Deadshepherd (Tales of the Final Fall of Man Anthology Book 1) Page 24

  “I take it your clan leadership is a decent-sized group, then,” Sergio said, his voice growing a little colder but his demeanour otherwise not changing. AstroCorps officers, and Captains in particular, had to become inured against the cold and unpleasant things that happened between the stars, and lawbreakers killing the innocent was at the tame end of the spectrum. If the civilians were dead already – not in itself an assumption one could necessarily make based on the word of a junior officer of the enemy, of course – but their ships were still intact and sending out distress calls, it changed the landscape of the confrontation … but getting indignant about it would only lead to rashness and mistakes. This was a lesson human AstroCorps officers in particular learned when serving alongside Molren. It would do no good to scold the junior officer, let alone to start shooting wildly at his ship. But Sergio might be able to get more information out of him.

  “There are ten of them,” Fwetala said simply.

  The Captain raised his eyebrows. Each of the civilian vessels would have had a crew of upwards of five hundred, and that was a conservative estimate. And the Ivan’s crew at least would have been combat-trained. “Formidable.”

  “Yes,” the young Blaran said in a low voice.

  “You understand this is mass-murder, an act of categorical hostility against Six Species citizens and we are obligated to see that you face justice,” Malachi went on.

  “I understand, Captain,” Fwetala said sombrely. “You, in turn, should understand that I have little to no authority here, and your fate is in the hands of Bluothesh,” Attacus wasn’t sure, but he was almost certain the Second actually shivered as he said this.

  “And if your Captain chooses to initiate hostilities against the Draka, you and he should also be aware that this would be an act of war against the Six Species itself,” Sergio added.

  “I really don’t think he cares, Captain Malachi,” Fwetala said faintly.

  Sergio sat back in his seat, reaching up absently and scratching Alpha Drakamod under the beak again. “How many warships have you gone up against with that ship of yours, Second?” he asked. “Are you that confident of victory – against my ship, let alone everything AstroCorps and the Fleet and our allies will throw at you if you start a war here?”

  “What do you suggest, Captain?” Fwetala demanded, and now Attacus didn’t need to guess. The Blaran was young, and he was definitely shivering. “That we stand down, allow you to convoy to our ship, and fly back to Aquilar to face sentencing?”

  “That would be my suggestion, Second Po Chane, yes,” Sergio said calmly. “It still might not guarantee a cessation in hostilities with the Fergunak – you appear to have subverted and killed a large proportion of one of their schools – but it will be your best chance to get them off your back. Because sooner or later word of this attack will get out, and then I guarantee, you’re going to want the charter on your side. Look, Second,” Malachi leaned forward again as Fwetala looked uncertain. “The news got to us due to your efforts in getting a Fergunakil out of this volume to call for help. Maybe that was a genuine cry for help, maybe it was just a new phase in your plan to lure ships to this volume…” he paused then, and Attacus – well accustomed to his friend’s thought process – could almost read the suspicion on Sergio’s face. Why were they luring ships here? If they were as powerful as Po Chane seemed to be suggesting, why weren’t they making a direct strike at Aquilar, or at least the outer reaches of Coriel or some other target-rich volume?

  Were they stranded here, just like the civilian vessels they’d disabled?

  “What difference does that make, Captain Malachi?” Fwetala was asking. Sergio returned quickly to the matter at hand.

  “It makes a difference to you, certainly,” he said. “It’s a fact that will count in your favour, when the reckoning comes due for what Bluothesh has done. And if it’s standing down and convoying with us that you’re thinking of, may I remind you that your clan leadership is not on board, placing you – unless I’m mistaken – in command.”

  “I told you, I have little or no authority–”

  “Deep-space charter regulations lean heavily towards an AstroCorps warship such as ours firing upon occupied civilian ships in the process of being gutted by corsairs,” Malachi said idly. “Especially if given reasonable cause to suspect the civilian crew are dead.”

  The Second paused. Was that what he wanted the Draka to do, Attacus wondered? Destroy the civilian vessels, and the Po Chane clan leadership with them?

