Текст книги "The Human Division"

Автор книги: John Scalzi

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Текущая страница: 19 (всего у книги 27 страниц)

*   *   *

Hafte Sorvalh was tall, tall even for a Lalan, and as such would have difficulty navigating the short and narrow corridors of the Clarke. As a courtesy to her, the negotiations for the surrender of the Nurimalwere held in the Clarkeshuttle bay. Sorvalh was accompanied by Puslan Fotew, captain of the Nurimal,who did not appear in the least bit pleased to be on the Clarke,and Muhtal Worl, Sorvalh’s assistant. On the human side were Coloma, Abumwe, Wilson and Hart Schmidt, whom Wilson had requested and Abumwe had acceded to. They were arrayed at a table hastily acquired from the officers mess. Chairs were provided for all; Wilson guessed they might be of slightly less utility for the Lalans, based on their physiology.

“We have an interesting situation before us,” Hafte Sorvalh said, to the humans. Her words were translated by a small machine she wore as a brooch. “One of you is the captain of this ship. One of you is the head of this ship’s diplomatic mission. One of you”—she nodded at Wilson—“is a member of the Colonial Union’s military. To whom shall my captain here surrender?”

Coloma and Abumwe looked over to Wilson, who nodded. “I am Lieutenant Wilson of the Colonial Defense Forces,” he said. “Captain Coloma and Ambassador Abumwe are members of the Colonial Union’s civil government, as is Mr. Schmidt here.” He nodded at his friend. “The Nurimalis a Conclave military ship, so we have decided that as a matter of protocol, I would be the person for whom it would be appropriate to surrender.”

“Only a lieutenant?” Sorvalh said. Wilson, who was not an expert on Lalan physiology, nevertheless suspected she was wearing an amused expression. “I’m afraid it might be a little embarrassing for my captain to surrender to someone of your rank.”

“I sympathize,” Wilson said, and then went off script. “And if I may, Ambassador Sorvalh—”

“Councillor Sorvalh would be more accurate, Lieutenant,” Sorvalh said.

“If I may, Councillor Sorvalh,” Wilson corrected, “I would ask why your captain seeks to surrender at all. The Nurimalclearly outmatches the Clarkemilitarily. If you wished it, you could blow us right out of the sky.”

“Which is precisely why I ordered Captain Fotew to surrender her vessel to you,” Sorvalh said. “To assure you that we pose not the smallest threat to you.”

Wilson glanced over to Captain Fotew, rigid and formal. The fact that she was ordered to surrender explained a lot, about both Fotew’s attitude at the moment and the relationship between Fotew and Sorvalh. Wilson could not see Captain Coloma accepting an order from Ambassador Abumwe to surrender her ship; there might be blood on the floor after such a request. “You could have made that point much more clear if you had not housed your diplomatic mission to us in a warship,” Wilson pointed out.

“Ah, but if we had done that, you would be dead,” Sorvalh said.

Fair point,Wilson thought. “The Urse Damayis a Conclave ship,” he said.

“It was,” Sorvalh said. “Technically, I suppose it still may be. Nevertheless, when it attacked your ship—and also the Nurimal—it was under the command of neither the Conclave nor its military, nor was it crewed by citizens of the Conclave.”

“What proof do you offer for this assertion?” Wilson asked.

“At the moment, none,” Sorvalh said. “As I have none to offer. That may come in the future, as these discussions progress. In the meantime, you have my word, whatever that will be worth to you at the moment.”

Wilson glanced over to Abumwe, who gave him a small nod. He turned to Captain Fotew. “With all due respect, Captain, I cannot accept your surrender,” he said. “The Colonial Union and the Conclave are not in a state of war, and your military actions, as best I can see, were at no point directed toward the Clarkespecifically nor at the Colonial Union generally. Indeed, your actions and the actions of your crew saved the Clarkeand the lives of its crew and passengers. So while I reject your surrender, I offer you my thanks.”

Fotew stood there a moment, blinking. “Thank you, Lieutenant,” she said, finally. “I accept your thanks and will share it with my crew.”

