Author's Preface
The moment we see our soldiers as replaceable, or even as a burden, we have lost the right to ask them for their sacrifice.
Due to this, we must think long and hard about whether we are truly prepared to use cloning as a tool to build armies.
A society that does not value sacrifice, because its soldiers are just the push of a button away — that does not mourn its dead — is death itself.
— Senator Cassidy Sanders, 68 P.I.
Zeus saw almost everything on the ship.
The time after a battle was, in his mind, the time he, and through him the Conclave, could learn the most from Humans, and their allies, of course.
Sure, battles were exciting, but afterwards, biologicals, and especially the Humans, were the most… human.
In the medbay, the medics' fight wasn't over. Even if the ship was never in any actual danger, accidents happen. An ensign dropped from a ladder in the catacombs as the ship accelerated, after he welded a leaking cooling vent shut.
His hip and lower spine were broken. Without the wonders of modern medicine, he would never walk again.
Zeus asked himself, knowing that the leaking vent could have led to the reactor overheating, with all the risks that involved: would the ensign think losing his mobility was worth it?
Would he, if he were human?
In her quarters, Lieutenant Cho wept. Her husband had died. Not in some battle, not on the front, back home, on Mars, in safety. The shuttle he was on had an engine malfunction.
She had gotten the news two days ago, but the preparations for the battle had taken all her attention. Just now, when she was about to call him to tell him she was fine, reality hit.
Zeus didn't miss the irony. Death was meaningless, whenever it happened. That's why humans fought the inevitable, till their death.
Another irony.
In his quarters, High Ordinator Yurdantho meditated. Zeus wondered what meditation was, apart from the dictionary description.
What was so different about meditation that some cultures, like the Nuk, treated it like a religion?
And what is so fascinating for biologicals in religion? Why do they need something higher? He had even noticed atheist crewmembers praying or cursing to one god or another, when in pain, in joy, or dying.
Will we digitals one day be religious?
Do we have a soul?
He decided to gather data on the other ships of the fleet.
Drifting between the Nineveh and the tender Bob the Builder , Zeus watched through the lenses of a googly eye as the Pioneers began salvaging the battered missile cruiser.
They treat their ships like living beings, refusing to give up on them.
Cutting the hulk apart and printing it new would be quicker and more energy efficient. And still, the Pioneers and large parts of the Nineveh's surviving crew were out in space, maneuvering the burned-out husk into loading clamps to drag it into the drydock.
With some relief, Zeus saw the chief engineer rejoice as they discovered the crash core of the Nineveh's AI, Sanherib, was intact and still functioning.
And they care about us. They fear us and they care about us.
Human duality. We might never understand it.
Zeus then focused on the Ignaz Semmelweis , the hospital ship that had arrived with the Shraphen fleet.
Here the battle was still ongoing.
On the operating tables and in the healing vats, doctors treated the worst injuries, including the survivors from the Nineveh .
The Batract had intentionally fired on the lifeboats.
Bodies, somehow still alive after radiation had cooked the skin off their bones.
Others had lost limbs and organs to frostbite after vacuum had damaged them. All because their suits were pierced by shrapnel.
So fragile.
The survivors here would soon be on their way home to Earth.
And, knowing Human stubbornness, they would reenlist and board the next ship to the front.
As Zeus hopped from one station to the next, he came upon the psych ward.
A place he… feared.
Once proud soldiers and naval personnel, locked inside their heads, or lost inside their memories.
Unable to function, to process the horrors they had seen or lived through.
Being locked inside his own mind — how… how must that be for digitals? Unable to process something, condemned to reprocess it, again and again….
He left the place, sure he would shiver, if he had a body.
The last place he focused his attention was back on the Niobe , the Admiral's quarters. Without consciously observing, he knew what he would see.
Admiral Sanders sitting at her desk, an archaic fountain pen in hand, writing letters of condolence.
'Good evening, Admiral. If I may ask, why do you write them by hand? The families are informed by the navy either way. The handwritten letters won't reach them for the next six months, at least.'
