Christopher Nuttall - A Learning Experience

Steve opened his mouth to answer, but his communicator shrilled before he could say a word.

“Sir, this is Tom in Tracking,” a voice said. “We’re picking up twenty-five separate starships heading towards Earth at FTL speeds. Estimated ETA is five hours from now.”

“Those will be the ships Friend promised,” Kevin said. “The first down payment for human mercenaries.”

“But not warships,” Steve mused. “That could be a problem.”

“It could,” Kevin agreed. “But I think beggars can’t be choosers.”

Steve jumped to his feet, suddenly galvanised. “Sound the alert,” he ordered, as he made preparations to return to the ship. “I want the entire solar system on alert.”

Kevin frowned. “Why…?”

“Two reasons,” Steve said. He ticked them off on his fingers as he spoke. “First, we need to know just how well the alert system actually works. And second, you might be wrong and these aliens might not be friendly after all.”

He was right, Kevin knew. Twenty-five starships were more than enough to overwhelm Earth by an order of magnitude. But he knew Friend’s best interests lay in cooperating with the human race. Human slaves would be far less useful than human allies.

“Good thinking,” he conceded, reluctantly. He stood, too. “I’ll come with you.”

The next few hours passed very slowly. On Earth, military bases were alerted and reserves called up, but there was no formal public announcement. Kevin wasn’t too surprised, no matter how much he hated the Government’s willingness to defend itself while leaving the civilian population to burn. If there was a widespread panic, there would be absolute chaos and thousands of people would be hurt even if the aliens weren’t hostile. Besides, what difference would it make if the aliens deployed antimatter bombs? The entire planet would be cracked open like an egg.

“They’re coming out of FTL now,” Mongo said. “I’m reading… twenty-three freighters of various designs, one warship and one starship of indeterminate purpose.”

“They’re hailing us, sir,” the communications officer added.

“Then reply,” Steve ordered. Left unsaid was the notion that one warship, commanded by a capable crew, might be a match for all three human ships. “Let’s see who they are.”

There was a brief pause, then a familiar blue-skinned face appeared in front of them. “Mr. Stuart,” Friend said. Clearly, he’d been studying the data he’d been sent on humanity. “It is a pleasure to see you again.”

“And you,” Kevin said, swallowing. “These are my brothers, Steve and Mongo.”

“It is a pleasure to meet them too,” Friend said. “However, we cannot wait. We will merely give you these starships and leave.”

“I understand,” Kevin said. The aliens wouldn’t want to draw attention to Sol if they could avoid it. “But we will meet again soon.”

“Indeed we shall,” Friend said. “We shall see you at Ying.”

He paused. “We have loaded the freighters with goods you might find useful,” he added. “We give you these freely, without obligation. You are welcome to them.”

Moments later, his image vanished from the bridge.

Kevin pursed his lips. Was the free gifts a bribe… or a simple consideration… or a display of just how wealthy the aliens actually were? If they could provide so many ships so quickly, just how many did they have in total? But there was no way to know. For all he knew, the aliens had spent a few hours with a fabricator and churned out everything they thought humanity might want — or need.

“Interesting person,” Steve observed. He didn’t sound too impressed. “Doesn’t he want to stay for tea?”

“I think he fears us being noticed,” Kevin commented. On the display, flashes of energy were being detected as the freighter crews were beamed onto the unknown starship. “And if Earth became noticed, the results might be dire.”

Steve didn’t bother to disagree.

Deep Space

“And there has definitely been no sightings?”

“No, Most Supreme Lord,” the messenger said, banging his head against the deck. “They went to Earth and were never seen again.”

Horde Commander Yss!Yaa cursed under his breath. The messengers were of no Subhorde, something that made them absolutely trustworthy, for his successor would purge them if he managed to take over through assassination or outright coup. But they could also be publically blamed for the message, if someone needed to be a scapegoat. Being a Horde Commander was sometimes more about making sure that someone took the blame than actually leading the Horde.

Three ships, one of them a valuable Warcruiser, had gone missing. It wasn’t unusual for the Horde to lose starships, but to lose three of them in the same place suggested enemy action rather than the normal incompetence of his subordinates. The reports had started that Earth’s odd-looking inhabitants, the human race, had no starships of their own, but the Horde Commander knew all too well just how much nonsense, misinformation and outright lies made their way through the galactic mainstream. It was quite possible that humanity had a small fleet of starships of their own.

Or the Varnar are protecting them , he thought, morbidly. They would worry about the source of their cyborg slaves.

Being a Horde Commander sometimes meant admitting that there were battles that couldn’t be won. It was something that would have shocked the vast majority of his followers, who would have preferred death to dishonour. But the Horde Commander understood just how much their nomadic life depended on the more civilised Galactics. If galactic society as a whole decided to eradicate the Hordes, they could do so simply by refusing to sell their wares to the nomads or exterminating them outright through military force. There were times when it was wiser to back down than risk a fight they couldn’t win.

But this was something different. The humans either had support from one of the Galactics or they were becoming an interstellar power in their own right. Either way, they had to know the truth — and they had to know what had happened to the missing starships. And they had to do it before the humans found too many allies among the stars. If one or more of the major powers backed them, the Horde would have no choice, but to swallow the insult and return to their wandering ways.

It wasn’t something many of his subordinates would have understood, he knew. The Horde Commander, they thought, spent half of his time enjoying the perks of his position. He had the finest cuts of food, the best-looking women and the right to have as many children as he wished. But he also had to swallow his pride, while manipulating events so someone else took the blame. He couldn’t show weakness in front of his followers or they would start sharpening knives, largely unaware that the Hordes were weak, compared to the Galactics

They dreamed of pillaging their way across the stars, looting and ransacking whole planets. But the Horde Commander knew the truth. They were, at best, scavengers, scavengers utterly dependent on the Galactics. There was no way they could ravage the entire galaxy.

But they needed to know what had happened to their missing starships.

He looked down at the messenger, who had remained in the Posture of Ultimate Respect, extending his head for the sword, if necessary. The Horde Commander felt a pang of… pity, almost regret. He knew just how futile it was to kill the messenger, yet he also felt the same lust for adventure, reckless adventure, that his subordinates shared. Wouldn’t it feel good, he knew, to throw caution to the winds and just pillage the nearest worlds? But he knew they would never escape the Galactics when they retaliated.