  But Fwetala shook his head. “That still wouldn’t place me in charge, Captain Malachi.”

  “Why not?” Sergio asked in mild frustration. “Who assumes command in the absence of your clan leadership, and why aren’t we talking to them already?”

  “It’s fortuitous you should ask that, Captain,” Fwetala replied, his demeanour returning to calmness with unsettling immediacy, “because that’s precisely why I was pleased to see you.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “We require a human being to act as an intermediary,” the Blaran said. “The … representative on board – that is, the one in command of the Flesh Eater in Bluothesh’s absence – is interested in parley with a ranking human representative and I believe you fit the bill.”

  Malachi squinted. “Why don’t you put them on the screen and we’ll parley?”

  Fwetala shook his head again. “She wants to meet in person, Captain,” he said. “Just you. I think I can promise that a standard negotiation ceasefire will take effect and that your safe conduct will be assured … she was quite adamant about that, herself. As was the Captain, in his absence – he left orders that we should establish a peaceful dialogue with you and should he return to the ship while you are here, it will further facilitate negotiations.”

  “I see,” Malachi exchanged a look with Attacus. Attacus shook his head minutely but firmly. “Your representative will not agree to meet on this ship?”

  “That will not be – I believe your deep-space charter regulations recognise the larger and militarily superior vessel as the one on which meetings and negotiations take place,” Fwetala responded.

  “Only in case of vessels with clearly-established military standards,” Sergio said. “We have not conducted a military engagement, so our relative levels are not established. You would be hosting purely on the basis of length.”

  Fwetala spread his upper hands. “I don’t think there would be much benefit in our establishing military superiority, Captain,” he said, “since – as you say – to do so would be an act of war.”

  Sergio scowled. “And what good is an assurance of safe conduct,” he demanded, “from a personage who will not show herself on the comms and who you will not identify, backed up by orders from a Captain who is by your own admission off massacring a shipload of innocent civilians as we speak?” the Blaran opened his mouth, but Sergio continued resolutely. “You, Second Fwetala Po Chane, you I feel I can trust. I’ll meet with your clan leadership representative,” he went on, now ignoring Attacus’s attempt to catch his eye, “but only if you can guarantee the safety of my ship and crew in the meantime. If you can’t do that, you’re no good to me – and I will not set foot on board the Flesh Eater. You can find another ‘human intermediary’, whatever that means.”

  “I can guarantee that your ship will not be fired upon or boarded while you are negotiating,” Fwetala said. “We wouldn’t even know where to–” he very clearly cut himself off at this point, as he had previously – that will not be – and continued, “as long as you’re aware that you’re still talking to a corsair Second, and that I’m not really in charge of what the Flesh Eater does–”

  “Yes, you already made your inability to control your own actions and destiny quite clear, Second Po Chane,” Malachi said with calculated insult. “But I accept that we don’t appear to have much recourse ourselves, if we want to avoid discharging weapons.”

  “I appreciate that, Captain Malachi.”

  “I’d al
so like to know what happened to our computer-mind,” Sergio added, and Attacus was interested to see … something … flicker in the Blaran’s eyes. More fear? Confusion? Guilt?

  “The computer-mind is … dormant in this volume,” Fwetala said, as though reciting the words from a handbook, “for its own protection. It automatically avoids contact with possible computer-mind instances that might propagate impurities to subsequent instances it synchronises with.”

  “Do you have an impure computer-mind on board the Flesh Eater, Second Po Chane?” Sergio asked, eyebrows raised.

  “We don’t have a computer-mind on board at all, Captain Malachi,” Po Chane replied, “but the computer-mind might attempt system synchronisation nevertheless.”

  “It would have been unlikely to do so, to an unknown and possibly hostile ship,” Sergio protested mildly. “Despite what the Separatists claim, the computer-mind does not involve itself in armed conflicts, especially not in an interference or espionage capacity. It’s neutral to a fault. Quite a severe fault, at times. But maybe you didn’t read that far in the manual yet,” he added in a low voice. Attacus suppressed a chuckle – evidently Sergio had detected the same tone in the Second’s voice.

