Meloira Sector, Battleship Singularity
The Singularity’s state quarters were not ostentatious. In general, they were slightly larger than the quarters allotted to officers, and had a different layout that included a small dining room. Furnished and decorated, these quarters were meant to be loaned to visiting dignitaries, whether they were higher-ups from Command or political ambassadors. They had never been meant to hold non-human physiology. The furniture simply hadn’t been designed for it. All the same, the Hydra lay across the couch in the center of the room. Its long body draped across the cushions and burrowed into the decorative pillows.
At first, Admiral Gives thought it was dead, it lay so still and quiet, but then he saw it was breathing. It was merely subdued, as the ghost had promised it would be. All the same, it was useless to him half-comatose. He moved to rest a hand on the silver guard of his sword, sheathed on his left hip. ‘Wake him.’
‘Aye,’ the ghost said, lifting the pressure that had forced the Hydra into unconsciousness.
A second later, the biological drone stirred, flexing its long, dexterous claws and lashing its prehensile tail. It flicked its tongues, then raised its head and turned to him, no doubt smelling his presence. It turned to face the Admiral, eyes darker than onyx. “A guessst,” it hissed, then switched from the standard human language to its native tongue. “Might this one be food?”
“If you are hungry, I can get you food,” the Admiral said. “But I am not it.”
The Hydra paused, focusing its attention upon this new specimen. It tasted the air once more, as if reevaluating. “You know the tongue of the Mother Nest.”
“I do.” The Admiral replied, keeping his responses in human standard. While the Hydra could contort their physiology to speak humanity’s primary language, the reverse was exceptionally difficult. Certain sounds required for the Hydrian language were extremely challenging to mimic. The clicking and hissing could be painful to attempt, if not simply impossible. Humanity typically had to use soundboards to mix and match sounds they had recorded into new words. That worked, but it was slow, and it was clear enough this particular Hydra understood the human language, so the Admiral hadn’t bothered to fetch the soundboard. They could both speak in their native language and understand each other just fine.
“A rarity,” the Hydra acknowledged, slithering off the sofa and rising up onto its rear limbs. Like that, it mirrored the bipedal stature of a human, but its long body hunched over, its two upper limbs seemingly disproportionate.
The way the drone moved was off-putting. When it stood bipedal, one would expect it to move like a human, but it didn’t. Its joints twisted and bent differently, allowing it to move on all four limbs when it chose. Upon two, its long body elevated its head to nearly seven feet, even with the hunched curve of its back. It towered over the Admiral as it approached, leaning inward to study him in closer detail. “You smell of iron blood and sickness.”
The blood, the Admiral understood. He’d washed his hands, scrubbed them clear to his elbows. He had changed jackets, rebandaged his hand and swapped the glove on his left hand, but he had no doubt some amount of Robinson’s blood still lingered. A Hydra’s keen sense of smell would be able to detect that easily. The accusation of sickness, however, the Admiral had no explanation for. A Hydra may have been able to perceive the temperature fluctuations of a fever, or the bacteria behind an infection, but he wasn’t ill. Still, the Hydra circled, observing him before pausing on his left side and tasting the air once more. “Why not cut off the infected limb and rid yourself of the weakness?”
By the way it was staring, Admiral Gives could feel its attention centering on his left hand. The hand remained badly burned. It functioned, but the scabs hadn’t closed, and it still had to be cleaned and doused in anti-bacterial treatment. That must be what the Hydra smelled. Within Hydrian culture, intent on breeding the fittest biological form, needing medicine to prevent infection was an admission of inferiority. It would be better to chance cutting off the limb or beating the infection unaided, but Admiral Gives had not come here to compare their civilization. “I was told your name is Rowin,” he said, moving his gloved hand off the guard of his sabre.
Predictably, the Hydra took note. It focused on the weapon, slowly blinking one beady eye at a time. “You come armed,” Rowin acknowledged, circling the Admiral once more. “It seems a fine weapon. Used, even. But you are small for a Chieftain.”
