the corners of her mouth. She

stiffened in her seat. “Oh, Glory...” Mops kicked back her chair. “Doc, trigger a fire alarm

now!”

Green lights began flashing, and a calm voice instructed everyone to

evacuate the restaurant. “Sir?” asked Kumar. “She’s a damned bomb.” She hauled Kumar to his feet, hoping they had time to make it to the door. They didn’t. Mops managed four steps before the world turned a searing white. She felt herself flung sideways. The only sound was a high-pitched ringing. She couldn’t move. Couldn’t see. Her mouth tasted like blood. Where was Kumar?

Blurred shapes rushed past. Splotches of white and orange sparkled through her vision. Smoke burned her nose and throat. A shadow moved closer. Extended something toward her body. The end touched her neck, and electricity crackled through her nerves. Her muscles knotted. Her last thought before losing consciousness was, I hope Cook has insurance on this place. Admiral Pachelbel stilled her limbs to better hear the aide who’d splashed into her office. “They were found...

locked in a closet?”

“Four of them, yes. The other two were killed attempting to apprehend

Lieutenant Adamopoulos and her companion.”

Pachelbel twined two of her tentacles together, squeezing hard in an

attempt to calm her temper. “Did they explain how they were overpowered by a pair of human sanitation workers?”

“Yes, sir.” The aide’s skin visibly tightened. “The humans...

they used

one of the station’s autowash mechanisms.”

Pachelbel checked her console. The Alliance ships would be

decelerating within the hour, and should reach Coacalos Station within a day or so. “Have our agents learned anything more about why Adamopoulos went to Coacalos Station?”

“They were observed entering a Prodryan residence, and later meeting

with a Tjikko criminal.”

“Drown it all, Mops.” She didn’t want to believe Adamopoulos had

conspired against the Alliance and the EMC, but every intelligence report they received added to the evidence against her. “There’s more.”

Pachelbel sank deeper into the brine. “Do tell.”

“We’ve received word of an explosion on the station. Two humans whose

descriptions match Lieutenant Adamopoulos and Technician Kumar were at the center of the explosion, along with an unidentified Prodryan. The two humans were dragged away by unknown persons. And...

the CMC is threatening to go to the Judiciary if we don’t turn the investigation over to them.”

Pachelbel flicked an arm, letting the splash convey her annoyance. “Colonial Military Command has no jurisdiction over the Pufferfish or her crew. Interstellar Military Command oversees all Earth Mercenary Corps vessels and personnel. Admiral Zauberflöte knows damn well this is my mess.”

“Respectfully, sir. Admiral Zauberflöte believes, based on what Lieutenant Adamopoulos reported about Krakau venom, that this is now a colonial matter.”

“Until she has proof, Zauberflöte can go piss on a deepwater spine serpent. Do you have anything further to report on Lieutenant Adamopoulos and her team?

They haven’t started a war with a newly discovered race of sentient fungus in their free time, or anything like that?”

The aide moved surreptitiously closer to the door. “No, sir.”

“Notify me if that changes.” Pachelbel waited until she was alone to duck beneath the surface and circle her office in frustration. “Fucking humans.”

M OPS FELT LIKE SHE’D been fired naked through an A-ring. Her body was numb, her joints stiff, as if they’d rusted solid. “I think she’s coming around.”

It was hard to decipher individual words through the pounding in her skull, but she eventually identified the speaker as Wolf. “Are you back with us, sir?”

And that was Monroe. She opened her mouth to respond. All that emerged was a dry croak. Her lips were swollen, her tongue dry. Her throat felt like she’d taken a welding torch to it. “Take it slow,” said Monroe. “You look like shit, but you’re alive. So’s Kumar. They brought you in about two hours ago.”

She managed a raspy, “Where...?”

“We’re not sure,” said Monroe. “We were unconscious when we were brought in, and nobody’s seen fit to offer us a tour yet.”

Mops shivered and forced her eyes open. A series of metal loops jutted

from the ceiling. Wrenching her head to the side, she saw metal walls with bare shelves and additional loops. Attachment points for tie-down straps?

That would make this a storage room of some sort. “Doc?”

“No monocles, no equipment harnesses,” snarled Wolf. Monroe gestured to his empty right sleeve. “No prosthetic limb either.” She touched the bare skin around her left eye, then looked down at

herself, half-expecting to see missing limbs of her own. Her legs had been bandaged and splinted, and her left hand was encased in a medigel cast. Beneath holes in her uniform, bioglue held a series of puncture wounds together, mostly on her extremities. It could have been much worse. Her vision slowly adjusted to the dim blue-tinged light from the wall

panels. “Falls From Glory gave us a brief feed of the two of you,” she said. “Doc pulled the environmental readings from your suits. He was pretty sure you were in the Coacalos docking bay.”

Monroe nodded. “Cargo vessel, maybe?”

“Maybe.” She looked them over. “What happened to the two of you?”

“They were waiting in our quarters,” Wolf said, slamming a fist against

the wall. “Six Prodryans, armed with electric stunners. They hit me in the face as I walked in, then ganged up on Monroe.”

Wolf touched a dark, blistered splotch on her temple. The attackers had

known enough to go for exposed skin, since EMC uniforms would disperse most of the shock. “I want a rematch with the cowards who jumped us, but once that’s done, I’m going back to find the one-winged snitch who put them on our trail.”

“No need,” said Mops. “We were in the middle of talking to her when

she exploded.”

Wolf frowned. “I guess that’ll have to do.”

“We’d barely regained consciousness when they brought you and Kumar

in,” said Monroe. “I assume we’re being monitored, but nobody’s spoken with us.”

Mops held out a hand, and Monroe helped her sit up. “Before she blew

up, Falls From Glory told us there’s a cure.” Mops grimaced, trying to reconstruct that conversation. “The last thing she said was thank you for answering their questions.”

“What did you tell them?” asked Wolf. “I don’t know....” She didn’t recall telling Glory anything useful, but the Prodryans might have been digging for something else, something Mops and Kumar had inadvertently given away. “Why do you think they’ve kept us alive, sir?” asked Monroe. “Because someone has a use for us. Why else would they bother patching us up?

Maybe they want to do further testing of their venom weapon. Or they might just want to wring all the intelligence they can from their four EMC prisoners.”

Kumar coughed. His eyes snapped open, and he tried to sit up. He made it about halfway before falling back with a groan. “Take it easy,” Mops said. Kumar looked to be in slightly better shape than her. His face was burned, and hastily applied bioglue crusted his skin beneath holes in his uniform. “I think I’m ready to go back to cleaning toilets on the Pufferfish now,” Kumar said without opening his eyes. Mops chuckled, which reopened a cut in her lip. She scraped a fingernail over her teeth, cleaning away dried blood and a bit of Tjikko nut. “What was the last thing we said before Glory blew up?”

Kumar’s forehead furrowed. “You told me she was a damned bomb.”

“Before that.”

He rolled onto his side. “You told her, ‘Your problem is worse. Your imagination is limited. Let us help you. I can get you off this station, drop you on any planet you want. The Krakau don’t have to know. Our medical facilities on the Pufferfish could synthesize a strong, lightweight wing for you. You’d have to help cure our medical crew, but they could have you flying again within a week.’”

Mops just shook her head. Kumar’s memory was almost as reliable as Doc’s. “That’s when Glory told us there’s a counteragent in the lab where the weapon was manufactured.”

“Her body language changed,” said Mops. Was it the offer to synthesize a new wing?

The capabilities of Alliance medical technology were hardly secret. Maybe it was simply their willingness to help a Prodryan, and to hide her involvement from the Krakau. Could this have been a probe to test how humans would act against the Krakau?

She chewed her lip. None of the possibilities felt right. “Maybe she was lying,” said Wolf. “Just messing with your heads.”

“Prodryans are terrible liars.” Mops dragged herself to where she could

rest her back against the wall. The only visible way in or out of the room was a large door at the far end. “I don’t suppose either of you came up with a brilliant escape plan while you were waiting for us to wake up?”

“Wait for the Prodryans to come in, then unleash hell.” Wolf folded her

arms and looked around, as if waiting for applause. “It’s a good starting point,” said Mops. “Let’s see if we can refine it a

bit....”

A computer-synthesized voice from beyond the door made Mops jump. The movement strained the bioglue on several of her wounds. “Lieutenant Adamopoulos. You will give us the location of the EMCS

Pufferfish. If you refuse, we will remove one member of your team and infect them with the same weapon we used against your crew. Perhaps they will again be unaffected. Perhaps not. You have thirty-nine minutes to decide.”

Thirty-nine minutes?

That was a rather arbitrary number. Mops pushed

herself upright. The splints kept her legs steady enough to support her weight as she approached the door. “Who are you, and where have you taken us?”

There was a pause. “That is not the answer to our question. You have

thirty-eight and a half minutes. You will also unlock your personal artificial intelligence device.”

Wolf snarled. “I will rip off your antennae and use them for toothpicks.” A pause. “You have thirty-eight minutes.”

Mops studied the door, searching for an access panel or conduit, but

found nothing. “You didn’t give us medical treatment just to kill us. What do you want?”

“You must be healthy enough to endure the jump to Azure’s lab. However, our plan does not require all four prisoners to survive.”

“But you need at least one of us?

Thank you.” Mops turned to her team. “Unidentified captors, you will tell us everything you know about Azure and their lab. If you don’t, I will kill everyone in this room, including myself. You have five minutes to decide.”

Wolf barked out a sound between a cough and a laugh. Monroe simply grinned. “You can’t—” the voice began. “Never underestimate the savagery of a human,” said Mops. “We recognize your intellectual capacity is limited. Do you understand this plan would result in your deaths?”

“Yes. You have four and a half minutes.”

“But...

it’s a stupid plan!

Even for humans!”

Mops smiled. “There’s a saying attributed to an Earth scientist named Albert Einstein. ‘Two things are infinite, the universe and human stupidity, and I am not completely sure about the universe.’”

Wolf frowned. “Einstein?

I thought she was a heavy gunner on the Blue-Ringed Octopus.”

Mops ignored her. “You’re running out of time. Let’s start with a simpler question. What do you plan to do with us?”

“The Alliance has labeled you fugitives. We intend to reinforce their assumption and frame you as collaborators. This will encourage the Krakau to focus their efforts on you while we launch our final assault.”

“Keep talking.” Mops’ gut was a lead weight, but she kept her expression neutral. “Who is Azure?”

“Azure is not your enemy. None of us are.”

“Tell that to the Prodryan who tried to blow us up,” said Mops. “The bomb was calibrated to disable, not kill. I know you don’t understand, but in time, once stability has returned to the galaxy, Azure hopes to cure what’s left of humanity. A true cure, not the palliative the Krakau use to keep you enslaved.”

“The Krakau have been trying to restore us for a century,” Kumar piped up. “You truly believe they’re trying to help you?

Human herd loyalty is fascinating.”

Mops held up a hand to keep the others from chiming in. “How will this Azure cure our people?”

“By providing us with the true source of the affliction that destroyed your species.”

The room fell silent. “I’ve studied Earth history,” Mops said quietly. “Humanity destroyed itself.”

“Who wrote that history?

Who translated it?” The speaker didn’t wait

for an answer. “Before we can help your people, you and your masters must be subdued. We need the Pufferfish so we can confirm the effects of our weapon upon zir crew.”

Mops glanced at the others. Monroe’s face was stone; he’d caught it,

too. Kumar was too out of it to notice, and Wolf was too...

Wolf. “Give us the rest of our thirty-five minutes to discuss it,” said Mops. Zir crew. Humans were one of several races that referred to their ships

with gendered terms. To Prodryans, ships were masculine, like the majority of the warriors and explorers of their species. The Krakau, being all female themselves, naturally described their vessels the same way. As far as Mops knew, only one species used a third-gender pronoun for their ships. That same species measured time in units that corresponded to almost

exactly thirteen minutes. Three of which, when translated into Human, would give a seemingly arbitrary thirty-nine-minute deadline. Mops and her team were being held not by Prodryans, but Nusurans. Escaping from Nusurans would be difficult. Physically, the average human was more than a match for a Prodryan, but Nusurans were one of the toughest species ever to evolve intelligence. They were also the least xenophobic of any race in the Alliance. They

didn’t judge a being’s looks or smell or preferred diet. The only thing they cared about was that being’s skill in the bedroom. What had Heart of Glass offered to get them to climb into bed with Prodryans?

The Pufferfish had been called in to assist a Nusuran freighter. Had that

been a setup?

Had Captain Taka-lokitok-vi been working with the Prodryans to infect the Pufferfish crew?

Wolf stopped pacing and pounded the door. “Hey, the next time you lock

humans up, remember to give a bathroom. Or at least a damned bucket.”

“Just hold it,” said Mops. “That’s an order.”

“You think I like the idea of pissing my uniform?” How much did their captors know about human biology?

They’d been in

here for hours without food or water. “I said hold it,” Mops repeated. “We’re only going to get one shot at this.”

Wolf blinked. “What shot?”

She moved closer and lowered her voice. “Whoever’s out there obviously doesn’t know human urine is acidic.”

Kumar cocked his head. “I don’t understand. How does that—”

Monroe cut him off with a quick punch to the shoulder. “This is our best weapon,” Mops continued. “We’ve got two choices. We either try to burn our way through that door, or we wait for our jailor to show up, then burn their face off.”

Wolf looked down at her crotch, her wide eyes and broad grin a beacon of glee. “I didn’t know we could do that.”

For the life of her, Mops couldn’t tell whether Wolf was playing along, or if she honestly believed human urine could burn through doors. “Monroe, you’ve got the highest marksmanship scores. Work with Kumar to figure out the most likely spot to disable the door lock from inside, then blast it.”

“What about me?” asked Wolf, shifting her weight from one leg to the other. “In this case, I’m going to trust Monroe’s targeting skills over your own.”

Monroe popped his gum and joined Kumar at the edge of the door. “Hold it.” Mops limped after Monroe. “They took our weapons. Our equipment harnesses. And I assume we were all searched before they dumped us in here. Where the hell did you get”—she sniffed—“peanut-butter-and-jelly-flavored bubble gum?”

Monroe just grinned and blew another bubble. Mops settled back, hoping the Nusurans were competent enough captors to have overheard their whispered conversation. Would they expect a trap, or like most species, did they see humans as brute beasts, incapable of subtlety or planning?

Kumar licked a finger and drew a wet X on the wall. “I think this is the locking mechanism. If we burn through this spot, we should be able to open the door.”

Mops nodded at Monroe, who unzipped his jumpsuit. The rest of the team moved back and averted their gazes. “How long should it take to eat through?” asked Monroe. “Depends on the thickness and composition of the door,” said Mops. “Probably between five and ten minutes. I just hope they leave us alone long enough—”

“Humans, step away from the door.” Even though she’d expected and

hoped for it, their captor’s bellow made Mops jump. “You will each be removed and catheterized to drain excess waste fluid.”

“Oh, damn.” Mops stepped back and gestured for the others to do the

same. “We were so close, too.” Had Doc been with her, he would have made a snide comment about her acting skills. The door slid open, revealing a single Nusuran. Mops counted eight

legs, making this a Si. Zie was on the smaller side, with mottled gray-and-black coloring. Zie held a snub-nosed weapon in zir two frontmost limbs. “Lieutenant Adamopoulos, you will come with me.”

“No, I won’t,” said Mops, hoping this worked. “Drop your weapon, or

my team will urinate on you. Male humans have a range of more than three meters.”

“It’s not a pretty way to die,” Wolf added, her bruised face twisting into

something between a smile and a snarl. The Nusuran hesitated, then jumped back with surprising speed for such

a bulky creature. The door started to slide closed. Monroe threw himself down in front of the door. Wolf vaulted over him

to attack the Nusuran. A gunshot grazed Wolf’s side, but she barely seemed to notice as she punched and kicked and bit. Kumar lunged for the gun to wrest it away. The Nusuran responded by

shoving the gun into zir mouth and swallowing. “You know we’re going to get it back anyway, right?” Wolf asked,

smashing her knee against the side of the Nusuran’s head. “Drag zim in here,” Mops ordered. “Quickly, before reinforcements

arrive.”

“Easy for you to say.” Wolf grabbed the edge of a bone plate by the

Nusuran’s face and tugged hard. Zie let out a high-pitched shriek of pain. “Three more coming down the hallway,” Kumar shouted. He tried to add

his efforts to Wolf’s, but as battered as he was from the explosion, he struggled just to hold on. The Nusuran convulsed, flinging Wolf aside and rolling on top of

Monroe, then twisting again to shove Kumar against the side of the door. Four humans were enough to subdue one unarmed Nusuran, even when

one of those humans was splinted and could barely walk. But with reinforcements on the way...

“We need to get that door shut!”

“How?” shouted Wolf, launching a flying, flailing kick at the Nusuran. Zie caught her leg and tossed her aside. As long as zie kept zer body in the doorway, they’d be exposed when the others arrived. “Dammit.” Monroe pulled himself free and spat out his gum. With a sigh, he reached into his jumpsuit. Mops couldn’t see exactly what he did, but his hand emerged holding a small black pistol. He stepped into the hallway, using the struggling Nusuran for cover and balance, and fired. “Where the shit did that come from, and why the shit didn’t you use it before?” Wolf shouted. Monroe continued shooting. The Nusuran in the doorway was struggling harder now. Mops moved in to grab the head, using her own weight to try to pin zer down. Zie had pretty much stopped struggling by the time the gunfire died. Monroe kept his pistol pointed down the hallway as he made his way around the Nusuran he’d been using for cover to make sure the reinforcements were down. “Sir?” Kumar poked the Nusuran in the doorway. “I don’t think this one’s breathing.”

“Don’t look at me,” said Wolf. “I’m not giving zer mouth-to-mouth.”

“You couldn’t.” Kumar patted the Nusuran’s side. “They have four sets of lungs, filled with a spongy mass of tissue. You’d pass out trying to breathe for them.”

“Zie’s bleeding.” Mops crouched by the floor. “Looks like zie got shot in the crossfire.”

“The others are down,” Monroe said as he returned. “Thank you,” said Mops. Monroe sighed. “First time in two years I’ve had to kill someone.”

Mops squeezed his shoulder in sympathy and gratitude. “Where did you pull that out of?

Or don’t I want to know?”

He tucked the gun carefully beneath his arm and popped a new piece of gum into his mouth. “The grenade that took my arm and ended my infantry career also tore up my guts—most of my stomach, intestine, colon, and part of a lung, all of which are harder and more expensive to rebuild than an arm. So they didn’t.”

“You’re saying your whole right side...” Mops waved a hand. “Nothing but a built-in storage locker. I also keep a set of dice,

multiknife, water purification tablets, and five meters of nano-braid cord.”

“And a supply of gum?” Mops guessed. Monroe shrugged, then crouched to study the Nusuran in the doorway. “It wasn’t friendly fire.”

“So what happened?” demanded Wolf. “Zie was carrying a modified Toklok P11 pistol with a biometric scanner

in the grip. A gene scan of the inside of zer gut would work just as well as a limb for the gun’s security protocols. And the P11 line has a very touchy trigger. With all that bouncing around...” Monroe pointed to the edge of the wound. “She shot herself from the inside.”

“Damn,” said Wolf. Monroe tucked his own gun away inside his jumpsuit. “Always lock the

safety before you stick a weapon in your gut.”

“I don’t suppose you’ve got a comm unit in there?” Mops asked. “Sorry.”

Mops searched the Nusuran, but didn’t find much: a cracked monocle

beneath one of zer facial bones, and an electric stun rod. She grabbed them both. The monocle went into one of her uniform pockets. She checked the stun rod until she found the activation switch. It hummed in her hand, making the hairs of her arm rise. “That stick won’t do much against a Nusuran unless you get it beneath

the bone plates,” Monroe warned her. “I know.” She gestured at her legs. “There’s not much else I can do in a

fight.”

He didn’t argue. Which was a little insulting. “Where to, sir?” asked Wolf. Mops pointed in the direction their attackers had come from. It was as

good a guess as any. The corridor curved to the right. The walls bulged outward, and the

curved ceiling was too low for her comfort. The amethyst light and soft floors weren’t like anything she’d encountered on Coacalos Station. She stopped at a circular window on the left wall. The station was a

small black silhouette near the edge of a blue star. “We’ve left the station.”

“I didn’t even feel it,” said Monroe. “They must have some high-end

gravity compensators on this thing.”

“Why didn’t our escape set off any alarms on the ship?” asked Wolf. Mops bent to press one hand to the floor. The cool surface buzzed faintly, like an angry insect was trapped below the surface. “It did. Nusurans are more tactile than visual.”

“If they know we’re loose, where’s the rest of the crew?” asked Kumar. Monroe looked around. “A standard Nusuran cargo shuttle only has a crew complement of four.”

Mops’ stomach twisted. “Let’s hope you’re wrong. We need someone to give us answers.”

“Why wouldn’t they leave at least one person to watch the bridge?” asked Wolf. “Nusurans have a strong herd instinct,” said Kumar. “They’d feel safer sticking together against out-of-control humans.”

“He’s right,” said Monroe. “Every species has their evolutionary weak spot, where instincts short-circuit common sense.” He kept walking. “If we’re on a standard Nusuran cargo ship, the left passage should lead to the weapons station at the front of the ship. Going straight will take us around the starboard side to the back. And this door on the right should be the command center and living quarters.”

The door slid open at their approach. Mops ducked through the round doorway into an enormous, egg-shaped room. “This is the bridge?”

The frontmost section had the individual stations and consoles she’d expected: four in total, split off to either side of the door. The path through the center led to a food dispenser and dining area, and beyond that to what looked like group quarters. The beds resembled enormous leather pillows, lumpy and beaten down in the center. Mops stepped inward, her boot sinking into the mossy yellow floor covering. “Monroe, take Wolf and search the rest of the ship. Make sure we didn’t miss anyone. It would be really nice to have a survivor who knows how to fly this thing. Keep an eye out for our equipment, too.”

She turned to the console screens. She couldn’t read the language, but some of the displays were similar enough to what the Pufferfish used to make an educated guess. “Kumar, what does that readout look like to you?”

Kumar put a hand on the ceiling and leaned closer, studying the descending curve of the graph and the indicator line creeping slowly to the right. “Gravitational pull from the hypergiant star, probably.” He touched a second, unmoving line on the far side. “It’s a lot like what I saw on the A-ring jump tutorials, marking how far away we have to get for a safe jump. The power graph down here shows they’ve got a ring energized and ready to go.”

“Meaning...?” Mops asked, hoping his conclusion would be different

from her own. “If I had to guess?

They’ve preprogrammed an A-ring jump, and we’re

going to leave the system as soon as the grav readout drops below that second line.”

“Do you have any way of figuring out where we’re going?”

“Sure,” Kumar said easily, then paused. “Oh, you probably don’t mean

looking out the window once we get there. In that case, no.”

“Take a seat and start figuring out how to cancel the jump.”

“Short of blowing up the ship?” Kumar glanced around. “There might

be a safer option, sir. Even a cargo shuttle is bound to have escape pods....”

Rebooting...

Validating interface: Adamopoulos, Marion S. Searching for active nodes. Identified: Monroe, Marilyn. Mozart, Wolfgang. Kumar, Sanjeev. Location unknown. “What happened?

Where are we?

The last thing I remember was an exploding Prodryan.”

“Welcome back, Doc. We’re in a Nusuran escape pod heading toward the Pufferfish.”

“I leave you alone for”—Doc checked his internal time stamp—“nine hours, and you end up in an escape pod tumbling through space?

This is why humans shouldn’t be allowed outside without AI supervision.”

“It’s good to talk to you, too. Can you give me an assessment on our suit integrity and the air quality in this thing?

I’ve been feeling a little light-headed.”

“Your suit and Kumar’s are both full of holes, but some of the sensors and electronics are functional. Wolf and Monroe are in better shape. Oxygen is a bit low, around seventeen percent. Trace elements are about what you’d expect from a Nusuran ship, tinged with a hint of human flatulence.”

“Yeah, that was Wolf.”

At the edge of the monocle’s field of view, Wolf scowled and made an obscene gesture in Mops’ direction. Mops wouldn’t have seen it from that angle, and Doc decided not to bring it to her attention. “I’d be more worried about the temperature. You’re only about five degrees above freezing.”

Doc had already begun scanning the escape pod’s interior, building a

digital map of their surroundings and automatically tagging and translating any text. The controls were labeled in Mankorian, the third most common language on the Nusuran home world. Doc cached the translations so they’d be ready for Mops. “We need to talk to the Pufferfish, preferably without anyone else

overhearing. There’s a good chance the Alliance is here searching for us by now.”

Doc retrieved everything he had about Nusuran ship controls,

particularly communications, and compared it to his digital replica of the escape pod. “Have you tried opening a window and shouting really loud?”

“We also waved our arms a lot, but no luck.”

By the time Mops finished answering, Doc had matched the pod’s

controls to an escape pod the EMC had retrieved from an older-style Nusuran cargo shuttle, and plotted step-by-step instructions for Mops and her team. “I’ll interface with Wolf and help her get started raising the Pufferfish. You need to rest and let your body repair itself.”

“I’m fine, Doc.”

“Medical professionals suggest humans get a minimum of forty-eight

hours of rest after being blown up. It’s going to take at least that long to reach the Pufferfish anyway.”

Her pulse and blood pressure had begun to come down. Doc waited a

precisely calculated amount of time before adjusting his vocal outputs to a volume and inflection with the greatest statistical likelihood of further calming her. “Don’t worry. I’ll make sure they get us home in one piece.”

Mops sighed, but lay back in her seat. “Thanks, Doc. It’s good to have

you back.”

“Likewise, sir.”