“Very well done,” Sorvalh said, to Wilson. She turned to Abumwe. “For a military officer, he’s not a bad diplomat.”

“He has his moments, Councillor,” Abumwe said.

“If I may, what are we doing about the Urse Damay?” Coloma said. “It’s damaged, but it’s not entirely dead. It still represents a threat to both our ships.”

Sorvalh nodded to Fotew, who addressed Coloma. “The Urse Damayhad missile launchers bolted on to it, holding nine missiles,” she said. “Three of them were sent at you. Three of them were sent at us. The remaining three have our weapons trained on them. If they were fired, they would be destroyed before they were launched out of their tubes. That is if the Urse Damyhad enough power to target either of our ships or fire the missiles at all.”

“Have you made contact with the ship?” Coloma asked.

“We ordered its surrender and offered to rescue its crew,” Fotew said. “We have heard nothing from it since our battle. We have done nothing else pending our surrender to you.”

“If Lieutenant Wilson had accepted our surrender, then it would have been you who would have to coordinate the rescue,” Sorvalh said.

“If there were someone still alive on that ship, they would have signaled us by now,” Fotew said. “Us or you. The Urse Damayis dead, Captain.”

Coloma quieted, dissatisfied.

“How will you explain this incident?” Abumwe asked Sorvalh.

“How do you mean?” Sorvalh replied.

“I mean each of our governments have agreed that this discussion of ours is not actually taking place,” Abumwe said. “If even a discussion is not taking place, I would imagine an actual military battle will be hard to explain.”

“The military battle will not be hard to handle politically,” Sorvalh said. “The surrender, however, would have been difficult to explain away. Another reason for us to be grateful of the politic choices of your Lieutenant Wilson here.”

“If you are so grateful, then perhaps you can give us the answer we came here to get,” Abumwe said.

“What answer is that?” Sorvalh said.

“Why the Conclave is targeting and attacking Colonial Union ships,” Abumwe said.

“How very interesting,” Sorvalh said. “Because we have the very same question for you, about our ships.”

*   *   *

“There have been sixteen ships gone missing in the last year,” Colonel Abel Rigney explained to Abumwe. He and Abumwe were in the office of Colonel Liz Egan, who sat with them at her office’s conference table. “Ten of them in the last four months.”

“What do you mean by ‘gone missing’?” Abumwe asked. “Destroyed?”

“No, just gone,” Rigney said. “As in, once they skipped they were never heard from again. No black boxes, no skip drones, no communication of any sort.”

“And no debris?” Abumwe asked.

“None that we could find, and no gas clouds of highly vaporized ships, either,” Egan said. “Nothing but space.”

Abumwe turned her attention back to Rigney. “These were Colonial Defense Forces ships?”

“No,” Rigney said. “Or more accurately, not anymore. The ships that have disappeared were all decommissioned former CDF ships, repurposed for civilian uses. Like the Clarke,your ship, was formerly a CDF corvette. Once a ship outlives its usefulness to the CDF, we sell them to individual colonies for local government services, or to commercial concerns who specialize in intercolonial shipping.”

“The fact that they were nonmilitary is why we originally didn’t notice,” Egan said. “Civilian and commercial ships sometimes go missing just as a matter of course. A skip is improperly inputted, or they’re prey for raiders or pirates, or they’re employed to carry a wildcat colony someplace a wildcat colony shouldn’t be and they get shot up. The Colonial Union tracks all legal shipping and travel in Colonial space, so we note when a ship is destroyed or goes missing. But we don’t necessarily note what kind of ship it is, or in this case was.”

“It wasn’t until some nerd handling ship registrations noted that a specific type of ship was going missing that we paid attention,” Rigney said. “And sure enough, he was right. All the ships on this list are decommissioned frigates or corvettes. All of them were decommissioned in the last five years. Most of them disappeared in systems near Conclave territory.”

Abumwe frowned. “That doesn’t sound like the Conclave’s way of doing things,” she said. “They won’t let us colonize anymore, but beyond that they haven’t recently been openly antagonistic towards the Colonial Union. They don’t needto be.”

