A Problem of Proportion Read online

  “I imagine I could,” Wilson said. “Or at the very least I could try.”

  For your trouble, let me offer you this.

  There was a data ping on Wilson’s BrainPal: an encrypted file, in a format he wasn’t familiar with.

  When I had completed my mission—when I had killed your ship and the Conclave ship—I was to feed this into the ship’s guidance system. It’s coordinates for my return trip. Maybe you’ll find whoever’s behind this there.

  “Thank you,” Wilson said. “That’s incredibly helpful.”

  When you find them, blow them up a little for me.

  Wilson grinned. “You got it,” he said.

  There’s not much time before the emergency power is entirely used up.

  “I’ll have to leave you,” Wilson said. “Which means that no matter what happens I’m not coming back.”

  I wouldn’t want you here no matter what happens. You’ll stay in contact with me?

  “Yes, of course,” Wilson said.

  Then you should go now. And hurry, because there’s not a lot of time left.

  “This isn’t going to be a popular sentiment, but he’s going to die anyway,” said Captain Fotew. “We don’t have to expend the effort.”

  “Are you suddenly on a budget, Captain?” Wilson asked. “Can the Conclave no longer afford a missile or a particle beam?” They were on the bridge of the Nurimal, along with Abumwe and Sorvalh.

  “I said it wouldn’t be a popular sentiment,” Fotew said. “But someone ought to point it out, at least.”

  “Rayth Ablant has given us vital information about the whereabouts of the people directing him,” Wilson said, and pointed toward the bridge’s communications and science station, where the science officer was already busily attempting to crack the encryption on the orders. “He’s been cooperative with us since our engagement with his ship.”

  “It’s not as if he had much of a choice in that,” Fotew said.

  “Of course he had a choice,” Wilson said. “If he hadn’t signaled to Corporal Carn, we wouldn’t know he was there. We wouldn’t know that some organization out there is taking the Conclave’s missing ships and turning them into glorified armed drones. We wouldn’t know that whoever this group is, they’re a threat to both the Conclave and the Colonial Union equally. And we wouldn’t know that neither of our governments is engaging in a stealth war with the other.”

  “We still don’t know that last one, Lieutenant Wilson,” Sorvalh said. “Because we still don’t know the who. We still don’t know the players in this game.”

  “Not yet,” Wilson said, motioning back to the science station. “But depending how good your code cracker is over there, this may be a temporary problem. And for the moment, at least, our governments are sharing information, since you’ve gotten that information from me.”

  “But this is a problem of proportion, isn’t it?” Sorvalh said. “Is what we learn from you going to be worth everything we’ve expended to learn it? Is what we lose by granting Rayth Ablant his death more than we gain by, for example, what remains of his box when the explosion is over? There’s still a lot we could learn from the debris.”

  Wilson looked over to Abumwe pleadingly. “Councillor,” Abumwe said, “not too long ago you chose to surrender your vessel to us. Lieutenant Wilson here refused your surrender. You praised him for his thinking then. Consider his thinking now.”

  “Consider his thinking?” Sorvalh said, to Abumwe. “Or give him a decision on credit, because of a presumed debt to him?”

  “I would prefer the first,” Abumwe said. “I would take the second, however.”

  Sorvalh smiled at this, looked over to Wilson and then to Fotew. “Captain?”

  “I think it’s a waste,” Fotew said. “But it’s your call to make, Councillor.”

  “Prepare a missile,” Sorvalh said. Captain Fotew turned to do her bidding; Sorvalh turned her attention back to Wilson. “You used your credit with me, Lieutenant,” she said. “Let’s hope that in the future you don’t have cause to wish you had spent it on something else.”

  Wilson nodded and opened up a channel to the Urse Damay. “Rayth Ablant,” he said.

  I am here, came back the text.

  “I’ve gotten you what you wanted,” Wilson said.

  Just in time. I am down to the last 2 percent of my power.

  “Missile prepped and ready for launch,” Captain Fotew said, to Sorvalh. Sorvalh nodded to Wilson.

  “Just tell me when you want it,” Wilson said.

  Now is good.

  Wilson nodded to Fotew. “Fire,” she said, to her weapons station.

  “On its way,” Wilson said.

  Thank you for everything, Lieutenant Wilson.

  “Glad to,” Wilson said.

  I’ll miss you.

  “Likewise,” Wilson said.

  There was no response.

  “We’ve cracked the order,” the science officer said.

  “Tell us,” Sorvalh said.

  The science officer looked at the humans on the bridge and then Captain Fortew. “Ma’am?” she said.

  “You have your orders,” Fotew said.

  “The coordinates for the return flight of the Urse Damay are in this system,” the science officer said. “They resolve under the surface of the local star. If it came out of skip there, it would have been destroyed instantly.”

  “Your friend was never going home, Lieutenant Wilson,” Sorvalh said.

  “Missile has reached the Urse Damay,” Fotew said, looking at her bridge display. “Direct hit.”

  “I’d like to think he just got there on his own, Councillor,” Wilson said.

  He walked off the bridge of the Nurimal and headed toward the shuttle bay, alone.

  Also by John Scalzi

  Old Man’s War

  The Ghost Brigades

  The Android’s Dream

  The Last Colony

  Zoe’s Tale

  Your Hate Mail Will Be Graded

  Fuzzy Nation

  Redshirts

  Edited by John Scalzi

  Metatropolis

  About the Author

  JOHN SCALZI is the author of several SF novels including the bestselling Old Man’s War and its sequels, and the New York Times bestsellers Fuzzy Nation and Redshirts. He is a winner of science fiction’s John W. Campbell Award for Best New Writer, and he won the Hugo Award for Your Hate Mail Will Be Graded, a collection of essays from his wildly popular blog Whatever (whatever.scalzi.com). He lives in Ohio with his wife and daughter.

  E-book Copyright

  This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  HUMAN DIVISION #11: A PROBLEM OF PROPORTION

  Copyright © 2013 by John Scalzi

  All rights reserved.

  Cover art by John Harris

  A Tor Book

  Published by Tom Doherty Associates, LLC

  175 Fifth Avenue

  New York, NY10010

  www.tor-forge.com

  Tor® is a registered trademark of Tom Doherty Associates, LLC.

  e-ISBN: 978-1-4668-3060-8

  The Human Division

  John Scalzi’s stirring new novel in the universe of his bestselling Old Man’s War

  New e-episodes will appear every Tuesday from January 15 to April 9, 2013, on all your favorite e-book sites. Don’t miss a single one:

  January 15: The Human Division #1: The B-Team

  January 22: The Human Division #2: Walk the Plank

  January 29: The Human Division #3: We Only Need the Heads

  February 5: The Human Division #4: A Voice in the Wilderness

  February 12: The Human Division #5: Tales from the Clarke

  February 19: The Human Division #6: The Back Channel

  February 26: The Human Division #7: The Dog King

  March 5: The Human Division #8: The S
ound of Rebellion

  March 12: The Human Division #9: The Observers

  March 19: The Human Division #10: This Must Be the Place

  March 26: The Human Division #11: A Problem of Proportion

  April 2: The Human Division #12: The Gentle Art of Cracking Heads

  April 9: The Human Division #13: Earth Below, Sky Above