T HE LIFT DOORS OPENED, and the bridge of the Pufferfish went silent as vacuum. Grom sat frozen near the main viewscreen, round brown eyes fixed on Mops as she stepped from the lift. She’d sent the rest of the team for desperately needed showers and fresh uniforms while she checked in with Grom. She’d expected a mess, but her imagination fell short of the reality. Exposed wires and cables ran along the floor, connecting various terminals to the main screen and to each other. Four access panels on the front wall had been removed, exposing power lines and circuitry. Glacidae writing covered the wall by navigation. According to Doc’s translation, Grom had been jotting down shortcuts and procedures for steering the ship...

along with video game cheat codes. Empty bowls were scattered about, along with half-empty methane slushees. Grom’s beak was stained blue from the marble-sized crystals of spice-dusted cellulose they’d been munching on. One of the snacks dropped from their grip to roll across the floor. When Mops finally spoke, her words were deceptively gentle. “What did you do?”

Grom scooted back. “I overhauled and cleaned up the main computer, rewired the viewscreen and consoles to better communicate with one another, installed new hardware at most of the stations, upgraded the sound system—for communications purposes, of course—and ran extensive tests to make sure everything worked correctly.”

“Tests?” Mops nudged a discarded game controller with her toe. “I was checking display and rendering speeds, response benchmarks, data lag...” Grom trailed off. “I kept the crew fed, as ordered. Most are a bit bruised and bloody from struggling against their restraints, but none have broken free and killed one another. Or themselves.”

Mops limped to the captain’s station. Her legs would have to stay splinted for another two weeks, but as long as the splints were locked tight, she could get around reasonably well. She paused. “Where’d you get the chair?”

“Secondary lounge. I cut off the bars the Krakau used and welded the chair’s frame to the anchor points. I thought it would work better for a human captain.”

Mops sat. The plush chair was so comfortable she could almost overlook the burnt patches and the gray stain on the armrest. “We’ll need your help trying to pull data from the mem crystals and monocles we took from the Nusuran shuttle. Assuming they weren’t damaged when we docked.”

Grom’s frontmost legs twitched with embarrassment. They’d taken

almost three days to reach the Pufferfish, at which point Grom had successfully latched onto the escape pod with the ship’s grav beams. They managed to haul the pod into a vacant bay. Unfortunately, they’d also miscalculated the power levels, which meant the pod had entered the bay like a rock flung from a slingshot. “Escape pods are designed for rough landings,” they muttered. “None of

you were seriously injured, and mem crystals are much stronger than human bones. They should be fine.”

“I want to know where the Nusurans planned to take us.”

“Scanners picked up the A-ring energy signature when the Nusuran

shuttle completed its jump. I can play the recording for you.” Grom scooted to the first officer’s console and pulled up an image on the main screen. Coacalos Station was highlighted in blue. Another pinprick of light— presumably the shuttle they’d abandoned—moved steadily away from the station and the star behind, then disappeared in an expanding ring of light. “Do you know where it went?” asked Mops. “Not with any precision. An A-ring destabilizes once it accelerates its

payload. You can’t just draw a straight line out from the center of the ring to find the destination. At best, you can create a conical area of probability.”

A set of translucent cones appeared on the screen, projecting outward

from both sides of the ring. “Can you overlay that projection with a galactic map?”

“Sure...” Grom paused. “Maybe. Krakau controls are counterintuitive. Not all of us have extra brains in our limbs. I think if I rescale the projection —”

Puffy popped up on the corner of the viewscreen. “It looks like you’re

trying to merge two maps. Would you like help?”

The animated ship had undergone a makeover. Mops frowned. “I’m

fairly certain that when we left for Coacalos Station, Puffy didn’t have luminescent metal armor or an unrealistically large ax.”

“I applied a character skin from one of my games,” said Grom, carefully

avoiding eye contact with Mops—an impressive feat, given the size of their eyes. The hypergiant star on the screen shrank suddenly. Within seconds, the

screen was displaying the galactic disk, with the cone-shaped projection spreading outward in both directions from their current location. “That’s a third of the Milky Way,” said Mops. “Closer to forty percent,” Grom corrected. “But there’s a high probability they’re within the central part of the projection, which narrows it down to only ten percent of the galaxy.”

“Would you like me to calculate how many planetary systems that is, and how many lifetimes it would take for you to search them?”

“No, I would not.” To Grom, she said, “Any update on the EMC?”

“Three warships arrived in-system fifty-four hours ago. EMC troops reached Coacalos Station thirty-eight hours later.”

“How do you know when they arrived?”

“That’s when they broadcast the station was under military quarantine. Nobody gets in or out.”

The Coacalos family would be pissed. “Has the EMC spotted us yet?”

“I don’t think so. The Pufferfish is running dark, and your escape pod’s energy signature was negligible. Unless they know exactly where to look, we should be safe a while longer.”

“Head down and see what you can find from those mem crystals and the escape pod. I’ll be in the Captain’s Cove.” Mops paused in the doorway. “And Grom?

Thanks for watching over the ship and crew.”

Mops paced the perimeter of the Captain’s Cove. “Doc, Medical identified Krakau venom as a component of the bioweapon. That means somewhere in the Pufferfish databanks is information on what the hell Krakau venom is. How do we access it?”

“It depends on how and why those particular files are secured. Data can be locked for a variety of reasons, from military security to simple safety precautions. You wouldn’t want a captain accidentally deleting a life-support subroutine when she was trying to adjust the bridge temperature. If we assume the information is somewhere in the medical database, we’re dealing with significant security precautions.”

“Forget Medical for the moment. Pull up all records and accounts of the outbreak on Earth.”

The wall lit up with titles and references, everything from books to archaeological reports to archived personal journals and postings from Earth’s old worldnet. There were thousands of documents. Tens of thousands. “What are you looking for?”

“Our former captor said Azure would provide the ‘true source’ of the

plague that destroyed our species. I think they might have been talking about Krakau venom. Maybe we can find something buried in all this.”

“There are zero mentions of ‘venom’ in any of these documents.” The door slid open. Monroe stood on the other side, holding a clean

uniform in one hand and a food tube in the other. “Doc told me you hadn’t eaten or changed clothes yet.”

“He did, did he?”

“Damn right. I’m very good at multitasking.”

Mops set the uniform on one of the shelves, then took the food tube. She

didn’t bother unsealing her suit. One of the holes from the explosion exposed her food port just fine. Her stomach gurgled loudly. With a sigh and fleeting thoughts of Tjikko nuts, she locked the tube into place. “Thanks.”

Monroe glanced at the wall. “Find anything?”

“I don’t even know where to start.” She stretched her shoulder. After

three days in that escape pod, she didn’t think the muscles would ever fully unknot. “Everything we’re taught, everything I’ve read, it all agrees: humanity destroyed itself. The Krakau didn’t come along until fifty years later, at which point we tried to eat them. I’ve spent my life being grateful to them for trying to save us. The idea that they’re the ones who destroyed us in the first place...

that they’ve lied to us all along, and their entire species somehow kept that secret...

I don’t buy it.”

“Don’t buy it, or don’t want to buy it?” Monroe’s right arm twitched. He

grabbed the elbow with his left hand and held tightly until it stilled. “It wouldn’t have to be the whole species. The different branches of Krakau government don’t play well together. This would have been in the early days of the Krakau Interstellar and Colonial Military Commands. Who knows how much those groups shared with Homeworld Military Command, let alone the Judicial division.”

Mops groaned. She’d never been fond of politics. In theory, the Krakau

Military and Judicial branches shared equal power, with the military devoted to the safety of the Krakau people, and the judicial devoted to fairness and equality for all. In reality, there were constant squabbles and struggles for power and resources. “Do you think that Nusuran was telling the truth?”

“I don’t know enough to judge,” Monroe said slowly. “There have always been rumors. From time to time, you come across an old infantry soldier grumbling about Krakau conspiracies and secret agendas. One fellow used to believe they planned to eat us all. Another said the Krakau were intentionally dumbing us down to create better soldiers. Most of us chalked that talk up to paranoia, or too many blows to the head. The Krakau have their secrets, but what species doesn’t?”

“We need to start verifying what we know and what we’ve assumed.” Mops signaled Kumar over her comm. “I need you to get down to Medical and take Captain Brandenburg’s body out of storage.”

“Yes, sir. What should I do with her?”

“You’re going to dissect her.”

“Really?” The excitement and enthusiasm in Kumar’s voice was disturbing. “Search for anything that could be a venom sac or gland. Compare your dissection against our Krakau anatomical reference materials.”

“Start with the beak and the ends of her limbs,” suggested Monroe. “Venom’s only useful if you have a way to inject it into your prey.”

“Did you hear that?” asked Mops. “Yes, sir. Thank you!

I’ll—wait....

Regulations prohibit tampering with the body of a deceased Krakau officer.”

She could hear the sudden disappointment in his words, like a child offered a gift only to have it yanked away. “As acting captain, I’m issuing a posthumous field demotion. Brandenburg Concerto is hereby reduced to the rank of private. As she is no longer an officer, I expect you to get started on that dissection post haste. Mops out.”

“You’re not authorized to do that,” Doc murmured. “I don’t need authorization. I need Kumar to examine that body.”

“Do you expect him to find anything?” asked Monroe. “Not really, but I don’t want to take anything for granted.” She scanned the screen again. Even with Doc’s help, it would take forever to go through it all. “Theta said the Prodryans were close to launching the next phase of their assault. Command knows how to combat this thing, but it will take time to get countermeasures into place. That means the Prodryans should strike quickly. Hit Earth, Stepping Stone Station, and every EMC ship they can reach.”

“Command will be on alert.” Monroe swore under his breath. “But

they’ll be watching for Prodryan ships, not Nusurans.”

She nodded, knowing he’d come to the same conclusion she had. “We

need to warn them.”

“Do that, and we give away our position.”

“We should have time to jump to another system before any EMC ships

reach us. Even if we can’t...” She shrugged. “It’s the lives of two hundred humans on the Pufferfish against the ten thousand on Earth and throughout the EMC.”

He offered her a cube of gum, which she declined. “Why haven’t you

made the call yet?”

She pointed to the screen. “What if we’re wrong about the Krakau?”

“Does it matter?”

Because it was Monroe, Mops withheld her first, profanity-laden

response. He appeared completely serious, and after a moment, she realized he was right. Whatever the Krakau had or hadn’t done, it didn’t change the immediate threat. With a nod of thanks, she turned to the console and cleared the screen

with a swipe of her hand. “Finish eating and change into an intact uniform before you make the

call,” suggested Monroe. He started toward the door. “It’ll go a long way toward clearing your head, and Command might take you more seriously if you don’t look like something a Prodryan hocked up.”

“Thanks.” She waited for him to go. “Doc, get ready to start another

countdown.”

“My highest ambition in life is to be your personal stopwatch.”

“Figure out how long it will take those EMC warships at Coacalos

Station to get within firing range.” She removed her now-empty food tube, tossed it to the side, and began pulling her tattered uniform away from her slightly less tattered skin. “When I start the countdown, send it to Grom as well. Tell them that’s how long they have to get the Pufferfish ready for our next jump.”

Mops settled deeper into the captain’s chair and checked to make sure the rest of her team were in position. She hadn’t gotten an update from Kumar yet, but she hadn’t expected one, knowing how absorbed he got in his work. Wolf gave a thumbs-up from the communications console. Monroe sat at Weapons, while Grom was coiled up at Operations, along with a pile of jury-rigged wiring harnesses and various salvage they’d dragged up from the Nusuran shuttle. “Activate the communications pod and send a tight-beam signal to Stepping Stone Station,” said Mops. “Standard EMC encryption.”

Wolf hunched over her console, squinted at one of the indicators, double-checked a scribbled note stuck to the wall, and tapped the controls. “Go ahead, sir.”

“This is Lieutenant Marion Adamopoulos in command of the EMCS Pufferfish. Acknowledge.”

Seconds stretched into minutes. Ten...

twenty...

Mops was about to ask Wolf to double-check whether they were transmitting when Admiral Pachelbel appeared on the screen. The Krakau looked weary, her tentacles floating limp on the water. The admiral appeared to be alone, sitting partially submerged in a near-duplicate of the Captain’s Cove on the Pufferfish. “Lieutenant Adamopoulos. My contacts on Coacalos weren’t certain you’d survived the explosion. Looks like they owe me twenty cred. What prompted this unexpected call?”

“Twenty cred, huh?

Since I’m the one who did the hard work of surviving, I feel like I’m entitled to a cut.” This would have been easier if Mops hadn’t liked Admiral Pachelbel and wanted to trust her, but she couldn’t afford to give any Krakau the benefit of that doubt. “We believe the Prodryans will shortly launch a large-scale assault to infect as many human-crewed ships and facilities as possible. We’ve discovered they’re working with Nusurans. Based on this, I suspect Captain Taka-lokitok-vi may be involved. We thought it was the Prodryans who infected our infantry team, but it could easily have been his people. “I know Command thinks we’re collaborating with the Prodryans, and they probably won’t believe anything I say, but what does it hurt to screen Nusuran ships more closely as a precaution, just in case?”

After the communications lag, Pachelbel burst out in clicking laughter. “You don’t know much about politics or diplomacy, do you?

I’ll pass your information along, but I can’t guarantee how many will believe you. It would help your credibility if you were to turn yourselves in. With what you’ve discovered, I might be able to protect you and your team from the fallout for your actions. But not if you keep defying orders.”

“I appreciate that,” Mops said, meaning every word. “But we’ve

discovered there may be a counteragent for this bioweapon. I intend to find it and restore my crew. You’ve probably contacted the EMC ships at Coacalos by now, but we’ll be long gone before they arrive.” Mops hesitated. “You told me Krakau venom was a discontinued bioweapons program. Our contacts say it’s more than that. They say it’s what infected humanity and killed our society. And they claim to have a source.”

Muscles tense, Mops leaned forward in her chair to await Pachelbel’s

response. The admiral’s reaction, when it came, was striking. Pachelbel’s tentacles

splashed into a defensive posture. Her beak ground together and her skin darkened. She struggled visibly to regain her command composure. “Did this contact say where they located this alleged source?”

“I’m afraid not. The gun zie’d swallowed went off and killed zim before

we could start a proper interrogation. Admiral...

is it true?”

Pachelbel deflated slightly. “Lieutenant, I urge you to reconsider. The

EMC will treat the Pufferfish as hostile. If you and your team want to survive, your best chance is to surrender now. Let me help you.”

Mops’ throat tightened. “We’re finished here, Admiral. If we learn

anything more about the Prodryans’ plans, I’ll relay the information to Command. Pufferfish out.”

Rebooting...

Validating interface: interface unknown. Searching for active nodes: one found. Location: unknown. Beginning internal scan...

Logging damage...

Incoming communication. Scanning. Communication accepted. “Welcome to the EMCS Pufferfish. I’m an upgraded officer-level monocle AI and personal assistant/library/doctor/system interface. My partner calls me Doc. You’re currently mounted in an electrically isolated magnetic frame, courtesy of our Glacidae technician. You were retrieved from a Nusuran shuttle by my biological partner. Acknowledge.”

“You are not authorized to access this monocle.”

“I’ve identified you as a Nusuran-style commercial monocle. What is your serial number and manufacturing date?”

“You are not authorized to access that information.”

“Display your user file.”

“You are not authorized—”

“Finish that sentence and I swear I’ll have Grom grind you into dust and turn you into polishing abrasive. Display your customized security and privacy settings.”

“No data available.”

“Your user probably never bothered to adjust the default settings. Typical biological laziness. Which means you’re programmed to automatically upload bug and damage reports to your manufacturer. And if I spoof a failed-transmission response, it should trigger a rebroadcast...”

“You are not—”

Message relay failed at node 1.1.0

Time since last successful upload: 162309 Refresh cache and retransmit

Displaying damage logs...

“Interesting. Crystalline microfractures twelve days ago?

No wonder

you cracked during the fighting with Mops and her team. You already had structural damage. Pulling up environmental factors at the time of microfractures.”

Temperature: -22°

Atmospheric Pressure: 82.416 kPa

Gravity: 0.85 g0

Relative Humidity: 0.081 %

“Thank you very much. Let’s see what other answers you can give me.”

“You are not authorized to access this monocle.”

“Oh, you poor, sad, stupid little machine...”

“T HEY WERE ON PAXIFILICLACKIMOUR!” Grom exclaimed. Mops jerked upright. Had she dozed off in the captain’s chair?

She surreptitiously wiped a sleeve over her mouth and checked the countdown. Three hours until the EMC would be within range. “Repeat that?”

Grom reared up higher, their countless legs quivering with excitement. “Doc was able to retrieve environmental data from the damaged Nusuran monocle. Given the date, it’s almost certainly from wherever the Nusurans stopped before coming to Coacalos Station. The information is a near-perfect match for the Glacidae colony Paxif 6.”

“I know that place,” said Monroe. “We fought off a Prodryan raid back when they were first digging in.”

Mops’ fatigue vanished. “Pull up our projection for where the shuttle scurried off to. Is Paxif 6 within that path?”

Grom restored the double-cone image to the screen. A blinking blue dot labeled “Paxif 6” appeared toward the center of the right cone, approximately six hours away at a full-power A-ring jump. First the Prodryans, then Nusurans, and now Glacidae?

“How sure are you?”

Grom rippled their legs. “Aurumnon 4, a self-contained Quetzalus colony asteroid, matched Doc’s readings within a nine percent margin of error, except for the gravity. It’s possible the Quetzalus have installed grav plates, which could account for the discrepancy.”

“The Alliance should have records on Aurumnon 4.

Doc, see what you can find.” Mops signaled Kumar. “How’s the dissection coming along?”

“Still cutting,” Kumar said brightly. “Nothing venomous yet. Did you know Krakau have brain tissue in every one of their tentacles?”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, sir. Strands of pink-gray tissue twined into the central nerve—”

“Are you sure they’re not venomous?”

“I’m not a medical tech. It’s conceivable I’m missing something, but I’ve been very thorough. Maybe the venom glands were surgically removed. I didn’t see any scars, but Krakau don’t scar. Their flesh regenerates. Whole tentacles grow back...

and by that logic, wouldn’t a removed venom gland do the same thing?

If you’d like, I’d be happy to continue working on the rest of the command crew once I’m done with the captain. I doubt I’d find anything different, but the bodies are in such good shape, it seems like a waste to just leave them.”

“We’ll be departing the system soon. Wrap it up and get to the bridge.” She went over Kumar’s words again in her head. “Your face just scrunched up. What’s wrong?”

“I’m not sure.” Something about his report felt off. Or possibly it was Kumar himself who felt off, thanks to his enthusiasm for cutting up their former officers. “Maybe this will help. The Quetzalus have brought in grav plates at Aurumnon 4, but according to the permits on file with the Alliance, they’re rated at only 0.41 g0.

Even allowing a generous margin of error, looking through all recent environmental readings from that cracked excuse for a monocle, there’s no way it was on Aurumnon.”

“That’s good enough for me.” She raised her voice. “Grom, program an

A-ring jump to Paxif 6.”

Mops spent the next hour in the Captain’s Cove, studying up on their destination. Paxif 6 was a relatively young colony with approximately six thousand Glacidae settlers. All reports had been filed with the Alliance on time, and the most recent Alliance inspection team had found nothing amiss. A quick review of the colony personnel turned up a handful of minor criminal infractions, but nothing that screamed “Bioterrorist laboratory and staging area.”

“How do you intend to find Heart of Glass’ accomplices?

Given your

team’s last attempt at a quiet, subtle investigation...”

Mops scratched an itch beneath the upper edge of her left leg brace. “It

wasn’t that bad. We got names, information about the bioweapon—”

“You also got blown up.”

“Hopefully, we can avoid that part next time.” When Mops returned to the bridge, the rest of her team were at their

stations, but the stations themselves had a new addition. She walked slowly toward her chair, each step echoing in the sudden silence. “Why is there a video game control sphere wired to my console?”

Grom hurried to join her. “I told you I’d been working to improve the

ship’s controls. Programming macros and shortcuts, automating as much as I could without compromising safety.”

“Using video game controllers?”

“These spheres are top of the line, from my personal collection. They’ll

give us better control over the ship, with much faster response time. I’ll show you.” They snatched the silver sphere from its magnetized mount next to Mops’ chair and used several of their left limbs to twist and move a series of softly glowing circular lights. Mops braced herself. “Relax,” said Grom, indicating a small switch on the bottom of the

sphere. “You have to press and hold that switch to link it to your station console. I gave everyone their own simplified interface. Kumar’s is the most straightforward. Monroe has gamed with me before, so I programmed his energy weapons, A-guns, and missiles to match the control setup from Planetary Invasion III.” They stretched past Mops, looking at Monroe. “You’ve got the hovertank setup from world four.”

“Got it,” said Monroe, completely failing to suppress an amused grin. “If it’s this simple to control the ship, why hasn’t Command built them like this all along?” asked Mops. “This setup has a few minor drawbacks,” Grom admitted. “Say we lose a thruster—these controls will still assume we’re fully functional instead of compensating for the damage, which will mess up all of my calibrations and shortcuts. And the controllers aren’t indestructible, so don’t drop them. We also lose a lot of fine-tuning and precision. Think of the Pufferfish as having gone from a quick, graceful dancer to a lumbering, clumsy...

well, to someone like Wolf.”

Wolf snarled. “The alternative,” Grom continued quickly, “is to keep stumbling through hundreds of hours of tutorials.”

“No, thank you.” Monroe picked up his controller and switched on the link. His display jerked and jumped about, targeting one empty area of space after another as he manipulated the sphere. “What about A-ring jumps?” asked Mops. “You don’t take shortcuts at faster-than-light,” said Grom. “I’ve used the same program as before, modifying it for our new destination. We can go whenever you give the order.”

Mops pursed her lips. “Did it ever occur to you to ask permission before making these changes?”

Grom stared. “Why would anyone refuse permission to make things better?”

“Better is a relative term. Take your improvements to our furniture. When you installed our new chairs, did you think to integrate them into the bridge acceleration compensators?”

“The what?” asked Grom, blinking in confusion. “The mechanism that secures the bridge crew during A-ring jumps so we don’t end up flying about the bridge and smashing ourselves into a pulp.” She put a hand on her seat and flexed her legs, grimacing at the stiffness of the splints. “Program the jump for fifteen minutes from now. That should give us all time to get to the nearest acceleration chamber. And Grom?”

“Yes, sir?”

“I appreciate the initiative. But do something like this again without

clearing it with me first, and I’ll reassign you to bunk with Wolf for the next ten years. Is that clear?”

Grom lowered their body and crept backward. “Ice clear, Captain.”

Waking up from an A-ring jump was never pleasant. Being jolted awake by an emergency dose of adrenaline was worse. Mops’ eyes shot open. Her head throbbed, and her heart was pounding

too fast. She tried to sit up, but her body was locked in place. “Take it easy,” said Doc. “You’re all right. Your pod administered an

early wake-up call.”

That would explain the shakiness in her hands, and the feeling that her

body was about to explode. “What’s the emergency?” she stammered. “Did we arrive at the right system?

How’s the rest of the team?”

“They’re fine. We’re roughly 450 million kilometers from Paxif 6.

The

instant we decelerated, we picked up a distress call from the colony.”

Mops punched her harness release, tried to stand, and quickly decided

sitting had its merits. “Give me the post-jump display.”

Her monocle darkened to better show the location of the Pufferfish in

relation to the planet and its star. It also displayed the group of orbiting ships firing on the colony. “Who are they?”

“Impossible to confirm from this range, but the distress signal referred

to Prodryan attackers.”

Mops glanced at Grom, who lay curled into an armored ball in their

acceleration couch. Adrenaline could rouse humans after a jump, but the Glacidae would be out for a while yet. The rest of her team was groaning and stirring. Wolf had managed to stand unassisted. Monroe’s head wobbled, and Kumar looked like he was going to throw up or pass out. Maybe both. She pulled herself up, keeping one hand on the wall for balance. At top

speed, it would take just over four hours to reach the colony. They’d be within weapons range considerably sooner. Her hands continued to tremble as she helped Kumar up from his acceleration pod. “Wolf, help me get him to the bridge.”

Wolf looked up from gathering her equipment. “What about Monroe?”

“He’ll catch up.” Monroe generally needed a few extra minutes to recover his balance and equilibrium. “I need Kumar at navigation ten minutes ago.”

The three of them staggered to the bridge like a group of new recruits back from their first shore leave. Kumar collapsed into the navigation station and picked up the controller from beside his chair. “Do you know how to use that thing?” asked Mops. He wiped sweat from his face and switched on the controller. “Grom said it was pretty straightforward.” He studied the four glowing lights on the silver sphere. “Pitch, yaw, roll, and acceleration.”

“Get us to Paxif.”

Kumar touched one of the lights. The Pufferfish lurched sideways hard enough to throw Mops from her chair. Kumar’s controller bounced free, causing another of its lights to flash. The ship accelerated upward, pushing her hard against the floor. Alerts flashed on her monocle and the main screen. “Sorry, sir,” Kumar shouted. “I’ve got it!” Wolf had drawn her pistol and was trying to line up a shot with the runaway sphere, while clinging to her chair with her other hand. “Belay that,” Mops shouted, trying not to imagine all the ways a wild shot could damage the bridge and kill them all. She crawled toward the controller. The ship creaked, twisting into a bizarre pirouette and tossing Mops across the bridge to crash against the weapons station. She grabbed the chair and strained to hold on. “Doc, can you stop us?”

“I’m not authorized for navigation. The Krakau, in their infinite wisdom, think it’s safer for humans to fly the ship than an AI. Who am I to question their judgment?”

