Once the last of the scourge-ships had vanished and the wormholes were closed, Shall directed their ship toward the White Raven. They underestimated us, Shall thought, but that’s the kind of advantage we probably only get once.

  “You actually made it out,” Kaustikos said on Shall’s comms. “I thought I was going to have to save the galaxy myself.”

  “Good job leading the bad guys on a merry chase.” Shall wasn’t averse to giving credit where it was due. “Where are you?”

  “Lurking near your ship. Where did all the other ships go?”

  “They’re trying hard to become a black hole. Lurk a little closer. We’re headed to the ship now.”

  They reached the White Raven without incident and got on board. The general mood was one of exhausted jubilation. Shall’s mind on the war drone connected with Shall’s mind on the ship and merged their memories, then climbed into his spot in the launch tube and powered down.

  “Hey Shall.” Callie looked at the empty shipyard through the cockpit windows. “I wonder if we missed an opportunity here. Could we have ported your mind over to a few of the scourge-ships and made a little fleet of our own?”

  “The same idea occurred to me,” Shall said. “Unfortunately, though they’re sophisticated engines of war, packed full of nasty weapons, they aren’t hospitable environments for my consciousness. Those ships don’t have the storage capacity or processing power I need to operate. It would be like trying to copy my mind onto a toaster or an exercise bike. Ashok had to customize the war drone so I could load a local copy of myself onto it, instead of just piloting it remotely. He could maybe customize a scourge-ship the same way, given time, but…”

  “Who has time. Oh well. I liked the idea of a whole fleet of heavily armed yous at my side. We’ll just have to muddle along. Ashok, is the bridge generator ready to go?”

  “It is, cap. Where to? I assume we aren’t heading home.”

  “Tempting as it is to go back and muster up an armada, we don’t have any way to get them here except through the main bridge, and I’m guessing that’s pretty well guarded. Plus, we’d have a hard time convincing the Imperative officials that we aren’t insane. As always, it’s up to us, but maybe we can scare up a little help. Let’s jaunt over to Niflheim and see if we can meet some of these rebels I’ve heard so much about.”

  Niflheim wasn’t as close to the Vanir system’s sun as Vanaheim, though it had a thicker atmosphere that made it warm enough to sustain human life, at least in the equatorial regions. The planet was by all accounts less pleasant than Vanaheim, which early colonial propaganda materials had described as an Edenic natural paradise (they left out the parts about giant tapeworms).

  Niflheim, by contrast, was rockier, colder, and altogether harsher, but rich enough in minerals to make it an ideal site for resource exploitation. Humans had established a few mining facilities there, and Callie guessed the rebels were using some of those as bases. Even if the Exalted did want to root the rebels out, the fight would ultimately come down to individual combat in tunnels the humans knew better and had ample time to harden against an invasion. So as far as strongholds went, the mining facilities were effective. Of course, the Exalted probably had the weapons necessary to literally destroy the planet itself, but they hadn’t – either they wanted to keep it around for its resources, or blowing it up risked damaging neighboring Vanaheim, or Metcalf’s ridiculous story about the Exalted wanting another cache of isolated human genetic material was true.

  Once they reached Niflheim’s orbit – the planet was shrouded in gray clouds and Shall told them Niflheim meant something like ‘world of fog’ – Callie had Janice beam transmissions toward all the mining facilities within range. “This is Captain Kalea Machedo, from Earth’s solar system. I have reason to believe there are human resistance fighters within the sound of my voice. If so, I’d like to talk to whoever’s in charge about lending you my aid against the Exalted.”

  They floated for fifteen minutes, and Callie was about to transmit again, more emphatically, when someone hailed them. A woman’s low, thoughtful voice said, “Captain Machedo, did you say you’re from Earth? How did you get past the blockade at the bridge?”

  “We didn’t come through the front door. Our ship has the same wormhole technology the scourge-ships do. We came to see what’s going on in this system, and I have to say, we don’t much like what we found.”

  “We don’t much like it, either. We’ve never seen a ship like yours before, which supports your story, but some of my friends aren’t so trusting. They want proof that you’re on our side.”