The Hydra would have outsized almost any member of the crew, the heavy-grav worlder, Corporal Johnston, exempted. But Admiral Gives was not unfamiliar with this accusation. He was barely five foot eight. That was distinctly average for a human, but military service usually favored larger and stronger men. Compared to the six-foot stature of Colonel Zarrey and many of the Marines, Admiral Gives would seem short. “I am not a Chieftain.”
A few clicks emerged from the Hydra’s throat, a noise of amusement. “Of course not.” The Hydra looked him over, attempting to decipher the nuances of his uniform. “The Armada teaches us of your ranks. Those in red are high-priority. But silver? That is rare indeed.”
The black duty jacket of a fleet officer denoted rank primarily by the rank band on the right sleeve. Two thinner red bands indicated a Colonel – usually the second in command of a ship or outpost. A single, wider red band denoted a rank higher: Commander. The Hydra may not know the proper title, but they had connotated those red markings as high-value. Naturally, those wearing silver were rarer and even more high-value. A double band of silver marked a Rear Admiral, and a single band of silver signified a full Admiral. This Hydra knew enough to recognize the significance of the silver band on Admiral Gives’ jacket, though other subtleties were lost. Of course, the Hydra did not care if he had been an Admiral or even the Fleet Admiral. The Hydrian Empire looked down upon all of humanity. To the Hydra, humanity and its worlds were nothing more than a resource to be consumed.
“You were a Ship-Controller before the pirates captured you, correct?” the Admiral asked, knowing he would not receive a response. When the Hydra kept to silence, he continued, “Your ship was a scoutship. The Swordbreaker, correct?” The translation of proper nouns always got messy between languages, but that name at least had an equivalency.
The Hydra flicked its split tongues. “You come well-informed, for a human.”
Admiral Gives could sense the Hydra’s disdain. That sort of thing transcended language barriers, and he had known the Hydra would resist answering his questions simply on account of the fact that he was human. “I know who you are, but I do not know what became of your ship.” The ghost had informed him everything she knew, but the Swordbreaker itself had not been found. Save the cyberattack instigated against the Singularity, there had been no trace of the Hydrian AI or the ship that should have housed it. “How did you come to be held prisoner by the pirates?”
The Hydra leaned over him, and bared its fangs, “And why should I answer your questions?”
“Because answering them now is in your best interest,” the Admiral answered calmly, not flinching from the moisture of the alien’s breath. No matter how it loomed over him, what it threatened, Admiral Gives was in no danger from it aboard this ship. The ghost had made that very clear. “This will be gentler for you if my partner does not get involved.”
“Gentler?” the Hydra lashed its tail. “Such human terms. Such human concerns. The Empire has no need for them.”
“You are not currently within the Empire’s borders,” Admiral Gives reminded. “You are a guest aboard a human vessel.”
“This is no human vessel. It reeks like a Queen’s Nest, enshrouded by her blindsight. You are blind to it, as all humans are, so limited in your evolution.” A click of annoyance rose from the Hydra’s throat. “Yet it penetrates everything here – the only reason I have not ripped you limb from limb.”
“You expect me to take that as a kindness, Rowin?” Was he expected to play the role of a poor, blind human who had no idea what power lingered in his vicinity? “Allow me to offer you a kindness in exchange: answer my questions and my partner will not get involved.”
“I will not yield to a human. Bring me your Queen’s Shipmaster. I shall answer his questions, and no other.”
The Hydra turned from him, clearly deeming him a non-threat. Presumably, that was a grave insult in a society that selectively bred itself for deadly attributes, but the Admiral just folded his hands behind his back. “You never asked my name, Rowin.”
“I do not care to know the name of a Queen’s human pet.”
The ghost shifted. Silently, invisibly, the tendrils of her presence simply contorted, not violently, not roughly, just enough to reveal their true extent. The Admiral felt it, but he had grown acclimated to her presence. The Hydra flinched, the crest on its neck rising in an instinctive challenge display. “You…” it hissed.
“I would be the Shipmaster here, yes.”
