Deputy Supervisor Nna Tss

  Date: 15.7.3.6.218 HC

  Location: Librarian Survey Ship Curious Observer, transiting Sector E5J5

  "You must do something," Kolcant urged. "They will be killed!"

  "What going on is?" Subject Two demanded. "Why us you will not tell?

  "Disabled you your translator." Subject Four crossed its manipulators, an unreadable expression on the primitive's face. "Definitely you are hiding something."

  Nna ignored the primitives. He and Healer Chief Journeyman Kolcant were in the cramped control and observation room of an unused lab near Cargo Three, while the primitives were in the lab itself. The cramped interior was even more apparent with the presence of several crates of supplies originally stored in the cargo bay. It was not an ideal arrangement, but at least the primitives were contained for now.

  "I am aware of their predicament." Nna continued typing at the virtual keyboard in front of him, accessing systems as quickly as he could. It was technically against regulations to use a science lab to access the cargo bay systems, but he would backdate the proper forms later.

  "And what are you doing about it, Librarian!?"

  "Attempting to address the predicament." Nna ignored the insult of being referred to only by his guild, not his rank. "This would be easier without interruptions from a Healer who does not understand what he is observing."

  "What is complicated about it? Get the Engineer Chief Journeyman to unlock the system!"

  "Healer Chief Journeyman." The synthetic voice Nna used to translate his native language into Hegemony Standard would, he trusted, cover up the indulgently irritated tone he used. "The Engineer Chief Journeyman is not able to authorize this repair except under emergency procedures, which are being filed now, with the shipmaster filling out confirmations. This will take approximately one demishift and three spans to complete."

  "The humans will be dead within two spans!"

  "This is why I am hurrying. It would be easier without interruption."

  To the Healer's credit, Kolcant stayed silent for almost two spans before, apparently, feeling compelled to speak again. "Why did you not place the humans in these lab chambers in the initial situation? It would have made scientific and medical monitoring far easier, and avoided the current--"

  "The internal lab systems are not designed to avoid tampering," Nna interrupted. "And it would have required three such labs to provide habitation space, with significant issues in clearing their bodily waste."

  "Their waste?"

  "Affirmation. Their digestive systems seem to be highly inefficient. A special processing unit was required to be constructed by the Engineers, which took significant inter-Guild negotiation. I made the decision that it was more efficient and secure to place them in a disabled cargo bay. The current situation was . . . unanticipated."

  Nna regretted that choice now, though of course all was clear in after-sight. He fully intended to file a complaint against himself so that he could take full responsibility for the decision as assistant shipmaster. He did not wish Holm Dar to have the opportunity to take the blame for it; his old friend was already in sufficient danger from Guild politics, and it would be easier all around for the administrators to blame a convenient tsirlan. Nna's species was already under-utilized due to their relatively recent integration into the Hegemony, and so it should be a simple matter to use that to draw the administrators' ire away from Dar.

  Sadly, it would appear that the humans in Cargo Three would indeed perish. The audio surveillance indicated that the acquisitors did not intend to take them as prisoners; sensible, since likely only the rich and connected would take slaves that could be easily identified as unregulated merchandise. And while the humans were fighting back using their biologically superior strength and remarkable ingenuity, the war-like species clearly had no experience in combat other than with themselves. Only the human soldier, Subject Nine, had shown significant success; and he was armed with his own familiar weapon.

  A curious performance, that. Nna intended to study the records after the situation was resolved. Harpa Din had been correct about the species' accuracy with that primitive weapon. If Subject Nine had returned to Cargo Three with his weapon instead of proceeding to Cargo Two, the acquisitors might have been defeated there. Nna suspected that if Subject Nine lived. he would be . . . argumentative when he learned of what happened in his absence.

  It was regrettable. They might be pawns of the Domination, but they were still a fascinating species, similar to Nna's in many ways despite their physical differences. They might one day be valuable members of the Hegemony.

  Yet, that sentiment did not translate into usable action. Nna stopped typing, having exhausted all possible avenues to aid the primitives. Even the cargo manipulators recessed into the bulkheads were not responding. The primitives would die.