  Fwetala didn’t respond to this gentle ribbing. The Blaran glanced down, then raised his eyes to the viewscreen again. “Should I prepare a shuttle for you, or will you arrange your own transportation?”

  “I think I can take care of that from here,” Sergio said, standing up. “You said that the invitation was for me alone – no security detail?” Fwetala shook his head. “Can I bring my parrot, at least?”

  The Blaran’s ears flicked down, then flared wide to match a gleaming, fang-baring grin that temporarily pushed back the disquiet on his face. “Please do,” he said, then lowered his eyes again. “I will prepare a landing area and send you the coordinates,” he muttered something swift and almost-inaudible practically into his own narrow chest, then the lean white shape of the Flesh Eater reappeared as comms were severed.

  “Captain, this is a terrible idea,” Attacus said immediately.

  “I concur with Commander Athel, Captain,” Baadan said. “To enter negotiations with a Blaran crew – alone – on board an enemy vessel of unknown provenance, is completely against–”

  “Actually,” Sergio interrupted, as Attacus had known – with a sinking feeling – he would, “AstroCorps regulations on negotiations with dumbler entities of unknown but presumed superior tactical strength are quite clear on the subject. If the entities require a singular point of communication and the Captain can see no other peaceful recourse, then it is the Captain’s duty to act accordingly. Thus maximising the functional crew remaining aboard the AstroCorps ship in the event of the failure of the standard ceasefire.”

  “That doesn’t apply to mass-murdering Blaran corsairs, Captain,” Baadan protested. “It’s a technicality for the treatment of culturally-sensitive alien species.”

  “And I think we have to accept the likelihood that that’s exactly what we’re dealing with here,” Sergio replied, rising to his feet. “I’m not a great judge, but maybe the Molren and Bonshooni on the bridge can tell me – did young Second Po Chane look scared and desperate and completely out of his depth to you?” he waited, but of course none of the Molranoids could gainsay his interpretation. “I think we need to assume that the Blaren on board that ship – the old crew of the Scourge of Hades – are just as much victims as the Fergunak are.”

  “Victims of this ‘representative’ who is keen to meet a lone and defenceless human?” Attacus said. “Or their own ‘clan leadership’ who are apparently capable of depopulating an armed cruiser despite the fact there’s only ten of them?”

  “Perhaps both,” Sergio replied. “In any case, it’s the Captain’s duty and prerogative to pursue negotiations,” he frowned. “What did he whisper at the very end there?”

  “It sounded like ‘paper-thin’,” Attacus said. “Which is what I have to say characterises the justifications you’re offering right now…”

  “Yes,” Malachi replied thoughtfully, evidently not listening. “Yes, that’s what I heard, too,” he frowned a moment longer, then straightened and looked at Attacus. “You have the bridge, Acting Captain Athel.”

  X

  Attacus passed temporary control of the bridge to Baadan – as Malachi had no doubt known he would – and followed Sergio out into the main access thoroughfare which stretched through the command section and dived into the heavily-armoured transit spar. The landers, shuttles and fighters were two sections along.

  “Sergio.”

  Malachi stopped, squared his shoulders dramatically – the robot parrot on his shoulder shifted and rustled – and turned to face his friend.

  “Attacus.”

  “You’re not actually thinking of going aboard?” he said with rising anger.

  “It’s the only–”

  “Don’t give me the ‘it’s the only way to resolve the situation peacefully’ line, Sergio,” Attacus snapped. “We invented that line together. If you’re worried that this thing will destroy the Draka, that they’ll board us and slaughter us the way they apparently did with the Linda and–”

  “Yes?” Malachi said coldly. “Then what, Acting Captain? I’m open to recommendations. Because as far as I can see, we have three alternatives,” he ticked them off on his fingers, briskly and angrily. “Negotiate. Fire on them. Or jump out of here while we still can, and come back with another half-dozen warships, and any backup the Fleet lets us have, and an aki’Drednanth or two for good measure. And any backups we happen to get, we’d be getting on the basis of what little we’ve seen here,” he seemed to make an effort to moderate his tone. “Starting a shooting war with the Flesh Eater has no guarantee of success. Neither does running for reinforcements – and that option has the added drawback of not knowing whether they’ll still be here when we come back with the cavalry.”