  Callie had anticipated that. “Well,” she said, “do you know a guy named Doctor Metcalf?”

  “The Butcher?” she said. “Head of the Scourge Station’s surgical division? The one who turns humans into brain-wiped chimera pilots?”

  “That sounds like our guy.” Callie pulled up a camera view of the good doctor brooding in the infirmary. “We captured him, and we’ve got him trussed up in our medical bay now. Transmitting you a live feed. The person watching over him is my engineer Ashok. Why don’t you tell him to do something so you know we’re transmitting in real time?”

  “Uh… spin around in a circle?” the voice said.

  Ashok obligingly did a twirling pirouette.

  “Satisfied?” Callie said.

  “Of course not. This could still be a ploy. But… we’re interested enough to take the next step. Do you have a landing vessel?”

  “That we do.”

  “We’ll send you coordinates. Bring the doctor, if you would. We’re excited to spend some time with him.”

  CHAPTER 16

  Callie took Elena and Ashok with her on the canoe, leaving Kaustikos, Lantern, Drake, and Janice on the ship. She would have taken Lantern with her, but she worried the human rebels would react badly to the sight of one of the ‘Exalted’ in their midst.

  When Metcalf realized where they were headed, he became… resistant, tearing loose from his straps and smashing up a terminal before Ashok zapped him into quiescence again. Elena considered sedating him, but worried his partially alien biochemistry might interact badly with drugs meant for humans. She monitored his vital signs as best she could, though they were strange. His base temperature ran hotter than most humans, and she suspected his metabolic rate was higher, too. He probably had to eat a lot in order to run all those extra limbs.

  The xenobiologist in her couldn’t resist examining him as much as she was able. As far as she could tell, he’d lost everything from the waist down, even sacrificing his reproductive organs, or rather replacing them with a Liar-like cloaca nestled at the center of the forest of a dozen tentacles. Eight of the pseudopods were the thicker, less dexterous sort, necessary to bear up his weight, while the other four were delicate and feathered with cilia that doubtless improved their gripping power, or perhaps included additional sense organs. Without scanning equipment, she couldn’t tell what internal changes he had, but he must have altered his digestive system at the very least, and there were surely changes to his nervous system to allow him to operate those new limbs–

  “They’ll kill me,” Metcalf said, and Elena jerked away from where he lay strapped in the back of the canoe. He shook his head tiredly. “I’m not going to attack you. You’re taking me to the rebels, I assume. As proof of your allegiance to their cause.”

  “They called you the Butcher,” she said.

  “Never. Never that. I am a surgeon. I don’t make meat. The Exalted don’t eat us. They try to elevate us.”

  “How many people died in the course of developing those elevations?” Elena said. “Dozens? Scores? Hundreds? Didn’t you take an oath, to first do no harm?”

  “Those oaths were only binding in another world, Dr Oh. I was trying to preserve the greater good. If I could convince the Exalted that humans could be useful, that we could serve as colleagues and peers as well as experimental subjects, wasn’t that better for my people, in the long run?”

  “It’s been a pretty long run already, Doctor Metcalf. A hundred years.”

  “All the choices I made seemed sensible at the time. I suppose I might have damned myself by centimeters, but looking back, I don’t know what I could have done differently, without…”

  “Without becoming an experimental subject yourself?”

  “Oh, I was that anyway. Do you think I wanted to trade in the legs I’d walked on my entire life for these alien appendages? Do you think I sacrificed my manhood – not to be crude, but my cock? – with enthusiasm? At a certain point I had to demonstrate my loyalty to the program. My total investment. Such proofs were required to rise in the ranks. There are no pure humans at all on the third level or above – if you aren’t dedicated enough to become a chimera, you aren’t dedicated enough for such responsibilities.”

  “You betrayed your people,” Elena said. “Those people will be the ones to pass judgment on you. I’m sorry.” She was, but not as sorry as she would have expected. Metcalf was loathsome and self-serving and he clearly loved his work too much for her to spare him much empathy. She’d learned a long time ago that nice and cheerful didn’t equal good. Sometimes they were just costumes evil wore.

