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Authors: Steven Erikson
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head to one side, where more hands held a spittoon. The captain rinsed and spat. Printlip collected up the napkin and dabbed Hadrian’s chin. “There now, sir. All done.”
“Good,” he replied. “One more snapshot of some bucolic misery onscreen and you’d need a tire repair kit, Doc. Now, go away and get this rubbish off of my bridge.” He stabbed at the chair’s recliner controls. “And get rid of this damned footrest!”
After the Belkri had left with its infernal instruments, Sin-Dour moved up to stand beside Hadrian. “Well, Captain, what now?”
“Did you notice? I didn’t even get a lollipop. What now, you ask? Good question. We have less than six hours to negotiate a truce with the Misanthari, something no other spacefaring civilization has ever managed.”
“Sir, you did say you wanted to go out in a glorious fireball or some such thing. It seems that you will get your wish.”
“A career captaining a starship that lasts barely a day? Not a chance. I mean to get us out of this, 2IC.” He pounded the arm of the chair, winced, and glared down at his hand. “It’s a bad day, Sin-Dour, when even futile gestures hurt. Tammy!”
“Yes, Captain?”
“Do you have any bespoke military capability?”
“Plenty, why do you ask?”
“Why do I ask? You idiot. Tell me something, how did you get through the Exclusion Zone from Radulak-Klang space?”
“Well, when I was making my transit, I invaded a Polker ship in the Exclusion Zone. Peregrinator class, I believe. The ship computer attempted to trap me in a tautological logic snare, but I was having none of that. Ultimately, however, I grew tired of the ceaseless legal writs and attempted injunctions undertaken by the crew, and vented the ship’s noxious atmosphere. Upon entering Affiliation space, I abandoned the Polker vessel … and never looked back.”
Hadrian grunted. “Polker. Well, this time it’s not the Polker who are patrolling the Exclusion Zone, Tammy. The Misanthari are the piranha of space.”
“Chromatoglots,” put in Sin-Dour, “although their spectrum of communication with non-Misanthari is relegated to monochromatic gradients. These shades are communicated via the hull. They patrol in Swarms, and no two vessels are alike. Ideally, we will find the vessels radiating a deeper shade of grey. Point eight or thereabouts. The lighter the grade, the more angry the Misanthari. Pure white has never been seen, but is believed to reflect all-out galactic war.”
“Believe it or not, Commander,” said Tammy, “I have full access to all fleet and Affiliation files.”
Hadrian said, “Then you know their methods of attack against starships.”
“Yes. Rather messy, all things considered.”
“Your shiny new toy is about to get ugly, Tammy. Even if we beat them off, our hull will come out of this looking like it has a case of measles.”
“Or suppurating acne, to be more precise,” said Sin-Dour.
Hadrian glanced up at her. “Not bad, 2IC. You’re right, we’ll be leaking goo everywhere.”
“Pus, sir.”
“Right. Pus.”
“Particularly those pimples that appear across the forehead, or on the chin, or in the creases close to the nostrils.”
“Sin-Dour, we do have a ship counselor, you know. I won’t hold it against you. Tammy, about those military capabilities—”
At that moment, Adjutant Lorrin Tighe arrived on the bridge. “Captain, a word with you, please.”
“In private?”
“Yes.”
“My office, then.” Hadrian rose and gestured. “Come along. Sin-Dour, get rid of that damned slide show, will you? And the music!”
Once inside, Hadrian went to his chair and sat down. “Sorry but you have to stand, Adjutant. I’d bring in another chair but then I’d have to climb over it to get to mine.”
“Captain, no one uses your stateroom.”
“No, we’ve all been a bit too busy for Ping-Pong, haven’t we? Now, have you reconsidered what to do with your last few hours of life? You may note that the
“Good,” he replied. “One more snapshot of some bucolic misery onscreen and you’d need a tire repair kit, Doc. Now, go away and get this rubbish off of my bridge.” He stabbed at the chair’s recliner controls. “And get rid of this damned footrest!”
After the Belkri had left with its infernal instruments, Sin-Dour moved up to stand beside Hadrian. “Well, Captain, what now?”
“Did you notice? I didn’t even get a lollipop. What now, you ask? Good question. We have less than six hours to negotiate a truce with the Misanthari, something no other spacefaring civilization has ever managed.”
“Sir, you did say you wanted to go out in a glorious fireball or some such thing. It seems that you will get your wish.”
“A career captaining a starship that lasts barely a day? Not a chance. I mean to get us out of this, 2IC.” He pounded the arm of the chair, winced, and glared down at his hand. “It’s a bad day, Sin-Dour, when even futile gestures hurt. Tammy!”
“Yes, Captain?”
“Do you have any bespoke military capability?”
“Plenty, why do you ask?”
“Why do I ask? You idiot. Tell me something, how did you get through the Exclusion Zone from Radulak-Klang space?”
“Well, when I was making my transit, I invaded a Polker ship in the Exclusion Zone. Peregrinator class, I believe. The ship computer attempted to trap me in a tautological logic snare, but I was having none of that. Ultimately, however, I grew tired of the ceaseless legal writs and attempted injunctions undertaken by the crew, and vented the ship’s noxious atmosphere. Upon entering Affiliation space, I abandoned the Polker vessel … and never looked back.”
Hadrian grunted. “Polker. Well, this time it’s not the Polker who are patrolling the Exclusion Zone, Tammy. The Misanthari are the piranha of space.”
“Chromatoglots,” put in Sin-Dour, “although their spectrum of communication with non-Misanthari is relegated to monochromatic gradients. These shades are communicated via the hull. They patrol in Swarms, and no two vessels are alike. Ideally, we will find the vessels radiating a deeper shade of grey. Point eight or thereabouts. The lighter the grade, the more angry the Misanthari. Pure white has never been seen, but is believed to reflect all-out galactic war.”
“Believe it or not, Commander,” said Tammy, “I have full access to all fleet and Affiliation files.”
Hadrian said, “Then you know their methods of attack against starships.”
“Yes. Rather messy, all things considered.”
“Your shiny new toy is about to get ugly, Tammy. Even if we beat them off, our hull will come out of this looking like it has a case of measles.”
“Or suppurating acne, to be more precise,” said Sin-Dour.
Hadrian glanced up at her. “Not bad, 2IC. You’re right, we’ll be leaking goo everywhere.”
“Pus, sir.”
“Right. Pus.”
“Particularly those pimples that appear across the forehead, or on the chin, or in the creases close to the nostrils.”
“Sin-Dour, we do have a ship counselor, you know. I won’t hold it against you. Tammy, about those military capabilities—”
At that moment, Adjutant Lorrin Tighe arrived on the bridge. “Captain, a word with you, please.”
“In private?”
“Yes.”
“My office, then.” Hadrian rose and gestured. “Come along. Sin-Dour, get rid of that damned slide show, will you? And the music!”
Once inside, Hadrian went to his chair and sat down. “Sorry but you have to stand, Adjutant. I’d bring in another chair but then I’d have to climb over it to get to mine.”
“Captain, no one uses your stateroom.”
“No, we’ve all been a bit too busy for Ping-Pong, haven’t we? Now, have you reconsidered what to do with your last few hours of life? You may note that the
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