A Learning Experience

Chapter Two

Fnfian Horde Warcruiser Shadow Warrior

Earth Orbit

The interior of the alien craft was oddly disappointing. Steve had been expecting something thoroughly… alien, but instead it looked more like the interior of a military transport aircraft, one of the planes that moved US troops from one trouble spot to another. There were no seats, no portholes… the aliens motioned for the humans to stand up against the bulkhead, then stepped backwards, keeping their weird eyes firmly fixed on their captives. Steve watched them back, feeling a cold burning hatred burning through his mind. There would be an opportunity to strike…

An odd sensation washed over him as the craft shuddered slightly, then faded away into nothingness. A faint whine echoed through the cabin — he looked towards the far bulkhead and noted the hatch there, which he assumed led to the cockpit — but there was no other sound. In some ways, it was better than any of the transport aircraft he’d endured in his long military career. But the whining sound might prove to be more irritating, in the long run, than the roar of an aircraft’s engines.

“No acceleration,” Mongo muttered, through clenched teeth. “Are we actually moving?”

Steve thought back to all the science-fiction books he’d read. Logically, if the craft was flying back out into space, there should be some sense of acceleration. But they weren’t being pushed down to the ground by an irresistible force. It suggested the aliens had some form of internal compensation protecting the craft’s passengers, which made a certain kind of sense. The interior of the craft certainly didn’t look as though it was designed for spaceflight without a compensator.

“I think so,” he said. Any doubts he might have had about the experience being real had faded with Vincent’s death. No TV producer would kill someone just to add extra realism to a TV show. The very thought was sickening. “We must be going up to the mothership.”

“Or maybe this is their starship,” Kevin suggested. “For all we know, this is their version of a Hercules.”

Steve shrugged, then looked back at the aliens. They looked oddly uncomfortable — he had to remind himself, again, not to read anything human into their movements — as the craft powered away from Earth. Their legs moved and twitched constantly, their eyes blinking rapidly; he couldn’t help wondering if they were used to flying. There were strong men who whimpered when their transport aircraft hit a particularly nasty patch of turbulence, yet surely the aliens had plenty of experience with their spacecraft. Or was he misreading them completely. It wasn’t as if most humans could remain still indefinitely.

The craft shuddered slightly, the gravity field — something else they had that humans lacked — growing weaker. Steve looked at the aliens, noted how they seemed more comfortable and wondered if they had evolved on a low-gravity world. Their spider-like appearance probably couldn’t have evolved on Earth, where there were very real limits to the size of spiders and crabs. Or maybe the aliens were the products of genetic engineering and splicing. Someone with the right science and not enough scruples might manage to create their very own warrior race. It was the theme of a dozen SF television shows he’d watched.

A dull thump ran through the craft, then the faint whine faded away to nothingness. They had arrived at their destination, Steve realised, but where were they? A mothership? The moon? Another star system entirely? If he’d been invited to come with the aliens, he knew he would have accepted without a second thought. The chance to see another star system was not something he could have let pass. But instead they were prisoners.

The hatch opened and, for a moment, the aliens were distracted. Steve moved without thinking, all of the tension in his soul unleashing itself in one smooth moment. His brothers and Charles followed as he lunged into the aliens. One alien weapon fired, scorching the bulkhead, but the others were unable to fire before the humans were on top of them. Steve lashed out with all his strength, aiming for the thin alien necks. One by one, the aliens were overwhelmed and killed. The unarmed alien was the last to die.

“Interesting,” Mongo said. “Look.”

Steve followed his gaze. The silver band on the alien’s head had detached itself and fallen to the deck. There was something about it that called to him; he found himself reaching for the band without being quite aware of what he was doing. It tingled when he touched it, as if it carried a faint electric charge…

“Grab their weapons,” Charles snapped. His voice brought Steve back to reality, back to the fact that they were trapped in an unknown location. In hindsight, they might have picked the wrong time and place to fight back. “Come on!”

He led the way through the hatch. Steve followed, one hand still gripping the silver band. Outside, there was a large shuttlebay, crammed with a dozen craft identical to the one that had taken them from Earth. A handful of aliens milled about, staring at the humans in disbelief. Some of them started to reach for their weapons, others ran for the hatches or dived into their smaller shuttlecraft. Steve couldn’t help noticing, as they fired on the armed aliens, that there was something odd about the hatches, as if they hadn’t been designed for their alien enemies. They were too narrow for the aliens to move through comfortably. Coming to think of it, he realised as he opened fire, the hatches were tall enough for a creature twice as tall as the average human.

“So,” Mongo said. “Where now?”

Steve laughed. “Fucked if I know,” he said. There was another electric tingle from the band, which had wrapped itself around his wrist. “I…”

“So we go onwards,” Charles said. He led them towards the largest hatch, weapon in hand. “We’ll find a way out of here somehow.”