  "Why have you stopped?" Kolcant demanded, seeing that Nna's manipulators had grown still.

  Nna rotated his head just far enough to look at him with two eyes. "There is nothing left for me to do."

  Kolcant looked at the monitor, but nothing had changed. "What do you mean?"

  "I have exhausted all possibilities. I cannot activate any useful sub-systems in the cargo bay while the computer registers a breach at the same time it detects atmospheric pressure in the chamber."

  "There must be something!"

  Nna rotated one eye at him. "I cannot so much as cycle the airlock. Because of the disabled systems, the computer has no way to process the error without an override to reset and remotely disconnect the atmospheric sensors. Were I physically in Cargo Three, I might be able to physically disconnect all four sensors. Even if I were, I could not do so in time."

  "You said no useful systems," Kolcant repeated, eyes narrowing. "What systems can you access?"

  "The lighting system. Environmental control. Biological monitoring devices. The data readout on the waste-managing system. There is nothing I can do." Nna paused. "I assure you, Healer Chief Journeyman, I regret the imminent loss of these humans."

  Kolcant looked at him oddly. "That is the first time I remember you referring to them as they call themselves, rather than 'subjects' or 'primitives.' Do you mean to inform me you might be developing a sense of sympathy for them?"

  "Tsirlans are not unfeeling, Healer Chief Journeyman."

  "Certainty." Kolcant paused, his ears flattening as he saw Subject One get stabbed. "Environmental control, you said?"

  "Affirmation. But if you intend to request I release a paralytic agent, I cannot. I can change heat settings and decrease the pressure, but I cannot add additional gases of any kind."

  "Ah." Kolcant flicked one ear, clearly satisfied with himself. "Then there is something you can do."

  

  Jessica Richards

  Date: . . . ?

  Location: . . . ?

  "?Alto!"

  Nash's voice managed to fill the big room, echoing off the metal walls and even cutting through Jessica's shock. Dimly, she realized her earpiece had fallen out. She saw it on the floor next to her and started to reach for it, only to draw back as she saw her hands were covered in blood.

  Chris' blood.

  "No, no, no, no . . ." she whispered, trying to remember her first aid training. It had all seemed so clinical and straightforward back then. For this kind of wound, do this. For that, do the other. Simple, right? Pressure . . . put pressure on it. A bandage.

  But there were no first aid kits. And no hospital to rush Chris to.

  Chris was going to die, and it was her fault.

  "Don't die, don't die." Jessica pressed down on his stab wound with both hands. She could feel air bubbling against his palm. Was that good or bad? No collapsed lung, but was it filling with blood?

  She ignored what was going on around her as best she could. Funny, that. She could focus on Chris rather than the chaos, but only because the chaos had come for him. No, it had come for her, and he'd stepped in the way.

  He'd protected her, just like he said he would.

  "Arigato go-- gozaimasu, Jessica-san . . ."

  "I don't know what you're saying, you giant idiot, and I don't fucking care," Jessica snapped at him. "You've got a punctured lung! Stop talking!"

  "Won't . . . help . . ." Chris smiled weakly through bloodied lips. "Still . . . have to . . . breathe."

  Another voice above her yelled something Jessica didn't understand. It didn't sound like any human language, though. She was dimly aware that the alien bastard who'd stabbed Chris was still standing over them. She wondered why the ET hadn't finished the job. Did it enjoy watching humans die? Who knew. Probably.

  "Then just breathe, dumbass, and try not to bleed so much!"

  "Gomen nasai . . . I not mean to . . . mess." Chris gasped, struggling to breathe. "Not . . . enough air . . ."

  "Chris!" Jessica looked around. "Help! Someone, he's -- he's dying!" Her eyes stung and her chest felt tight, like Chris wasn't the only one unable to get enough air.

  The scene surprised her. Nash had his knife to the neck of the alien he'd been fighting, who was now on the ground. The lead alien was still struggling against Thando's arm, but clearly far weaker than he had been. The bird-like alien and Hua were facing each other, the alien's rifle back in its arms and aimed at Hua's chest. The green-skinned alien was looking back at them, finally having pulled a weapon herself, pointed at Thando. Finally, Jessica glanced up and froze; the fox-faced guy who'd stabbed Chris was posed with his knife about to come down on her, but he was watching Nash instead.