  “What did your captain mean, about, what did she call them, the Axiom?”

  Elena considered whether there was any reason to withhold the truth from him, and couldn’t think of any. “There are other intelligent aliens besides the Liars. An ancient race, called the Axiom, who had unimaginable technology and power, ruled an empire that spanned the galaxy. They built the wormhole bridges, among other things. The Liars were their slaves and servants. The Axiom empire dwindled as they warred among themselves, and most of them went into hibernation thousands of years ago. They’re dormant, not dead, just waiting for various long-term, universe-altering projects to come to fruition – sort of like your Exalted leaving Vanaheim to itself for a couple of hundred years to see what evolution could do with their subjects.

  “We’ve been destroying the works of the Axiom when we can, because if the Axiom wake up and discover humanity they’ll try to wipe us out, and if any of their experiments succeed that won’t be good for people, either. Some of the Liars are still devoted to their old masters, and protect their projects. We suspect the Liars here are working on some Axiom project. It’s why I asked you what all these experiments were for – we think there’s a deeper purpose at work, something to do with an Axiom plot to control the galaxy again, or survive the end of this universe, or move into another.”

  “Incredible,” Metcalf said. “I’ve overheard Shaper and his colleagues talking about failed experiments, or some protocol or another that wasn’t as successful as they’d hoped… they always went silent if they noticed me listening. I wonder if it’s something to do with these Axiom?”

  “If so, I’m sure we’ll find out.”

  The canoe settled down on the surface of Niflheim with a thump, and Callie came to the back of the canoe. “I see the bad doctor is conscious. Can you move under your own power, or should we drag you by your hair?”

  “I can walk.” Metcalf spoke with great dignity. “You do know, I hope, that you are delivering me to my execution.”

  “That saves me the trouble of putting you out an airlock myself,” Callie said. Elena winced. Her lover wasn’t as hard-hearted as she liked to pretend, but she wasn’t as soft-hearted as Elena herself was. “Up and at ’em, slithers.” Callie drew her sidearm but didn’t point it. She didn’t really need to. “You get out first.”

  Ashok lowered the canoe’s ramp and Metcalf unsteadily stumbled down to the surface of Niflheim. Elena went down beside Callie, with Ashok taking the rear. The air was cool, the sky gray and cloudy, and the ground gray and rocky. The place did smell a little like vinegar.

  Three people stood a hundred meters away, dressed in coats and scarves in shades of gray that blended with the environment. One of them came forward, some kind of rifle slung over his back, and the other two held their position, pointing similar weapons in the Butcher’s direction. The man pulled his scarf down, revealing a middle-aged face, lined and sun-darkened, with pale, mistrustful eyes.

  “Captain Machedo?” he called.

  “That’s me. This is my executive officer, Doctor Oh, and my engineer, Ashok.”

  “Is he… some kind of android? Do we have androids back in the world now?”

  There were certainly some AI who remotely operated humanoid robotic bodies, though Shall couldn’t understand why anyone would choose such a limited shape, but Callie just said, “No, he’s a cyborg. Augmented human.”

  The man made a face like he’d tasted something sour. “We don’t like augmentations much around here.”

  “Nobody strapped me down and grafted these parts onto me against my will,” Ashok said. “Just think of them like prosthetic legs, except it’s a prosthetic face and arm and other stuff. Plus also legs.”

  The man grunted. He looked at Metcalf, who stared back at him, face pale and sweaty. “I’m Wilfred Burkhart,” the man said. “My parents were colonists who came through the wormhole gate and I was born free right here on Niflheim. I’ve never seen the inside of one of the Butcher’s labs, but I’ve got friends who have. Welcome, doctor. I hope you don’t enjoy your stay.” He reached into a pouch at his belt and drew out what looked like an oversized silver bracelet. “Recognize this?”

  Metcalf tried to run away, and Ashok tased him, making him shudder and shiver and slump, his nest of tentacles twitching wildly.