"It's not just for the families. It's for me as well. I promised every family of every member of the 7th Fleet that I would care for them, and do my best to get them home safely. The least I can do is take the time to write them that I failed."
Just like every time after a battle, the Admiral's voice was flat. She sat at her desk disheveled, her uniform blouse thrown under the bed, her shoes untied, her long blond hair loose and still unwashed after two days in the space suit.
Zeus had no memory of the time before the Niobe was commissioned. But he was sure the Admiral had written a letter to every family of the 19,000 members of the 7th Fleet.
'Why?'
"They are all my children, of sorts."
'Only 20 percent of the crews are young enough to be your biological children, Admiral.'
"20 percent. Damn, I'm old."
Zeus had intended to lighten her mood. It had failed.
'You are the youngest admiral in the force.'
"And, after Admiral Donnager, whose fleet was completely destroyed, the one with the highest death rate."
That again… Under normal circumstances, he would have called psychological services to get someone to talk to her. But he knew hell would freeze over before Sanders would open up to a shrink, to borrow Captain Garcia's words.
"If the prophet won't come to the mountain, the mountain must come to the prophet," were Garcia's cryptic words back then, when Zeus talked about this issue.
Zeus had deciphered it: it meant to bring mental health to the Admiral. Zeus had learned everything there was to know about survivor's guilt, mental health, and even impostor syndrome. Still, he feared that without being human, he could not fully grasp the depth of guilt the Admiral had put upon her shoulders.
'Yurdantho successfully defended the system against a vastly superior force. You defended Burrow against all odds. The chance to survive any enemy encounter is the highest in the 7th Fleet, even though we get, arguably, the hardest battles.'
"Zeus, do you know how many crewmen died on the Nineveh ?"
'Yes, Admiral. 539.'
"More than half the crew. Do you know why the Batract attacked the ship so relentlessly?"
Zeus knew the Admiral was well aware that he had all the facts of the encounter, including the orders retrieved from the boarded Batract vessel. So he treated the question as hypothetical.
'Because the Batract mistook the Nineveh for the Niobe.'
Sanders sighed loudly.
"Yes. They wanted to kill me. Instead they killed 539 men, women, and a conscious AI."
'Sanherib is alive. I just watched his core being salvaged from the wreck.'
Another sigh, this time not as heavy as before.
"At least something. Zeus, I'd love to talk to you more, but… there's lots of work to be done."
'I won't distract you any longer, Admiral, but is it… okay if I stay a bit longer?'
"Aren't you always aware of everything on the ship?"
'Yes, but I can focus on a single room, a single task.'
"And you want to stay focused on me?"
'Yes.'
————
Gultra floated in his new environmental suit in front of a console. Around him were more than a hundred Flirr technicians, all trainees getting certified to operate and, more importantly, maintain Human technology.
They actually made good on their promises. They simply give us the stations, and according to Sanders, a fleet of transport ships is on its way, restocking the materials they mined from the system.
They have saved us. First from the Infectors, and now from the Batract…
And what have we done for them?
The trainer in front of him pointed at something Gultra didn't even care to understand.
"This is the main control for the drone swarms. Here you can create swarm commands and defense lines. The drones are currently disarming the AM minefields, since we don't want to risk any accidents."
Gultra 'swam' up to face the Human.
"So no minefield to protect us?"
The trainer shook his head.
"No, no, you misunderstand. We're taking the antimatter out. You can fill them with any explosive you like — the mines will still be deadly, just not world-ending."
Gultra turned a full circle to feel the entire room. This present wasn't in the contract. The Humans had simply decided, with their own need pressing, to save their allies — they didn't want to leave the Flirr defenseless.
"Your fleet is damaged. How bad?"
The trainer seemed unsure how to answer.
"Well… we're low on ammunition, low on spare parts. We basically used everything to defeat the fleet and print the mines and the drones. I think Sanders is planning to mine an uninhabited system to restock."
Gultra nodded. He had assumed correctly.
"How quickly could you start mining here?"