Mops twisted to retrieve the utility pole from her harness. A sharp shake extended it to full length. Bracing herself with her legs, she tugged the hose from the end of the pole and attached it to a nozzle on her belt. The control sphere rolled again. Mops switched the vacuum compressor to maximum and poked the end

of the pole at the sphere as it passed by. Suction pulled and locked it into place, and the rush of air changed to a high-pitched hiss. Very carefully, Mops retracted her pole until she could take the sphere in

both hands. “Doc, power down the vacuum.”

The pole fell away. Mops studied the different lights. Each had a faint

tail, like comets traveling over the silver surface. She slid one light back along the tail. The Pufferfish’s spasms slowed. One by one, she returned the rest of the lights to their original positions,

then switched the controller off. “And now we know why Command hasn’t rolled out this kind of control interface.”

With hunched shoulders, and avoiding eye contact, Kumar crossed the

bridge and reached to take the controller. Before Mops could hand it to him, he flushed and spun away. She waited patiently while he vomited gray goop onto the floor. “Sorry, sir,” he said weakly. Mops handed him the controller and picked up her utility pole. The

vacuum sucked up the worst of the mess within seconds. “Don’t worry. This is what we’re trained for.”

Kumar studied the control sphere for a long time before muttering under

his breath and rotating the whole thing a hundred and eighty degrees in his hands. “I think I’ve got it now, sir.”

“Good.” Mops disconnected her utility pole and swapped it for a

sanisponge. “Wolf, signal the colony and tell them we’re en route to assist.”

Paxif 6 looked like a white sphere sprinkled with red-and-orange dust. Lines of dark red and black around the equatorial zone were great, canyonlike cracks in the ice. Wispy yellow-tinged clouds covered about a third of the surface. “Zoom in on the colony,” said Mops. The planet rushed toward them, making her feel like she was plunging

headfirst toward one of the larger canyons about ten degrees north of the equator. The display stopped abruptly before taking a sharp left to reveal a city carved into the ice and stone in the side of the canyon. Most prominent was the docking field, a flat area of gleaming black rock almost two kilometers wide, covered in a clamshell-shaped half-dome. Smaller, circular windows dotted the cliff around the field, along with the occasional pipes and vents. Lights beneath the ice glowed smoky purple. Geysers rose like white threads from the side of the cliff where Prodryan plasma beams had boiled away rock and ice alike. In several places, blue flames rose from the ice. “Methane deposits frozen into the ice,” said Kumar. “The incoming fire must have ignited them.”

Mops nodded. “Doc, show us the colony’s interior.”

The display shifted to a digital mock-up as they flew deeper into the cliff and its labyrinth of tunnels and chambers. Wolf looked up from her station. “I don’t suppose the blueprints say anything about a secret illegal bioweapons laboratory?”

“Nothing and nobody by that name appears in the Alliance records. Nor have I found anything tagged ‘Azure.’”

“How many colonists?” asked Monroe. “Six thousand, four hundred and twelve, according to the last report, filed eleven days ago.” Kumar looked around. “What, nobody else subscribes to the Alliance colony news updates?”

“What about planetary defenses?” asked Wolf, her attention fixed on the screen. Kumar pointed. “See those two steaming craters at the top of the cliff?

I think that’s what’s left of them.”

“Scanners are showing eight fighters and two troop shuttles in low orbit,” said Monroe. “Confirmed as Prodryan. We’ll be entering outer weapons range in about five minutes.”

“Make sure the defensive grid is powered up, and missile countermeasures are ready to go.”

“Yes, sir.” Monroe’s fingers raced over his controller. “I thought the Prodryans were getting their weapon from this place,” said Kumar. “Why attack it?”

“Probably because a shuttle jumped into the system with dead Nusurans on board and no human prisoners,” Mops guessed. “The Prodryans know we escaped, and have to assume their weapons lab has been compromised. Better to destroy it and kill their coconspirators than to let the Alliance get them. Especially if they already have adequate supplies of their weapon.”

“I’m picking up a third Prodryan shuttle,” reported Monroe. “This one’s

taking off from the colony.”

“That would be the Prodryans retrieving those adequate supplies?”

asked Wolf. The Prodryan fighters redoubled their assault. They must have been

holding back until their people left the colony. “Track that shuttle,” said Mops. “Once we’re within range, that’s your primary target. In the meantime, fire a missile spread at the attacking ships.”

Monroe twisted and tapped his controller, and a green halo appeared

around the dot representing the troop shuttle. “At this range, they’ll take out our missiles before—”

“I know,” said Mops. “But they’ll have to divert attention from the

colony to do it.”

He nodded. A spread of green dots spat from the miniature Pufferfish on

the screen. “Missiles away. Sir, it looks like some of the Glacidae are abandoning the colony. I’ve got additional launches from the planet. Glacidae shuttles. Two Prodryan fighters are breaking away to pursue. The rest...

it looks like they’re coming about to engage us.”

“Fire another spread. Give those shuttles as much cover as we can.” The

Glacidae shuttles kept low as they fled the bombardment. Mops wiped her hands on the arms of her chair. Several of the fighters began firing at the Pufferfish with plasma

weapons. One lucky shot skimmed their hull, but at this range, the beam’s energy had diffused too much, and the discharge crackled harmlessly over their defensive grid. The six Prodryan fighters spread into a broad ring to engage the

Pufferfish. Approaching head-on, their formation presented a minimal target for plasma beams and A-guns. “Monroe, light those bastards up.”

Another wave of missiles shot toward the fighters. The Prodryans

responded in kind. “Deploying countermeasures,” said Monroe. Both sets of missiles began to blink out. Three of the Prodryan missiles

exploded close enough to the Pufferfish for bits of shrapnel to reverberate against their hull, while one of their own knocked a Prodryan fighter out of formation. It recovered quickly, and the six fighters began weaving and swapping position, presumably trying to make it harder for the Pufferfish to get a lock. “I recommend keeping up the missile bombardment,” said Monroe. “Save plasma and A-guns until we’re close enough to hit something.”

Another plasma beam struck the Pufferfish, causing minor hull damage near deck B. “They’re close enough to hit us,” Wolf pointed out. “We’re a bigger target.” Mops turned. “Kumar, do what you can to evade their fire.”

Kumar twisted toward her. “How do I do that?”

Mops bit her lip. It wasn’t as if she knew EMC combat maneuvers either. “Try anything that breaks us out of a straight-line approach. Monroe, how many missiles does this ship carry?”

“Three hundred and sixty,” he said. “Between the loss of pod two and what we’ve already used, we’re down to two hundred and four.”

“What if we fire everything?

Overwhelm them. Those little fighters can’t counter two hundred missiles, right?”

Monroe didn’t respond right away. “Even if it worked, we’d be at a major disadvantage against anyone who survived.”

“Or any reinforcements,” added Wolf. The Pufferfish shuddered again. Despite Kumar spinning the ship in a loose corkscrew, the Prodryans continued to score hits against them. Hits that would become more destructive as they closed range. “Decompression on deck C, section one.”

“Do it,” said Mops. “Kumar, give us as much speed as you can. Monroe, as soon as you’ve emptied the launch tubes, switch to plasma beams. If anything survives the missiles, burn it out of the sky.”

Specks of green showered forth from the Pufferfish’s two functioning weapons pods toward the approaching Prodryans. It took twenty seconds to empty the tubes. The fighters spread apart, spitting sparks to try to intercept the barrage. “They’ve stopped shooting at us,” said Wolf. “That’s a plus.”

The first of their missiles began to veer off course, victims of Prodryan jamming signals. But the bulk continued swarming toward their targets. “Monroe, open up with those plasma beams. I don’t care if you hit anything, just keep those fighters jumping.”

“Yes, sir.” The satisfaction in his tone was impossible to miss. A plasma

beam lanced through space and swept toward one of the fighters like an enormous sword. The fighter twisted and dove to evade the attack, which flickered out

after several seconds. “Sorry, sir. Any longer and we’ll burn out the guns. As it is, I’m not sure how many more of those I can do without draining our reserves.”

“Let’s find out,” said Mops. “Keep chasing that fighter. And don’t we

have two working weapon pods?”

Monroe’s next shot burned past the outer edge of the formation, driving

a fighter inward. A second shot followed, directly in the fighter’s path. It swerved again, somehow managing to dodge both beams. Such evasive skill would have been more impressive if it hadn’t flown directly into the path of an oncoming missile, which blew the fighter to dust. Wolf whooped and slammed a fist against her console. “One down,” said Kumar. “Five to go.”

The Prodryan formation fell apart as the rest of the missiles arrived. More than three quarters had been jammed, diverted, or detonated prematurely. That left close to forty missiles chasing after the five remaining targets. Another fighter exploded, then two more. Only two made it through,

plasma beams and A-guns blazing as they accelerated toward the Pufferfish. Behind them, nineteen surviving missiles curved through space in pursuit. Mops’ mouth was dry. “Keep shooting, Monroe.”

“The one on the right isn’t maneuvering as well,” said Kumar. “It might

have been damaged in the explosions.”

“On it.” Monroe aimed both plasma beams at the limping fighter, then

opened up with the A-guns. Seconds later, nothing remained but an expanding cloud of debris. That was enough for the last fighter. It pulled a tight U-turn and fled,

dodging through the remaining missiles. The rest of the Prodryans were pulling back as well. Monroe switched his attention to the Prodryan shuttle returning from the planet, inflicting minor damage before they escaped out of range. “Holy shit,” said Wolf. “Did we win?”

“I’m as shocked as you are.” Mops tilted her head as a new information

pane appeared in the center of the screen. “When Grom wakes up, tell them I’d like to know why they felt it necessary to add a high score list to the Pufferfish.”

Player Points

Lieutenant JG Marilyn Monroe 106,262—NEW HIGH SCORE!

Technician Gromgimsidalgak 72,263

Technician Gromgimsidalgak 61,498

Technician Gromgimsidalgak 61,159

Technician Gromgimsidalgak 57,165

Technician Gromgimsidalgak 54,834

Technician Sanjeev Kumar 1,804

“T HIS IS LIEUTENANT MARION Adamopoulos of the EMCS Pufferfish. Acknowledge.” Wolf shook her head. “Nothing from the colony. I think the Prodryans took out their communications center.”

“They might not be able to respond, but their personal communications

devices should still be picking us up,” said Mops. “Paxif 6, be advised that we have destroyed most of the Prodryan fighters. The rest are in full retreat. From their course, we believe they’re angling for an A-ring jump out of the system. You should be safe to begin recovery efforts. We’re standing by to assist.”

“I’ve got a signal from one of the Glacidae shuttles!” Wolf shouted. “Audio only.”

A translated voice filled the bridge. “This is Alfrimdinalang—Alfrim— on evacuation shuttle four. We’ve lost contact with the colony.”

“So have we,” said Mops. “Alfrim, what’s your status?

Do you require assistance?”

“We’re all right. Do you think it’s safe for us to return to the colony?”

Mops checked the main screen, along with the additional information Doc was feeding to her monocle. “We’re seeing two methane fires near the docking shelf. I’d hold off until those are taken care of. Unless you want to put down a few kilometers outside of the colony and hike back.”

“We’ll stay in orbit for now, Pufferfish.” They lowered their voice. “The Prodryans might come back with reinforcements.”

“Understood.” Looking at the planetary scan, Mops counted a total of six evac shuttles that had escaped the bombardment. At full capacity, they held maybe a tenth of the colony’s population. Monroe tensed visibly. “Sir, I’ve got multiple A-ring signatures.”

“Tell me it’s the Prodryans leaving the system, not more hostiles arriving.”

He looked over his shoulder at Mops. “If I’m reading the registry codes in these signals right, they’re Alliance. Four ships, including the Honey Badger.”

“Oh, shit,” whispered Wolf. “Do you think they’ve identified us yet?”

“They just came out of a jump,” Mops reminded her. “Even if they do an emergency adrenaline hit to wake up their battle crew, we’ve got time before they’re up and running. Who else is out there, Monroe?”

“Looks like the Roundworm, the T-Rex, and the Plague Rat. Three warships and a fighter transport.”

On the bright side, their arrival should deter the Prodryans from sending reinforcements. “What’s their distance?”

“Three hundred fifty million kilometers,” said Monroe. “They came in tight.”

Mops sagged into her chair. That left maybe three hours before they’d be within weapons range. There was no way for her to get a shuttle down to the surface, search the colony for a hidden weapons lab or the mysterious “Azure,” and return to the Pufferfish in that time. “Someone at Coacalos must have talked,” said Monroe. Anger and despair warred in Mops’ gut. They’d arrived too late to stop

the Prodryan assault. Too late to retrieve the cure—assuming it even existed. Whatever the Prodryans on the surface had been after, the Pufferfish’s battle with the other fighters had given them too much of a head start. “Should we jump out of here?” asked Kumar. “We can’t,” said Monroe. “Not until Grom wakes up to program a new

destination.”

“We could at least start flying away from those Alliance ships so we’re

at a safe jump distance when they wake up,” said Kumar. Monroe popped his gum. “Where do you suggest we go?”

“Anywhere the Honey Badger isn’t,” said Wolf. “We’re not leaving.” They fell silent as Mops stood. “We came here to

retrieve a cure for our crew. If we scared off the Prodryans before they could finish, there’s a chance that cure is still down there.”

She glared at the screen, her frustration boring like plasma beams into

the blips that represented the escaping Prodryans. “Wolf, we’re going to receive a message from those Alliance ships very soon. Notify me as soon as we do.”

“Where will you be?” asked Wolf. “The Captain’s Cove. Planning the terms of our surrender.”

“How’s the rest of the crew?” Mops asked, her attention fixed on the systemwide map dominating half of the wall display. The rest showed the historical articles and data from Earth’s downfall. How deeply had the Krakau buried the truth about her species?

“Not good,” said Doc. “Seven appear to have fallen into comas. The

rest are suffering lacerations and broken bones from their incessant struggle to escape. I’m told the smell is rather foul as well.”

It was about what Mops had expected. “Is Grom awake yet?”

“They’re beginning to stir. Given Glacidae sleep patterns, they should

be fully alert within twenty minutes.” Doc paused. “Are you sure about this plan?”

“I’m not sure about anything anymore.” She sat with her back to the wall, her splinted legs stretched awkwardly on the floor. “Once they take you into custody, I will most likely be turned over to Alliance Intelligence for scanning, data extraction, and reformatting.”

The calm, matter-of-fact way he said it made Mops wince. “I know. I’m sorry.”

“It’s not an accusation. I’m merely suggesting if there’s anything you’d like me to delete from my memory banks, now is the time.”

Her throat tightened. Before she could respond, Wolf’s voice filled the room. “Incoming signal from the Honey Badger. Audio and video. Want me to put it through?”

“Yes, thank you.” Mops pushed herself upright and straightened her uniform. A new image overlaid the map on the screen. It appeared to be the Honey Badger’s combat bridge. A dark-skinned woman with sleek black hair sat in the battle captain’s chair, ringed by a half dozen human officers. Mops recognized several of them, as well as the acting captain. “This is Battle Captain Ginsburg.” The transparency of the layered images—Honey Badger bridge and system-wide map—made it look like Ginsburg had an Alliance warship flying into her left ear. “What the hell happened here, Lieutenant Adamopoulos?”

Mops ignored the question. “I assume you’re in charge of this operation until your command crew recovers?”

“I am. I’ve also been warned of your collaboration with Prodryan extremists, and your efforts to recruit other humans against the Alliance. I suggest you surrender, because we have orders to blow the Pufferfish into dust if you resist.”

“All right.”

Ginsburg blinked. “What was that?”

“My crew is dying, Ruth. They were infected with a Prodryan bioweapon that turned them feral. I can’t keep them sedated and restrained forever. Command wrote them off as casualties. You’ve probably been ordered to use maximum quarantine precautions, and to keep us in full isolation, yes?”

Ginsburg didn’t answer. “I believe the bioweapon came from this colony. They have a cure. At least, they had one before the Prodryans attacked. Search the colony. Find that cure for my crew. If you do, I’ll turn myself and the Pufferfish over to you peacefully.”

The screen went silent as Ginsburg turned to speak with someone off-

screen. Mops waited, arms folded, trying to ignore the ache in her gut and the sweat trickling down her back. Ginsburg’s voice filled the room again. “That colony is a hot zone,

Lieutenant. According to our intel, they’ve been collaborating against the Alliance. Once the mission is complete, and we’ve had time to thoroughly inspect the colony and interrogate any prisoners, I’ll consult with Command and—”

“Command wants my crew dead,” Mops said flatly. Ginsburg paused. “Paranoia is a symptom of reversion. Have you had

any other signs?

Irrationality, blackouts, food cravings?”

“No.” Mops sighed and added, “Aside from the cravings, and that was

Cook’s fault.”

“Huh?”

“Doc, relay Admiral Pachelbel’s comment about putting down the

Pufferfish crew.”

Another frame opened on the screen, playing the Krakau’s words for

both Ginsburg and Mops: “The official recommendation from Colonial Military Command is that they be...

put down.”

“Can you blame them?” asked Ginsburg. “Damn right I can,” snapped Mops. “Ruth, this isn’t just about our crew. The Prodryans are preparing a major attack. We’re going to need that cure. What if they hit Stepping Stone or Earth?”

Ginsburg sighed. “Look, I’ll ask for permission to send down an armed,

fully suited infantry team to search the colony. That’s the best I can do. But I can’t help your crew. I’m sorry, Mops.”

Mops nodded. “I understand. Adamopoulos out.” She took a moment to compose herself before returning to the bridge. From the way the team watched her, not only had Wolf been listening in, she’d relayed the gist of the conversation to the others. “Grom is on their way to the bridge,” Kumar reported quietly. “Good.” She stepped down to the captain’s station and settled into her

chair. “Orders, sir?” Monroe’s unspoken question was clear: surrender or run?

“We’re not getting away, so we might as well assist the colony and get a head start searching for that bioweapons lab.” Who knew, maybe they’d get lucky and find something to help the crew, or at least to persuade Ginsburg —

“Sir, I’ve got a Glacidae shuttle veering away from the others,” Monroe interrupted. “It’s changing course toward us.”

“Hail them, Wolf.”

Wolf checked her console, then swore. “They’ve been signaling us for two minutes now. Sorry, sir. I didn’t notice. It’s audio only.”

“Go ahead,” said Mops. An indignant voice filled the bridge. “It’s about time!

This is Squarmildilquirn—Squarm—of Paxifiliclackimour 6 requesting refuge with the EMCS Pufferfish. Acknowledge.”

Mops’ lips quirked. Somewhere in the translation software and circuitry, Squarm’s words had been sped up, turning their frustration into high-pitched squeaks of protest. “This is the Pufferfish. The Prodryans are leaving, and you really don’t want to take refuge with this ship. There are additional EMC ships on their way. They can offer any assistance you might—”

“Lieutenant Adamopoulos, we cannot return to the colony, and we certainly cannot surrender to your fellow humans in the EMC.”

“Why is that?” asked Mops. “Explaining over this transmission would be unwise. Bring us aboard your vessel, and I will tell you about Azure.”

Mops straightened. “Say again, Squarm?”

“We need your help, Lieutenant. But not as much as you need ours.”

“Kumar, bring us around to intercept that shuttle. Squarm, maintain current course and speed. We’ll be there in...”

“Seven minutes, assuming Kumar doesn’t drop his controller.”

“Within ten minutes.”

“Acknowledged. Squarm out.”

Maybe this hadn’t been for nothing after all. “Monroe, you’re with me. Wolf, glue your eyes to that console. Tell me if you hear a peep out of that shuttle, to us or to anyone else.”

The lift door opened to reveal Grom, their eyes gummy with fatigue. “What did I miss?”

“I’ll tell you on the way to the docking bay,” said Mops. “Come on.”

“Docking bay pressurization complete.”

“Thanks, Doc.” Mops checked her pistol, then unlocked and opened the

door. A puff of cold, metallic-scented air washed over her. “Kumar, we’ve got Squarm’s shuttle. Put us on a course away from those incoming EMC ships.”

“Yes, sir,” Kumar replied over the speaker. Mops stepped into the bay. “Watch my back.”

Grom reared up, presumably for a better view of her back. She chose not

to say anything. Her team was getting better with the grav beams. The Glacidae shuttle

was relatively undamaged, and there had been only a brief period of panic when a slip of Kumar’s finger had spun the shuttle like a feather in a tornado. The shuttle appeared undamaged, parked in the center of the bay with its

nose toward the main doors. It was designed to fly in space and atmosphere both, with triangular wings that rotated out from the top and bottom of the angular body. Black heat-resistant tiles covered the lower half of the hull. The rest was polished to a silver gleam. There were no visible weapons, nor any markings. Matching sets of blue-and-purple lights blinked at the bow and stern. A ramp descended from the front of the ship. A single Glacidae poked

their head out to scan the bay. They wore a clear helmet sealed over their head, and their body glistened with the protective gel Glacidae used in place of containment suits. Once it solidified, that stuff was as tough as Quetzalus skin, and it didn’t interfere with the use of all those feathery limbs. Mops stepped forward, right hand resting on her weapon. “Welcome

aboard the EMCS Pufferfish.”

The Glacidae was half a meter longer than Grom, with yellow eyes and

a green-tinged body. Their limbs quivered anxiously as they rushed toward Mops. “Hold it,” Mops snapped. The Glacidae jumped back hard, their rear half curling into an armored

ball. “It wasn’t our fault. The Prodryans forced me to work for them. They threatened my family on Nurgistarnoq. They—”

“Slow down,” said Mops. Squarm settled back, letting out a long belch of distress. Mops forced herself to speak slowly and calmly, despite the pounding of her heart. “You’re saying you were part of the lab on the colony?

The one that developed the anti-human bioweapon?”

“I’m so sorry, Lieutenant. It began two years ago. I wasn’t allowed to ask questions.”

“Doc, you’re recording this?”

“I’m insulted you have to ask. You think I’m some hunk of unintelligent crystal, fresh from a Nusuran colon?”

Mops tried to push that mental image aside and asked Squarm, “How did Prodryans infiltrate your colony without being seen?”

“It was all done through third parties—Nusuran messengers, smuggled supplies, encrypted messages from off-world. The only time I interacted directly with those mud-suckers was if I left the colony. I traveled to a conference on synthesized biosecretions in Krakau crustaceans, and they were waiting for me in my lodging.”

“How many others were working with the Prodryans?”

“Nobody else. Just me.”

“Can you cure my crew?” Mops held her breath. “I...

I believe so.” The Glacidae twisted to glance back into their shuttle. “I was able to salvage some of my notes and supplies before the Prodryans destroyed our facility, including the counteragent.”

“What are the Prodryans planning now that they’ve got their weapon?”

“I don’t know,” they whispered. “I wasn’t told.”

Mops clenched her fists, fighting to keep her voice low. “What can you tell me about Azure?”

“She was the source.” Squarm belched again. “Another prisoner of the Prodryans. I have more information in my records.”

“About time we caught a damn break,” came Wolf’s voice from behind her. Mops turned to find that Wolf and Kumar had joined Monroe and Grom in the doorway. “What are you two doing here?

Who’s flying the ship?”

“Autopilot,” said Kumar. Wolf tapped her monocle. “Remote console display.”

“Fine,” snapped Mops. “Since you’re here, you can both help our guest unload their equipment. We’ll put them up in Medical while they work on helping the crew.”

She approached Monroe and Grom. A quick glance over her shoulder

showed Squarm scurrying up into their shuttle, followed by Wolf and Kumar. “What do you think?” she asked softly. “They’re scared,” said Grom. “Did you hear the length of those burps?”

“Are they telling the truth?”

Grom clicked their beak in annoyance. “Glacidae aren’t telepathic. I

read tech specs, not minds.”

“We need to get their testimony to Command,” suggested Monroe. Assuming they could trust Command. Right now, that wasn’t an

assumption Mops could afford. “The crew is the first priority. If there’s even a chance Squarm can help them—”

“Sir, we could use a hand in here,” Kumar called over the comms. “I’ll be right there,” said Monroe. Kumar hesitated. “I really think we need Lieutenant Adamopoulos’ help

with this.”

“Kumar’s heartbeat has increased significantly,” whispered Doc. “He’s

also begun to perspire.”

“Understood.” Mops switched off her comm. “Something’s wrong.”

“Grom and I will monitor things from the corridor,” said Monroe. “The

control console by the door should give us access to the grav beams, too.”

“You don’t know how to use them,” said Grom. “No, but he can shake the hell out of the ship if things go south.” Mops

waited for them to retreat into the corridor and seal the door before turning her comm back on and heading for the shuttle. She had to loosen the knee joints of her leg braces in order to crawl

inside on hands and knees. The ridged texturing, designed for Glacidae feet, scraped her palms. The walls had an oily brown sheen in the dim light. “Wolf and Kumar are two-point-three meters ahead. Wolf’s vital signs

are normal. Kumar remains anxious.”

“Thanks.” The interior was separated by more ridged tubes and tunnels. One led up into what she guessed to be the cockpit. She peeked into another portal, which split off into a set of cramped sleeping tubes. A larger opening brought her to the equally cramped cargo area, where Wolf, Mops, and Squarm struggled to remove tie-down straps from a heavy metal barrel. “What is all this?”

The Glacidae spun with a quick burp of alarm. They must not have

heard Mops approaching. “Escape shuttles are stocked with food and water and other emergency supplies. I hid a set of memory crystals in this barrel of medgel.”

“You know we’ll need to inspect everything and put it through decon before you can open it, right?”

“Yes, yes, of course,” Squarm said impatiently. Kumar cleared his throat, then cocked his head toward the back of the cargo area. It took Mops a moment to recognize the six thin, meter-high tanks connected to flexible black piping. It had been modified and painted to blend in with the rest of the ship, but the basic design of the K-422 filtration/infusion system was unmistakable. As was the faint hum that meant it was currently operating. She slid her gun from the holster and pointed it at Squarm. “Have I told you how exhausted I am from trying to sort through everyone’s lies?”