“We agree,” Egan said. “But there are reasons for the Conclave to want to attack the Colonial Union. They are massively larger than we are, but we still nearly managed to destroy them not all that long ago.”

Abumwe nodded. She remembered the CDF destruction of the Conclave fleet over Roanoke Colony and how that pushed the entire Colonial Union to the brink of war with the much larger, much angrier alien confederation.

What saved the Colonial Union, ironically enough, had been the fact that the Conclave’s leader and founder, General Tarsem Gau, had managed to quell a rebellion and keep the Conclave intact—a not exactly small irony considering the CDF’s goal was to topple Gau.

“Gau certainly has reasons for wanting the Colonial Union out of the picture,” Abumwe said. “I’m not sure how making a few decommissioned former warships disappear will accomplish that.”

“We’re not sure about it ourselves,” Rigney said. “The ships are useless as warships now; we’ve removed all weapons and defense systems. The ships couldn’t have been confused with CDF ships still in service. Making them disappear does nothing to reduce our military capability at all.”

“There’s another possibility,” Egan said. “One I think is more likely, personally. And that is that the Conclave isn’t behind the disappearances at all. Someone else is, and trying to make it look like it’s the Conclave in the hopes of pushing them and us into another conflict.”

“All right,” Abumwe said. “Explain what this has to do with me.”

“We need to establish a back channel to the Conclave about this,” Rigney said. “If they are behind it, we need to tell them that we won’t tolerate it, in a way that doesn’t let our other enemies know where our military resources might become focused. If they aren’t behind it, then it’s to our mutual benefit to discover who is—again, as quietly as possible.”

“You’re getting the job because, to be blunt about it, you already know that someone or some group has been trying to sabotage the Colonial Union’s dealings with other species and governments,” Egan said. “We don’t need to read you in, and we know you and your people can keep your mouths shut.”

Abumwe gave a wry half smile. “I appreciate your candor,” she said.

“You are also good at what you do,” Egan said. “To be clear. But discretion is of particular value in this case.”

“I understand,” Abumwe said. “How do you want me to approach the task? I don’t have any direct contacts with the Conclave, but I know someone who might.”

“Your Lieutenant Wilson?” Egan said.

Abumwe nodded. “He knows John Perry personally,” she said, naming the former CDF major who took refuge with the Conclave after the events of Roanoke Colony and then took an alien trade fleet to Earth and informed that planet of their lopsided relationship with the Colonial Union. “It’s not a connection I’m keen on exploiting, but it’s one I can use if necessary.”

“It won’t be necessary,” Rigney said. “We have a direct line to one of General Gau’s inner circle. A councillor named Sorvalh.”

“How do we know Sorvalh?” Abumwe asked.

“After the unpleasantness with Major Perry showing up over Earth with a Conclave trade fleet, General Gau decided it would be useful to have an official unofficial way for us to talk to his inner circle,” Egan said. “To avoid any unintentionalunpleasantness.”

“If we tell her where to show up, she’ll be there,” Rigney said. “We just need to get you there.”

“And make sure that no one else knows you’re coming,” said Egan.

*   *   *

“We’re not attacking any of your ships,” Abumwe said, to Sorvalh.

“Curious,” Sorvalh said. “Because in the past several of your months, we have had twenty ships up and disappear.”

“Conclave military ships?” Abumwe asked.

“No,” Sorvalh said. “Mostly merchant ships and a few repurposed ships.”

“Go on,” Abumwe said.

“There’s not much more to say,” Sorvalh said. “All of them were lost in territory that borders Colonial Union space. All of them disappeared without evidence. Ships, gone. Crews, gone. Cargo, gone. Too few ships to constitute an action which merited a response. Too many to just chalk up to chance or fate.”

“And you’ve had none of these ships reappear,” Abumwe asked.

“There is one,” Sorvalh said. “It’s the Urse Damay.”

“You’re joking,” Wilson said.