  And they were all shouting. Jessica just hadn't processed the cacophony as anything other than noise without her earbud in. A standoff, she realized, still struggling to breathe. And no one could help Chris.

  She tried to ignore the alien about to kill her and just focus on Chris again. She felt light-headed, almost like the first time she'd tried to go for a job after moving to Denver. Weird how memories came up at random when --

  Wait. That wasn't random at all. When she'd first moved to Denver, she hadn't been used to the altitude. And now the air felt even thinner than her adopted home.

  "Those-Who-Hunt-and-Take-Unlawfully, attention." The voice of Aliensoft Sam was back, projected by the cargo bay speakers. It seemed weaker, though. "Systems of cargo hold have disabled been. Team yours in Second Cargo will eliminated be, due to presence of Agents of Combat. Defeat yours inevitable is. Yet we cannot allow soldier specimens to be in incorrect manipulators. We will terminate subjects these and leave no prizes to collect. "

  "What the hell?" Jessica was struggling to breathe now, and Chris was even worse off. Were the aliens doing something to the air? Removing it? She fumbled for her dropped earpiece, headless of the blood she was getting on it or her ear. "Fuck you, ET! Can you hear me now?"

  "Hold!" The avian alien seemed to be the one talking now, though it was hard to tell with only one earbud in. "Emergency masks deploy. Var, think you to reverse this?"

  "Possible." The green-skinned alien, Var, turned back to the open panel, holstering her weapon and pulling a cylinder from her belt. "Systems locked out are, but environmental . . ."

  The fox-faced alien pulled an identical cylinder from his own belt; but the other three aliens, even the avian who gave the order, didn't move. Well, the leader getting strangled by Thando did, but only to slump to the floor, possibly done in by the same lack of oxygen that was making Jessica's own head swim. Thando, however, didn't relax his hold, as if suspecting a trap. His eyes were watching the rest of the room, but he was sweaty, breathing hard, and seemed to be growing weaker.

  The tubes the two aliens held turned out to be some kind of device that unrolled and spread over a user's face. The green-skinned and fox-faced aliens were soon sporting plastic-looking clear masks that had automatically molded around their faces. The reptilian Nash was holding at knife-point tried reaching for his, but Nash just pressed his point against the alien's scales in warning, and the reptilian froze again.

  "We would have wisdom to let them die," the fox-faced alien announced once his mask was in place. "Then proceed we can with no further obstacle."

  "Negation," the avian replied. "Hegemony 'soldier specimens' spoke--"

  "Apologies, Subjects." The translation of what the pirates were saying cut off. Even though it was the same computerized voice, Jessica recognized the familiar cadence of that spider-alien from earlier. ". . . Affirmation, Kolcant . . . Apologies, humans. Do not verbally respond. Due to failure of computer systems, this best option is."

  "What?" Jessica muttered, as much in reply as in surprise at being referred to by anything other than "subject." She closed her eyes against a wave of dizziness.

  "Repeat. It important is that you not verbalize responses. This Librarian Junior Supervisor Nna Tss is. You all receiving this message are, through translation devices. Deception is employed. If not taken you are, die you will. Apologies again. I no other method possess. Regret I would to see you die."

  "If that were the case, you'd have left us on Earth," Jessica hissed, though she had the presence of mind to pretend to direct that at Chris.

  Chris, unfortunately, was unable to play along. His eyes were still fluttering, but he seemed effectively passed out from lack of oxygen. Was it just Jessica's imagination, or were his lips turning blue?

  "Jessica." The voice in her ear was back, but with a different cadence. "This Healer Chief Journeyman Kolcant is. I have reviewed basic anatomy of species yours. Resilient you are, by galactic standard. Captors yours will insist that friend yours shall perish. This untrue is, if provided immediate measures. Repeat this phrase to the farian above you."

  Jessica frowned as she listened, suspicious. But it wasn't like she had anything to lose. Taking a deep breath of the increasingly thin air, she looked up at the fox-faced alien and said, "Kleesan ti-sal."