There was a third tingle from the band. Steve stopped, staring at it, then felt an irresistible compulsion to put the band on his head. Slowly, not quite aware of what he was doing, he followed the compulsion. A stab of pain flashed through his head, then…

“Connection established,” a cold voice said.

“They broke free!”

“Yes,” Cn!lss said. It never failed to amuse him just how many of his superiors felt the urge to point out the obvious. But then, most of their subordinates were so stupid it probably needed to be pointed out, time and time again. “They are currently expanding out of the shuttlebay into the lower levels of the ship.”

The Subhorde Commander slammed his claws against his carapace, a gesture of fury — and maybe just a little fear. “Send two hordes to intercept and exterminate them,” he ordered. “We can take other subjects from their homeworld afterwards.”

Cn!lss understood the fear. The Varnar cyborgs were devilishly effective on the battlefield, striking fear into the hearts of their enemies. Everyone had assumed that the cyborgs were programmed to be so effective — primitive races were not protected against the meddling of their superiors — but what if such fighting prowess was natural to the human race? If that was the case, the Subhorde Commander was in real trouble. He’d taken a group of deadly warriors onto his starship!

And if he lost the ship, all of his family connections wouldn’t save him from savage punishment.

“You’ll have to send the orders,” he reminded his superior. “They don’t listen to me.”

“Connection established,” the voice repeated. “Species 8472; designate human. Direct neural link activated. Awaiting orders.”

“Awaiting orders?” Steve repeated. “What orders?”

Kevin turned to face him. “Steve? What’s happening?”

“I can hear a voice,” Steve said. He reached up to touch the headband and discovered that it seemed to have merged permanently against his skin. It felt weird, yet somehow natural to the touch. “Can’t you hear it?”

Kevin shook his head. Further down the corridor, Charles took up a defensive position, backed up by Mongo, and prepared to hold their position against a charging line of enemy warriors. They didn’t seem very experienced, part of Steve’s mind noted; they were charging towards the humans as if they were unaware that the humans were armed with their own weapons. Even the Taliban had eventually leant the folly of mass human wave attacks. But it added yet another piece of the puzzle concerning the aliens. Steve just wished he understood what it meant.

“What are you?” He asked, touching the headband. “And what’s happening to me?”

“This unit is a direct neural interface linked to the current starship’s computer nodes,” the voice said. “The interface has currently linked into your mind, providing direct access to the computer systems.”

Steve blinked. “What?”

“This unit is a direct neural interface linked to the current starship’s computer nodes,” the voice repeated. There was no hint of patience or impatience, merely… a complete lack of emotion. “The interface has currently linked into your mind, providing direct access to the computer systems.”

“I see, I think,” Steve said. “Why did the link interface with me?”

“You donned the neural link,” the voice said. “The link activated automatically.”

“I felt compelled to put it on,” Steve said. There was no response. For a moment, that alarmed him, then he realised he hadn’t asked a question. “Why was I compelled to wear the neural link?”

“The device is designed to attract attention from cleared users,” the voice informed him. It was an alarmingly vague answer — how was the attention actually attracted? — but he had a feeling he wouldn’t be able to get much more out of the system. “You were the closest to the neural interface when it separated itself from the previous user.”

“Wait a second,” Steve said. “I’m a cleared user?”

“There is no specified list of cleared users,” the voice stated. “All compatible mentalities may claim full access to the control systems, should they don the link.”

Steve fought down an insane urge to giggle. All of a sudden, it made sense. “They didn’t build this ship, did they?”

“Clarify,” the voice ordered.

“The aliens who kidnapped us,” Steve said, more carefully. “They didn’t build this ship or their weapons, did they?”

“Affirmative,” the voice said. “This starship was constructed by the Tokomak and passed though seven successive owners before finally being purchased by the Horde.”

Steve shuddered. The Horde. Even the name conjured up bad impressions.

The deck shook, snapping him back to reality. He was dimly aware of the neural interface retreating into the back of his mind as he looked around and realised that the next group of aliens charging at them were proving smarter. They were hurling grenade-like objects down the corridor ahead of their charge. He lifted the alien weapon, found the firing stud and pushed it, hard. The weapon had no recoil, just flashes of deadly light. He couldn’t help wondering just what operating principles it used as he fired. Plasma? Laser? Directed energy? Or something unimagined by humans?

He shook his head. There was no way to know.

Or was there? He had the neural interface.

“We’re going to have to fall back,” Charles shouted. An alien howled further down the corridor, then fell flat on his face. One of his fellows shot him in the back, then kept charging towards the human position. “We can’t stay here!”

“No, we can’t,” Steve agreed. But they had nowhere to go. Once they were back in the shuttlebay, they would be trapped… “Unless…”

He accessed the interface again, watching with some alarm as the real world started to gray out around him. “What sort of access do I have?”

“Complete,” the voice said.

“All right,” Steve said. “Are there any measures we can take against life forms on this ship?”