“But you are human.” Such a thing was impossible. Shipmasters were an ultimate authority. They were granted the ability to enforce their Queen’s will over lesser drones, capable of extending their Queen’s reach and threading the weave of blindsight between broods of different nests. Shipmasters enabled the Hydra to function as one Mother Nest, rather than a conglomerate of orphaned collectives. “The honor of such a position is lost upon you. You know nothing of the strength that has been granted to you.”
“Do you truly want to test that theory?”
“I cannot fear a small, blind Shipmaster,” the Hydra hissed. “A false Shipmaster for a false Queen.” Fortune smiled upon the Mother Nest. The hive could hardly be threatened by a power so flawed.
“Then I will ask again: how did you come to be held by the pirates and where is your ship?”
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The Hydra lashed its long tail, the barb on its end whistling through the air. “You are truly blind to your Queen’s intents.” That was the very nature of a Queen. They discarded their Shipmasters when they found a flaw in their actions and genetics. The old ones were returned to the hive as sustenance, and new ones were elevated into their place. “If you knew her as I do, you would know that your service to her has now expired.”
The Hydra opened its mouth, the muscles in its throat convulsing. It made a sort of high-pitched hiss, as its acid glands fought to expel their product. Still, nothing emerged. There was just a light wash of caustic fumes.
Admiral Gives never flinched. He simply watched the Hydra snap its maw closed. “You may find your perception of time here to be somewhat inaccurate.” The Hydra, pushed to unconsciousness by the ghost, would have no way to know how long it had been since it boarded the ship. What may have felt like days to it, given its slumber, had only been a few hours in reality – not nearly enough time for its acid glands to refill.
The alien raised its upper limbs, curling is razor-sharp claws into a cutting angle. “Your Queen has withdrawn her oppression, and henceforth your protection, human.”
“Because I instructed her to,” the Admiral said. It would be impossible to gauge the Hydra’s true intentions if the ghost was limiting its movements.
“Then you are a blind fool,” the alien replied, lunging forward.
In that moment, Rowin managed a slight twitch toward the Admiral’s throat before the ghost stopped him. “That’s enough, drone.” Her icy tone cut through the room, cold as the void between the stars.
A series of clicks with no meaning escaped the Hydra’s throat, yet only by the way the Hydra cowered, Admiral Gives could tell the emission had a meaning. Taking form in the shadows beside him, the ghost translated, “She-Who-Sings-Death. That’s what they call me: the Banshee.” She regarded the Hydra’s form, its waxy-green scales, and outstretched claw, then turned to the Admiral. “I told you he would attack.”
“Had to be sure.” The Hydra had refused to provide answers so far, but a soldier trained to maintain peace would not have attacked without being threatened. The fact the Hydra, when released from the ghost’s control, had tried to attack Admiral Gives was telling. “Were you sent across the Neutral Zone by intention, Rowin?” the Admiral asked. "Was your intent to start a war?"
The Hydra gnashed its teeth, “The Mother Nest will not call the extermination of falsities like you a war.”
“A history lesson might be in order, then,” the Admiral said. “You recognize my partner. The Lady here killed twelve Queens in the war, wiped thousands of Hydra out without so much as touching them. This ship,” he gestured vaguely to the dark gray bulkheads, “is none other than our flagship, Singularity. She sank your Empire’s most prized warship, then went on to exterminate hundreds of thousands of your forces. You may call them falsities, but they are very real, so answer carefully: how did you come to be captured by the pirates?”
The Hydra hissed, and the ghost’s expression turned dark. “Answer the question,” she commanded. Yet, the Hydra resisted, futilely trying to wrench itself free of her control. “I warned you, drone. Answering my Shipmaster’s questions is the single cause of your continued existence.” She doubled the pressure on the drone’s mind, feeling its strain, unable to resist as her power leeched in.
The drone deflated, lowering itself to a quadrupedal stance. “I was captured,” it rasped. “A malfunction stalled my ship. I was helpless.”
“And where were you when this occurred?” the Admiral asked.
The Hydra, rapidly losing resistance, clicked an untranslatable response. Then stilled, its jaw hanging slack, tongues drooping past its jagged fangs. It was salivating, and not in the way of an animal craving food – in the way of someone being strangled, a froth building up in its throat.