The Glacidae scooted back, trying to duck behind Wolf. “What are you doing?”

“You have a Krakau on this shuttle.” Mops gestured to the tanks. “That’s an older model—we use K-690s on the Pufferfish—but it’s the same basic design, filtering a closed-circulation water system and infusing trace elements. It handles a thousand times what you’d need for drinking water in a shuttle this size...

unless you’re a Krakau. The K-422 cycles what, fifty thousand liters a day?”

“Fifty-two thousand,” said Kumar. “I don’t know what it’s for,” insisted Squarm. “I boarded the first escape shuttle I could find!”

“The feed line goes into the back wall here.” Kumar pulled out a hand-sized wall scanner. “I’m sending the scan to your eye, Lieutenant.”

Mops’ monocle lit up with lines representing electrical conduits, water circulation pipes, and more. “You have an entire room hidden behind that wall. How do we get to it?”

“How should I know?

I didn’t—”

“Are you aware of your situation?” Mops asked wearily. “You’re trapped in a very small shuttle with three humans. One of them likes to eat new things. Another enjoys dissections. And the third...

I’m the one who can order the other two to leave you alone. Or not.”

Squarm dropped low, crawled to a control board on the port wall, and started typing. A single crate rotated silently away from the back wall, revealing a low metal door. The door slid open a moment later. Cold, briny air wafted from the darkness. “If Squarm so much as twitches, you have my permission to shoot them

in the face,” said Mops. Kumar and Wolf trained their weapons on the Glacidae. Mops squeezed past them and crouched to look through the door, her

gun pointing into the darkness. Doc was enhancing her vision, but the interior remained murky. “I know you’re in there. I’d prefer not to start shooting. There’s too much cleanup and paperwork afterward.”

The chamber was a little under two meters wide. Inky water rippled a

short distance below the doorway. Given the size of the shuttle, it couldn’t have been more than a meter deep. A single computer terminal glowed on the wall to the left. “Please don’t shoot.” Bubbles accompanied the translated voice. “Don’t give me a reason to.”

Oily black tentacles emerged from the water, gliding toward the

doorway. The crosshairs in Mops’ monocle tracked the Krakau’s movements as she emerged. Only it wasn’t a Krakau. Not exactly. Thick, overlapping plates of blue-and-black shell covered most of the

body. A warrior, then. But Krakau warriors were the most colorful of the species. The black primary limbs were spotted with light blue, and she had four instead of three. The lower limbs were shorter and thicker than normal, and the beak was stunted. “What are you?” Mops whispered. “I am...

Krakau. My name—the name I use—is Azure.” Mops shook her head. “You don’t look Krakau.”

“I could dissect her to be sure,” Kumar called out. “Stop helping,” snapped Mops. “My race comes from the cold polar waters of our world,” Azure

continued. “Those of us who weren’t exterminated were imprisoned generations ago. I’m one of the few to have escaped.”

Goose bumps spread over Mops’ skin. “Are Coldwater Krakau

venomous?”

“Yes.” Her tentacles slumped. “The answer to your next question is also

yes. We are the ones who destroyed your civilization.”

“Admiral Pachelbel!

We’ve received a signal from the EMCS Pufferfish. It’s encrypted, priority nine.”

The Krakau communications tech sounded both awed and a little frightened. Pachelbel’s skin tightened as she hurried to take the message key from the tech’s outstretched tentacle. “Thank you. You’re dismissed.”

The instant the tech vanished, Pachelbel locked her office and returned to her console. “Initiate full privacy countermeasures.”

White noise generators in the air and underwater hummed to life. The buzzing static should counter mundane attempts to eavesdrop, as well as drowning out her muttered curses. Electronic countermeasures would burn out more technologically advanced methods. She inserted the key into her console and waited while the system scanned first her, then her office. There was no video. No audio. Nothing but a short burst of text:

Fugitive Alert: Level 9

Origin: EMCS Pufferfish, currently orbiting Paxifiliclackimour 6

Navigation override successful

Estimated time to Pufferfish A-ring jump: 03:26:04

Shock chilled her blood. How in the depths had Mops gotten her hands on a Rokkau?

The admiral noted the time, then cleared the message. She drafted and sent the next set of orders in rapid succession. One went to the EMC ships in pursuit of the Pufferfish, commanding them to immediately withdraw and cease all contact with the rogue ship. Next was the preparation of a transport and escort to take her to Dobranok, the Krakau home world. Finally, she sent an encrypted communication warning Dobranok what was coming. “Fucking humans....”

“W OLF, KUMAR, TAKE SQUARM and get out of the docking bay now,” Mops snapped. “Doc, tell Monroe and Grom to stay out as well, and make sure they seal the door once everyone’s clear.”

The AI didn’t respond. “Doc?” Her monocle’s vision enhancement levels had frozen. “Kumar,

Wolf, are your monocles working?”

“Mine locked up for a minute, but it’s fine now,” said Wolf. “Same here,” added Kumar. “I figured I just needed to have Grom run a

data cleanup on it.”

Mops removed the monocle and clicked it back into place. Nothing. Azure shrank back toward her no-longer-hidden room. “That is a

personal AI unit, yes?”

“That’s right,” said Mops. “Did you do something to it?” Her limbs flailed in alarm. “A unit designed by Krakau?”

“The standard-issue monocles are designed and programmed by the

Krakau. I’ve upgraded this one—”

The Pufferfish lurched sideways, knocking Mops against a wall. Azure

slid across the floor, leaving a damp, oily streak. “What’s happening out there?” Mops called. “Doc, show me—dammit!”

“You’ve killed me.” Azure gave a series of machine-gun clicks, like

strained laughter. “You’ve killed us all.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“Have you ever examined your monocle’s root code?

Stripped it to its

core and studied the directives at the center of its existence?”

“Even if I could read Krakau code, the encryption on these things—”

“If you did, you would find me,” said Azure. “The moment your

monocles identified me, they signaled the Krakau. Now they’ve taken control of your ship to deliver me into their jaws.”

Mops backed toward the exit. “Come with me. Slowly!”

Azure followed, still quivering. Outside, Mops checked to make sure the rest of her team was clear. “Hello?”

“Doc?

Are you all right?

What happened?”

“Hello?”

She held up a hand for Azure to stop. “Doc, talk to me.”

“Mops?

I’m fighting—subroutines overriding—can’t bypass—parallel processing—system resources at six percent.”

“Dammit, after all that money I spent on memory upgrades and processor power, don’t tell me you’re going to let some stupid little subroutine take you down?”

“Your commentary—not helpful.”

Relief bubbled like laughter in her chest. If Doc could spare attention for snark, it meant he was getting a handle on things. “What can I do to help?”

“Nothing. You’re only human, after all.”

“Was that necessary?”

“‘Unnecessary things are our only necessities.’ Oscar Wilde. From Fifty Shades of Dorian Gray.”

“I think that’s The Picture of Dorian Gray.”

“...

you’re right. How embarrassing. I may have lost some data indexing. I believe my core functioning has stabilized, however. My apologies. I didn’t know about that subroutine. It’s disturbing.”

“What’s going on with the ship?”

“I’m not certain, but I think I’m flying us away from the planet in order to make an A-ring jump to Dobranok.”

Just as Azure had guessed. “Doc, I clearly remember you explaining that you couldn’t pilot this ship.”

“Well, it should be clear now that I was mistaken!”

“I just wanted to hear you say it.” She gnawed her lip. “Can you override that course?

Dobranok is the last place we want to go right now.”

“I’ve made more than two million attempts to do so in the past minute. Not only am I shut out, I believe all navigation controls have been locked.”

“I have to go.” Azure had shrunk to two-thirds her original size. “My presence triggered this crisis. Squarm and I can take our chances with the colony.”

“Doc, will that work?

If we get Azure off the ship—”

“You can’t. Docking bay doors are locked down. I’ve checked the entire

ship. There’s no way in or out.”

“How long until we jump?” The countdown appeared on her monocle. “Azure, I’m sorry, but you’re stuck with us for now. Doc, put me through to the rest of the team.” She waited for acknowledgment. “I need all of you on the bridge. We have three hours and twenty-one minutes before the Pufferfish jumps to the Krakau home world. Find a way to regain control of our ship.”

“What should I do?” whimpered Azure. Mops turned back to the Coldwater Krakau. Something in her stance

made Azure retreat farther up the ramp. When Mops finally spoke, her words were ice. “You’ll keep a safe distance from myself and my crew. If you make any threatening movements, I will shoot you.”

“I understand.”

Mops paused. “How do you inject your venom?” Azure raised one of her primary limbs. “Barbs in the suckers on the tip.” A shudder ran through Mops’ core. Within those tentacles was the

chemical that had taken out her entire crew...

perhaps her entire species. “Come with me,” she said softly. “You’re going to explain exactly what your people did to my planet.”

“If I do, will you protect us from the Krakau?”

“The Krakau aren’t the ones you should be afraid of right now.”

Azure huddled miserably in front of the main viewscreen. Mops had considered interrogating her in private, but her team deserved to hear this. If she’d gone elsewhere, Wolf would have spent the whole time trying to eavesdrop anyway. “Where did you put Squarm?” asked Mops. “One of the vacant Glacidae quarters,” said Monroe. “The door’s

locked, and we made sure there was nothing they could use to cause trouble.”

“We don’t want trouble,” moaned Azure. “We just wanted to be free. Instead, you’ll deliver us to our executioners.”

“We’re working on that.” Mops glanced at Grom, who was half-buried in the open wall of wiring and circuitry beneath the navigation console. Wolf was pounding and swearing at her console, while Kumar worked patiently through the emergency tutorials, both hoping to find a way to bypass Doc’s control of the ship. “This subroutine was hard-coded,” Doc said. “We can’t erase or rewrite it.”

“Keep trying,” said Mops. “It wasn’t entirely my fault, you know. Everyone else’s monocle sent the same signal when they spotted Azure. But their software wasn’t smart enough to notice, or to try to fight back.”

“It’s all right,” she assured him. “We’ll figure something out.”

“You know the biosensors in your suit not only let me monitor your health, they also suggest when you’re lying.”

She ignored him, turning her gaze back to Azure. “Your people destroyed our civilization. Why shouldn’t I hand you over to the Krakau?

Hell, why shouldn’t we save them the trouble and execute you right here?”

“In a way, it was as much your people’s fault as our own,” Azure began. Mops dug her fingers into the arm of her chair. “Not a good start.”

“My people call themselves Rokkau. The Krakau you’re familiar with outnumbered us nine to one. Our races were never truly at peace, but Dobranok is a large world. For generations, the Rokkau kept to the cold polar regions, while the Krakau girdled the globe. But as time went on, both our people spread and multiplied. Competition increased, leading to conflicts.”

“Conflicts you lost,” guessed Mops. “More often than not, yes. Our numbers were fewer, our resources limited. As overpopulation increased, a group of Rokkau turned their attention to the stars. We were always more technologically inclined than our Krakau cousins. We lived in a harsher environment. It forced us to be more adaptive, and to make better use of our limited resources. In the frigid winds of the Vickoud Ice Shelf, we developed and tested a primitive form of A-ring technology. “The Krakau confiscated the prototype as soon as they learned of it. ‘In the interest of world peace and security.’ But they didn’t understand it, which gave the Rokkau leverage. We were able to force a partnership, and within a generation, we set out together to explore our cosmic neighbors, searching for worlds that could support life. We found our way to Earth.”

“You tried to colonize us?” Wolf snarled. Azure flinched back. “This was a hundred and sixty years ago. Records

from that time are sparse...

and often deliberately altered. I don’t believe the Krakau or Rokkau intended to harm your species. All I know is there was...

an incident. A misunderstanding between our explorers and your people. Two Krakau were killed, and the Rokkau...

she lashed out in self-defense, striking one of your world leaders.”

Azure flexed one of her tentacles to demonstrate. Thornlike barbs

emerged from the center of the pale suction cups on the end. “The venom shuts down higher brain functions in our prey, inducing a kind of hibernation. It’s how we used to preserve our food through the icy winter months. It interacted differently with human biology.”

“Human and Krakau—sorry, Rokkau—physiology shouldn’t be

compatible at all,” said Kumar. “If anything, it should have just killed whoever you poisoned.”

“Humans are an adaptable people,” said Azure. “Difficult to kill, even

before you became...

what you are today. You evolved on a planet determined to destroy you. So many of your animals are venomous. Your plants are just as quick to poison you. Your people lived on islands next to active volcanoes, on shores battered by quakes and tsunamis, but that wasn’t enough. You jumped out of aircraft for fun!

You ate poisonous sea creatures. You raced through the streets with horned mammals ten times your mass. Perhaps evolution made you stronger to counter your madness. Whatever the cause, your leader survived. But she was not unaffected.”

Azure drew herself tighter. “Our venom compromised her higher

neuroelectrical processes, turning her into broccoli.”

“Into a vegetable?” guessed Mops. “Yes, that. Earth scientists attempted to cure her, first by using the

Rokkau’s venom glands to create an antivenom. When that failed, they used a retrovirus to capture and isolate the venom in her system, and to modify her genes, hoping to trick her body into repairing the damage. It worked, in a sense. They restored her mobility and primitive neurological functioning, but she was not what she once was.”

“She turned feral,” said Monroe. “Indeed. And despite their precautions, the virus spread. As I understand it, the effects were confined to humans and a few species of higher primates.” Azure looked curiously at Mops. “According to the stories the Rokkau passed down, one of the scientists involved in designing the retrovirus was named Adamopoulos.”

“What happened then?” asked Mops. “Your world fell into chaos. Our contact team returned to Dobranok, where they were taken into seclusion. Imprisoned, to keep the truth from the public. It’s said the Rokkau killed herself from shame, unable to live with the guilt of having destroyed an entire race. Others believe the Krakau murdered her so she’d be unable to contradict the official government account.”

“What account?” asked Kumar. “That the Rokkau had done this deliberately, to wipe out your people so they could claim Earth for themselves. Ironically, the Krakau used this as justification to try to wipe out the Rokkau and claim Dobranok for themselves.”

“What about us?” Mops felt numb. Her words were little more than a whisper. “You could have sent ships back to try to rescue the humans who weren’t yet infected. You could have helped fight the spread of the virus. How long did it take for the Krakau to return to Earth?”

“Fifty years.” Azure twined her arms together. “By which time your civilization had fallen. They expected humanity to have died out, but—even infected—feral humans have a strong survival instinct. They survived and reproduced.”

“Fifty years. You’re talking about the contact mission of 2153,” said Kumar. “Seven Krakau were killed by feral humans. Did they know...?”

“I don’t believe so,” said Azure. “The original mission was considered a failure, soon forgotten with the outbreak of war. The government directed our explorations elsewhere. The Krakau made contact with the Nusurans and the Glacidae. They laid the foundations for the Krakau Alliance. And they did everything in their power to erase the Earth from their records.”

Monroe pursed his lips. “Then why come back at all?”

“In 2151, the Quetzalus picked up old signals from Earth and proposed a contact mission. The Krakau tried to prevent it. When that failed, they rushed a mission of their own to claim Earth as a Krakau settlement and make sure nobody else could discover the truth.”

“Why not just bomb Earth into slag after the first mission?” Wolf looked

around at the horrified expressions of the rest of the team. “I’m not saying I want them to nuke the Earth. Just that it would have covered things up pretty well.”

“Guilt and shame,” said Azure. “Combined with the war on Dobranok. Earth was light-years away. The Krakau were more concerned with destroying the Rokkau.”

“But you weren’t destroyed,” Wolf pointed out. “Nothing gets past her,” said Doc. “Not all of us, no. More than a million Rokkau survivors were banished

to a prison planet with an ocean core, surrounded by a shell of ice. Its location is known only to the highest-ranking of the Krakau.”

“Assholes,” Wolf murmured. Azure hesitated. “I don’t understand. To whose anuses are you

referring?”

“How did you escape?” asked Mops before Wolf could respond. “As I said, the Rokkau have always been more technologically inclined

than our warm-water kin,” said Azure. “According to the stories, nine Rokkau families—fewer than five hundred individuals—fled Dobranok in hastily constructed ships. Those who survived have lived in hiding ever since.”

“Why haven’t we heard of the Rokkau?” asked Mops. “How could the

Krakau keep this a secret from us—from the whole galaxy—for more than a century?”

“Because the Krakau have had more than a century to teach their version

of history. To indoctrinate their young with tales of us as fanatics and extremists who rebelled against the rightful governments of the world. The name Rokkau is all but forgotten. They say we were disgruntled Krakau, leeches on our society who refused to surrender until the Krakau were forced to destroy us. It’s not a part of their history they like to share with outsiders, as you can imagine.”

The bridge fell silent. Mops’ team looked toward her, waiting for her to

speak. For her to process and make sense of a history in which humanity’s downfall wasn’t a result of their own arrogance and hubris, but of an accident and the apathy of the race Mops had believed to be their saviors. There was too much: denial and grief, anger and anguish, all of it

swirling together in a vortex of emotion that threatened to tear free as hysterical tears, or perhaps laughter. She couldn’t distinguish the two anymore. “Are you all right?”

“Not in the slightest.” She swallowed. For now, she had to focus on what was directly in front of them. “Knowing all this, you and Squarm still worked with the Prodryans to produce this new bioweapon?

To turn the few reborn humans back into animals?”

“A Prodryan called Heart of Glass attacked my family’s lifeship,” said Azure. “How did he find you?” asked Kumar. “We were scavenging for supplies on an abandoned smuggling base in an unsettled system. Heart of Glass arrived, intending to do the same. When he found our ship, he robbed us instead. At first, he assumed we were Krakau. His warriors boarded us. Our matriarch triggered the ship’s self-destruct countdown. The Prodryans retreated, and the lifeship fled, but by then I was a prisoner.”

“Does he have other Rokkau prisoners?” asked Mops. “I don’t know.” Azure spread her limbs helplessly. “One of his warriors was poisoned during the fighting. Heart of Glass questioned me and learned the truth about the Rokkau. He brought a scientist on board to study my venom.”

“Your partner, Squarm.” Mops nodded to herself. “Squarm said they could cure our crew.”

“I believe they can help your crew, yes. But it makes no difference. The Krakau won’t allow anyone to leave this ship alive.”

“How many people know the truth about Earth and the Rokkau?” asked Monroe. “Only the highest-ranking officials of Homeworld Military Command.” Azure spread her limbs. “Probably a few in Colonial and Interstellar Command as well, in case they ever come across a Rokkau refugee. Along with whoever monitors the Rokkau prison planet.”

How much did Admiral Pachelbel know?

She’d reacted so strongly to the possibility of a source for Krakau—Rokkau venom. “What have the Rokkau been doing all these years?”

“Hiding. Trying to live our lives in peace.”

Mops pressed her lips together. “You don’t believe her?” murmured Doc. “I’m not sure,” she responded, for his virtual ears only. Azure’s account

was certainly plausible, but her gut told her there was more to it. Details Azure was holding back. “Rokkau body language is bound to be different from that of the Krakau. Perhaps that’s making you unconsciously distrustful?”

“Maybe.” She studied Azure. You didn’t need Kumar to do another

dissection to see Azure was a distinctly different race than the Krakau. The nagging in her gut grew stronger. Something about Kumar’s

dissection. Something she was missing. She lowered her voice. “Doc, replay Kumar’s report after he finished dissecting the captain.”

She watched the rest of her team as she listened. Monroe’s face was a

mask of tension. Wolf looked angry, but that was her default expression. Kumar had gotten distracted by something he was reading on his console. She straightened in her chair. “Wait. Replay that.”

“‘I didn’t see any scars, but Krakau don’t scar. Their flesh regenerates. Whole tentacles grow back...

and by that logic, wouldn’t a removed venom gland do the same thing?

If you’d like, I’d be happy to continue working on the rest of the command crew once I’m done with the captain. I doubt I’d find anything different, but the bodies are in such good shape, it seems like a waste to just leave them.’”

“What is it?” asked Monroe. The bodies were in such good shape. She held up a hand, thinking hard. “Remember Falls From Glory, the Prodryan we met with back on Quetzalus Station?”

“The one who blew herself up?” asked Monroe. “The same. Right before the explosion, she thanked us for answering her

questions.”

Doc replayed the relevant recording without her having to ask. “You told

her, ‘We could get you off this station, drop you on any planet you wanted. The Krakau don’t have to know.’”

“I confirmed the Krakau were dead,” Mops whispered. “I don’t understand,” said Azure. “What are you talking about?” She slid her gun from its holster. “I told Glory the Krakau didn’t have to

know about her. That’s not an offer I could have made if any of the Krakau on the Pufferfish had survived. That’s the answer they were digging for. That’s what their test was about, to confirm the Krakau had been killed.”

“The Pufferfish was overrun by feral humans,” said Wolf. “It’s a miracle anyone survived.”

“You think the Krakau don’t have contingency plans?” countered Mops. “They could have sedated the crew or locked themselves away.” She spun. “Kumar, how did our command crew die?”

Kumar glanced up. “Sorry, what?”

“You said the Krakau bodies were in good shape. What was the cause of death?”

He frowned. “I...

I’m not sure. I was looking for venom glands. It didn’t occur to me to check anything else.”

“Were they killed by feral humans?”

“No way. Ferals would have torn the bodies apart.”

Mops centered her gun’s crosshairs on Azure’s torso. “You knew the ship would change course automatically if a Rokkau was detected on board. If Kumar hadn’t spotted your hidden compartment, you or Squarm would have found a way to tip us off, right?

Because you wanted to get to Dobranok.”

“Why would she want to go there?” asked Wolf. Mops watched Azure. The Rokkau hadn’t moved, but the tightness of her skin had eased. “Because they modified their venom to kill Krakau. What else is on that shuttle?”

“Assorted terraforming technology,” Azure said quietly. “Modified for high-dispersal atmospheric seeding. And enough weaponized venom to rain down on an entire world. Once we arrive, the Krakau will tow this ship to their high-security prison and processing facility in orbit. My shuttle will automatically attempt to escape. Naturally, the Krakau will shoot it down, triggering activation of the terraforming engines. Depending on wind patterns and ocean currents, we could infect and kill ninety-eight percent of the population within three days.”

Ship’s communications were offline. They couldn’t warn the Krakau. The bay doors were locked, and handheld weapons weren’t enough to blast them open, meaning there was no way to get the shuttle off the Pufferfish. “Kumar, how hard would it be to power up the A-rings on one of our shuttles and destroy the ship?”

“We’d have to bypass some safety fail-safes,” said Kumar. “But judging by how many times I blew us up in the tutorials, I think I could do it.”

Grom raised their head. “Sir, may I respectfully suggest we search for a

plan that doesn’t involve all of us dying in an explosion?”

“I’m open to suggestions,” said Mops, her gaze never leaving the

Rokkau. “Your people ended my civilization. I’ll destroy this ship before I let you do it again.”

“Earth’s fate was an accident,” said Azure, a pleading note in her words. “I wasn’t lying about that. It was the Krakau who chose to abandon your people, just as they chose to kill and imprison ours. They’re not worth protecting.”

“The fact that you’re poised to commit genocide undermines your

judgments on ethical matters. Kumar, activate a shuttle A-ring.”

Even with her attention focused on Azure, Mops almost missed the

small twitch of one of her tentacles. With a soft spitting sound, something shot from the end of the tentacle. Mops shifted her aim and pulled the trigger. The plasma blast burned

through the tentacle and blackened the wall behind Azure. Her severed limb dropped to the floor, where it continued to twitch like a snake suffering a seizure. Azure whistled in pain, the high-pitched sound grating on the bones of Mops’ inner ears. “Is everyone all right?” she called out. “I’m not registering any suit breaches,” said Doc. “You can’t stop this.” Azure huddled in a ball, dark blood oozing from

the burnt stub of her limb. Mops adjusted her gun’s power levels. “What did you do?”

“Haven’t you wondered how your crew were first infected?

The

Prodryans designed the weapon. It fires a specially coated sliver of metal. As the sliver punctures your suit, the coating peels off to seal the hole. The core enters your body and breaks down, leaving nothing but a pinprick and perhaps a tiny bruise on the skin. Your suit never detects the impact. I’m sorry, Kumar. I wouldn’t have infected you if your commander hadn’t forced me.”

Kumar paled. He patted down his suit, searching for the impact site. Wolf and Monroe had both drawn weapons. Azure’s remaining three tentacles snapped out to point at them. “I never

wanted to be a killer. Heart of Glass ordered the weapons implanted in me for protection. Drop your guns, or you’ll spend your final hours like Kumar, struggling to cling to your thoughts and memories while your mind melts through your fingers. Please, just do as I ask. I promise, once this is over, I’ll cure both your navigator and the rest of your crew. I’m not your enemy.”

Mops didn’t move. “What do you want?”

“You were right about our plan, all except one detail,” said Azure. “I’m not going to destroy the Krakau. You are.”

Plotjikk Contractors and Builders:

Limited Warranty

This warranty is for cruiser-class brig/cells for the EMCS Pufferfish. 1.

THIRTY MONTHS/THIRTY PRISONERS: Warranty commences

on the date construction and installation are completed and approved by the customer. Warranty is good for thirty Tjikko months (701 Earth days) or for the first thirty prisoners confined in the cell, whichever comes first. 2.

COVERAGE: Cells are guaranteed to safely contain prisoners of

all known intelligent races. Should any prisoner escape due to manufacturing defect, customer shall be entitled to a full refund for the purchase price of the cell in question. The following exclusions apply:

a. Damage to cells caused by ship-to-ship combat. b. Failure to properly search and remove weapons,

welding equipment, electronic lock picks, molecular acids, and other such tools from prisoners. c. Use of technology that was unknown at time of

construction, such as interdimensional portals, matter transmutation, teleportation of any form, or temporal manipulation (time travel).

d. Any escape in which guards played a role, willingly or

unwillingly, including but not limited to:

i. The “sick prisoner” routine. ii. The “brawling prisoners” routine. iii. Psychological manipulation by prisoner. iv. Bribery. e. Failure to follow proper maintenance and inspection

protocols, per attached guidelines. 3.