  “Send a clipper,” Attacus said.

  “We sent a clipper,” Drakamod said calmly. “On the edge of the volume before we crash-jumped to this location. We attempted to send another clipper from here but while the Draka’s relative drive appears functional, smaller vessels are disabled – apparently due to a counterpulse through the gridnet, but we are still trying to ascertain–”

  “When exactly were you going to tell us about this?” Attacus demanded.

  “Attacus, relax,” Malachi said. “The clipper-launch was logged as standard operating procedure – along with the rest of the prep before we crash-jumped, and the failure of the clipper units after we jumped. It’s just not unpacking readily and Tactical are struggling to prioritise the data, with Charlie offline. Besides,” the Captain went on, “even a clipper will take a couple of weeks to get to any outpost big enough to muster even a moderate response group, assuming the pilot has any success. And they’ll take another couple of weeks to get back here. Keep in mind that the clock’s ticking. The Flesh Eater isn’t going to let us float here indefinitely. Sooner or later, they’ll act – or our own Fergunak will.”

  Drakamod, clinging to Sergio’s shoulder, didn’t disagree with this assessment.

  “So wait for them to fire the first shot,” Attacus said. “Stare them down. Remember the–?”

  “Their first shot might be the last in a very short war,” Malachi said. “At least if I’m over there, talking to this representative of theirs who has promised safe conduct – and I know, that’s worth as much as the nothing it’s written on, with Blaren – at least if I’m over there, it might affect what the clan leadership decides to do once they’re done killing the crew of the Linda.”

  “Or it will give them a strategically valuable hostage.”

  “More fool them, since they evidently know nothing about AstroCorps command structure,” Sergio said with a half-smile.

  “And less about the Draka’s,” Drakamod put in wryly.

  “If the Po Chane have stumbled onto some sort of dumbler ship or relic that is
set to change the balance of power in Six Species space, either under Blaran control or dumbler…” Malachi went on, “we have no idea of what the Flesh Eater is capable of. Or her crew, whatever they happen to be.”

  “And what if the Flesh Eater is really part of the Godfang?” Attacus went on. “What’s your noble but tactically-sound justification for going over there alone, when you have a known descendant of the Elevator People on your crew?”

  “You don’t get it, do you Attacus?” Malachi said softly. He shook his head and chuckled. “If we could be certain she wasn’t part of the Godfang, I’d be sending you to do the negotiating. You’re the closest we have to an expert, the closest we have to a bargaining chip. If things go bad and I don’t make it back, you can Captain this ship and make any call you deem necessary on whatever information Drakamod and I send back. If you were over there and died, I’d still be sitting in that stupid big chair, and we’d be in the same position we are right now – only we’d be short one Elevator Person,” he reached out and clasped Attacus’s arm. “Besides,” he said, “I am the Captain, and the enemy asked for me, alone. And these are my orders. You have the bridge, Acting Captain Athel.”

  Attacus watched Sergio step onto a transport pad and flash away into the bowels of the Draka, that ridiculous robot parrot still sitting on the Captain’s shoulder. Then Attacus shook his head, gathered himself and allowed the welcome coolness of command settle over him.

  “We have a shuttle on the mid-range viewscreens,” Fetorax W’Fale reported when Attacus returned to the bridge and stepped towards the Captain’s chair.

  What, already? Attacus almost asked, very nearly spoiling his calm and collected professional act. He realised they must be talking about some other vessel than the one Malachi would only be boarding in another five minutes or so. “Civilian, Fergunakil or other?” he asked.