“No, Lieutenant Wilson,” Sorvalh said, turning to him. “The Urse Damaywas one of the first on the list to go, and one that gave us the greatest amount of worry. It’s a diplomatic ship, or was, and its disappearance was a possible act of war as far as we were concerned. But we didn’t pick up any chatter in our usual channels about it, and for something like this, we would.”

“Yet you still think we’re behind this,” Abumwe said.

“If we were certain, then you would have heard from us already, and not through a diplomatic back channel,” Sorvalh said. “We have our suspicions, but we also have no interest in starting a war with the Colonial Union over suspicions. Just as, obviously, you have no desire to start a war with us over your suspicions, either.”

“The Urse Damaybeing here should convince you that it’s not us who took it,” Coloma said. “It fired on us.”

“It fired on both of our ships,” Captain Fotew said. “And on ours first. We arrived here just before you did. It was here when we arrived.”

“If we had arrived first, we would have seen it as a Conclave diplomatic ship,” Coloma said. “It’s obvious that it was meant to lure the Clarkeand then attack us.”

“That’s one way of looking at it,” Sorvalh said. “Another way is to have your tame, captured Conclave ship fake an attack on an unarmed diplomatic ship and use that as a propaganda tool. It’s not as if the Colonial Union is above sacrificing a ship or a colony to whip up some righteous anger.”

Coloma stiffened at this; Abumwe reached over and took her arm to calm and caution her. “You’re not actually suggesting this is the case here.”

“I am not,” Sorvalh agreed. “I am pointing out that we both have more questions than answers at the moment. Our ship went missing. It’s shown up here. It’s attacked both of our ships. Who was the intendedtarget is, at the moment, a trivial question because we both ended up as targets. The question we should be asking is, who is targeting us both? How did they know we would be here? And are they the same people who have caused yourships to disappear?”

Wilson turned back to Fotew. “You say that the Urse Damayis dead.”

“Incapacitated at the very least,” Fotew said. “And not a threat in any event.”

“Then I have a suggestion,” Wilson said.

“Please,” Sorvalh said.

“I think it might be time for a joint field trip,” Wilson said.

*   *   *

“Don’t do anything fancy,” Hart Schmidt said to Wilson. The two of them were in the Clarkeshuttle bay. The Nurimal’s shuttle, with its pilot and two Conclave military, was waiting for Wilson to board. “Look around, see what you can find out, get out of there.”

“I want to know when it was you became my mother,” Wilson said.

“You keep doing crazy things,” Schmidt said. “And then you keep roping me into them with you.”

“Someone else can monitor me if you want,” Wilson said.

“Don’t be stupid, Harry,” Schmidt said. He checked Wilson’s combat suit a second time. “You’ve checked your oxygen supply.”

“It’s being constantly monitored by my BrainPal,” Wilson said. “Plus the combat suit is configured for a vacuum environment. Plus I can hold my breath for ten minutes at a time. Please, Hart. You’re my friend, but I’m going to have to kill you.”

“All right. Sorry,” Schmidt said. “I’ll be following you from the bridge. Keep your audio and visual circuits open. Coloma and Abumwe will be there, too, if you have any questions for them and vice versa.”

“Just who I want in my head,” Wilson said.

One of the Conclave soldiers, a Lalan, poked his head out of the shuttle and motioned to Wilson. “That’s my ride,” he said.

Schmidt peered at the soldier. “Watch out for these guys,” he said.

“They’re not going to kill me, Hart,” Wilson said. “That would look bad.”

“One day you’re going to be wrong about these things,” Schmidt said.

“When I am, hope that I’m very far away from you,” Wilson said. Schmidt grinned at this and headed back to the shuttle bay control room.

Wilson entered the shuttle. The pilot and one of the soldiers were Lalan, like Sorvalh and Captain Fotew. The other was a Fflict, a squat, hairy race. It motioned to Wilson to have a seat. He did and stowed his MP-35 beneath his feet.

“We have translation circuits built into our suits,” the Fflict said, in its own language, while a translation came through a speaker on its belt. “You can speak your language and we’ll get a translation through our audio feed.”