There was a pause. “All direct measures will exterminate all life forms,” the voice warned. “It would not be advisable.”

Steve swore, mentally. “How can we remove the non-human life forms from this ship?”

“Teleporters can remove non-human life forms from this ship,” the voice informed him. “Do you wish to use them?”

“They have teleporters?” Steve said, out loud. “Why didn’t they just beam us up from Earth?”

“Unknown,” the voice stated.

Steve gathered himself. Whatever he was talking to, it sounded more like a glorified user interface than a genuine AI. The wrong orders could easily get them killed along with their alien enemies. And he wasn’t sure if the whole system was actually what it claimed to be too. What sort of idiot let a direct link to their computer nodes fall into enemy hands? But it wouldn’t be the first time a primitive civilisation had purchased something without ever quite knowing how to use it.

“I want you to teleport all non-human life forms into open space,” he ordered. He couldn’t resist the next word. “Energise.”

“Teleport safety protocols need to be disengaged,” the voice informed him.

“Disengage them,” Steve snapped.

“Teleport safety protocols disengaged,” the voice said. “Teleport sequence activating… now.”

Steve looked up, just in time to see the horde of charging aliens dissolve into silver light and vanish. He felt his mouth drop open as he realised just what had happened… and just how simple it had been to remove all of the aliens. And easy…

“The world just changed,” Charles said. He sounded as shocked as Steve felt. “What happened?”

“One moment,” Steve said. He linked back into the neural interface. “Have all of the aliens been removed?”

“Negative,” the voice said. “One alien remains.”

“Then point us to his position,” Steve ordered.

Cn!lss had had bare seconds to react when the teleporters had activated. He’d grabbed the terminal that was his badge of rank — and his curse, when the warriors were sharing lies about their glorious exploits — and activated its transmitter, praying desperately that the starship’s designers had been as paranoid about safety as they usually were. The signal had disrupted the teleport lock, preventing the teleporters from snatching him off the bridge and depositing him… somewhere. None of the others on the bridge had been so lucky. The Subhorde Commander had been the first to vanish in silver light.

What a shame, part of Cn!lss’s mind insisted. He’d hated his commander, even though he knew it could easily have been worse. But the human intruders, the humans who were clearly born warriors where the Hordesmen were brawlers, had not only managed to take control of the ship, they’d wiped out all but one of her crew. Would they be worse than the Hordesmen? Or would they see the value in keeping Cn!lss alive?

He carefully pranced away from his console and waited, in the centre of the bridge. It took longer than he’d expected for the humans to appear, stepping through the hatch weapons in hand. Cn!lss couldn’t help noticing that they held the captured weapons as if they knew how to use them, even though they wouldn’t have even seen them until bare hours ago. The humans were true warriors, he realised now; they’d adapted far quicker than any of the Horde when they’d first been confronted with advanced technology.

They were staggeringly ugly creatures, he decided, as the humans closed in on him. Two legs, soft pale skin, tiny little eyes… and yet they’d managed to overwhelm seven Hordesmen in unarmed combat. Carefully, he raised his maniples, hoping they were civilised enough to take prisoners. The Horde rarely took prisoners. It was one of the reasons they were utterly unwelcome on most civilised worlds.

One of the humans growled at him. It was several seconds before the translator provided a translation. “Keep your hands where we can see them.”

Cn!lss obeyed, shaking. Human hands poked at his carapace — they were stronger than he’d realised — and carefully removed everything from his terminal to his badge of rank, such as it was. For a moment, he was convinced they were actually going to pull his shell apart, but they relaxed and let it go when they realised it was actually part of his body. The humans, it seemed, wore protective clothing at all times. But what else would one expect from born warriors?

“If you cooperate, you will be treated decently,” one of the humans said, finally. “If you try to escape, you will be killed.”

“I understand,” Cn!lss said, quickly. It was better than his treatment in the Horde. “I will cooperate.”

“Good,” the human said. “But for the moment, we will put you in a small cabin and hold you there.”

Steve looked around the bridge and knew that he’d been right, even before the neural interface had confirmed it. The aliens hadn’t designed the ship themselves; hell, their consoles were clearly designed for a humanoid race, rather than a six-legged crab-like race from Hell. They must have found it more than a little uncomfortable, he decided, as he strode over to the central chair and looked down at it. That, at least, had been designed for the aliens. It looked absurdly like a throne suitable for a crab.

He sniffed the air, experimentally. There was a faint stench of rotting meat in the air, but nothing else. As far as he could tell, the atmosphere was breathable, although he made a mental note to check that as soon as possible. And to explore the rest of the ship… his ship. He found himself grinning as he realised what they’d done. They’d captured an interstellar starship and the way to the stars lay open, right in front of them.

“Well,” Mongo said. “What do we do now?”

Steve sighed. There was work to be done. “We research,” he said. They’d have to find several more neural interfaces, although he suspected they needed a rule that barred more than one or two people from using them at the same time. “And then we make plans.”