  "Wound gel?" the alien asked, as if repeating something amusing. "This one dies. Wound gel pointless is."

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

  "Jessica, insist must you."

  Jessica narrowed her eyes. "Kleesan ti-sal, you dumbass alien bastard!"

  "Jessica . . . " Hua struggled to speak. "What . . . are you . . ."

  "You." The avian seemed more relaxed; Hua was swaying on her feet and seemed dazed. "Translator I know you possess. Companion yours dying. Wound gel unable to prevent death from such wound. Apologies. This not how I desired--"

  "Species durable is," the green-skinned Var interrupted. "Possible is it, Anast?"

  The avian paused to think, eying Hua.

  "If you . . ." Hua paused, gasping for breath. She pointed to Chris and Jessica, then mimed raising her hands. "If you . . . save him . . . we . . . surrender."

  "Hua--!" Nash started to snap, but then seemed surprised at himself as he fell to one knee. His stolen knife clattered on the floor. The reptilian took the opportunity to scramble away and pull his own emergency mask from his belt. "Ah . . . balls . . ."

  Jessica felt the inexplicable urge to giggle, even though it wasn't funny. Lack of oxygen again, she realized. There was less air now than in Denver. Far less. Her pulse was pounding and her vision seemed to dim at the edges. She tried the only alien words she knew again, struggling to remember the pronunciation. "Keesan . . . tee sat? Please . . ."

  "Apply wound gel," the avian ordered.

  Hua, hearing that, sat down heavily. She'd probably only been a few seconds from collapsing anyway. Even after living in Denver for so long, Jessica didn't think she'd have lasted that long. Her heart was pounding and her head hurt.

  "Anast! Tinan ordered--" the fox-faced began.

  "Tinan unconscious is. Now I am ranking." The avian (Anast? Was that its name?) casually pulled her emergency mask from her belt and applied it. "Care not for blood-sport do I, and our acquisition continue cannot. Cutting hatch too much time would take, and Second Team has ceased transmission. This raid foolish is; but Mta may find species this interesting, and Domination as well. Do you challenge?"

  The other alien considered it. "Compliance."

  "Affirmation. Apply the gel. Perhaps this one shall live."

  "It will not . . . but compliance, Anast."

  Jessica slid back as the alien squatted over Chris, pulling another tube from his belt. He spread a thin line of something like gray toothpaste over the place where he'd stabbed Chris. It bubbled and seemed to sink into the wound.

  A wet sensation on her arm distracted her. Confused, Jessica looked down to see a fresh bloodstain. Where had that come from? Another drop of blood hit the floor by her hand, then another. Dimly, she realized it was coming from her. She touched her nose, and her fingers came away glistening red. Her nose was bleeding? How had that happened? And her hand looked almost as gray as the wound-toothpaste . . .She looked up in confusion, and saw that everything seemed gray. That was weird.

  Jessica sank to the cool metal floor. She'd hated how uncomfortable it was for the last week. Now it was oddly comfortable.

  She didn't remember anything after that.

  

  Peter Baines

  Date: No time for that

  Location: Repelling boarders

  Pete watched the literal bug-eyed alien slowly collapse to the deck, his heart pounding. He'd hesitated, and the alien had almost gotten off a point-blank shot. The others seemed to be lousy with their weapons, but this one had seemed to be their leader, and that probably meant he'd had better aim. That rifle of his must have been a laser, too -- a real one, invisible except for the way it heated dust in the air or gouged a hole in the side of a crate.

  And Pete had still hesitated. For a moment, it seemed as if the alien was going to surrender. But it hadn't. And Pete, fortunately, had been just a little faster.

  Harpa had been right. The species -- a "klint," he'd called it -- really did have a carapace. Sort of. It looked like bone in the skull, though. And green blood. Lots of green blood. Pete grimaced as he tried to wipe a patch of alien brains off his shirt. The aliens hadn't given their captives any kind of laundry service so far, but hopefully he could at least get a bucket rather than wear dead alien pirate bits for the rest of his incarceration.