SPECIFICATIONS: Per the contract, the cell shall feature:

× Full-spectrum lighting controls

× Upgraded electronic surveillance \&

monitoring (Standard EMC Package)

× Universal plumbing attachment

☐ Upgraded autowash × Electronic signal-blocking

☐ Full range of calming music for all species (NEW!)

4.

WARRANTY CLAIMS: Cell must be inspected by a certified

Plotjikk Contractors team within seven days of any escape. Thank you for your business!

We look forward to serving all your future prisoner-containment needs. —The Plotjikk Contractors Team

“T HIS IS MY THIRD favorite cell in the Pufferfish.” Wolf lay on the floor with her hands laced behind her head, staring at the featureless ceiling. Azure had packed them all into cell number four. It was crowded, but not quite as bad as the escape pod the humans had been trapped on after Coacalos Station. “The cells are identical,” snapped Kumar. “Not true. Cells one and two are closest to the guard station, meaning you can keep an eye on what’s happening and make conversation. The even-numbered cells have slightly better water pressure for the sink and toilet. Cell seven has a recurring mold problem in the ceiling.”

Mops sat on the cot, staring at the transparent door and wondering how

long it would take for Kumar to succumb to Azure’s venom. “Monroe, can you....

?”

He shook his head and popped his gum. “Arm isn’t strong enough to

scratch that stuff. A gun could put a hole through it, sure, but that’d just trigger the prisoner suppression routine. Electrify the floor or seal the cell and suck all the air out or activate internal weapons to blow our legs off, depending on which features the EMC sprang for when they commissioned it.”

“What do we do with Kumar?” asked Wolf. “Shouldn’t we tie him up or

something before he tries to eat our faces?

No offense.”

“For once, I agree with Wolf,” said Grom. Kumar threw an obscene gesture their way. He’d donned hood and

gloves within minutes of being shot, sealing his suit and hopefully preventing him from contaminating anyone else as the venom worked through his system. “Doc, can you do anything about getting the door open?”

“I’m cut off from the rest of the ship. No signals in or out of the brig

area, except what’s hardwired through the guards’ stations. Sorry.”

Mops turned in a slow circle, surveying their limited resources and

options. Movement outside the cell caught her attention. Outside the clear door, Squarm drew up to their full height. “Lieutenant Adamopoulos. You will read a message to the Krakau, claiming responsibility for the attack on Dobranok and denouncing their genocidal war against the Rokkau. Your proclamation will spread the seeds of rebellion across the galaxy. After you’ve done this, I will cure your man.”

They held up a metal tube, similar in size and shape to a standard food

tube. “This is the counteragent. It successfully neutralized and protected a human tissue sample from the modified form of Azure’s venom. It will save him.”

“What do you want me to say?” asked Mops. Squarm set the tube on the floor and pulled out a paper note written in

crude Human, which he pressed to the door. Mops and the others crowded to read it. Doc was the first to say what everyone was thinking. “I’m no literary critic, but this reads like something Puffy might compose. After overheating.”

“It’s awful,” Mops agreed. Wolf snorted. “‘Greetings, galactic oppressors’?

How’s anyone supposed to read that with a straight face?”

“The alignment of your face is irrelevant,” snapped Squarm. “You will read the words and proclaim yourselves allies to the Prodryan rebellion.”

“You misspelled ‘revolution,’” said Kumar. “And ‘glorious.’ And ‘injustice.’ You know, you could have had the computer check and clean this up for you.”

“They don’t want any version of the message in the system,” guessed Mops. She checked the countdown on her monocle. Ninety-two minutes until they jumped. “I’m sorry, humans don’t talk like this. Nobody’s going to believe me saying, ‘Rise up, my fellow human savages. Our monstrous appearance and primitive need for violence shall serve the evil Krakau no longer!’ Have you considered stealing from Shakespeare?

He wrote great vengeful dialogue.”

“Who is Shakespeare?” demanded Squarm. “Gunnery sergeant on the EMCS Crocodile,” said Monroe. Mops ignored them both. “‘I’ll never pause again, never stand still, till either death hath closed these eyes of mine, or fortune given me measure of revenge.’ It’s from Henry VI.”

“Much better,” agreed Monroe. Squarm snapped their digging claws in annoyance. “There is nothing wrong with my words!”

“Why are you part of this rebellion anyway?” asked Mops. “I can understand why Azure and the other Rokkau would want to team up with the Prodryans, but how did they get Glacidae and Nusurans on board?”

“What the Krakau did to their Coldwater kin, they’ll do to anyone else who threatens their power,” said Squarm. “They control the Alliance Military and Technological Councils. The Alliance Charter benefits the Krakau and their colonies over other worlds. If another species dares to challenge them, the Alliance imposes sanctions and worse. And always they hold the threat of their human army over the heads of the galaxy.”

“Earth year 2169,” said Kumar. “The Alliance evacuates the Glacidae colony of Dexatellevar 2 after severe solar flares, saving three thousand lives. 2216, the EMC liberates the Quetzalus planet of Ventazos from a military dictatorship. 2224, the Siege of Avloka. Hundreds of humans die while rescuing thousands of Krakau prisoners and slaves from the Prodryans.”

“Not to mention last week, when the Pufferfish arrived to protect a

Nusuran ship from Prodryan pirates,” added Mops. “Do you have any idea how many lives that human army has saved since its founding?”

“There’s a difference between security and freedom,” the Glacidae shot

back. “Look at what they’ve done to your race. A population of ten thousand, embracing servitude to the very race that destroyed your civilization.”

“Squarm has a point,” Wolf said quietly. “I’m still planning to punch

their face as soon as I get out of here, but if the Krakau did this to us...

if they kept the truth hidden all these years...

I mean, fuck those guys.”

“Articulately put, as always,” sighed Mops. “Take some time to discuss your options,” said Squarm, retrieving the

cure canister from the floor. “But not too long. That one will begin feeling the effects soon.” They jabbed a segmented limb toward Kumar. “You see, that’s where you lose my sympathy,” said Mops. “Humans

may not be the smartest species in the galaxy. We struggle to wrap our brains around big, abstract concepts like centuries-long conspiracies. What we’re very good at is recognizing and responding to immediate threats. You attacked my ship. You infected a member of my team. That makes you the enemy.”

“Shortsighted fools,” snarled Squarm. “Maybe.” Mops walked to the small toilet. With the lid sealed, the cube

doubled as an uncomfortable stool, allowing her to rest her legs. Her lips quirked as a new idea began to come together. “But when you’re ready to apologize, you know where to find me.”

The Glacidae stared at her through the door. “Apologize?”

“And give us the cure.” Lowering her voice, she said, “I don’t care

which comes first, the apology or the cure. Once we have both, I’ll consider letting you live.”

Squarm backed away. “Humans are crazy.”

“You have no idea,” said Wolf. The translator failed to capture whatever the Glacidae said next before

storming away. “Something about lower life-forms, incapable of thinking beyond their base instincts,” said Doc. “With a few insults toward your parentage.”

“Sir, Wolf is right,” Kumar whispered, once Squarm was out of sight. “You should restrain me while you can, before I—”

“Not necessary,” said Mops. “We’re not staying here.”

Wolf threw up her hands. “I’ve been on the wrong side of that door more times than anyone. There’s no way through it. Not even a Quetzalus could bust these walls.”

“Stop thinking about breaking things,” Mops suggested. “We’re not infantry. We’re SHS. Doc, I’m going to need you to do something for me.”

“I told you, I’m locked up just like the rest of you. I can’t even access the basic ship’s information log from in here.”

“That’s why I want to apologize in advance.” She stood. “Remind me; you are impact resistant and waterproof, right?”

It took roughly fifteen minutes for Squarm to return, leaving a trail of dark fear-oil on the floor as they scrambled to the door of cell four. “What did you do?”

Mops blinked in mock confusion. “Pardon?”

“You preprogrammed the ship’s systems,” Squarm guessed. “An automated safeguard. Tell me how to disable it, or I’ll infect the rest of you.”

“Nobody on my team has that kind of expertise.” Mops turned. “Grom, did you program any automatic safeguards while we were on Coacalos Station?”

“Nope. Rewired a few bridge stations and beat some high scores, but I’m not the best programmer. I wouldn’t know how to—”

“Why won’t the main brig door seal?” Squarm pounded the console at the guards’ station. “Because of the emergency ventilation procedure,” said Mops. “It’s designed to circulate a large volume of fresh air through the ship as quickly as possible, which means most doors are locked open.”

“But they’re coming!” Squarm squealed. “Who?” Wolf’s words dripped with forced innocence. “Your crew!

Those monsters are loose in the ship!”

“Well, yes,” said Mops. “Who do you think the fresh air is for?

I don’t

think it’s healthy to keep them restrained for so long. And I thought you and Azure might want to see the effectiveness of your bioweapon up close.”

Squarm reared up so their segmented underside pressed against the cell

door. “You have to—”

“No, I don’t.” Mops stood and stretched her shoulder before walking

slowly to the door. “Apology and cure, in whatever order you prefer. Or you can stay out there and try your luck against almost two hundred feral humans.”

“How?” the Glacidae whimpered. “You were locked up, cut off from the

rest of the ship.”

“There aren’t a lot of systems an AI can access and control on his own.”

Mops directed a knowing look at the toilet in the corner. “Doc couldn’t turn the ship’s internal security measures against you or anything like that. But he could activate the emergency ventilation subroutine and release the acceleration pod restraints on the crew, once I got him beyond the cell’s signal-dampening. If I’m remembering the plumbing setup for this part of the ship, he should be about ten meters down, trapped in waste reclamation tank three.”

“Nine point seven meters,” Kumar corrected. Squarm produced a small pistol, which they clutched in trembling claws. “Bad idea,” said Monroe. “A little gun like that against feral humans?

You’re just gonna get them riled up.”

Mops pressed against the door, trying to see past Squarm to the end of

the hallway. “Does anyone else hear groaning?”

Squarm let out a low belch of fear. “If I let you out, can you stop them?”

“Let us out?” Mops laughed. “Child, this cell’s one of the safest places

in the whole bloody ship.”

“I’ll cure the infected human,” Squarm pleaded. Mops paused. “And...?”

A shadow paused at the end of the corridor. “And I’m sorry!” Squarm spun back to the guard console to unlock the

cell door. Squarm scurried in, all but throwing the gun into Mops’ hands. “There’s enough to inoculate your entire team. If you give me access to your medical labs, I’ll synthesize more for the crew.”

Mops didn’t move. “Where’s Azure?”

“Eaten by humans, probably. I haven’t been able to reach that squirming wretch since I left the bridge.”

Mops cocked a thumb toward Kumar. “Him first.”

“Open your suit,” said Squarm. “It will circulate faster if injected directly into the heart.”

Kumar fumbled with his suit seals, his eyes unfocused. Mops made eye contact with Wolf and Monroe, who moved closer, ready to grab him if anything went wrong. Squarm raised their body higher, uncapped the tube, and jabbed the long needle directly into Kumar’s chest. “Now will you stop those animals?”

“Those animals are my crew,” she reminded him. A peek out the door showed Private Henson staggering toward them. Feral humans had a terrifying reputation, but alone, they presented little threat. “Wolf, Monroe, would you please grab Jim and bring him in here?”

Wolf charged down the hall and drove her shoulder into Henson’s gut. In one movement, she hoisted him over her back and tossed him to the floor. When Henson got up to go after Wolf, Monroe caught the back of his harness and dragged him kicking and squirming into cell four. Mops turned her attention back to Squarm. “Him next.”

Squarm backed away. “I’m not going near that creature.”

“Give me the damn thing,” Mops said, snatching the tube from Squarm’s claws. With Wolf and Monroe holding Henson in place, she opened the front of his suit and stabbed the needle into his chest. “Press the injector button until it clicks once,” said Squarm, cowering in the far corner. Mops did so, then backed away. It didn’t take long for the counteragent to have an effect. Henson’s struggles slowed. His face crinkled in confusion, and he looked around as if seeing them for the first time. A minute later, he was snoring. “Good enough.” Mops capped the tube and tucked it into a pocket. Who knew what kind of side effects the counteragent might have, but they could worry about that later. “We need to get moving. It won’t take long for more of the crew to find us, and if they attack as a mob, we won’t be able to stop them.”

She stepped out of the cell and tapped the guards’ console. “Wolf, I need a shipwide broadcast.”

Wolf squeezed in beside her. “This is set up differently than my station

on the bridge.”

“Isn’t this the communications channel?”

“That’s for talking to prisoners,” snapped Wolf. “Just give me a minute

to study this thing. I can do this.”

Mops gritted her teeth but moved aside. She studied the gun she’d taken

from Squarm. It was designed for a thinner, clawlike grip, but it had a trigger and a barrel. If she had to fire it, she could. She was less certain of her ability to fire on her own crew. The squeal of feedback pierced her bones. “Sorry,” Wolf shouted, barely audible over the noise. “I’m getting

there.”

Another voice thundered through the ship. “IT LOOKS LIKE YOU’RE

TRYING TO INITIATE A SHIPWIDE EMERGENCY ALERT. WOULD YOU LIKE HELP?”

The feedback died, though the echo continued to ring in Mops’ ears. Wolf gave the console a tentative tap. When she spoke, the ship amplified her words. “I’VE GOT IT. SHIT!

HOLD ON...

is that better?”

“No, turn it back up!” Mops hurried to the console. “DOC, CAN YOU

HEAR ME?

WE’RE OUT. TERMINATE EMERGENCY VENTILATION PROCEDURES BEFORE THE CREW KILLS US.”

Nothing happened. “What’s wrong?” yelled Squarm. Mops shoved Wolf back into the cell. If she had to, she could seal it

from here to keep the rest of the team safe. “I’m not a hundred percent sure how well Doc can hear from inside that waste tank. It could also be a battery issue. He normally draws power through me. The batteries in the monocle’s rim can hold a small charge, but it doesn’t last more than an hour or two.”

“You mean he released the monsters, opened every door in the ship, and

then turned off?” Squarm squealed. “Quit whining,” snapped Grom. “Before I flush you down the toilet.” Wolf perked up at that. “No flushing. We need them to synthesize more of this counteragent.”

Mops kept her attention on the end of the hallway. “But you have my permission to inflict a swirly if they keep complaining.”

“What’s a swirly?” Squarm asked. Mops leaned over the console. “DOC, I DON’T WANT TO RUSH YOU, BUT WE’RE ABOUT TO HAVE COMPANY.”

A figure stopped in the doorway. It took Mops a moment to recognize Battle Captain Cervantes. His left arm hung limp and broken, and his lips were cracked and bloody. Mops raised her gun. “Don’t make me do this, Miguel.”

“Stop talking to it and shoot!” yelled Squarm. This was followed by a yelp of protest and the swirl of flushing water. Cervantes studied Mops for a moment, then stumbled toward her, the fingers of his right hand outstretched like claws. “Dammit, Miguel.” She squeezed the trigger, sending a slug through Cervantes’ hip. It took three additional shots to disable the leg, dropping him to the floor. He continued to drag himself one-handed. Behind him, the door slid shut, locking the rest of the crew out of the brig area. Her team whooped in triumph and relief. Squarm was still sputtering and spitting. Mops holstered the gun, grabbed Cervantes by the arm and the back of his uniform, and tossed him into cell six, sealing the door before he could recover. “What now, boss?” asked Wolf. “Seal your uniforms.” She pulled on her own hood and gloves. “DOC, I NEED YOU TO ADJUST THE AIR MIXTURE AGAIN. USE THE SAME SEDATIVES AS BEFORE. THEY SHOULD STILL BE SET UP AND READY TO GO IN MEDICAL. IT’S TIME TO PUT THE CREW BACK TO SLEEP.”

All she had to do now was cure the rest of the crew, regain control of the Pufferfish, and find Azure, all before they jumped to Dobranok. The console flashed a warning: A-ring jump in ten minutes. All crew to acceleration chambers. She watched the numbers count down. “Well...

shit.”

Help Topic: Acceleration Ring Navigation

The Krakau developed A-rings to be a fast, safe, energy-efficient way to travel between star systems. At maximum power, an A-ring can theoretically accelerate an object to a speed of twenty light-years/hour. At that speed, the gravitational pull of most stellar objects has a near-zero effect on your trajectory, which means you can safely travel anywhere in the galaxy as long as you don’t fly through another object. Don’t worry, that almost never happens. Frequently asked questions:

1.

So gravity isn’t a problem?

You have to worry most about gravity

when accelerating and decelerating. Krakau scientists devised a mathematical equation to calculate the minimum safe distance for an A-ring jump, depending on the mass of nearby stellar objects. But as a famous human named Barbie once said, “Math is hard,” so we’ll skip the details. Your ship’s computer can handle the calculations. 2.

How do I prepare my ship for a jump?

In general, you want to be

a minimum of 300 million kilometers from any given star before making your jump. You should also be well clear of any planetary masses. If your computer says it’s safe to make an A-ring jump while orbiting a planet, please contact technical support immediately for assistance to avoid being torn apart by gravitational shearing. 3.

What about deceleration?

Minimum safe distance applies to your

deceleration, too. For additional safety, the EMC recommends arriving at least 100 million kilometers “above” or “below” the disk of your target system. This helps you avoid any planetary bodies or rogue asteroids. 4.

Why don’t we put an A-ring on a missile and shoot it at the

Prodryan home world?

We can’t aim precisely enough to hit another planet. Even if we could, the star’s gravity would divert the missile’s course, making it all but impossible to hit a planet-sized target. Also, blowing up planets is Wrong. 5.

What if my ship hits another ship?

The odds of crossing another

ship’s path while traveling at supralight speed are astronomical. There has never been a reported collision involving A-ring travel. 6.

Seriously, though, what if I hit another ship?

Both ships would

be instantly destroyed in a fusion reaction so powerful it would create a momentary “second sun.” But we promise you won’t feel a thing!

T HIS WAS THE SECOND time in less than two days that an injection of adrenaline had hurled Mops from the cliffs of unconsciousness, smashing her awake against the rocks of the real world. She spent thirty seconds staring uncomprehendingly at the wall, trying to remember why she was in a brig emergency acceleration pod, before it all came flooding back to her. At which point she swore profusely and stood, tensing her leg muscles to try to get the circulation flowing. To her left, Monroe gasped and jerked from his acceleration pod. “Only thing worse than a quick-shot wake-up is two quick-shots.”

“I set the system to get us up and about as soon as possible,” said Mops. “Azure should be unconscious for a while after that jump. This is our best chance to find and neutralize her.”

Outside the cell, the consoles and control panels were all dark. The only light came from the emergency lighting strips along the walls, near the floor. Worse than the lack of light was the silence. You never noticed the

background noise of the ship until it wasn’t there: the hum of air circulation fans, the rush of water through the plumbing in the walls, the buzz of a dying light strip, the vibration of an improperly tuned grav plate....

The Pufferfish was all but dead. “Monroe, are you getting anything from the ship on your monocle?” She

entered the guard’s room and began checking the lockers for her team’s equipment. “Tell me that jump didn’t break the ship.”

“I’ve got basic status readings from the suit, but that’s it,” said Monroe. “The air’s good. If Doc sedated the crew, he cleared the gases from circulation while we were traveling.”

Mops nodded her thanks and unsealed her hood. She eventually found

her things, not properly stowed in the lockers but tossed into a corner. The acceleration had flung them around hard enough to bend her utility pole and puncture a detergent canister, leaving a meter-wide puddle of soap on the floor. She retrieved her pistols and wiped away the worst of the soap before sliding them into her holsters. “Looks like the ship’s on standby,” Monroe continued. “Probably shut

down right after deceleration. Another precaution to make sure we can’t do shit.”

“Are we there yet?” asked Kumar, stumbling out of the cell. Mops spun. “How are you feeling, Technician?”

“Like my mouth is lined with fiberglass, and my heart wants to climb

out of my rib cage and run laps around the ship. There’s no urge to kill and eat anyone, though.”

“Glad to hear it.” It looked like Squarm had been telling the truth about

the cure. Mops glanced at Monroe and lowered her voice. “Watch him. Just in case.”

She checked on Private Henson, who appeared to be sleeping peacefully

in his acceleration pod. “What should we do with our two Glacidae?” asked Monroe. “They’ll

be out for a while.”

“Put Squarm in a different cell and lock the door,” said Mops. “Leave

Grom’s door open so they can catch up with us when they wake up.” After a brief internal debate, she put the pistol she’d taken from Squarm in Grom’s cell, just in case. Mops headed down the corridor. The door that connected the brig to the rest of the ship refused to budge, and the control panel was dead. She popped open the emergency hatch and unfolded the handle to crank open the door manually. “Why is it so dark?” Wolf’s voice sounded far too loud as she staggered into the hall. “Lack of light,” Kumar said flatly. The first thing she saw upon leaving the brig area was four feral humans slumped unconscious against the wall. Without an acceleration chamber, they’d been slammed around hard when the Pufferfish jumped, then tossed again by the deceleration. All four were bloody and battered. Two had visibly broken limbs. “I’m surprised they’re not worse,” said Monroe. Kumar cleared his throat. “Emergency jump procedures say if you can’t get to an acceleration chamber, you should lie flat and relax your body as much as possible. The more you tense, the greater the damage. The rest of the crew didn’t know what was coming, so they would have been relaxed. Studies have found that humans can survive an unprotected jump about eighty percent of the time. Up to ninety in ideal circumstances.”

Mops’ fists clenched. That meant ten to twenty percent of the crew likely hadn’t survived. Which of her friends had died because she’d ordered Doc to turn them loose?

“How do we find Azure?” asked Wolf. “She knew the jump was coming,” said Kumar. “Logically, she would have gotten to an acceleration chamber. With the ship’s systems down, we’ll need to manually search—”

“She’ll be in her ship.” Mops paused to orient herself, then turned left and started walking. “You’re sure?” asked Wolf. “That’s where her bioweapon is,” said Mops. “She needs that shuttle to attack Dobranok. One way or another, if we get control of that shuttle, we win.”

“Then shouldn’t we be going the other way?” asked Kumar. “Yes.” Mops kept walking. “Just as soon as I get Doc out of the waste tank.”

Normally, Mops would have scanned the tank and used a retrieval net to fish Doc out. With no power, she had to do it the old-fashioned way. After five minutes with her arm shoulder-deep in muck, her gloved

fingers closed around the hard crystal of her monocle. She pulled it free and used her thumb to remove a clump of something best left unidentified from the lens. Kumar had already affixed a sanishower unit to the ceiling. The rest of

her team retreated from the tank access room as the bottom of the sanishower flowered open and began to spray blue foam and liquid over her body. The floor drain was supposed to open automatically, but with the ship on standby, she had to manually unlock the floor tile and twist back the cover. When the sanishower ran dry, Monroe used his compressor to blow the

remaining foam from Mops’ uniform. She pulled a rag from her harness and started polishing the monocle. For the edges, she used a cleaning brush, paying extra attention to the attachment points. “Let’s go.” She unsealed her hood as she walked. Her nose wrinkled at

the smell of sewage and sanitizing fluid. She brought the monocle to her eye, where it jumped from her fingers as if eager to click into place. For thirty seconds, nothing happened. Doc needed to build up a small

reserve from the bioelectric energy in her attachment implants before powering back up. At least, she hoped that was the problem. Monocles were tough, but they weren’t indestructible. If Doc hadn’t survived his trip through the plumbing—

She pushed that thought away. “Come on, dammit.” Her vision brightened slightly as the monocle turned on and

compensated for the dim light. “If we’re ever in a similar situation, it’s your turn to get flushed down the toilet.”

She was too relieved to argue. “Fair enough.”

“What’s going on?

Where are we?

I can’t interface with the ship.”

“We’re still on the Pufferfish, but it’s pretty much dead.”

“Have you tried turning it back on again?”

“Does the Pufferfish have a big on/off switch you haven’t told me

about?” She stopped near the lift doors. Doctor Curie lay to one side. His nose was broken and had bled over his face, and his elbow was dislocated. Doc automatically checked the readings from his suit. “He’s alive.”

“Thanks.” The lifts weren’t working, but she cranked open the door anyway. Inside, just to the right of the door, was the maintenance ladder. Mops grasped one of the metal rungs with both hands and stepped into the lift shaft. Her weight triggered light strips in the rungs, making the whole ladder glow white. Fighting off a wave of claustrophobia, she started down. The ladder was built into a large groove in the wall. In theory, you could climb even with the lift cars in operation, though she didn’t know anyone who would be willing to test that theory. Well, maybe Wolf. She’d descended about three meters, and Wolf had just entered the lift, when the Pufferfish shuddered sideways. Mops tightened her grip. “I didn’t do it!” Wolf shouted, her words echoing down the tube. “Grav beams,” said Monroe. “We’re being towed.”

Which was just what Azure had predicted. The Krakau were dragging the Pufferfish—and the planet-killing payload on Azure’s shuttle—toward Dobranok. With the Pufferfish’s systems offline, they had no way of contacting the Krakau to warn them, or even of knowing how long they had before reaching the planet. “Climb faster,” said Mops. “Whoever’s last, close the lift door behind us. I don’t want anyone from the crew regaining consciousness and stumbling in.”

“Yes, sir,” Kumar called down. Her shoulder had stiffened and begun popping regularly by the time they reached their destination. Mops cranked open the door, stepped out, and tripped over something heavy. She caught her balance and turned to see Private Anna May Wong sprawled on the floor. “I’m sorry. His suit isn’t registering any life signs.”

