Free The Human Division by John Scalzi

there for them.”
    “Someone destroyed an entire ship just to foul up diplomatic negotiations?” Coloma said. “This is your theory?”
    “It’s a guess,” Wilson said. “I don’t pretend that I know enough about this situation to be correct. But I think regardless we have to make the Colonial Union aware of what happened here as soon as possible. Captain, I’ve already transferred the data to the Clarke ’s computers. I strongly suggest we send a skip drone with it and my preliminary analysis back to Phoenix immediately.”
    “Agreed,” Abumwe said.
    “I’ll have it done as soon as I’m off this call,” Coloma said. “Now, Lieutenant, I want you and the shuttle back on the Clarke immediately. With all due respect to Ambassador Abumwe, I’m not entirely convinced there’s not still a threat out there. Get back here. We’ll be under way as soon as you are.”
    “What?” Abumwe said. “We still have a mission. I still have a mission. We’re here to negotiate with the Utche.”
    “Ambassador, the Clarke is a diplomatic vessel,” Coloma said. “We have no offensive weapons and only a bare minimum of defensive capability. We’ve confirmed the Polk was attacked. It’s possible whoever attacked the Polk is still out there. We’re sending this data to Phoenix. They will alert the Utche of the situation, which means they will almost certainly call off their ship. There is no negotiation to be had.”
    “You don’t know that,” Abumwe said. “It might take them hours to process the information. We are less than three hours from when the Utche are meant to arrive. Even if we were to leave, we will still be in system when they arrive, which means the first thing they would see is us running away.”
    “It’s not running away, ” Coloma said, sharply. “And this is not your decision to make, Ambassador. I am captain of the ship.”
    “A diplomatic ship,” Abumwe said. “On which I am the chief diplomat.”
    “Ambassador, Captain,” Wilson said, “do I need to be here for this part of the conversation?”
    Wilson saw the two simultaneously reach toward their screens. Both of their images shut off.
    “That would be ‘no,’” Wilson said, to himself.
    VIII.
    Something was nagging at Wilson as he punched in the return route to the Clarke . The Polk had been hit at least fifteen times by ship-to-ship missiles, but before any of them had hit, there had been an earlier explosion that had shaken the ship. But the data had not recorded any event leading up to the explosion; the ship had skipped, made an initial scan of the immediate area and then everything was perfectly normal until the initial explosion. Once it happened everything went to hell, quickly. But beforehand, nothing. There had been nothing to indicate anything out of the ordinary.
    The shuttle’s navigational router accepted the path back and started to move. Wilson strapped himself into his seat and relaxed. He would be back on the Clarke shortly, by which time he assumed that either Coloma or Abumwe would have emerged victorious from their power struggle. Wilson had no personal preference in who won; he could see the merit in both arguments, and both of them appeared to dislike him equally, so neither had an advantage there.
    I did what I was supposed to do, Wilson thought, and glanced over to the black box on the passenger seat, looking like a dark, matte, light-absorbing hole in the chair.
    Something clicked in his head.
    “Holy shit,” Wilson said, and slapped the shuttle into immobility.
    “You said ‘shit’ again,” Wilson heard Schmidt say. “And now you’re not moving.”
    “I just had a very interesting thought,” Wilson said.
    “You can’t have this thought while you are bringing the shuttle back?” Schmidt said. “Captain Coloma was very specific about returning it.”
    “Hart, I’m going to talk to you in a bit,” Wilson said.
    “What are you going to do?” Schmidt asked.
    “You probably don’t want to