“Likewise,” Wilson said, and pointed to the speaker. “You can turn that off if you like. I’ll still be able to understand you just fine.”

“Good,” the Fflict said, and turned off the speaker. “I hate the way that thing makes me sound.” It held up a hand and contracted the appendages twice, in a greeting. “I’m Lieutenant Navill Werd.” It pointed toward the Lalans. “Pilot Urgrn Howel, Corporal Lesl Carn.”

“Lieutenant Harry Wilson,” Wilson said.

“Have you been in a vacuum environment before?” Werd asked.

“Once or twice,” Wilson said.

“Good,” Werd said. “Now, listen. This is a joint mission, but someone has to be in charge, and I’m going to propose that it’s me, on account that I’m already supposed to be in charge of these two, and it’s my shuttle besides. Any objection?”

Wilson grinned. “No, sir.”

“Wrong gender,” Werd said. “But your ‘ma’am’ doesn’t exactly work either, so you might as well keep calling me ‘sir.’ No need to make things complicated.”

“Yes, sir,” Wilson said.

“Right, let’s get this thing moving,” Werd said, then turned to nod at his pilot. The pilot zipped up the shuttle and signaled to the Clarkethat they were ready to depart; the Clarkestarted the purge cycle for the bay. Corporal Carn eased himself into the co-pilot’s seat.

“This is my first time working with a human,” Werd said, to Wilson.

“How’s it going so far?” Wilson asked.

“Not bad,” Werd said. “You’re kind of ugly, though.”

“I get that a lot,” Wilson said.

“I bet you do,” Werd said. “I won’t hold it against you.”

“Thanks,” Wilson said.

“But if you smell, I’m pushing you out an airlock,” Werd said.

“Got it,” Wilson said.

“Glad we’ve come to this understanding,” Werd said.

“The lieutenant is like this with everyone,” Corporal Carn said, looking back at Wilson. “It’s not just you.”

“It’s not my fault everyone else is hideous to look at,” Werd said. “You can’t all be gorgeous like me.”

“How do you even get through the day being as gorgeous as you are, sir?” Wilson asked.

“I really don’t know,” Werd said. “Just by being a beacon of hope and good looks, I suppose.”

“You see what I’m saying here,” Carn said.

“He’s just jealous,” Werd said. “And ugly.”

“You guys are a hoot,” Wilson said. “And here my friend Hart thought you might try to kill me.”

“Of course not,” Werd said. “We save that for the second mission.”

The shuttle backed out of the bay and headed to the Urse Damay.

*   *   *

“All right, who wants to tell me the weird thing about this ship?” Werd said, to no one in particular. The lieutenant’s voice came in through Wilson’s BrainPal; he, Werd and Carn were all in separate parts of the ship.

“The fact there’s not a single living thing on it?” Carn said.

“Close, but no,” Werd said.

“That’s notthe weird thing?” Carn said. “If that’s not the weird thing, Lieutenant, what is?”

“The fact there’s no evidence that a single living thing was ever on it,” Wilson said.

“The human gets it,” Werd said. “This is the strangest damn thing I have ever seen.”

The three soldiers had carefully navigated themselves over to the tumbling front end of the Urse Damay. The shuttle pilot had matched the spin and rotation of the ship fragment, and the three traversed across by way of a guide line attached to a magnetic harpoon. Once they were over, the shuttle backed off to a less dangerous distance while continuing to match the tumble.

Inside, the tumble was enough to stick Wilson, Werd and Carn to the bulkheads at crazy angles to the ship’s internal layout. The three of them had to be careful when they walked; the open communication channel was occasionally punctuated by the very tall Corporal Carn cursing as he bumped into something.

The front end of the Urse Damayhad been severed from its prime power source, but emergency power was still being drawn from local batteries; emergency lighting flooded the corridors with a dim but serviceable glow. The glow showed no indication that anyone had walked the corridors in the recent past. Wilson pulled open doors to living quarters, conference rooms and what appeared to be a mess hall, judging from the benches and what looked to be food preparation areas.

They were all empty and sterile.

“Is this ship programmed?” asked Carn. “Like a skip drone?”