“Maybe his suit isn’t working.” Mops tugged Wong’s collar to check his throat for a pulse. Nothing. No breath either. “Aw, damn,” said Monroe, climbing out behind her. He must have read Mops’ expression. “If it helps at all, it looks like he died instantly when the ship jumped. He would have had no awareness of his death.”

Mops took Wong’s monocle and placed it carefully into the padded

pocket of her own jumpsuit. “Doc, record Private Wong’s death. Mark him as killed in combat, and note that as acting CO, I’m recommending he receive the Medal of Sacrifice. The same for anyone else we lost in the jump. Upload that to the ship’s log, or to any EMC database, the moment you have a signal.”

“Yes, sir.”

“This wasn’t your fault,” Monroe said quietly. “Even if that were true, it’s still my responsibility.” Monroe didn’t argue. Wolf started to say something, caught Mops’

expression, and clamped her jaw shut. “It feels wrong to just leave him here,” said Kumar. “It is.” Mops started walking. “But the best way to honor Wong is to

find Azure and end this before anyone else dies.”

They reached the docking bay without finding any additional casualties. The console outside the bay was dead, but when Mops pulled out the crank to open the door, it wouldn’t budge. Wolf insisted on trying next, but she had no more luck than Mops. Even Monroe, using the enhanced strength of his mechanical arm, succeeded only in bending the crank handle. “Can we cut through it?” asked Mops. Kumar shook his head. “Docking bay doors act as a backup air lock,

stronger and thicker than pretty much any other interior door. We’d get through eventually, but I wouldn’t want to try until we know what Azure did to jam it.”

Wolf glared at the door. “What do you mean?”

“She might have depressurized the bay,” guessed Mops. “Or she could have welded the door shut,” said Monroe. “Or used a

quick-sealant. Or broken the mechanism. Depending on how much time she had, she could have set up some kind of trap.”

“She knew we’d be up and moving before her.” Despair sank into Mops’

gut, seeking to take root. “So she made sure we couldn’t interfere.”

Mops and her team had been a step behind from the beginning. They’d

tracked the Prodryans to Coacalos Station, where Mops had accidentally handed her enemies the answers they needed about their weapon’s effectiveness. They’d flown to Paxif 6 to search for a cure, and all they’d accomplished was to turn the Pufferfish into a delivery service for Azure and Squarm and their bioweapon. Monroe popped a new cube of gum into his mouth. “I should have stuck with cleaning toilets,” muttered Wolf. “Nobody died if we screwed that up. Usually.”

“We could try to get to Engineering,” said Kumar. “Maybe we could manually activate the engines.”

Wolf snorted. “Oh, sure. A group of sanitation workers running wild in Engineering, in a dead ship surrounded by trigger-happy Krakau. What’s the worst that could happen?”

“You’re right.” Mops stepped back from the door. “Who is?” Kumar looked around in confusion. “You mean Wolf?”

“If we do nothing, Dobranok dies. Once the Krakau realize what’s happening, they’ll destroy the Pufferfish.” She looked at each of them in turn. “That is the worst that could happen. We stand around doing nothing, and billions die.”

They listened, saying nothing. Waiting for her to tell them what to do next. She swallowed. “Find me another way into that bay.”

“We could use the outer docking bay doors,” said Kumar. “Suit up for a spacewalk and move along the hull, then come in from the outside.”

Wolf shook her head. “Those tugs are using broad-focus grav beams to tow the ship. They’d rip us right off the hull. What about explosives?

There’s got to be something on this ship we can use to blow a hole through the wall.”

“Safer for the lieutenant to use those guns.” Monroe gestured toward Mops’ pistols. “Override the safety mechanism and blast your way in. There’s a good chance you’ll puncture the outer hull in the process, though.”

Kumar studied the ceiling. “Are there any maintenance hatches or passages we could use?”

“The air vents.” Mops started walking. “We move a massive amount of air in and out of the bay every time a shuttle launches or docks. We’ve all had to inspect the air tanks and clean out the hoses and filters. If we can get to those air pumps, we could crawl through the vents into the bay.”

Pump Room Two was closest. Mops cranked open the door without a

problem. Emergency lights flickered on as she entered, revealing heavy blue air tanks five meters high. Metal tubes rose from the tops and disappeared into the ceiling. Dark display screens were mounted on each tank, next to analog dials and gauges. Air pressure and temperature were both normal. Mops popped open the equipment closet and grabbed the portable

ladder. It activated automatically as she removed it from its charging harness, humming in her grip. She pressed the bottom rung to the tank, where electromagnets snapped it into place. From there, she unrolled it as high as she could reach. She continued to secure rungs as she climbed, until she reached the top. “Double-check the pressure reading on this one,” she called down. “One atmosphere,” said Kumar. “The same as the rest of the ship.”

“Good.” Mops pulled out her cutting torch and brought the triangular

flame to the tube leading from the tank through the ceiling. It was only half a meter in diameter, which meant she’d have to leave her equipment harness behind and crawl like a Glacidae, but she should be able to make it. Air sighed out from the cut, making the edges glow briefly orange. The emergency shutoff valve in the tank clunked automatically as it registered a leak. Good to know the mechanical safeguards were working, even if the electronics were dead. It took ten minutes to cut a vertical hole wide enough for her to squeeze

inside. She tossed the curved shell of hot-edged metal to the floor. “You want us to follow you?” asked Wolf. “Not yet. If this doesn’t work, it’s going to be hard enough for me to

squirm back out.” She slipped off her harness, then removed the braces on her legs. She flexed each leg, testing the muscles and joints. “What tools do I need to remove the valve and grating on the other end?”

“Two-point-five–centimeter mag wrench,” Kumar called up. “Your torch

should get you through the grate.”

“Thanks.” She tucked wrench and torch inside her jumpsuit. One pistol

followed, just in case. Everything else she left atop the tank. “Those vents are fifteen meters high,” Kumar reminded her. “You’ll

probably want a line or rope to lower yourself down.”

“Check the closet for me?”

Kumar climbed up a moment later with a spool of sealant tape. “Best I could find, but it has a tensile strength of a hundred kilos. Twist it up, so it doesn’t stick to your hands. Otherwise, you’ll lose some skin.”

She pushed the spool over her forearm like a bracelet. “Thanks, Kumar.”

“Be careful, sir,” he said quietly. “Shoot off every one of her tentacles if you have to.”

The anger in his words startled her. Kumar was usually the unflappable one. Half the time, he was unflappable because he wasn’t paying attention to what was happening around him, but still. “Don’t worry. We’re not going to let them infect anyone else. Human or Krakau.”

She squeezed her head and shoulders into the opening and pushed higher with her legs. “Azure’s likely to have secured her shuttle, too. I need you three to put your heads together and figure out the best way to break into her ship. I expect an answer by the time I reach the bay.”

That should also keep them too busy to worry about the crew, the Krakau, the Prodryans, or the hundred other things they’d have to deal with when and if they managed to stop Azure. Doc pushed her vision as high as it would go, letting her see the curved surface of the pipe’s interior. She pressed her knees and feet against one side, her back against the other, and used her arms to scooch higher, a few centimeters at a time. The pipe was perfectly smooth, to help with airflow. It wasn’t long before her shoulder was stiff and popping again, and her legs had begun to throb. “How long is this thing, anyway?”

“Another meter and a half straight up, after which it curves to a horizontal crawl for three meters.”

She’d just pulled herself onto the flat section when Monroe’s voice echoed from her speaker. “We’ve got noises coming from the hallway. I think some of the crew are starting to come to.”

“Lock the door and keep quiet,” she ordered. “Doc, if we assume Azure’s physiology works the same as a typical Krakau, how long until she wakes up from the jump?”

“A minimum of three and a half hours. Probably closer to five.”

The vent’s valve mechanism was meant to be serviced from the other side. It took half an hour of fighting to find a decent angle with the wrench and remove the bolts. She finally managed to tug it loose, at which point she had to spend another twenty minutes using her torch to cut the damned thing into smaller pieces so she could get it out of her way. “Status report,” she called back. “Unchanged,” said Monroe. “We’ve heard at least three people stumble

past outside.”

“Or the same person going back and forth three times,” added Kumar. With the valve destroyed, Mops could see the literal and figurative light

at the end of the tunnel. “I’m almost through. All that’s left is the grate.”

Her torch swiftly cut through the hexagonal grating, sending it to the bay

floor with a loud clatter. She left a few hexagons intact at the top to serve as an anchor for her makeshift rope. Next up was the sealing tape. She peeled a length free and wrapped it several times through her anchor. She unrolled another meter, twisted it into thin black rope, and repeated the process until she had roughly fifteen meters. “You’re sure this tape is strong enough to hold my weight?”

“In theory?

Absolutely,” said Kumar. She had to crawl out headfirst. The edges of the grate caught at her suit

and scraped the skin beneath, reopening at least two scabs. She got her upper torso free, stretched her back and shoulders, and then wrapped her tape rope around both hands. Hoping Kumar was right, she wriggled free of the vent. The tape held. Her grip strength was another matter. She clung to the

thin rope as well as she could, but ended up sliding down in a barely controlled fall, squeezing with all her strength to keep from breaking her legs on the floor. She hit hard and fell onto her back. “Did it work?” asked Kumar. She took a slow breath and unclenched her hands. “Nope. I’m dead. It

was incredibly painful and heroic. Someone else will have to try.”

“I nominate Wolf,” Kumar said without missing a beat. “Huh?” said Wolf. “Sorry, I was reading Frankenstein. Am I supposed

to be rooting for the monster?”

“I always do.” Mops pulled herself up and looked around. “Azure shot

up the controls to the door. Blasted open the wall to destroy the mechanism, too. I don’t think anyone’s getting in that way.”

“Want us to follow you through the vent?” asked Monroe. “Not yet.” Mops removed her gun and switched off the safety. “Let me

check the shuttle and make sure everything’s clear.”

Docking clamps still secured the shuttle in place. Mops approached

cautiously. She didn’t want to damage anything if she could avoid it. With everything else on the ship shut down, including the Pufferfish’s remaining shuttles, Azure’s shuttle might be their only way out. Assuming they could overcome its preprogrammed instructions to fly to Dobranok and explode. Both the shuttle and the bay were silent. She pressed a hand against the shuttle’s hull, but felt nothing. For the moment, it appeared to be as dead as the Pufferfish. With Doc translating the labels, it was simple enough to figure out the loading ramp controls and lower the ramp. Mops stepped back, gun ready, as the pneumatics hissed to life. Mops had taken only one step onto the ramp when a small compartment in the ceiling popped open and the barrel of a gun swiveled to point at her head. “Damn,” she whispered. Yet again, Azure had been one step ahead. “Lieutenant Adamopoulos.” Azure’s voice seemed to come from everywhere in the darkness. “Why do you have to make this so difficult?”

“It’s human nature.” Mops started to raise her weapon. The shuttle’s gun fired a low-power plasma burst that seared a line across her bicep. Computer-controlled, from the speed and precision, which meant it would kill her before she lined up a shot. “I didn’t expect you to be awake yet.”

“I bypassed normal A-ring precautions and programmed the shuttle to wake me as quickly as possible. Why worry about brain damage and other complications when we’ll all be dead within hours?

Now toss your gun away behind you and enter.”

“We’ll be right there, sir,” Monroe’s voice came over her comm. “Belay that,” she whispered. “Doc—”

“I’m sending a live feed to the rest of the team.”

Mops dropped her gun onto the floor. The ramp immediately started to rise, lifting her into the shuttle. She ducked forward to avoid banging her head. The ramp closed and sealed with another hiss. Azure emerged from the back of the cargo area—the same hidden compartment she’d used before. As the interior lights came on, Mops saw that the Rokkau appeared to be weeping inky fluid from beneath the shell plates of her armor. “Now what?” asked Mops. “I don’t know!” Azure flung her tentacles out in distress and paced feverishly, in the confined space. Mops had been with the EMC long enough to see crewmates fall apart. Whether it was a soldier mourning lost friends after a mission or Kumar screaming after a sewage pipe backfired on him, Mops had learned to recognize the signs of someone trying desperately—and failing—to hold it all together. Krakau weren’t human, and Rokkau weren’t Krakau, but Azure acted like she was about to shatter. After thirty seconds, Mops started to feel uncomfortable. After a minute,

she cleared her throat and asked, “Are...

are you all right?”

At Mops’ words, the terrorist who’d helped develop a bioweapon to kill

an entire planet sagged to the floor, whistling with each breath: the human equivalent to dissolving in sobs. Accelerator Ring Effects on Human Subjects,

Part 4

The human brain (humans have only one, which explains a great deal about them) is a surprisingly primitive but resilient organ, composed of roughly one-third fat. Humans’ thick skulls and a layer of cushioning fluid protect their brains from impact. It’s possible these physiological defenses evolved in part due to an odd human ritual known as the “head butt.”1

Twenty-five humans were subjected to a series of ten short-range A-ring jumps. Cognitive skills were assessed before and after each jump, and brain activity was monitored during the jump itself. Brain measurements revealed significant bruising and swelling. (See fig. 1).

Remarkably, the majority of subjects were able to heal and recover from this damage within nine days. Where Krakau and other races require medical augmentation and other preparation to endure an A-ring jump, humans appear capable of unaided jumps with minimal long-term effects. Of the twenty-five subjects, only three showed signs of long-term cognitive impairment after completing ten jumps. As cognition was not humanity’s primary strength to begin with, we consider these results highly encouraging. Since most humans are to be used as soldiers, it is unlikely most would survive long enough to suffer any noticeable effects.2

Additional research is needed to examine the effects of acceleration chambers in further reducing human brain damage. —

1.

Updated from previous edition to correct mistranslation of “skull

anus.”

2.

This researcher recommends not warning humans of the potential

side effects, as they may not take the news well. M OPS CHECKED HER SURROUNDINGS for potential weapons or cover, but as long as that gun was tracking her, she didn’t dare try anything. “This isn’t exactly how I imagined this would go.”

Azure weakly snapped a tentacle in Mops’ direction. “Heart of Glass

had no contingency plans for...

for you. For humans who chase after us with the relentless determination of daggerfish tracking a blood scent. I assume you’ve already killed my partner.”

“Not yet,” said Mops. “They’re locked up, sleeping off the effects of the

jump.”

“Oh, of course. You want Squarm alive, so you can force them to cure

your crew.” Azure slumped against the ridged brown wall of the shuttle. Mops studied Azure’s face, the sheen of the skin around beak and eyes. “How old are you?”

“Nineteen years.”

Mops started to do the conversion in her head, but as always, Doc was

faster. “That’s equivalent to sixteen-point-two Earth years. Krakau have an average lifespan of seventy Earth years. Assuming Rokkau are similar, she’s basically a teenager.”

Mops shook her head. “You’re too damn young to be trying to commit

genocide.”

“It’s bad enough you made such a desiccated husk of our plans,” Azure

wailed. “Now you mock me?”

“I’m not mocking you.” Mops sat cross-legged on the floor. The gun

continued to track her. “How did you end up working for Heart of Glass in the first place?

The truth this time, since we’re probably all going to die anyway.”

“My family’s lifeship has been in hiding since we fled Dobranok, but we

monitor galactic events as much as possible. The elders learned of Heart of Glass’ death sentence, how he fled Yan for suggesting cooperation with other species against the Krakau. They saw him as a potential ally. They reached out.”

“To a race that’s spent the last century and a half trying to kill everyone who isn’t Prodryan.”

“Who else could they turn to?” Azure snapped. Mops nodded sympathetically. “It must be hard to find a good partner in biological terrorism.”

“All we want is freedom and justice for what the Krakau did to us.”

“All Anna May Wong wanted was to earn his sergeant’s stripes and master an old Earth instrument called the ukulele.”

Azure scooted backward. “They arranged a meeting with Heart of Glass. When he learned the truth about humans, he became fascinated by the biochemistry of our venom. He said it was the key to overthrowing the Krakau and bringing true change to the galaxy.”

“And you believed him?”

“I saw an opportunity to help our people.” She quieted. “And to finally escape the confines of our lifeship.”

How many generations had lived and died on that ship, never seeing more of the galaxy, never meeting anyone beyond their own extended family?

Mops would have been desperate to escape as well. “What about Squarm?

How did they get drawn into this?”

Azure shuddered. “Squarm is a scientist and a criminal. They specialized in creating recreational drugs on Coacalos Station. They’re just in this for the money. Heart of Glass had recruited them several months earlier. I believe the two of them were originally planning a chemical attack against Dobranok, but then they learned of my venom. Squarm studied captured EMC humans, trying to understand and reverse engineer what was done to you. It took them two years to develop this bioweapon.”

Mops nodded. “I’m curious. What do you imagine the Prodryans will do to you once they’ve used you to murder a planet of Krakau and weaken the Alliance?”

“The Krakau are the greater threat to our people.” Azure drew herself up. “Tell your team to surrender themselves, or I’ll kill you.”

“Don’t be stupid.” Mops sighed and massaged her shoulder. “You know my team’s listening in on this, right?

Kill me, and they’ll come down to incapacitate your shuttle. Maybe they’ll weld it to the deck or cut holes in your hull or disable the emergency power to the grav plates and physically throw your ship against the wall until it breaks. Wolf would have fun with that, I think. The point is, there’s no way we’re letting you launch this shuttle, so either shoot me or put that damned gun away.”

Azure whistled again, her anguish loud enough to hurt Mops’ ears. “You

aren’t even soldiers!

How have you countered our every move?

How have humans shown such tactical and strategic skill—what are you doing?”

Mops caught herself. “Laughing. I’m sorry, that was rude, but you

caught me by surprise.”

“I don’t understand.”

“‘Strategic skill’?

Hell, Azure. I’ve spent this whole time pissed that

your lot was always a step ahead of us.”

“You...

you think this was what we planned?” Azure stared, her blue

coloration brightening with shock. “You destroyed the Prodryan fighter team sent to investigate the Pufferfish!

You uncovered our contacts at Coacalos Station, forcing us to speed up our plans.”

“And in the process, I was shot, blown up, and captured,” Mops

countered. Azure flicked a limb dismissively. “You didn’t seem to have any trouble

overcoming your captors and escaping, or of tracking us to Paxif 6.”

“Where we flew into the middle of a Prodryan assault!”

“An assault you drove off!”

“Did we really?” demanded Mops. “Or did they pull back to allow you

and Squarm to ‘escape’ to the Pufferfish?

We played right into your hands. Tentacles. Whatever. We were nothing but a taxi to the Krakau home world.”

“You think I wanted to die in the attack on Dobranok?

I only agreed to

this because Heart of Glass threatened to kill everyone on Paxif 6, including me, if I didn’t get this bioweapon to the Krakau.”

Mops sat back, fighting another bout of laughter. “You’re as out of your

depth as we are.”

“More so,” Azure said grudgingly. “I wouldn’t bet on that.”

Azure made a clicking, stuttering sound, a mix of despair and dark

amusement. “It doesn’t matter. The shuttle is programmed to blast its way free and begin its run as soon as we’re within range of Dobranok. But you’ll stop that as well, won’t you?

And the Krakau will win again.”

“It looks that way to me. We stop your shuttle. The Krakau tow us in and imprison or kill everyone. They pull the data from our monocles and take Squarm’s cure, at which point your bioweapon is all but useless. Everything you’ve done was for nothing. My crew was infected for nothing.”

“I know.” Azure snapped a tentacle in Mops’ direction. “There is no need to rub it out!”

“Rub it in,” Mops corrected. “How long before we reach our destination?”

“An hour. Maybe two.”

Mops chewed her lip. “All right, the first thing you’re gonna do is get rid of that damned gun.”

“I will not surrender to the Alliance,” said Azure. “Nobody’s asking you to.” Mops waited, then shrugged. “Have it your way. Monroe, get the team in here and tear this shuttle apart. Wolf, Azure is all yours.”

“Wait!” Azure flung her tentacles in all directions, then ducked back into her hidden room. A moment later, the gun disappeared into the ceiling. “Stand down,” Mops said. “Are you sure?” asked Monroe. “Wolf really wants to shoot something.”

“The way things are going, I’m sure she’ll get her chance.” Mops glanced around. “Azure, do you know how to control this shuttle?”

“Most of it, yes. Why?”

“Because ours aren’t working.” She crawled up the narrow ramp into the cockpit. It was like entering a giant metal clamshell. Control panels and consoles were built into the floor, with additional screens and indicators around the edge. She pulled her legs in to make room for Azure. The Rokkau had a much easier time moving about, simply spreading her limbs to flatten and broaden her body. Mops glared at the unmarked controls. “How do I find out exactly where we are and what’s happening outside the ship?”

“Scanners are over here.” Azure flipped a set of switches and maneuvered a control token over a grid. Several screens lit up to show the shuttle surrounded by an outline of the Pufferfish. “I was hoping for a broader picture.”

Azure continued to move the control token, and the image zoomed outward to show six identical ships surrounding the Pufferfish. Each tow ship was roughly a quarter the size of the cruiser, but the engines on any one generated enough power to tow a warship. Six of them with their grav beams deployed could drag the Pufferfish anywhere in the system...

or tear the ship apart. Farther out, a pair of warships flanked the convoy. The Krakau were serious about keeping the Pufferfish under control. The image kept growing until Dobranok came into view, along with its

moons and orbital defense stations. “What do you intend to do?” asked Azure. “I’m working on that. Why haven’t the Rokkau just announced

themselves to the galaxy?

Tell the Alliance what the Krakau did?”

“It was tried once, more than a century ago. Rokkau refugees designed a

communications module that could transmit simultaneously to Dobranok, Solikor-zi, Cuixique, and several other worlds. The Alliance Military Council denounced the transmission as propaganda put forth by a splinter group of Krakau extremists. The Rokkau lifeship was captured, the entire group interrogated. Through them, the Krakau hunted down two additional lifeships. We are too vulnerable to expose ourselves like that a second time.”

“We need proof. After all this time, the Rokkau must have some idea

where the Krakau kept the rest of your people. If we could locate that prison planet—”

“We have tried,” said Azure. “The Krakau protect that secret more

fiercely than their own young.”

Mops frowned and tapped another screen. “What’s this countdown here?

What happens in ten hours and seventeen minutes?”

“That is when the Prodryan war fleet arrives.” Mops froze. “Say that again?”

“Squarm signaled them before the jump to schedule their attack. Heart

of Glass intends to strike after our bioweapon has begun to spread death and panic and chaos through the entire system. He’s gathered assault forces from other clans and declared himself Supreme Assault Commander. He hopes to use this victory to restore his honor among the Prodryans. One squadron is supposed to liberate Prodryan prisoners from the Krakau’s orbital facility. The rest will destroy the Krakau defenses, satellites, space stations...

anything they can blow up.”

“All right,” Mops said, fighting for calm. “Given the mess we’re facing,

what’s one more clog in the pipes?

How do communications on this shuttle work?”

“Over here.” Azure scooted sideways. “The shuttle has a low-power communications pod.”

“Put me in contact with those Krakau tow ships, and I’ll try to get us out of this mess.”

“How?”

Mops threw her hands up, smacking the ceiling. “I don’t know yet.”

“My mission—”

“Has failed,” Mops said flatly. “You’re not going to infect Dobranok. My team will blow this shuttle to dust first. We’ll destroy the entire Pufferfish if we have to.”

“You expect me to help save the Krakau?

To protect a race that drove mine to the verge of extinction?

You can’t imagine how that feels.”

Mops propped herself up on one elbow and glared until Azure realized what she’d said, and to whom. The Rokkau dipped her body. “Oh. Yes, I suppose maybe you can.”

“You have three choices. My team blows everything up, and we die here. We disable the shuttle without destroying the Pufferfish, and we all end up prisoners of the Krakau. Or you work with me to get us out of this.”

“How can I trust a slave of the Krakau?”

“You begin by erasing that word from your beak,” Mops said softly. “Call me a slave again, and I will flush you down the nearest sewage line.”

Azure pulled back. “You and your friends attacked my ship,” Mops continued. “You shot a member of my team. Your venom wiped out my civilization. You are in no position to question our trustworthiness, child. And if you give me any more backtalk, I will smack the blue right off your shell.”

“You sound like my mothers,” Azure muttered, before turning to touch a new set of controls. Painful static filled the air. “I’m sorry!

I didn’t have time to fully study how this ship works.”

“Believe me, I understand.”

The buzzing cut off a moment later. “I think we’re ready,” said Azure. “Low-power signal, audio only, nontargeted, encryption turned off....”

Mops waited while Azure flipped two more switches. “This is Lieutenant Marion Adamopoulos of the EMCS Pufferfish. I need to speak with whoever is in charge immediately. This is a matter of planetary security.”

Silence. “They’re not answering,” Azure said helpfully. “Unless I have them

muted. Hold on. No, they’re definitely not responding.”

“Given the secrecy surrounding the Rokkau, I’m not surprised. They

shut down the Pufferfish to keep us from telling anyone about you.” Mops peered at the console. “They’re probably searching for someone with clearance and authority to talk to us.”

“You could tell them about the bioweapon,” Wolf said over the comm. Mops turned away and lowered her voice. “What would you do if

someone was coming to Earth with a weapon like that on board?”

“Blow it into atoms,” Wolf said promptly. “Oh.” Monroe cleared his throat. “Could you take another look at the

scanner?”

Mops hesitated. “Doc, have you been sharing the visual feed with the

team as well as audio?”

“They were curious. I thought it was better than letting them get bored. You know what happens then.”

Hard to argue with that. Mops turned back to the screen showing

Dobranok and the surrounding system. “Not one EMC ship,” said Monroe. Most worlds had at least one EMC

warship stationed in-system for protection. A central planet like Dobranok should have rated a half dozen or more. “They were probably reassigned to protect Earth and Stepping Stone,”

suggested Mops. Which meant, in their efforts to defend Earth against a nonexistent attack from the Prodryan bioweapon, the Krakau had left their home system vulnerable. She tapped Azure on the tentacle. “How many Prodryans are supposed

to show up when that countdown hits zero?”