  "Five down," he muttered out loud. That left two, according to what Harpa had said. He could hear voices, but even though the cargo bay wasn't that large, his translator wasn't kicking in and he had no idea what he'd find if he went all the way to the hatch.

  He circled back to check on Harpa; the alien was still slumped on the deck where Pete had left him, though his eyes were open. "How you doing, buddy?"

  Pete frowned at his own words. It was just automatic to use 'buddy.' But this was his captor, he reminded himself. Not his friend.

  The alien seemed to hiss something, and the translator seemed to hesitate before rendering it as "Ineffective."

  "Guess those taser bolts really do work on you guys, huh." Pete checked his mags. He'd done his best to conserve his ammo, but he'd already started with less than he really wanted. The only reason he'd even had three mags with him in the first place was just in case he ran into a coyote or wild hog while walking through the fields that night. Maybe one of those pirate weapons didn't have a biometric lock on it. Except he still didn't know the nuances of their weaponry, so he was probably better off with what he knew. "I really hope you appreciate this, because I'm probably going to get in trouble for it if I ever get back to Earth."

  More slow hissing. Was this Harpa's species' version of slurring words? "Them tell . . . follow . . . regulation."

  "I've got my own regs to worry about, and my superiors aren't really going to care about following your rules." He eyed the distance to the interior hatch. "You're a lot heavier than you look, so I'm not sure I can drag you back to the airlock. I'm going to see if I can find the other two pirates before they find you."

  "Five . . . there are."

  "Two now." He couldn't help but grin. "Didn't you say you Orbital Combat Agents were better than US Marines? Here I am doing all the work."

  Pete didn't wait for a response. He climbed up the nearest stack of crates, just like he had when he'd gotten the drop on the second group of pirates. He'd always enjoyed the climbing part of the obstacle course in training, and the lower gravity on the ship actually made it fun even with the whole pirate boarding thing. Jumping from stack to stack was more tricky, for the same reason his shots pulled to the side when shooting that drone; the stacks were high enough that he could noticeably feel the difference in his apparent weight, and he had to keep the direction of the ship's spin fully in mind when planning his jumps or he'd overshoot.

  From up here, the weird layout made both more and less sense. More, because the positioning of the stacks became tighter toward the back, near the outer hatch, leaving plenty of space near the inner airlock for not just crew but also that rolling delivery drone that brought them their meals. Less, because the only way it did make sense was if there were some kind of sophisticated crane system used to move the crates around, but that was nowhere to be seen. Folded into the walls, perhaps? Seemed like a waste of space that way.

  Whatever. Aliens were gonna alien. Not Pete's job to figure that stuff out.

  A flash of red-orange went by as he made another jump, wildly missing him but coming fairly close to where he would have been if he weren't on a rotating ship. Pete crouched low, looking for the source. Weren't plasma bolts supposed to be disabled now?

  A whirring sound answered that, as the second drone rose up again. Pete assumed that meant the drone was no longer generating the disruption field. He aimed at it, but it immediately began janking around.

  "Shit!" Pete took a chance and rolled to the side. A bolt of lightning slammed into the space he'd vacated just as he fell off the side of the stack of crates. He didn't exactly stick the landing, what with the way he landed several feet away from where his instincts expected him to; but it wasn't as bad as it would have been on Earth. His knee hurt, and he'd jammed his elbow against the side of another stack, but he'd manage. He could hear the drone continue whirring like a swarm of bees, but it seemed to be following a programmed search pattern rather than guessing where he was. So he did his best to keep crate stacks blocking the way as he moved closer to the cargo bay's outer hatch.

  Pete's earpiece came to life. "Knizz! Are you receiving? Knizz Porzt!"

  "Knizz probably killed is. We must evacuate."

  Pete frowned as he listened. It was all the same computer voice, but it sounded like two different people arguing. And if they were going to leave, all the better. Problem solved.

  "Negation! Knizz skilled is. No Librarian could--"

  "Librarians are not what we face!"

  "Negation. Continue! I hunt this prey."

  Great. So much for easy.

  Pete heard a chilling, slow growl and soft foot-falls on the deck. "I smell you," came the translation. "Unfamiliar species. What you are, coward? Face this wrath."