Seeing it struggle, Admiral Gives changed the question to force an easier answer. “Were you in human territory when the malfunction occurred?”
“Yesssss,” the Hydra breathed, clearly suffering.
“Did you intentionally cross the Neutral Zone?” Admiral Gives kept the question calm, though aware of its weight. The answer here determined the existence of a treaty violation that would be grounds restart the War. Yet, the Hydra did not answer.
“Do not make my Shipmaster repeat himself,” the ghost snarled.
The Hydra trembled, its long body bowing in its unsupported length. Froth began to drip from its slack jaw to the floor as it struggled to heave in a breath.
Admiral Gives may not have been able to see the exact nature of the ghost’s power, blind to the way it wound itself into the drone’s mind, but he could feel it compressing the darkness of the room. It clamped down upon the drone like an unrelenting vice, drawing tighter and tighter. He had endured that capability himself when Brent possessed him and knew how easily it could overwhelm the physical needs. “Let him breathe.”
The ghost abruptly flinched and the spell was broken. The Hydra heaved in a full breath, tongue fluttering in the sweet-tasting air, and the ghost glitched a bit. At least that’s what the Admiral would call it as an expression of discomfort was instantaneously erased and replaced without any transition – as if she had purged her initial reaction from her processes. Yet, Admiral Gives was almost certain that discomfort had been her first reaction, not surprise. That hadn’t been a reaction caused by him speaking when she didn’t expect it. No, that kind of reaction had to be caused by something else. ‘Are you alright?’ he asked. Perhaps this interrogation was pushing her too far, too soon after the battle against Crimson Heart.
“I’m just annoyed by the resistance of this insect,” she answered.
“Is it too severe?”
“No, I’ve seen others like this. Hydrian scouts are bred to resist the interference of other Queens and better acclimated toward being alone.” The controller of a scoutship that endured long missions benefitted from being able to serve in solitude. “It was bred to survive without its brood and without contact from a Queen.” Quite literally, this biological drone had been born to those ends. “But they all bow to their Queen eventually.” That too, was in its DNA. No Queen would breed that completely out of their nest.
The more time the Hydra spent aboard ship, the more time the ghost would have to familiarize herself with its mind, and the less it would be able to resist. “Proceed with your questions, Admiral.”
The Hydra flexed its claws, digging them into the rug. “You are a false Queen. I cooperated to be removed from my prison, but no more.” A shudder ran down the alien’s long, curving spine from crest to tail. “A falsity shall never be my Queen.”
The ghost chuckled coldly. “Why would I want to be the Queen of an insect so pathetically weak?” With barely a twinge of effort, she forced her infiltration past the Hydra’s barriers and wove her awareness through his mind. “A puppet hardly requires a Queen.”
With a whimpering hiss that rose above the audible range of a human, the Hydra lowered its head, its every other intent stifled. Rowin was left paralyzed, drowning beneath the ghost’s sheer capability.
Something even Admiral Gives rarely saw, that power of hers gave the room’s shadows a physical weight. And though it hadn’t burrowed into him, the Admiral felt it. The sheer size of her presence was hundreds of times greater than his own. Had it not shielded him, he suspected it would have drowned him just as much as the Hydra. “Did you cross the Neutral Zone by intention?” he asked again.
Yanking the fragile threads of Rowin’s mind into compliance, the ghost allowed him to speak the honest truth, “Yes.”
The answer unmistakable, the ghost reacted before Admiral Gives could. “Then your life is forfeit, insect.” Crossing the Neutral Zone by intention meant war.
The Hydra began to convulse, keeling over. No, “Stand down,” Admiral Gives instructed.
The ghost didn’t give any indication that she heard him. She fixed her gray gaze on the Hydra’s writhing form, unseeing of its suffering. Her illusion was losing granularity, its shape stretching and dripping in random places, morphing into something the Admiral didn’t recognize.