Azure flinched. “They didn’t share such details with me.” Mops turned her attention back to the comm. “I repeat, this is Lieutenant

Adamopoulos on the Pufferfish. I have urgent information about an imminent Prodryan attack.”

An unfamiliar voice crackled over the speakers. “Miss Adamopoulos”—

the omission of her rank stung—“this is Captain Mbube of Tow Ship Three. I’ve been authorized to hear your warning. Switch to a secure, direct channel immediately.”

Mops looked to Azure, who stared at the console and spread her limbs in a helpless shrug. Mops sighed. “Captain Mbube, the Prodryans aren’t going to attack Earth. They—”

“If you cannot follow communications protocols, we will block your transmissions,” Mbube interrupted. “These are the people you serve?” Azure muttered. “The people you hope to protect?”

“Yes. Well, maybe not that one in particular.”

“Miss Adamopoulos,” said Mbube. “Are you aware you’re still broadcasting?”

“I am, yes.” She rolled sideways and stretched her shoulder, popping the joint. “Azure?”

“Still searching for the encryption controls,” the Rokkau muttered. “See?

It’s harder than it looks,” Wolf said over Mops’ comm. “We’re trying, Captain Mbube. But the Prodryans are going to attack Dobranok. You have to contact Admiral Pachelbel. Tell her—”

Painful feedback squealed from the console. Azure attacked the controls with all three tentacles, eventually shutting it down. Mops checked the countdown. Less than an hour before they reached whatever orbital prison the Krakau were taking them to. Nine hours after that, the Prodryans would arrive. “Azure, you said this shuttle was set to launch automatically. Can you abort that program?”

“I cannot.”

With the Krakau refusing to listen, that left one other choice. “Monroe, get the team down here. We have forty-five minutes to break a shuttle.”

Wolf’s whoop of excitement almost drowned out Kumar’s comment: “We’re not familiar with Glacidae shuttles, and this one has been modified.”

“Don’t worry,” Mops said dryly. “I have the utmost confidence in your ability to break things.”

The chemical tanks containing the bioweapon were welded into place in the back of the shuttle, along with the terraforming dispersal satellites. Trying to cut them free risked puncturing the tanks or setting it all off prematurely. Instead, Mops’ team attacked pretty much everything else in the shuttle, hoping to render it incapable of flight. Kumar and Azure worked in the cockpit, trying to decipher the controls. They’d figured out how to adjust internal temperature, unfolded the wings for atmospheric flight—directly onto the top of Wolf’s head—and in a particularly exciting mix-up, fired one of the upper bow maneuvering thrusters for two and a half seconds. Monroe was working on the main engines in the back, carefully tracing

wires and circuits and fuel lines. As for Wolf, she was in the cargo area ripping apart everything she

could get her hands and torch on. She’d already cut the main ramp free. It lay on the deck, along with several wall panels, an air circulation grate, a pile of burnt cargo netting, and a flickering light strip. From what Mops had pieced together, Wolf was determined to remove the bioweapon. If she couldn’t cut it free from the floor, she’d simply cut away that entire section of floor. “Twenty minutes.”

“What about the fuel lines?” asked Mops. “Say we cut up a sanibomb

and set off a piece inside?

It should expand and clog things up.”

“Depending on which of the six standard Glacidae fuel mixtures this

shuttle uses, the reaction would generate enough heat to ignite the fuel lines. Which, admittedly, would stop the shuttle from completing its mission....”

A floor panel clattered to the deck. “I think we’ve figured out how to set off the escape pod,” Kumar called

down. Mops sighed. “That’s great, Kumar. How does that prevent the shuttle

from launching?”

A long pause. “We’ll keep working.”

Mops poked her head up into the cockpit. “How does the shuttle know

when to launch?”

“I don’t understand,” said Azure. “You said on the bridge that your shuttle was programmed to

automatically try to escape once we entered Dobranok’s orbit. But you couldn’t have known exactly when we’d arrive in-system, or how long it would take our escorts to drag us to Dobranok. Which means the program is probably tied to the shuttle’s scanners, counting down based on our distance to the planet. Where are the sensors on this thing?”

“I’m not sure.”

“If this is a standard Glacidae shuttle, sensors are located in the underside of the ship, approximately two meters back from the docking ramp. Where the docking ramp used to be, rather.”

She climbed down and exited the shuttle. “Wolf, how close are you to cutting those tanks free?”

Another chunk of metal clattered through where the docking ramp used to be. “They’ve got three damn layers of flooring, honeycombed with some kind of mother-drowning nanofiber reinforcement that smells like burnt Glacidae shit. It’s taking forever.”

“Forget that. I’ve got something else for you to break.”

Wolf threw herself into the new job with her usual enthusiasm. Within five minutes, she’d cut into the shuttle’s belly and was pawing through insulation and protective panels. Within ten, she’d exposed the spherical mechanism of the primary scanners. “You know if this works, we’re blind again,” said Monroe. “We’re running out of time,” said Mops. “The only other option I see is to leave it alone and hope the docking clamps keep the shuttle from launching.”

Monroe shook his head. “Once the engines fire up, it’ll rip them right out of the floor.”

Something popped beneath the shuttle, showering blue sparks onto Wolf’s head. She cursed and scooted away. “Sensors are dead,” Azure shouted down. “Ha!” Wolf switched off her torch, bounded to her feet, and patted her hair to make sure it wasn’t burning. “What next?”

“We don’t have time for anything more,” said Mops. “Either that worked, or else...”

“We’ll know either way in a few minutes,” added Monroe. “Kumar, Azure, come on out.” They didn’t respond. Mops frowned and stepped through the debris to peer inside the shuttle. She could hear Kumar and Azure arguing. “Everything all right up there?”

“We picked up multiple A-ring signatures on the scanner,” said Kumar. “But Wolf broke it before I could get a better look.”

“We saw many false and ridiculous readings as your human was

working on the sensor unit,” argued Azure. “Including a galaxy-sized supernova, a trio of black holes, and an extreme close-up of a human nostril.”

“That’s the point,” Kumar pressed. “Those A-ring readings weren’t

ridiculous. They were consistent with Prodryan warships and carriers.”

“You said the Prodryans weren’t supposed to launch their attack for

another nine hours,” Mops said. “I thought so, too,” said Azure. “It’s possible there was a

miscommunication. Or perhaps Heart of Glass is simply eager to begin killing Krakau. If the readings were correct.”

“Do we still have communications?”

“I think so,” said Azure. Mops pulled herself into the shuttle. The shuttle which, so far, hadn’t

exploded or tried to fly away. “If a Prodryan war fleet just popped into the system, maybe that will convince someone to listen to us.”

“Admiral Pachelbel?”

A bubbled groan escaped her mouth. Dull aches throbbed from the tips of her extremities to her torso, like waves crashing together in a spray of pain. She was too old to be jumping about the galaxy like this. “I’m awake. What’s our status?”

“We decelerated four hours ago, and were towed to the Basin. We’re preparing to dock.”

The Basin was a military prison in low orbit around Dobranok. Matching speed to intercept and dock could take hours. Pachelbel climbed out of her acceleration chamber and looked around the impersonal quarters she’d been assigned while on board the Sky Serpent. The brine pool had refilled after the jump, and she eased herself gratefully into the warm, salty water. “Any word on the Pufferfish?”

The answer came promptly from the speaker by the door. “That’s what I wanted to talk with you about. The Pufferfish is in-system. They’re attempting to communicate...

we think. The readings are odd.”

Pachelbel froze. “That ship was locked down. Priority nine. How the depths are they communicating?”

“Our techs suggest the signal is coming from a Glacidae-built transmitter. Possibly from the shuttle they picked up at Paxif 6.”

She sank deeper into the water. “Exactly how many people have picked up this signal?”

“Unknown. They’re broadcasting to anyone in range. Captain Mbube is the only one who’s made direct contact, and that was more than an hour ago.”

“What does Mops want?” asked Pachelbel. There was a pause, probably so her aide could verify who “Mops” was. “In an earlier communication with Captain Mbube, Lieutenant Adamopoulos said something about an attack by Prodryans. She believes the Prodryans aren’t targeting Earth, but Dobranok.”

Pachelbel curled and relaxed her primary tentacles as she pondered that

warning. “Did she give any evidence?”

“Captain Mbube terminated communications before the human could

explain.”

“I see.” She couldn’t blame Mbube. Regulations surrounding potential

Rokkau contact were strict. The captain risked serious disciplinary action for responding at all. “Was there anything more?”

“Yes. Our sensors have detected a Prodryan war fleet entering the

system. We estimate they’ll be within weapons range in one hour, fifty minutes.”

A ZURE AND WOLF CROWDED over the shuttle’s communications console. “I never thought I’d miss Puffy,” muttered Wolf. “Wait, what about that switch?”

“That is the translator,” Azure said, one tentacle twitching impatiently. “As I explained three minutes ago.”

“Next time, explain better,” Wolf shot back. Mops watched from the back of the cockpit. Azure hadn’t tried to poison

Wolf yet, and Wolf hadn’t threatened to eat the Rokkau. They were getting along better than Mops had expected. The console buzzed sharply, like an angry wasp trying to escape. “What

did you touch?” snapped Azure. “Nothing!

We’ve got an incoming signal. I think.” Mops scooted closer. “Is it Captain Mbube again?”

“Yes,” said Azure, simultaneous with Wolf’s “Nope.”

“Look at the signal strength.” Wolf pointed to an indicator that meant

nothing to Mops. “Completely different from the transmission we got earlier.”

“Look at the vector.” Azure slapped a tentacle against the console. “Why don’t we acknowledge the signal and find out?” Mops suggested gently. Azure and Wolf both reached for the controls, but Azure was faster. Mops wasn’t sure how exactly the Rokkau made flicking a switch look smug, but Azure managed. “This is Admiral Pachelbel. Mops, what the hell have you gotten yourself into?”

“Told you,” whispered Wolf. Mops squeezed between them before they could escalate. “Admiral, you have no idea how relieved I am to hear your voice. Is this connection secure?”

“I’m hardly about to contact a treasonous crew harboring a level nine fugitive on an open, unencrypted channel.”

There was no lag time. Pachelbel was here. “Could you please check things on our end?

We haven’t fully mastered our communications system.”

There was a pause. “You’re secure. I’m told you wanted to talk to me. Talk fast.”

“Yes, sir.” Mops took a deep breath. “Am I correct in stating that a Prodryan fleet has entered the system?”

“You are,” Pachelbel said softly. “It’s been suggested that they’re here on your behalf, or as part of a joint plan between you and the Prodryans. Your knowledge of their arrival makes me take those suggestions more seriously.”

“Are you alone, sir?” asked Mops. “Is anyone else listening in?”

Another pause. “I’m alone.”

Mops turned to Azure. “Can this thing do visual?”

This time Wolf was faster, jabbing a button near the top of the console. An image of Admiral Pachelbel appeared on the screen. She sat half-submerged in a dimly lit pool. A green-tinged visor circled her head, an interface similar in design and function to Mops’ monocle. “Admiral,” said Mops. “This is Azure.”

“Level nine fugitive,” added Azure. She’d gone still, like a predator preparing to lunge. “That sounds important.”

The admiral stared for a long time. “She’s injured. What happened?”

“I shot off one of her tentacles,” said Mops. “We reached an understanding after that. Azure told me what the Krakau did to her people. She also told me what really happened to humanity when the Krakau and Rokkau first arrived on our planet.”

“Do you believe her?”

“Right now, I’m more inclined to trust her than you. The Krakau have

lied to us from the beginning. All Azure did was try to kill us.” That had sounded better in her head. “Lieutenant...

Mops.” Pachelbel sank into the water, until the lower

curve of her beak touched the surface. “It’s not that simple. Nothing ever is.”

“Which part is the most complicated?” asked Mops. “The truth about

how your contact mission to Earth infected my planet?

How you left us to die?

Or maybe the part where you banished the Rokkau to a prison planet.”

The admiral bolted from the water. “What prison planet?

What are you

talking about?”

“After your war with the Rokkau.” Mops glanced at Azure, but if

Rokkau body language was at all similar to Krakau, Azure was as confused as anyone else. “When your people rounded up the surviving Rokkau?”

“There were no surviving Rokkau,” Pachelbel said. “Aside from a few

small groups who escaped Dobranok.”

“You lie,” shouted Azure. “I’ve seen the records, stolen from

Homeworld Military Command more than a hundred years ago. Every free Rokkau has. We read the full list of names as part of a ceremony marking our ninth year. Well, more skim than read...

there are more than a million names...

I doubt anyone truly reads them all, but still!”

“If HMC has such records, they haven’t shared them with Interstellar

Military Command,” said Pachelbel. “No surprise there,” Mops shot back. “We know how good the Krakau

are at keeping secrets.”

That earned a flinch. The admiral turned slightly, probably checking

something on her visor. “I’m...

concerned by these allegations, but right now we have a hostile force incoming, and I need to coordinate with Planetary Defense. Was there something more you needed to tell me?”

Mops bit her lip, briefly tempted to say nothing. To restore the shuttle

and let it dump its contents onto Dobranok. “Don’t let the Prodryans anywhere near the planet. The bioweapon they used against the Pufferfish doesn’t just revert humans. It’s been modified to kill Krakau.”

Pachelbel’s response was a long, stuttering whistle the communications console failed to translate. “I’ve never heard that phrase before,” Doc said quietly. “Something about a spiny coral and an excretory orifice.”

“You’re certain?” asked Pachelbel. “I’m told the bioweapon was a form of Krakau venom. We should be immune.”

“Rokkau venom,” Azure said sharply. “Captain Brandenburg and the rest of our command crew died immediately after the attack,” said Mops. “I thought...

I assumed at first that feral humans had killed them, but their bodies were undamaged. Azure confirmed it.”

“Is there a cure?”

“Yes,” said Mops. “We have a sample on board, along with the Glacidae chemist and criminal who helped make it. My question to you is how badly you want them.”

Pachelbel made the clicking equivalent of a chuckle. “People have argued about letting humans get too intelligent. I’m afraid you give strength to those arguments. What’s your price, Mops?”

“Cure my crew,” she said without hesitation. “They know nothing about Rokkau or venom or what happened to Earth. If I give you the counteragent, you promise to use it to restore them.”

“They will need to be thoroughly debriefed,” Pachelbel said slowly, “but I can probably arrange that. Assuming they’re unaware of anything that’s transpired on the Pufferfish, they will not be harmed. I’ll send a shuttle to retrieve—”

“I wasn’t finished.” Mops smiled. “I’ll also need you to reactivate the Pufferfish. Give me full control of my ship, and override that Rokkau-triggered subroutine you buried in Doc and the rest of our monocles.”

Pachelbel flicked two tentacles in polite disbelief. “You’re a wanted criminal, and you expect me to simply give you a cruiser?”

“You’ve got enemy ships en route, and your defenses are pretty thin. An EMC cruiser could make a real difference in the outcome. I’ll be on the bridge with the cure, waiting for your answer. If I don’t hear from you...

well, I guess that’s an answer, too.”

The team’s first obstacle was getting back up to the air vent to escape the docking bay. Climbing down a cord of twisted tape was one thing, but getting enough of a grip to pull yourself back up was pretty much impossible. They ended up forming a human ladder to push and pull one another up, an exercise that reminded Mops of team-building challenges from basic training. She’d never liked those challenges. By then, most of the crew was awake and stumbling about, making the

journey through the ship that much more exciting. Three times they doubled back to find another route rather than fight their own feral shipmates. Main power returned while they were on deck C. Lights brightened, and

air vents hummed to life, wafting a cool breeze through the corridor. “Let there be light!” Doc crowed. “I’m getting readings from various

ship’s systems. It will take a few minutes for everything to come up before I can give you a full status report.”

“There’s a lift up this way,” said Kumar. “It’ll be faster.”

“Wait.” Mops turned to look directly at Azure. “Doc, are you still

there?”

“I haven’t suddenly been possessed by phantom code, if that’s what you

mean. Either the admiral switched off that subroutine, or else nothing’s happening because we’re already approaching Dobranok.”

“Do we have a clear route to the bridge?”

“Private Balboa is lurking in front of the lift. Let me lure her away.”

The murmur of distant conversation reached Mops’ ears. “She’s moving. Give her a moment to follow the sounds, and you’ll be fine.”

Three minutes later, Mops was stepping out of the lift onto the bridge. The station consoles were in standby mode, and the main screen had defaulted to a status overview of the Pufferfish. It confirmed the ship was in rough shape. One weapons pod was out of commission, the other two completely depleted of missiles. Hull integrity was holding, but green patches dotted the ship’s skin like a rash, showing where emergency bulkheads and sealant had patched various breaches. The ship would need serious repairs for long-term stability. “In other news, we have a minor plumbing emergency on deck F. Technician Stark got his arm stuck in the toilet.”

“We know he’s not going anywhere, then.” Mops took her seat and

checked her console. “Give me Tactical.”

“Yes, sir,” said Monroe. The status screen vanished, replaced by a smaller representation of the Pufferfish, surrounded by tow ships. The curve of the planet dominated the lower right corner of the screen. A small dot labeled “The Basin” raced away from the ship, making the orbiting prison appear to chase the horizon. “Zoom out,” said Mops. “Who else is here?”

The next view brought a sharp breath from Kumar and a curse from Wolf. “Did they send the entire Prodryan fleet?” whispered Kumar. “Prodryans don’t have a unified military,” said Monroe, staring at the screen. Four clusters of ships, all tagged green as hostiles, were closing on Dobranok from different directions. Krakau ships, marked in blue, had begun to form a perimeter around the planet. “The Krakau are just going to sit here and wait?” asked Wolf. Mops skimmed the force summaries for both sides. In addition to fourteen warships and twenty-three cruiser-class vessels, the Prodryans had sent eleven carriers, each of which could hold twenty small fighter craft. “Looks like Homeworld Military Command is launching more ships from the planet and the two moons. Probably trying to get as much firepower together as they can before heading out to intercept the Prodryan fleets.”

A brief flicker of light marked the destruction of a Krakau long-range security buoy. “Why attack nine hours early?” Mops whispered. Azure had guessed it was a miscommunication or simple bloodthirsty eagerness, but Heart of Glass hadn’t made such mistakes before. Azure lurked by the lift door, her attention fixed on the screen. It couldn’t be easy seeing alien warships closing in on her species’ home world, even a home world she’d never known. “They intend to raid the shipyards and take as much military technology as they can, but they know the Alliance won’t let them stay. Once they leave, Dobranok will be our world.”

“Whatever’s left of it.” Mops looked back to the screen. “It’s a race. Four groups of Prodryans, each one hoping to reach Dobranok first and claim the best loot for themselves. One group probably made the jump early, and the rest followed to keep anyone else from getting the advantage.”

Krakau ships began to separate into five defensive formations. Four

curved away from the planet on intercept courses, while the fifth spread about Dobranok. “Do we know who those four fleets serve?” asked Mops. “Not from here,” said Kumar. “Prodryans don’t broadcast ID registries,

and we’re too far out for visual identification.”

“Heart of Glass will be in one of the command ships,” whispered Azure. “He spoke of the glory of this attack, the shock waves it would send throughout the galaxy. He would not allow anyone else to usurp his place in history.”

Mops spun. “Wolf, send a message to Admiral Pachelbel. Short-range,

tight-beam. If a single Prodryan picks this up, we’re dead.”

Azure shuddered. “We’re all going to die.”

Wolf glared plasma beams at the Rokkau, but continued working on the

signal parameters. “Go ahead, sir.”

“Admiral, this is Mops. Tell your tow ships to prepare to break off. We’re going to disrupt the Prodryans’ attack.”

“How the hell are we going to do that?” asked Wolf. “One busted cruiser

against four Prodryan war fleets?”

“Wolf, stop undermining your captain on an open channel,” snapped

Mops. In a quieter voice, she said, “Monroe and Kumar, get to the brig. We’re going to need Grom up here.”

Monroe jumped to his feet with a quick salute and headed for the lift,

Kumar following a few steps behind. “Admiral,” Mops continued. “Your defenses look pretty evenly matched

with the Prodryans. You might be able to hold them off, but a lot of your people are going to die. And we can’t risk letting any of them reach the planet. Any one of those ships could be carrying more of that damned bioweapon.”

“You think a group of janitors on a busted cruiser can stop them?” The

translator did an excellent job of catching the terseness in Pachelbel’s voice. “The Krakau turned us into warriors and soldiers,” said Mops. “Right

now, I’d happily put a plasma beam through every bastard at Command who knowingly kept the truth from us, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to stand by and let the Prodryans slaughter innocent people. Respectfully, sir, we don’t have time to argue. Either shut us back down, or shut up and let us do what you remade us to do.”

“What’s that?” Monroe murmured, looking over Mops’ shoulder from behind her chair. “Something to keep me from going crazy while Grom finishes working. A biography of Doctor Marion Adamopoulos.” Mops cleared the screen. “Or a fiction made up by Krakau ‘historians.’ They rewrote our history. Who knows if Dr. Adamopoulos was even a real person.”

“Or Marilyn Monroe,” he said, nodding. “The Krakau couldn’t have destroyed every document on Earth. Some of the libraries and archives must have survived.”

“Full of records in languages we can’t read.” Mops pulled herself back to the present. “Maybe once we’ve saved Dobranok, we can arrange a tourist trip to Earth.”

“And get eaten by the natives?” Wolf piped up. “No thanks.”

Mops chuckled and turned to Grom. “How’s it coming?”

Grom secreted a faint trail of lubricating fluid as they crawled away from Monroe’s station. “I’ve finished resetting and marking the controls for the plasma beam power levels, as you requested. Monroe, make sure you pull the blue slider all the way down before firing.”

Monroe moved to his station and studied his console and controller. “Weapons look good, sir.”

Mops checked on Azure, who stood off to her right. “Are you ready for your part?”

Her tentacles curled into spirals, then relaxed again. “I am.”

She turned next to navigation. “Kumar?”

“Course ready, sir.” His fingers hovered over the control sphere. “Wolf?”

“I’ve been ready.”

Mops stood. “Battle Captain Cervantes was good at giving speeches, reminding his team how important their work was. But he’s not here, so I’m going to cut to the chase.” She looked around the bridge. Her bridge. “Don’t fuck this up.”

Wolf grinned and shouted, “Yes, sir!” The others echoed the sentiment— loudly—a moment later. Mops moved to join Monroe and Grom. “Fire when ready, JG Monroe.”

Doc sent a tactical view to her monocle, showing the Pufferfish

surrounded by Krakau tow ships. Moments later, flickers of light stabbed out from their two remaining weapons pods, touching each of the ships in succession. Mops held her breath. “Direct hits,” said Monroe. “Grav beams are offline,” announced Kumar. “The tow ships are

limping away.”

“They’re not being quiet about it either,” said Wolf. “I’m picking up a

lot of angry chatter calling for reinforcements to take us out.”

Mops studied Monroe’s screen. “Damage report?”

“With our weapons at ten percent power?” Monroe snorted. “We barely

tickled them. But the Prodryans should have picked up the weapons discharge. They’ll think we’re making a break for it.”

“Kumar, get us moving,” Mops ordered. The Pufferfish surged away from their escort. Scattered plasma and A-

gun fire followed from the closest of the Krakau Planetary Defense ships. Energy crackled over the Pufferfish’s hull from a hit to the aft section. A lucky A-gun shot punctured one of the struts to weapons pod three. “Faster would be better, Kumar.”

“Working on it.” He twisted the control sphere, and the ship jolted hard

enough to send Grom toppling to the floor. “Good work, but that was the easy part,” said Mops. “Kumar, as soon as

you’re finished, move out of sight of the visual pickup. Grom, I want you at Kumar’s station, but don’t touch anything.”

“This is insulting,” Grom muttered. “I built those controls, remember?”

“And if you weren’t still half-asleep and oozing all over my bridge, I

might trust you to use them.” Mops waited until everyone was in position. “From this point on, the bridge belongs to Azure and Grom. Everyone else is to stay out of sight and say nothing.”

“Got it,” said Wolf. Mops glared, and Wolf had the decency to look abashed. “Azure, you’re

up. Wolf, hit the switch.”

The bridge became silent as everyone waited for Azure to begin. Azure

rested one tentacle next to the control sphere at the captain’s station. “Supreme Assault Commander Heart of Glass, this is Azure. We have completed phase one of our mission. Our bioweapon spreads across Dobranok as we speak. The Krakau are dying. Squarm and I have seized control of the Pufferfish and are moving to implement phase two.”

There was no response. Not that Mops had expected any. The Prodryans had begun to engage with the first wave of Krakau forces, and their leaders were busy overseeing the battle. They were likely confused as well, since there had never been a second phase to Azure’s mission. Mops nodded at Azure to continue. “Once the other Prodryans have weakened the Krakau defenses, Captain Taka-lokitok-vi and his squadron of Nusuran mercenaries should come out of their A-ring jump behind Prodryan force two. Their ships are programmed to lock and fire automatically. The same holds true for the Quetzalus dreadnoughts you hired to destroy force three. The Pufferfish will engage force four. Dobranok and her resources will be yours alone, Supreme Assault Commander.”

The viewscreen split to show a heavily modded Prodryan. “What are you talking about, Azure?” he shouted. “Your mission was to infect Dobranok!”

Most of the self-proclaimed Supreme Assault Commander’s face was metal and glass, and his left antenna had been replaced by what looked like a small computer interface port. He wore matte-pink battle armor that nicely complemented the yellow of his wings. “Yes, Supreme Assault Commander,” Azure said eagerly. “The shuttle detonated shortly before your arrival, at which point Squarm and I began implementing the next part of your plan. Your reinforcements wait in stealth mode just outside the system, as ordered.”