  “Guess he does.” Wilfred moved forward swiftly and closed the bracelet – no, it was a collar – around Metcalf’s neck, then stepped back. He turned to the crew. “The Butcher and his friends put those on the prisoners in their labs. The collars collect and transmit vital signs and all kinds of medical data, but they also deliver debilitating shocks. There are little needles inside for drawing blood, but if need be, those little needles become long needles, and either kill the subjects, or sever their spinal cords, so they’re paralyzed from the neck down. Isn’t that right, Butcher?”

  Metcalf was recovering from being tased, but his eyes were still glassy. “I… I don’t…”

  Wilfred spat. “He convinced the first prisoners to put them on. Him, personally. ‘They’re just heart rate monitors,’ he’d say. ‘They read the pulse in your neck. Don’t worry about them.’ That was back when he still had human parts downstairs, of course. Nobody would believe him now. We all know better. But he got promoted out of the fourth rank and into the third, running his own facility, so he had other traitors to do the smiling and lying for him after that. There are human workers in his labs who were raised there since they were babies, who think it’s right for them to be experimental subjects, who’ve been indoctrinated to believe they’re serving some greater purpose. Sometimes we rescue them, and bring them here, and they try to escape from us, to go back to the labs, to the ‘doctors’ they think of as parents.” He spat again, this time on the doctor’s tentacles.

  “Are you going to kill me?” Doctor Metcalf said.

  “That’s not entirely up to me,” Wilfred said. “Which is why you aren’t dead already. You’ll have to give us a really good reason to keep you alive, though. Like actionable intelligence about the Execrable and their facilities. You’ve risen as high as anyone born human can in their society, so I’m sure you have lots of interesting things to tell us. You’re an experienced traitor, so I’m sure you can turn on your new masters the way you turned on your fellow humans all those years ago. As long as you’re useful, you’ll continue to draw air.” He turned to his companions. “He’s pacified. Take him to holding. I’ll stay with our guests.” The other humans nodded, and one held up a remote control and waggled it at Metcalf, who bowed his head and went meekly toward them. They walked around a boulder and didn’t reappear on the other side.

  Wilfred guided them in a different direction, to a different boulder. He kicked a spot on the rock’s base and the boulder slid aside, revealing a set of metal stairs leading steeply down. He led them into the depths, and the rock slid shut over them, the darkness triggering lights that ran along the walls. “This isn’t our main base – we wouldn’t risk bringing you there – just a supply cache, but there are viewscreens below so I can liaise with the other leaders of the resistance.”

  “I love liaising,” Callie said. “I could do it for hours. I don’t guess you want to tell me about your troop strength and so on, give me an idea of what we’re working with here?”

  “Let’s be a little bit vague for now. Giving us Metcalf is an awfully nice gesture of goodwill, but we have to be cautious. We’ve had issues with infiltrators in the past, and while giving up Metcalf seems like a sacrifice the Exalted wouldn’t make willingly, who knows? Maybe he fucked up and they’re sacrificing him as part of a plot to make us reveal our secrets to you.”

  “I like you,” Callie said.

  He glanced over his shoulder at her, eyes twinkling. “Oh? Why’s that?”

  You’d better not try flirting with her, Elena thought.

  “Because she’s a deeply suspicious person who always thinks the worst of everybody, too,” Ashok said.

  Wilfred chuckled. He keyed open a solid metal door and shooed them through, then locked it again. The door sealed, Elena thought, with a very definitive thunk. He led them down a dimly lit hallway and into a room that had been repurposed from a storage space to a conference room, with a few beaten-up chairs arrayed around a scuffed table that held a few ancient viewscreens. They didn’t have fully immersive virtual reality conferencing systems around here, she supposed.

  Wilfred told them to take seats and tossed them bulbs of water that smelled strongly of minerals. They let Ashok sample his first – he had sensors in his tongue that could detect sedatives or toxins, and filters to survive drinking them, and he gave them a discreet nod. Elena drank gratefully. Just being on the arid, acrid surface for a few minutes had made her parched. Wilfred sat in a chair at the head of the table and regarded them, hands laced across his stomach. With his hood off she could see he was fair-haired as well as light-eyed, probably in his early fifties, with a face that looked stone-carved. “So. The humans out in the world figured out how to make portable wormhole generators, finally?”