“I saw the video replay of its battle with the Nurimal,” Werd said. “The Urse Damaywas using tactics that suggest more than just programming, at least to me.”

“I agree with that,” Wilson said. “It sure looked like someone was here.”

“Maybe it’s remotely controlled,” Carn said.

“We’ve swept the local area,” Wilson said. “We didn’t find any drones or smaller ships. I’m sure Captain Fotew had the Nurimaldo the same thing.”

“Then how did this ship fight with no one on it?” Carn asked.

“How do we feel about ghosts?” Werd said.

“I prefer my dead to stay dead,” Wilson said.

“The human gets it right again,” Werd said. “So we keep looking for something living on the ship.”

A few minutes later, Carn was on the open channel. He made a noise; after a second, Wilson’s BrainPal translated it to “uh.”

“What is it?” Werd asked.

“I think I found something,” Carn said.

“Is it alive?” Wilson asked.

“Maybe?” Carn said.

“Carn, you’re going to have to be more specific than that,” Werd said. Even through the translation, Wilson could hear the exasperation.

“I’m on the bridge,” Carn said. “There’s no one here. But there’s a screen that’s on.”

“All right,” Werd said. “So what?”

“So when I passed by the screen, words came up on it,” Carn said.

“What did they say?” Wilson asked.

“‘Come back,’” Carn said.

“I thought you said there was no one in the room with you,” Werd said.

“There’s not,” Carn said. “Hold on, there’s something new on the screen now. More words.”

“What’s it say this time?” Werd asked.

“‘Help me,’” Carn said.

*   *   *

“You said you had expertise with technology,” Werd said to Wilson, and pointed to the bridge screen, hovering at an off-kilter angle above them. “Make this thing work.”

Wilson grimaced and looked at the screen. The words on the screen were in Lalan; a visual overlay from his BrainPal translated the message. There was no keyboard or operating tool that Wilson could see. He reached up and tapped the screen; nothing. “How do you usually work your screens?” Wilson asked Werd. “Does the Conclave have some sort of standard access interface?”

“I lead people and shoot at things,” Werd said. “Access interfaces aren’t my thing.”

“We have a standard data transmission band,” Carn said. “Not the voice transmission band, but for other things.”

“Hart?” Wilson said.

“Getting that for you now,” Schmidt said, in his head.

“Look,” Carn said, pointing at the screen. “New words.”

You don’t need the data band,the words said in Lalan. I can hear you on the audio band. But I only understand the Lalan. My translation module is damaged.

“What language do you speak?” Wilson said, and ordered his BrainPal to translate in Lalan.

Easo,the words said.

Wilson queried his BrainPal, which had the language and began to unpack it. “Is that better?” he asked.

Yes, thank you,the words said.

“Who are you?” Wilson asked.

My name is Rayth Ablant.

“Are you the captain of the Urse Damay?” Wilson asked.

In a manner of speaking, yes.

“Why did you attack the Clarkeand Nurimal?” Wilson asked.

I had no choice in the matter.

“Where is everyone?” asked Werd, who apparently had Easo as part of his translation database.

You mean, where is my crew.

“Yes,” Werd said.

I have none. It’s just me.

“Where are you?” Wilson asked.

That’s an interesting question,the words said.

“Are you on the ship?” Wilson asked.

I am the ship.

“I heard that correctly, right?” Carn said, after a minute. “I didn’t just get a bad translation, did I?”

“We’re asking the same question over here,” Schimdt said to Wilson, although he was the only one on the Urse Damaywho could hear him.

“You arethe ship,” Wilson repeated.

Yes.

“That’s not possible,” Werd said.

I wish you were right about that.

“Lieutenant Werd is right,” Wilson said. “None of us have been able to create truly intelligent machines.”

I never said I was a machine.

“This guy is making me irritated,” Werd said, to Wilson. “He’s speaking in riddles.”

“And he can hear you,” Wilson said, making a chopping motion: Werd, shut up.“Rayth Ablant, you’re going to need to explain yourself better for us. I don’t think any of us understand what you’re saying.”