  How 'bout no? Pete thought, peeking around one of the stacks. He saw a large form moving through another aisle, but it was out of sight before he could get a good look at it. If it really did have a heightened sense of smell, it would figure out where he was soon enough. After all, he hadn't had a chance to shower or even change his clothes since being abducted. He probably reeked even without klint blood and brains stuck to his clothing. And that made sneaking up on the alien difficult.

  He couldn't go up, either, not without taking out that drone. He could still hear it buzzing. He could probably take it out like he had its partner, but a gunshot would definitely show where he was. So that left one option. Well, two. The dumb option, or the dumber one.

  Glancing at the ceiling to orient himself, Pete continued moving. He had to keep checking the corners as he went; he had no idea how fast or quiet that alien tracking him could be, and there was still one more to worry about.

  "Receive transmission, Karn. Pod readied to depart. Leave the hunt!"

  Pete could hear a low growl somewhere behind him, but his translator didn't activate. Good. That meant the alien was more than twenty feet away at minimum.

  Reaching the back of the cargo bay, he leaned around a stack to see a reptilian alien that looked like Harpa's species, but with green scales. And the alien saw him, too, and ducked away behind another crate stack.

  "Karn! Enemy at hatch!"

  Pete swore and moved away. There was a roar behind him, but Pete ducked behind another stack

  The big alien burst into view, facing the open hatch; it was taller than Pete, with a dog-like face with patches of long hair. Its body was covered in armor and cloth, but its legs were reverse-jointed like a dog's. All in all, it made Pete think of a sci-fi werewolf armed with a ray gun, except with what amounted to a mullet and mutton-chops.

  The reptilian shouted "There" and pointed to where Pete had run; the big guy spun on one leg, but Pete's gun was already up and firing. Another plasma bolt went wild, hitting the bulkhead ten feet above Pete, as three bullets hit him. One in the arm, two in the chest.

  The big guy -- Karn? -- went down, though he was clearly still alive. His plasma rifle clattered to the deck beside him, his left arm dangling, alien blood staining his already-dark clothing. At least one of the bullets to the chest had gone through armor, too.

  Pete hesitated; if the enemy were human, then this would be killing an unarmed, wounded combatant. But an alien? How would it behave? Especially one that looked like it could tear through a cow with those teeth.

  "Apologies . . . hatchling," the alien grunted, holding one hand to his chest. "Unsuccessful . . . was I."

  Blood leaked from the hole; not much, but from the way he was acting it might be more serious than it looked. Or it might be a trap. Pete didn't lower his pistol and kept it trained on the alien's head.

  "Apologies required, deficient intellect." The translator didn't convey much emotion, but the reptilian's body language seemed almost human. The little guy -- he couldn't have been taller than five-two, maybe five-three -- seemed distressed and resigned. And did he just call his friend an idiot? "Told you I did, did I not? Listen on next occurrence!"

  "Foolish I was, Tarva. I thought I could you protect." The big guy looked up at Pete. "For what do you wait, Farmer? The victory is yours."

  "That is not a Farmer," Tarva replied, glancing down, then looking up at Pete. "What species you are?"

  "I'm human," Pete answered. His eyes narrowed. The reptilian was kneeling behind an open crate, and . . . was he fiddling with something?

  "Eimhoomen?" Tarva repeated, tilting his head to one side. "I have never heard of that species. When join Hegemony did you?"

  "You're stalling." Pete shifted his gun to point at the reptilian. "Stand up."

  "Apologies, eimhoomen warrior." Tarva glanced down again. "I did not understand--"

  "Stand. Up. Now." Pete motioned with his pistol. Under other circumstances, he'd fire a warning shot into the crate, but he didn't want to waste the ammo.

  Then he heard it. The whirring sound he'd been ignoring increased. Karn tensed, looking at his weapon.

  "Ah, fuck." Pete shifted his aim again, this time putting a bullet into the rifle; it sparked and caused Karn to flinch away. The big alien tried to catch himself on his wounded arm, which didn't work out very well for him, and instead he collapsed to the floor with a loud and very pained grunt. Pete barely noticed, though, as he scanned above the stacks of crates for the drone.

