The Human Division #11: A Problem of Proportion Read Free Page A

that the Urse Damay is dead.”
    “Incapacitated at the very least,” Fotew said. “And not a threat in any event.”
    “Then I have a suggestion,” Wilson said.
    “Please,” Sorvalh said.
    “I think it might be time for a joint field trip,” Wilson said.

    “Don’t do anything fancy,” Hart Schmidt said to Wilson. The two of them were in the Clarke shuttle bay. The Nurimal ’s shuttle, with its pilot and two Conclave military, was waiting for Wilson to board. “Look around, see what you can find out, get out of there.”
    “I want to know when it was you became my mother,” Wilson said.
    “You keep doing crazy things,” Schmidt said. “And then you keep roping me into them with you.”
    “Someone else can monitor me if you want,” Wilson said.
    “Don’t be stupid, Harry,” Schmidt said. He checked Wilson’s combat suit a second time. “You’ve checked your oxygen supply.”
    “It’s being constantly monitored by my BrainPal,” Wilson said. “Plus the combat suit is configured for a vacuum environment. Plus I can hold my breath for ten minutes at a time. Please, Hart. You’re my friend, but I’m going to have to kill you.”
    “All right. Sorry,” Schmidt said. “I’ll be following you from the bridge. Keep your audio and visual circuits open. Coloma and Abumwe will be there, too, if you have any questions for them and vice versa.”
    “Just who I want in my head,” Wilson said.
    One of the Conclave soldiers, a Lalan, poked his head out of the shuttle and motioned to Wilson. “That’s my ride,” he said.
    Schmidt peered at the soldier. “Watch out for these guys,” he said.
    “They’re not going to kill me, Hart,” Wilson said. “That would look bad.”
    “One day you’re going to be wrong about these things,” Schmidt said.
    “When I am, hope that I’m very far away from you,” Wilson said. Schmidt grinned at this and headed back to the shuttle bay control room.
    Wilson entered the shuttle. The pilot and one of the soldiers were Lalan, like Sorvalh and Captain Fotew. The other was a Fflict, a squat, hairy race. It motioned to Wilson to have a seat. He did and stowed his MP-35 beneath his feet.
    “We have translation circuits built into our suits,” the Fflict said, in its own language, while a translation came through a speaker on its belt. “You can speak your language and we’ll get a translation through our audio feed.”
    “Likewise,” Wilson said, and pointed to the speaker. “You can turn that off if you like. I’ll still be able to understand you just fine.”
    “Good,” the Fflict said, and turned off the speaker. “I hate the way that thing makes me sound.” It held up a hand and contracted the appendages twice, in a greeting. “I’m Lieutenant Navill Werd.” It pointed toward the Lalans. “Pilot Urgrn Howel, Corporal Lesl Carn.”
    “Lieutenant Harry Wilson,” Wilson said.
    “Have you been in a vacuum environment before?” Werd asked.
    “Once or twice,” Wilson said.
    “Good,” Werd said. “Now, listen. This is a joint mission, but someone has to be in charge, and I’m going to propose that it’s me, on account that I’m already supposed to be in charge of these two, and it’s my shuttle besides. Any objection?”
    Wilson grinned. “No, sir.”
    “Wrong gender,” Werd said. “But your ‘ma’am’ doesn’t exactly work either, so you might as well keep calling me ‘sir.’ No need to make things complicated.”
    “Yes, sir,” Wilson said.
    “Right, let’s get this thing moving,” Werd said, then turned to nod at his pilot. The pilot zipped up the shuttle and signaled to the Clarke that they were ready to depart; the Clarke started the purge cycle for the bay. Corporal Carn eased himself into the co-pilot’s seat.
    “This is my first time working with a human,” Werd said, to Wilson.
    “How’s it going so far?” Wilson asked.
    “Not bad,” Werd said. “You’re kind of ugly, though.”
    “I get that a lot,”