It’s easier to show you.

“All right,” Wilson said. “Show me.”

Look behind you.

Wilson did. Behind him was a line of displays and a large, black cabinet. He turned back to the display.

Open it. Carefully.

Wilson did.

Hello.

“Oh, fuck me,” Wilson said.

*   *   *

“He’s a brain in a box,” Wilson said. “Literally a brain in a box. I opened up the cabinet and there’s a container in there with an Easo brain and nervous system laid out and connected to non-organic data fibers. There’s some sort of liquid surrounding the brain, which I suspect is keeping it oxygenated and fed. There’s an outtake tube that connects to what looks like a filtering mechanism, with another tube coming out the other end. It all gets recycled. It’s pretty impressive, as long as you forget that there’s an actual sentient being trapped in there.”

Wilson sat once more in the Clarkeshuttle bay with Abumwe, Sorvalh, Muhtal Worl and Hart Schmidt. Captains Coloma and Fotew had returned to their posts. Abumwe and Coloma had seen Rayth Ablant from Wilson’s own point of view through his BrainPal feed, but Sorvalh wanted a report as well. Wilson offered her his BrainPal feed, but she refused, preferring, as she said, “a live recounting.”

“Who was this Ablant?” Sorvalh asked. “He had a life before c this.”

“He was a pilot on the Urse Damay,or so he says,” Wilson said. “You would be able to check that better than I would, Councillor.”

Sorvalh nodded to Worl, who made a note on his tablet computer. “He was part of a crew,” Sorvalh said. “The Urse Damayhad a core crew of fifty and a diplomatic mission party of a dozen. What happened to them?”

“He says he doesn’t know,” Wilson said. “He says he had been asleep when the Urse Damaywas first boarded and that he was knocked unconscious during the invasion. When he woke up he was like this. The people who did this to him didn’t tell him anything about the rest of his crew.”

“And who are they, the people who did this to him?” Sorvalh asked.

“He says he doesn’t know that, either,” Wilson said. “He says he’s never even technically spoken with them. They communicate with him through text. When he came to, they explained to him his job was to learn how to operate and navigate the Urse Damayon his own and that when he became proficient enough, he would be given a mission. This was that mission.”

“Do you believe he doesn’t know who these people are?” Sorvalh asked Wilson.

“Pardon my French, Councillor, but the guy is a fucking disembodied brain,” Wilson said. “It’s not like he has any powers of observation other than what they gave him. He says they didn’t even give him external inputs until after the ship skipped. He was flying blind for the first half of his mission. It’s entirely possible he knows nothing about these people but what they tell him, which is almost nothing.”

“You trust him,” Sorvalh said.

“I pityhim,” Wilson said. “But I also think he’s credible. If he was a willing participant in this, they wouldn’t need to put his brain in a box to get him to do what they want him to do.”

“Tell the councillor what he was told his payment would be for this mission,” Abumwe said to Wilson.

“They told him that if he did this mission, they’d put his brain back into his body and send him home,” Wilson said. “His payment would be that he gets to be himself again.”

Sorvalh was silent about this for a moment, contemplating. Then she shifted her body weight and addressed Abumwe. “I would ask your indulgence for a moment while I say something terribly blunt.”

“Be my guest,” Abumwe said.

“It’s no great secret that the Colonial Union does things like this all the time,” Sorvalh said. She motioned at Wilson. “Your lieutenant here is the result of consciousness allegedly being transferred from one body to another genetically-modified one. He has a computer in his brain which connects to it using inorganic connections that are at least functionally similar to what’s connected to this poor creature. Your special forces soldiers are even more modified than he is. We know that you have some special forces soldiers who only tangentially resemble human beings. And we know that one penalty option your Colonial Defense Forces has for its malfeasant soldiers is to place their brains in a container for a period of time.”

Abumwe nodded and said, “Your point, Councillor.”

“My point, Ambassador, is that whoever did this to Rayth Ablant, their mode of operation is closer to that of the Colonial Union than it is to the Conclave,” Sorvalh said.