In spite of her exhaustion, Allison couldn’t sleep. Of the list of possible causes—multiple firefights, being taken prisoner, the threat of torture, witnessing the death of a planet—she wasn’t certain which was the culprit. However, if push came to shove, she’d probably bet on the still-unresolved threat of the Earth being destroyed as the primary cause of her insomnia.
Figuring the events of the past day had solidified her tough-chick persona enough to withstand a small assault, Allison slipped into her licentiously comfortable pink robe. She shuffled toward the mess like an extra in a Romero flick, except the aim of her hunt would be found in a coffeepot instead of a cranium.
A short tube ride later and Allison found herself pouring a fresh cup of consciousness with a spoonful of sugar. Her restlessness seemed to be catching, as the mess was half-full of the wired dead.
In the far corner, back against the wall with perfect posture, sat Allison’s guest of honor. She handed the coffeepot to the next zombie in line and walked to the corner.
“Good evening, D’armic. May I join you?”
“Allison Captain. Please, this is your home. You may sit wherever pleases you.”
She sat down, careful not to crease her robe. “Your company pleases me, D’armic.” She glanced at the plate of food in front of the alien. Red onions, bacon, a dozen powdered-sugar doughnut holes, a half kilogram of sunflower seeds, apple slices—coated in either vanilla pudding or mayonnaise, which also covered his hands.
“I see you’ve found something to eat.”
“Yes, your AI was most helpful in selecting an appropriate menu for my metabolism.”
“Can I get you a knife and fork?”
“Unnecessary. The meat was sufficiently dead when it was presented to me.”
“I see. You’re feeling better, then?”
“Not at all.”
“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that. You, ah, appear to have recovered.”
“I have, completely. Hence why I’m not feeling anything.”
Allison did a mental flip. “Right. That was thoughtless of me.”
“Think nothing of it, Allison Captain. It is difficult for emotional beings to relate to unmedicated Lividites. It requires practice, and there aren’t many of us in circulation. That said, I wish to apologize for the inconvenience I caused during our escape.”
“You were drugged, D’armic. There wasn’t anything you could have done differently.”
“True, but I was a hindrance. Clearly, there wasn’t anything to fear.”
“What are you talking about? I don’t think I’ve ever been so scared. Between you, me, and the table, I was lucky not to scream for my mother, and she passed away decades ago.”
“I … do not understand. You did not appear afraid.”
“How people feel and how we act are often two different things. But I can guarantee that every one of us was terrified. Well, everyone but Maximus. I’m not sure he’s ever considered the possibility that something bad could happen to him.”
“It appears you do not hold Maximus Captain in high regard.”
Allison grimaced. “I don’t question his ability as an officer. By all accounts, he’s nearly indestructible. But on a personal level, I think his success has made him a bit too full of himself.”
“Oh? Who should he be full of?”
Allison shook her head and smiled. “No one. It’s just an expression.”
“I see.” D’armic popped a doughnut hole into his petite mouth. “It is convenient that you should be here, Allison Captain, as I wished to speak to you.”
The burn of the coffee was beginning to fade, so Allison took a long pull from it. “Certainly. What did you want to talk about?”
“As you know, my cutter was destroyed along with the Turemok patrol cruiser, effectively stranding me here.”
“Yes. I’m sorry about that, but you were in no condition to pilot it. We weren’t left with many options.”
“I understand. It was not a criticism. However, I still have to report my findings to the Assembly.”
“Certainly. I’d be happy to make our communications systems available to you.”
“That is generous, Allison Captain, but without the authentication codes from my cutter, such a message would be discarded as manufactured.”
“What are you saying?”
“I require transport to Ulamante, home system of the Assembly and seat of government for half the civilized galaxy.”
Allison set her cup down and leaned back suspiciously. “We asked you to tell us where to find your Assembly of Sentient Species when we first met. You refused. What’s changed?”
“Merely everything.” D’armic licked a palm clean of sunflower seeds. “Our recently deceased antagonists tried to ‘set us up,’ is that right?” Allison nodded. “Now, there is no way for us to know if they took action on their own initiative or under clandestine orders.”
“You mean a conspiracy to lay the blame on humanity from within the Assembly?”
“I cannot discount the possibility, although there is little doubt what the ‘official’ explanation will be. Regardless of the genesis of the plan, they must have been sending reports back, just as I was, although theirs were doubtlessly altered. And since I have been implicated, the evidence contained in your own sensor logs, and the Bucephalus’s high-space generator, are our only chance to prove our mutual innocence.”