  It came into view, very similar to the drones their captors had brought with them into the other cargo bay where they'd kept their prisoners. It was shaped roughly like the quad-copter design he was more familiar with from Earth, but with slightly-glowing tubes rather than propellers. An obvious turret rotated underneath to aim at him.

  Pete ducked back behind some crates as it fired; but the moment the lightning hit the deck where he'd been standing, he leaned out again and fired two shots. At least one of them hit. The drone started spiraling, trying to correct itself, then flipped over and crashed into the deck. The whirring noise cut off a moment later.

  "Useless void-spawned refuse," Tarva said, shoulders slumping. He raised his hands in what Pete took as surrender. "It was an attempt worth making."

  "Yeah, guess I can't blame you for that." Pete motioned with his pistol again, and this time Tarva complied.

  "What do with us will you?" Tarva asked, slowly going over to Karn. "Why do you not us kill?"

  "Rules of engagement." Pete sighed, remembering what Harpa had said. He didn't normally take prisoners. The aliens probably didn't have anything like the Geneva Conventions.

  But Pete did. And it didn't matter that he was light-years from Earth. He couldn't kill anyone who surrendered, not even aliens.

  Pete motioned again, this time toward the hatch. "Look, just go."

  The two looked at each other, confused.

  "Just get moving!" Pete yelled, pointing at the hatch with his off-hand. "Look, I get that your damn translators aren't loaded with English, but surely aliens can figure out a pointing finger, right? It's not like I'm playing charades here!"

  "You . . . want us to escape?" Tarva asked, looking at the hatch.

  "Ask not," Karn grunted, trying to lever himself up. He started to reach for his rifle, but backed off at Pete's warning glare. "Leave we should, before it changes opinion."

  "I'm a he, not an it," Pete muttered.

  "Aquatic Pete, hold."

  Pete froze, looking to his left. Sure enough, Harpa was there, though still looked unsteady on his feet.

  "Understand I do the use of deception." Harpa seemed to favor his right side as he stepped into line of sight of the two remaining pirates and lifted his rifle. "Ammunition limited yours. Doubt not your weapon now non-functional is. Here am I."

  Pete felt cold as Harpa sighted on the two pirates. "They've surrendered."

  "Agent of Orbital Combat am I, not Stellar Intelligence. No need have I for prisoners."

  "They surrendered, Harpa. You have your regulations, I have mine."

  Harpa looked sideways at Pete. "Aquatic Pete, not on your planet are you."

  "I know." Pete took a deep breath. Then he shifted his aim to line up with Harpa's skull. "But I'm a United States Marine, and I will not let you execute someone who surrendered to me."

  Harpa was silent for several moments, and the two pirates seemed to have stopped breathing too. "You employ deception."

  "No, I ain't bluffing."

  "Such would be words of one employing deception."

  "Get in!" Pete snapped at the pirates. "Get out of here! Tell them what I'm saying, Harpa."

  Harpa just looked at him. "Killing me aids not companions yours. This you know. You employ deception."

  "Tell them."

  After a moment, Harpa lowered his rifle. "This one insists you return in pod yours," he told the pirates. "His insanity aids you, but you will not be unregulated long."

  With a whimper, Karn struggled to his feet, his companion helping him as best as he could. "Come, hatchling. Hurry we must. Ask not questions where no answer is possible."

  Harpa and Pete waited in tense silence as the aliens dogged the hatch behind them. A dull thump sounded about forty seconds later, and a quick glance showed the porthole was filled only with empty darkness.

  Pete held out ten more seconds, then spoke. “I figure you're wondering what I'm going to do now.”

  “Indeed.” Harpa clearly understood how lethal the gun was. "However, if killing me was goal yours, this you would have accomplished. If escape, you would not here stand."

  “Yeah. Everything we talked about before is still accurate. I can't leave while my people are here.” Pete sighed, then slowly and carefully holstered his weapon. “They are my priority. Shooting it out with you doesn't do anyone any good.”

  “Then why let enemy live? They might harm your people later.”