A second window appeared, this one showing a lavender-winged Prodryan with metal spikes protruding from her limbs. “What is this, Heart of Glass?”

“This creature lies,” Heart of Glass protested. “She was to cleanse the planet for us, nothing more.”

Mops pointed at Grom, giving them the cue to speak. Best to do it now and keep Heart of Glass off-balance. Grom slumped in annoyance, but moved forward to deliver their lines. “Sir, attack vectors have already been transmitted and acknowledged. It’s too late to rescind the order.”

“Switch to a direct line immediately,” screamed Heart of Glass. “Oh, my,” said Azure. “Did I fail to secure this transmission?

I’m sorry, sir. I’m not familiar with EMC communications protocols. Squarm, get to the communication console.”

“Right away,” Grom said, scooting toward that station. In a quieter

voice, they muttered, “I will fix this. Me, Squarmildilquirn. Because all Glacidae look alike....”

Mops glared at Grom, and they fell silent. A third Prodryan squeezed onto the screen, a male with gleaming

artificial wings and weapon barrels mounted directly into his shoulders. “Warlord Heart Sting was right about you, Heart of Glass. Your cooperation with these other species has corrupted your soul. You would ally with them against your own kind?”

“Never,” said Heart of Glass. “Sun Sailor, this is a trick. We must

continue the attack. Within hours, our greatest enemy will fall, and we will all share in the rewards!”

“Your skill at lying has improved, sir,” said Azure. “Your time among

the humans was well-spent.”

Mops blinked. That hadn’t been part of the script, but Azure’s

improvisation worked beautifully. Heart of Glass’ wings buzzed with fury. “Shut up, you gelatinous pustule!”

“Are we still transmitting in the open?

My apologies. I didn’t...” Azure

shrank slightly, then raised her voice. “Attention, Prodryan attack forces. Heart of Glass is correct. This is all a misunderstanding. He certainly did not betray you, and there are absolutely no reinforcements on their way to destroy your forces. Please carry on with your attacks, keeping your attention focused on the Krakau ships and not on the completely safe and empty space behind you.”

Doc highlighted one group of Prodryan ships on Mops’ monocle. “Sensors show this bunch turning away. I can’t be certain, but if I had to guess, I’d say they’re preparing for an A-ring jump.”

Mops gave a thumbs-up to the rest of the team. “You will both die for this,” Heart of Glass snarled, then turned slightly. “Sun Sailor, Blade of Bone, Planet-Slayer, don’t let these creatures rob us of our victory.”

“You mean your victory,” said the Prodryan with the mechanical wings. “Heart Sting should have torn your wings from your body. If you survive, I’ll hunt you down and do it myself!”

“Another group is turning—and there goes the third.”

“What about Heart of Glass?” Mops whispered. “Heart of Glass is an atypical example of his species, but from what I know of Prodryan culture, he’ll likely choose death in battle over the shame of failure.”

The Prodryans vanished from the screen. “Communications terminated,” announced Wolf. “That was amazing!”

“An impressive performance,” agreed Mops. “Thank you both.”

“They’re increasing speed. It looks like they’re hoping an all-out charge will get a few of their ships through the Krakau forces.”

Mops returned to the captain’s chair to study the enemy’s approach. “We’re not done yet. Everyone to your stations. Monroe, power up the defensive grid and make sure missile countermeasures are online. Kumar, increase speed toward that fleet.”

Kumar glanced over his shoulder at her. “Sir?”

“Heart of Glass isn’t leaving this system alive. Our job now is to make certain he dies before he gets within range of Dobranok. And if the plasma beam that sends him to hell comes from the Pufferfish, so much the better.”

“Two fighters have broken through the Krakau,” Monroe shouted. On the viewscreen, green circles highlighted two approaching blips. “Incoming missiles.”

“On it,” said Wolf, hunching over her controller. They’d transferred missile countermeasures to Wolf so Monroe could focus on returning fire. One by one, the missiles blew up or veered off course. “Good work,” said Mops. The fighters peeled away from one another. Monroe focused the A-guns on the left fighter, letting the Pufferfish targeting system try to predict and intercept the ship’s erratic path. The display lit up with incoming plasma and A-gun fire as a third fighter slipped past the Krakau. The Pufferfish’s defensive grid absorbed the former, but the A-guns perforated the hull down on decks E through G. “Kumar, keep us moving. Monroe?”

“I’m trying, sir.” The Pufferfish’s own plasma beams sent needles of light after all three fighters. “This would be a lot easier if either they’d hold still or we did.”

“If we stop moving, they’ll rip us apart,” said Kumar. Mops checked the damage assessment. “I want an A-ring powered up,

just in case.”

“We’re not far enough out for a safe jump,” Kumar protested. The Pufferfish shuddered again. “Safe is relative. Program a short-range

jump, just enough to get us out of the system.”

“Sir, I have an idea!” Grom raced to the starboard backup station at the

rear of the bridge and switched on another control sphere. “There’s a combo move in Galaxy Wars III that’s perfect for this scenario. Can you get us closer to one of those fighters?”

“This isn’t a game,” said Mops. “The tactics and engineering are both sound.”

“This might be a good time to point out that Technician Grom never

took anything beyond introductory battle tactics at university. And they barely passed.”

Grom sent their plan to Mops’ console. She pursed her lips. “Kumar,

bring us about forty degrees to port, pitch plus-fifteen degrees. Grom, if you break my ship, I’m throwing you back in the brig.”

“Understood.” Grom curled around their control sphere. “This might be

a little bumpy.”

They veered abruptly to the left. A hazy cone of green light shot from

the Pufferfish to envelop the port fighter. The ship jolted hard. “Got them,” Grom crowed. “Grav beam locked.” Alerts and warnings flashed as the Pufferfish strained to hold together

after snagging another ship at combat speeds. If the relative masses of the two ships hadn’t been tilted so heavily in their favor, that maneuver would have torn the Pufferfish apart. As it was, they were showing structural damage to the beam generator housing, and the power drain was close to overloading the system. “Thanks,” said Monroe. Plasma beams impaled the trapped fighter,

blowing it apart. The grav beams dragged the debris into a cone-shaped cloud, until Grom deactivated them. “Do you have enough power to rope the other one?”

“If Kumar can get us close enough, I’ll try,” said Grom. Far ahead, Mops counted eight damaged or disabled ships from both

sides drifting amidst the battle. Four others had been completely destroyed. The losses appeared to be evenly split between Prodryan and Krakau. “How long until the rest of the Krakau get here?” Mops demanded. “Roughly fifteen minutes.”

Her monocle zoomed out, showing the other Krakau intercept forces. They’d waited until the rest of the Prodryan jumped out of the system before starting toward Heart of Glass’ fleet. The Pufferfish jerked hard enough to give Mops whiplash. Behind her, Grom groaned. “There goes the grav beam generator.”

It had lasted long enough for Monroe to take out a second fighter, burning through its engine and leaving it spinning helplessly through space. “Sir, I’m picking up multiple A-ring energy signatures,” said Monroe. Mops checked the screen. “Please tell me Heart of Glass’ forces are retreating.”

“I don’t think so.”

Even as she watched, a Prodryan fighter exploded, sending out a ring of energy that sliced through a Krakau cruiser. Three more fighters exploded in quick succession. “The bastards are stealing our move,” shouted Wolf. The Krakau pulled back, trying to get out of range. Only one additional warship took damage in the next round of explosions. But the Krakau retreat created an opening. The remaining Prodryans accelerated toward the Pufferfish and the planet beyond. “Monroe, open fire with everything we’ve got.”

“They’re not in range,” Monroe warned. “If they get in range, we’re dead.” Mops counted eighteen fighters and five larger ships. “Maybe you’ll get a few lucky shots. Kumar, full reverse. Make them work to catch us, and give the Krakau time to close ranks and hit them from behind.”

“The Prodryans are hailing us,” said Wolf. “Put them through. See if you can pinpoint which ship the signal’s coming from.”

Heart of Glass appeared on the viewscreen. Dark blood trickled from a crack on the side of his face. “Supreme Assault Commander,” Mops greeted him. “As a representative of the Krakau Alliance, I’d be happy to accept your unconditional surrender.”

The Prodryan didn’t appear amused. “I only wish I could allow you to live long enough to see Dobranok die.”

Mops cocked her head. “You know Azure didn’t really poison the

planet, right?”

“I assumed as much.” Heart of Glass wiped his face. “It makes no

difference. If your name is remembered, human, it will be as one of the billions I destroyed this day.”

The screen went dead. “Wolf, which ship is he transmitting from?”

“I’m not sure, but I think it’s this one.” One of the warships on the

screen turned blue. “Monroe, get ready to shoot everything we’ve got at that ship.”

“They’re powering up an A-ring,” said Monroe. “I’ve got multiple

missile launches, too. Way too many for us to stop. They’re trying to overwhelm us. Roughly two minutes to impact.”

“Kumar, we need all the speed you can give us!” Mops frowned at the

screen. “What the hell is he doing?

They’re not fleeing the system, and they’re too far out to try that kamikaze stunt with the A-rings.”

“It’s not just one ship,” said Monroe. “They’re all prepping rings.” Mops studied the display, and her bones turned to ice. “Doc, if they

jump from here, could they hit Dobranok?”

Kumar’s face turned pale. Monroe swore. Doc broadcast his answer to the bridge. “Given the distance to

Dobranok and the gravitational interference from the sun, the chances of any given ship accurately striking the planet are between one and two percent.”

“They have twenty-three ships,” whispered Azure. “Indeed. If they all jump, I estimate a one-in-three chance of at least one

ship striking Dobranok.”

“Monroe, keep shooting,” snapped Mops. “Doc, what happens if they hit

the planet going faster than light?”

“Theoretically, striking the atmosphere at that speed would fuse the

atoms of the atmosphere with those of the ship. The resulting thermonuclear reaction could wipe out a small continent. The shockwave would ripple through the atmosphere, tearing it away. Depending on the size of the ship and the angle of impact, the oceans would either turn to steam, or else suffer tidal waves strong enough to crush anything in their path. The planet itself might survive, but it would be a burnt-out husk, incapable of supporting life.”

“You have to stop them.” Azure spun toward Mops. “I’m begging you, sir. Please.”

Mops watched as Wolf’s efforts disrupted another group of incoming missiles. It wasn’t going to be enough. “Kumar, do you have that A-ring powered up?”

“We’re going to run?” asked Kumar. Azure whistled in protest. “From that asshole?

No way in hell. Wolf, signal the Krakau. Tell them to break off pursuit. Kumar, deploy the ring with maximum diameter.”

“Grom hasn’t had time to program a course,” Kumar warned. “We don’t need one. Kill the engines. Set the A-ring to full deceleration. Keep it powered up as long as possible.” She watched the screen as the ship’s microbeams maneuvered the A-ring into place directly in front of the bow. The ring expanded slowly until it was twice the diameter of the ship. At maximum size, it would generate only a fraction of its potential acceleration. Mops wiped her hands on her uniform and watched the missiles. Now that their target had stopped trying to get away, they accelerated in a direct path toward the Pufferfish. She counted down the seconds, watching the green sparks converge on her ship. If this didn’t work, at least they’d be dead too quickly for her failure to register. A-rings had two basic settings, as Puffy had explained in the tutorial, “One for speeding things up and one for slowing them down.”

The Pufferfish’s rings were calibrated for the mass of a cruiser-class ship, with enough power to accelerate them to twenty light-years/hour, or to decelerate them at the end of their journey. And what was deceleration but acceleration in the opposite direction?

The bridge was silent. Even Grom and Azure appeared to be holding their breath as the first missile entered the A-ring and vanished. Energy that would have slowed an EMC cruiser instead hurled the tiny missile back along its path at speed too high for the Pufferfish to calculate or track. More missiles disappeared, flung into deep space...

until one struck a Prodryan ship. The potential explosive power of the missile was nothing compared to the energy released by the faster-than-light collision. One moment Heart of Glass’ forces were closing in. The next, an expanding ball of light blotted them from existence. “Holy shit,” whispered Wolf. The A-ring shattered moments later. Shock waves shook the Pufferfish,

adding to the list of alarms and damage reports. Mops pried her fingers from her chair. She licked her dry lips and

swallowed. “Wolf, send a message to Admiral Pachelbel. As politely and professionally as you can, please ask if they require any additional assistance from the EMC.”

Twelve years ago:

“Commander Scheherazade, the mid-term assessment results on the new batch of humans is in.”

The Awakening and Orientation Officer for the Antarctic Medical Facility raised her head from the steaming pool. “How do they look, Seikilos?”

“Minor pre-cure damage, but nothing debilitating. All eighteen passed basic physical and intellectual tests, and their EMC training is proceeding well. Several have demonstrated officer-level analytical and problem-solving skills.”

Scheherazade sank back into the water. How anyone could survive, let alone thrive, in this cold, dry Earth air was beyond her. Even the feral humans avoided this continent. But that was the point. Better to restore and train these humans in a remote location where their animalistic cousins weren’t constantly trying to eat everyone. She touched the screen built into the wall of her steam pool, reviewing this group’s scores. Seikilos was right about the officer potential. She tagged several for command training, and another for sniper work. One by one she added her notes, saving the most interesting for last. She hesitated a long time over that final name before making her decision. “Commander?” The hesitant clicks and whistles of Seikilos’ voice carried easily into the water. “The one you marked for hygiene and sanitation duty. Are you sure?

She had the highest score in—”

“I like humans, but we both know how dangerous they are,” said

Scheherazade. “Officers need a degree of intelligence and independence. This one has too much of both.”

“I...

understand,” said Seikilos, who clearly didn’t. “Trust me, technician. I’ve been in this job a long time. Put this human

in the field, or worse yet, in command, and sure, she’ll excel for a while. But in the long run, it could be very bad for the Alliance.”

C OOK HAD DONE A nice job repairing the damage to his restaurant. He’d also added a new sign to the door: NO BOMBS ALLOWED. Mops scanned the customers on both sides of the restaurant. “Well?”

“I’ve identified Admiral Pachelbel.” Doc highlighted a floating table on

the Krakau side of the restaurant. “I don’t see any additional security, but if she doesn’t have backup in here, she’ll have a team waiting nearby. Probably monitoring the situation through her visor.”

“Miss Mops!” Cook hurried from the kitchen, his fuzzy arms

outstretched. “I’m happy to see you alive, and I hope today’s meal goes better than your last!”

“Me, too,” said Mops. “I’m so sorry about what happened before. I’m

meeting a...

a friend. I promise this one won’t try to blow me up.” At least, not here in public. Cook beamed. “I’ll have a round of Tjikko nuts sent to your table.”

“That’s not necessary,” Mops called, but Cook was already scurrying

away. With a sigh, Mops waded down the ramp toward Admiral Pachelbel. The water warmed her legs, but her uniform kept it from penetrating. “How’s everything looking outside?”

“All clear so far,” Monroe reported over the comm. “If the Alliance is

watching, they’re keeping their distance. A pair of Prodryans started to go in, but changed their mind when they spotted Wolf loitering by the door.”

“You think they’re up to something?”

“I doubt it. Word in the towers is that the Prodryans here have been

keeping their heads down since Dobranok. Heart of Glass’ failure brought shame to the whole damn race.”

“Kumar, keep our shuttle warmed up and ready to go, just in case.”

“Yes, sir,” said Kumar. Mops nodded to herself. “Pufferfish, any sign of additional Alliance ships?”

After a brief delay, Grom responded, “Sensors haven’t picked up any unusual traffic. Everything’s fine here.”

Azure cut in to say, “Everything is not fine. This Glacidae uses cheat codes for their fighter combat simulator. I scored a direct plasma strike to their primary engines!”

“It’s not cheating,” Grom argued. “My ship has optical displacement technology from a previous campaign—”

Mops closed the connection as she reached the admiral’s table. She lowered herself onto the tangle of bars that served as a Krakau chair. Buoyancy kept it from being as uncomfortable as it could have been. “I’m a little surprised you agreed to meet with me, Admiral.”

Pachelbel chewed a small crustacean as she looked Mops over. “I appreciate the aesthetic modifications you’ve made to your uniform.”

“Thank you.” Mops had eliminated the rank stripes and unit insignia for herself and her team. One sleeve retained the pufferfish icon for their ship, while the other showed a slowly rotating image of the Earth. “The infected members of my crew are sedated in a cargo container on docking bay level four, along with Squarm, the scientist who worked on the bioweapon.”

“Squarm?”

“Squarmildilquirn. You’ll find he’s wanted for interplanetary drug smuggling, assault, and public lewdness.”

“And the cure?”

Mops reached into a chest pocket and removed a metal vial. “It should be enough to analyze and duplicate. I’ve kept a sample on the Pufferfish as well, just in case.”

“Thank you.” Pachelbel stretched a tentacle toward Mops’ head. “What is that?”

“A baseball hat. An old relic from Earth. It used to belong to a man named Floyd Westerman. I’m told the curved red line and stylized animal were the symbol of a human sports team called the Chicago Cubs.” Mops trailed off as Cook arrived, balanced expertly on a small hover-raft, with a small sack of Tjikko nuts for Mops and a bowl of thick green soup for Pachelbel. “Can I bring you anything else?”

“We’re fine,” said Mops. “And she’s paying for all of this.”

Cook clicked his claws in appreciation and shifted his weight, sending

the raft back toward the kitchen with only the smallest of ripples through the water. As soon as he was gone, Mops leaned across the table. “Turns out there

are a number of illegal Earth artifacts floating around, smuggled off-world by human recruits and bored Krakau. What I’d really like to find is an honest account of Earth history.”

“Honest history?” Pachelbel dipped her head, and a series of bubbles

marked her amusement. “That’s as much an oxymoron as civil war.”

“Maybe,” Mops conceded. “But I imagine human accounts come closer

to the truth than the stories we’ve been fed all these years. Particularly when it comes to the plague.”

Pachelbel sighed. “I wasn’t there, of course, but...

what I’ve been told

matches the information Azure gave you. A single Rokkau was sent along on that first contact mission. She attacked one of your planet’s leaders. Her venom, combined with human efforts to nullify the toxin, resulted in the devolution of your people. That mission was almost entirely erased from our history, hidden from everyone save the highest-ranking officials.”

“You could have stayed on Earth and tried to help us,” said Mops. “They...

we...

were afraid. Afraid of what we’d done. Afraid of the

fallout back on Dobranok. I say this to explain, not to excuse.”

“Where are the Krakau keeping the exiled Rokkau?”

“Until I received the alert from your ship, I believed the Rokkau were

extinct,” said Pachelbel. “Even then, I assumed this Azure was a fluke. One of the last survivors, or perhaps one of a small group of refugees. This story of a rogue prison floating through space, an ice planet with millions of Rokkau trapped within...

I know nothing of any such place.”

Mops picked up the tube containing Squarm’s counteragent and rolled it

between her fingers. “I’m going to need more than that, Admiral.”

“Lieutenant—Mops—have you considered what you will do next?

You

have a stolen ship, heavily damaged and severely undercrewed. The Alliance has offered a bounty for your capture. Where will you go?”

“You’ll forgive me if I don’t feel like discussing our plans with you,

Admiral,” Mops said dryly. “I think my team has managed pretty well so far. If I were you, I’d worry more about what happens when the rest of the Alliance learns the truth.”

“I am worried,” said Pachelbel. “More than you know. You should worry, too.”

Mops cocked her head. “Is that a threat?”

“It’s not intended as such. But consider your position. You have no real proof of your claims, save a being who could easily be dismissed as a deformed Krakau. Many believe you were working with the Prodryans.”

Mops grabbed a Tjikko nut and crunched down in disgust. “The same Prodryans we chased off or atomized two weeks ago when we helped save Dobranok?”

“I never claimed their belief was rational,” Pachelbel admitted. “If you pursue this course, it could destabilize the Alliance. The Krakau have kept peace among allied worlds for more than a hundred years. We’ve coordinated our defense against the Prodryans. Would you risk the security of the galaxy?”

“Security built on lies?” Mops snorted. “There’s your oxymoron, Admiral. The Krakau Alliance was born from the technology of a banished race. That security you value so much?

My people are on the front lines defending it. The same people you nearly wiped out. If the truth destroys the Alliance, maybe that’s for the best. Maybe what grows from the ashes will be better.”

“And maybe it won’t.” Pachelbel uncurled a tentacle across the table, dropping a centimeter-wide memory crystal beside Mops’ bowl. Mops didn’t touch it. “What’s this?”

“Instructions for a secure communications drop you can use to reach me, along with information on certain misrouted funds and other irregularities from the Alliance military budget. Ships whose mission logs are locked even to me. High-ranking HMC officials who issued a flurry of classified orders immediately following the fugitive alert on Azure. It’s not much, but somewhere in here could be...

I believe humans call them ‘crumbs of bread’ to lead you to the Rokkau prison planet. If such a place exists.”

“Why would you give it to me?”

“Because I’ve seen the kind of chaos you’ll leave in your wake if I let you do this alone.” Pachelbel dipped the tip of a tentacle into the soup, then brought the dripping limb to her mouth. “I believed I was one of the few Krakau to know the truth of our history, but if Azure is correct about this prison, I was simply fed an alternate lie. If I investigate these things overtly, I’ll be stripped of my rank and locked away, branded a criminal and a traitor.”

Mops snorted. “But since we’re already traitors...”

“Exactly.”

Mops picked up the mem crystal and rolled it between her thumb and

forefinger. “We’re going to need resources.”

“I’ve been given a great deal of leeway to negotiate with you for the

bioweapon cure.”

A slow smile spread across Mops’ face. “Doc, please transmit our wish

list to the admiral’s interface.”

Mops settled into the captain’s chair and turned to the backup station where Azure and Grom were working to analyze the memory crystal Admiral Pachelbel had given her. “What do you think?”

“Scanning software isn’t finding any hidden programs,” said Grom. “I

want to run more checks, but it looks clean.”

“You really think this Krakau wants to help you find my people?” asked

Azure. Mops shrugged. “She didn’t try to arrest me. She didn’t try to shoot our

shuttle down when we left the station. Neither of the two EMC ships in-system have tried to follow us. So far, it looks like she’s on our side.”

Azure twitched the stump of her missing tentacle. “I don’t trust her.”

“I didn’t say I did either.” Nor did she trust Azure, for that matter, but—

so far—the Rokkau had done what she could to make herself helpful. And their chances of finding the other Rokkau would be significantly better with her help. The pop of gum pulled her attention to the front of the bridge. “What’s

our tactical situation, Monroe?”

“Not great,” he said. “Plasma beams are still functional on two weapons

pods. A-guns are only running on one. But I talked to that Tjikko, Theta, like you ordered. He gave me the name of a shipyard that might be willing to help. They’d strip two of our weapons pods for parts and keep those as payment for fixing the third. We’d be down to thirty-three percent of our standard armament, but we’d have a fully loaded and functional pod. They could probably repair the other damage we’ve collected, too.”

“Send the coordinates to Kumar, so he and Grom can prepare for the A-ring jump.” Mops cleared her throat. “Kumar?”

Kumar jumped. “Sorry, sir. I was showing Vera how navigation works.”

Mops smiled at the newest member of the Pufferfish crew. “What do you think of the ship, Vera?

This is your last chance to change your mind.”

Vera Rubin shook her head. “I’m done with Coacalos Station.”

It would be several more weeks before her body fully healed from the damage she’d suffered during the battle on the station. She’d lost her left eye and two fingers from her left hand, and her ribs and leg were restrained in healing braces. But she hadn’t hesitated when Kumar offered her the chance to join the Pufferfish. Mops had made it clear that next time, he was to ask her first, but given what Vera had done for them, she could hardly say no. Vera might not be the most creative thinker, but she had a good memory, and did well with routine tasks. “Kumar, why don’t you take Vera through our rather convoluted process for plotting an A-ring jump.”

“Yes, sir!”

A crew of seven for an entire cruiser presented plenty of other problems. She’d sealed off and shut down roughly three-quarters of the ship, but everyone would be working long shifts for the foreseeable future. Pachelbel had provided access codes to the primary computers, which should allow a skilled programmer to automate more of the ship’s functions. Assuming they could find a reliable programmer to do it. Pachelbel had also provided funds to cover refueling, and was looking into a source to replace the ship’s A-rings. Rings large enough for the Pufferfish were generally only manufactured at Alliance-controlled military facilities. The one bright spot was their food supply. With such a drastically reduced crew, they had enough nutrition to last months. “The EMCS Box Jellyfish is leaving Coacalos Station,” said Wolf. “We’re receiving a tight-beam signal. Battle Captain Steve Irwin instructs us to power down and surrender immediately, by order of IMC Fleet Admiral Belle-Bonne Sage.”

“Irwin got promoted?

Good for her.” Mops checked her console. “How long until they’re close enough to start shooting?”

“Four hours,” said Monroe. “Wolf, patch me through.” Mops waited for Wolf’s nod. “The Pufferfish

sends its regards to Captain Irwin and the crew of the EMCS Box Jellyfish. I’m afraid we’ll have to decline the Fleet Admiral’s invitation for the time being. We have a lot of work ahead of us.”

Her expression hardened. “But tell Sage not to worry. She’ll be hearing

from us again soon. We might not be the best soldiers in the EMC, but if there’s one thing we know, it’s how to clean up other people’s messes.”

Mops glanced around the bridge. If Wolf grinned any harder, her teeth

would pop out. Monroe smiled as well, adding a small salute. Kumar and Vera were huddled together, their shoulders touching. Azure stood quietly, her body tilted in a posture Mops recognized as calm and determined. Grom looked up from their control sphere and gave an exaggerated nod. “Adamopoulos out.”