“And if we fail?”
“A Turemok fleet sails into the Human Wildlife Preserve, destroys Earth, and enforces a generation-long sequestration of each of your colony worlds.”
“Not much of a choice, is it?”
“I should think not. It is vital we get under way immediately.”
“I’ll have to talk with Tiberius, as well as my superiors, but none of that will matter unless we can get the Bucephalus’s reactor burning hydrogen again.” D’armic looked confused. “Something wrong?”
“Yes, perhaps I misunderstood, but I thought you commanded this vessel.”
“I do.”
“Then who are your superiors here?”
“Not here. On Earth.”
“No.” The alien set his hands flat on the table. “That would take many weeks. Much too long. We need to leave as soon as repairs have been made to Bucephalus.”
Allison almost corrected him, almost told D’armic about the Quantum Entanglement Radio and its relativity-stomping powers of instant communication. But something at the back of her mind snagged the words and reeled them in before they spilled all over the table. As impossible as it seemed, he didn’t know about the QER.
Is it possible we developed it first? she asked herself. Maybe we have a secret worth protecting. It was an encouraging thought, but it would have to wait.
“Allison Captain? Are you all right?”
The question pulled her back to the table. “Yes, sorry. I agree, we can’t wait on word from Earth. Are you there, Maggie?”
“Yes, Captain?”
“Connect me with the helm, please.”
“Wheeler here. Go ahead, ma’am.”
“Wheeler, I’m sending up Mr. D’armic. You are to assist him in locating and charting a course for the Ulama…”
“Ulamante,” D’armic finished for her.
“Thank you. The Ulamante system.”
“Understood, ma’am. Are we going on another trip?”
“If we’re lucky. Ridgeway out. Maggie, engineering, please.”
“Billings here. Go for engineering.”
“Steven, where are we with the Bucephalus restart?”
“We’re about to float over the universe’s biggest pair of jumper cables now, ma’am.”
“Excellent work, Steven. Keep me updated.”
“Sure thing, ma’am.”
* * *
Grote stalked up and down the private office he surreptitiously shared with his brother Jak’el. “How? How could he have gotten himself killed?” It was more accusation than question. He reached the end of their solid bertel wood desk and strained to lift it off the floor. His effort was not rewarded with immediate success.
“Grieve not, brother. J’quol died a hero to our people.”
Grote shifted his grip on the desk and tried again, placing greater emphasis on his legs. “But he still died! What are we to do now?”
“Calm yourself. Our dear big, little brother only failed to survive. He came through for his part of the operation. The plan continues rolling forward.”
Grote stopped talking, favoring instead a series of increasingly overwrought grunts.
Jak’el sighed patiently. “You’re not going to settle down until you flip our desk over, are you?”
Grote grunted louder.
“Very well.”
Jak’el stood next to his brother and added his legs and back to the effort. With a final, mighty heave, the two of them just managed to tip the massive desk onto its side. Data crystals, files, a stylus, and several centimeters of unidentified clutter raced across the floor in a miniature avalanche.
Jak’el wiped his hands on his cloak. “Do you feel better now?”
“Yes. I could have managed it alone, though.”
“Naturally.” Jak’el started the tedious process of picking up and reorganizing the clutter on the floor. “Actually, this is an effective metaphor for our relationship, Grote. You act on impulse; I tidy up the mess.”
“Not right now. We dishonor J’quol with our bickering.”
Jak’el shrugged. “Perhaps. But there is a way we might better serve his memory.”
Grote eyed him apprehensively. “Go on.”
“Somewhere among the files you unceremoniously dumped on the floor is an Assembly order of action…”
“Yes?”
“Based on the terms of the Treaty of Pu’Lan…”
“Yes.”
“Against Earth and her colonies.”
“Yes!” Grote dropped to the floor like a cut chandelier, searching furiously through the recent precipitation of files. “When does it take effect?”
“Immediately, provided we can find it again. We—I mean, the Kumer-Vel—will be leading the attack against the human home world from the bridge of the Xecoron.” Jak’el smiled, not out of cheerfulness but merely to reveal teeth. “As I said, grieve not for J’quol. Soon, we will avenge him, and the Earth herself will serve as his funeral pyre.”