The Human Division #11: A Problem of Proportion (2 page)

“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
need
to 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 her?” 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
unintentional
unpleasantness.”

“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 Damay
was 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 Damay
being 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
Clarke
and 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 not 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
intended
target 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
your
ships to disappear?”

Wilson turned back to Fotew. “You say that the
Urse Damay
is 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
Clarke
shuttle 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
Clarke
that they were ready to depart; the
Clarke
started 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.