"Here, in-system? Instantly. All mining stations are packed up — we have to unpack them anyway for you to take them over, per our contract."
Gultra had made his decision. The Humans had made good on their word, and more. It was time for his people, for him, to show some gratitude — and extend a fin of friendship.
"Tell Sanders she can take everything she needs for her fight from this system. The Flirr join your fight against the Hyphae. We have no ships, but we have resources."
He had betrayed the Humans, and they still died for his world. This was a debt he could not repay, but he could try.
————
Nixtred woke up in a clinical, sterile room. The walls were white, lit with indirect white light.
She tried to sniff, to get a sense of her surroundings, but her nose was too dry.
"Slow, slow. You've been in cryostasis for over a year. My name is medtech Sullivan, I'll be your defrosting buddy."
"Huh?"
Her voice was rough, her mouth dry. She couldn't get out anything coherent. And she was thirsty. So thirsty.
Cryostasis? Why? And what was this odd-looking being? Its face looked almost like a Tai.
"I'll have some water for you, but you must drink slowly, Renthai Nixtred. Shraphen sometimes have adverse reactions to our cryostasis, as we've discovered."
Not a Tai. Shratai… Yes, it was a Human.
The medtech put a straw in her muzzle and she eagerly drank a few sips of water.
"Slow, slow. I'll put you on an infusion, water and electrolytes. Do you remember who you are? Nod for yes, shake your head for no."
She nodded. Of course she knew who she was.
The Shratai smiled behind his transparent mask.
"Very good. Do you know why you are here?"
Of course she was here, because… because…
A face. Her daughter. Loxtred, her face in shock. In pain. Something had hit their home.
Loxtred was dead…
Sirens began to beep from the primitive-looking console connected to her arm.
"Stay calm, Renthai, everything is fine. All is fine. You're safe."
"Ughh… not…"
She tried to say nothing was fine, but her voice betrayed her.
Her family — where was her family? Her daughter, her son?
Flashes of memory. Shraphen huddled together in a bunker. Why were they afraid? Was it the Humans?
No… No! The Batract! They had gone mad and begun slaughtering people.
"Ma'am, I'll give you a sedative. Sleep a bit, we'll talk later."
No. No sleep. She needed to know what had happened. What had happened to her son.
But it was too late. With a touch to the console the sedative entered her body, and seconds later she felt herself being dragged down into a deep sleep.
*****
Something warm touched her hand. A Shraphen hand.
Before she opened her eyes, she smelled it.
A familiar smell.
Not only familiar. Family.
"Hello, mother. How are you?"
A face. Brown, golden lines in the mane… Vextred.
"Vex'? How, where…?"
Vextred sat on a chair. Something about him was different. He was older. Mature.
Had he not been in stasis?
"You're in Sol, the Humans' home system. We're still in one of the sleeper ships. They called me to help you, since I was on medical leave here anyway."
She looked at her son again, her little pub. He was older. And he wore some kind of uniform.
"Medical leave?"
Her voice was still rough.
"Yes, I… I was injured in the line of duty."
Duty… what duty? He's a student.
"Drafted? Did the Humans draft you?"
Had they taken her pub to safety only to put him in harm's way?
"No, the Humans did no such thing. I chose to enlist, mother. I couldn't go to sleep knowing the Humans fought for our home."
Enlist? He was scheduled to go to sleep directly after her.
"When?"
His face. He was so… like his father. Proud, strong. And wise through age. Her pub was a grown adult.
"Mother, that is not important right now. You're safe, and I will be on leave for another few months. I will tell you everything. Let me get the nurse to check you out first."
Vextred stood up, and she immediately saw in his movements that something was wrong.
His left leg. He limped.
What did they do?
Then the shock became real. He had to use a cane to walk out of her room. Before he closed the door he smiled back, and for a second he was her little pub again.
They had killed her daughter and maimed her son.
She would end them all.
Then and there, in the wakeup room, Renthai Nixtred — head of Shraphen weapons development, daughter of the Prime Minister of the Northern realm — swore to herself.
She would kill each and every Batract for what they had done.