  “I told you. I don't kill anyone not about to kill me or someone I'm protecting.”

  “Except I?”

  “Those guys surrendered to me. That means they were under my protection. And yes, Harpa. I would have killed you if you made me."

  "That concept unregulated is."

  "Yeah, I don't know if you can understand. Maybe I'm too alien. Or do you have something like an honor code?”

  Harpa was silent. “Translation uncertain is . . . but if correctly I understand you, there are . . . those who agree.”

  He hadn't known him for very long, but Pete thought those pauses were out of character for Harpa. They sounded more like someone trying to say yes without saying something incriminating.

  “In addition," Harpa added, "that prangalian was a female.”

  “What?”

  “Said you 'he.' My species three sexes has. That individual female was.”

  “Oh.” Paul paused. “Uh. We good?”

  “Good?”

  “Um. Are things . . . calm between us? I kinda like you, Harpa. I wouldn't have pointed a gun at you if I had a choice.”

  “Understood. We are calm.” Harpa paused, and Paul couldn't help but notice how still the alien's body language had become. “I respect you as well. You would make a good Orbital Combat Agent. If your species already integrated were, recommend you would I for consideration.”

  "Thanks." Pete decided to take that as a compliment, since it sure seemed to be Harpa's intention. "Look, I'll lead the way back to the airlock. Crisis over, so I'm your prisoner again, right?"

  "Librarian prisoner," Harpa corrected. "Prisoner taking not occupation mine."

  "Right."

  Paul frowned, noting the continued subdued body language, but chalked it up to being an alien. Sure, Harpa had had a lot of movement that seemed very human-like, but that resemblance wasn't guaranteed. He turned to walk back to the ship's interior. He wasn't exactly looking forward to their makeshift prison, but the air seemed better, and it was certainly warmer.

  He also thought it odd that Harpa hadn't demanded Pete surrender his 1911. But Harpa had said he respected Pete, and perhaps that was part of it. On Earth, it used to be the custom that an honorable enemy officer would be allowed to keep his sword if he--

  It took Pete half a second too long to recognize the charge-up whine of Harpa's weapon. The electrical blast hit him in the arm as he tried to dodge, and his attempt to drop and roll turned into just a plain old drop. For the second time that day, Pete had been tased. His head spun, his heart pounded; exhaustion and adrenaline withdrawal threatened to drag him down, but Pete forced himself to his feet again, swaying, struggling to run but only managing to catch himself on a stack of crates.

  "Apologies, Aquatic Pete." Harpa moved to follow. "As say you: I would not point weapon mine at you if a choice had I. I cannot risk justified ire yours when realize you what has occurred to companions yours."

  "The fuck are you--" Pete heard the charge-up whine again, and once again he wasn't fast enough. Muscles locked, he slammed face-down on the deck. This blast was more painful than the first; his heart felt like it was about to beat out of his chest, and he could feel himself breaking out in a sweat despite the cool air.

  "Resilient are you. Thought had I this setting was sufficient. Apologies. Hope I do that this harm is impermanent."

  Harpa charged his weapon a third time, and Pete cursed himself for thinking he could trust an alien. Then everything went black.

  wasn't written while suffering from badly-medicated heart issues that kept me from concentrating well. I have no excuse here other than that I really, really wanted to pack in some stuff. I'd asked on the Discord server if I should split it, and the near-unanimous verdict (even when I said I'd post the second half on the next Monday, so you guys would get updates on three Mondays in a row) was "we want what best serves the story." And I thought it fit best to have it all at once.

  possible that I'll have to skip the April 28 update. I stress that it is possible. The reason is that my mother has had her third hospitalization in as many months, and my father (who is on chemo for a non-aggressive cancer and just had a narrow brush with a pulmonary embolism) can't help her like he used to. My brother and his family and some others have been helping out, and I kept getting told that I don't need to come up there; but things have changed a bit and I'll be going up there next month. I may be taking my two older boys with me so they can spend some time with their grandparents and vice versa. If so, minding them (they're 5 and 3) while helping out means I won't get any writing done for about two weeks.

  need to reread Chapter Two, but one of your number has already had some speculation about that . . . stay tuned!