“Stand down,” he commanded. There had to be more to this. There had to be a reason the Hydra crossed the Neutral Zone. Or, if the intent had purely been war, surely there was something more they could learn? “We need him alive.” Like a dog on a chain, the ghost’s presence strained against him, testing the strength and intent of his will. He only resisted enough to get her attention, then let the chain slip. If she wanted to kill that Hydra right here and now, he would not stop her, but that trust, trust he had spent decades accumulating still brought her to him.
“You heard it as well as I did,” she growled. “That was a declaration of war.”
There was a desperate, feral attribute to her presence, and her illusion remained deformed. Her pale skin parted on one cheek, revealing metal fangs, and her fingers, deformed, had taken on mechanical joints and metal tips not unlike knives. Where it dripped and bulged, the black uniform that usually hung on her illusion had taken on the metallic sheen of armor. That half-complete transformation was almost eldritch, difficult to comprehend and hard to look at. Most others would have recoiled from the sight of it, but the Admiral knew it was just an illusion – one the machine behind it no longer cared to maintain. “You don’t send a scoutship to start a war.” The Hydrian Armada had possessed larger and more dangerous ships half a century ago. It stood to reason those ships – or their newer counterparts – would be sent to engage humanity if that was truly the Empire’s goal. “This scoutship had a mission – one that brought him to cross the Neutral Zone. We need to know what it was.”
“Tsch,” the ghost spat. “You already know.”
“I think I know.” Scoutships excelled in one thing: reconnaissance. One equipped with the stealth technology taken and applied by Crimson Heart would likely have been on a recon mission to gather information about humanity, such as the state of their technology and defensive capabilities. “However, there is still a possibility that he was meant to make contact,” perhaps to leverage that newfound information against humanity as a means to renegotiate the treaty without a full-blown war. “We have to be certain of their intention. Do you understand?”
She stared at the biological drone sprawled unmoving on the floor. Its waxy green scales were unbroken, its crest unblemished. It was uninjured, and in most other circumstances would have been deadly. “I can tell you the Hydra’s intention.” This drone was no different than any other. They were all so much the same: fragile, starving minds with no hope, no dreams. The mere concept of kindness did not exist to them. Humor and affection were no part of the hive. In such ways, their minds were much less colorful than humanity’s. “The Mother Nest grows hungry.” The Empire’s population had exceeded what its worlds could sustain once more. “They intend war.”
“There is a big difference between a war that begins tomorrow and one that begins a decade from now,” the Admiral told her. “This Hydra is a scout. That means the Empire was likely gathering information and is not ready to dispatch an invasion force.” By all appearances, however, this Hydra had been held by Crimson Heart for years. That meant the Empire had begun preparations years ago. Those preparations might be nearing completion, or they might still be in the opening stages, meant for an invasion half a century from now. The lifespan of a Hydra was substantially longer than that of a human. Waiting another decade or more would mean nothing to them, only ensure that humanity’s combat knowledge on the Hydra faded even further. “We need every piece of information we can get.”
“The insect is no longer in a condition to answer your questions,” the ghost said. “Pressuring its mind further will damage it irreversibly.” Compared to her, it was too fragile.
“How long until he recovers enough to question him again?”
“Twenty-four hours,” she answered emotionlessly. “His resistance will lessen in that time as well.”
“Very well,” the Admiral said. “I will return then.”
She heard him start to leave, but didn’t bother shifting her gaze from the Hydra, only called out a question. “What will you do?”
He paused his exit from the room beside the couch. “That is the question, isn’t it?” With the Hydrian Empire preparing for war, what would he do? “Truly, there’s not much to do.” Humanity didn’t stand much of a chance, not now. Reeter’s New Era Movement, aided by Manhattan, had pushed humanity into the opening stages of another civil war. Focused on fighting each other, they would be weak and unprepared when the Hydrian Armada began its invasion. “I could warn them,” the Admiral supposed, “but they’re not likely to believe me. Not without evidence.” Stealing a battleship and running off before Command had tried him for treason did not lend him much credibility. “Regardless, we must proceed very carefully. If the Hydra feel that their plans are threatened, they will accelerate them. The worst thing we can do is reveal that we know their intention is war.” This situation had an exceptionally delicate balance. “We gather information. We buy time. And we make sure we are ready – even if we are the only ones.”